by Ben Jonson
Pointing to his bill and his glass.
For, this is the physician, this the medicine; this counsels, this cures; this gives the direction, this works the effect; and, in sum, both together may be termed an abstract of the theoric and practic in the Æsculapian art. ’Twill cost you eight crowns.
110 And, Zan Fritada, pray thee sing a verse, extempore, in honour of it.
SIR POLITIC: How do you like him, sir?
PEREGRINE: Most strangely, I!
SIR POLITIC: Is not his language rare?
PEREGRINE: But alchemy
I never heard the like, or Broughton’s books.
SONG
Had old Hippocrates or Galen,
That to their books put med’cines all in,
But known this secret, they had never,
(Of which they will be guilty ever)
Been murderers of so much paper,
Or wasted many hurtless taper.
120 No Indian drug had e’er been famèd,
Tobacco, sassafras not namèd;
Ne yet of guacum one small stick, sir,
Nor Raymund Lully’s great elixir.
Ne had been known the Danish Gonswart,
Or Paracelsus, with his long sword.
PEREGRINE: All this, yet, will not do; eight crowns is high.
VOLPONE: No more. Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed Oglio del scoto, with the countless catalogue of those I have cured of
130 th’aforesaid, and many more diseases; the patents and privileges of all the princes and commonwealths of Christendom; or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part, before the signiory of the Sanita and most learned College of Physicians; where I was authorized, upon notice taken of the admirable virtues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency in matter of rare and unknown secrets, not only to disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in all the territories that happily joy under the government of the most pious and magnificent states of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow say, ‘O, there be
140 divers that make profession to have as good and as experimented receipts as yours.’Indeed, very many have assayed, like apes, in imitation of that which is really and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stills, alembics, continual fires, and preparation of the ingredients (as indeed there goes to it six hundred several simples, besides some quantity of human fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the anatomists), but, when these practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo. Ha, ha, ha! Poor wretches! I rather pity their folly and indiscretion than
150 their loss of time and money; for those may be recovered by
industry; but to be a fool born is a disease incurable. For myself, I always from my youth have endeavoured to get the rarest secrets, and book them, either in exchange or for money; I spared nor cost nor labour where anything was worthy to be learned. And, gentlemen, honourable gentlemen, I will undertake, by virtue of chemical art, out of the honourable hat that covers your head to extract the four elements, that is to say, the fire, air, water, and earth, and return you your felt without burn or stain. For, whilst others have been at the balloo, I have
160 been at my book, and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to the flowery plains of honour and reputation.
SIR POLITIC: I do assure you, sir, that is his aim.
VOLPONE: But to our price –
PEREGRINE: And that withal, Sir Pol.
VOLPONE: You all know, honourable gentlemen, I never valued this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight crowns, but for this time I am content to be deprived of it for six; six crowns is the price, and less in courtesy I know you cannot offer me; take it or leave it, howsoever, both it and I am at your service. I ask you not as the value of the thing, for then I should demand of you a
170 thousand crowns; so the Cardinals Montalto, Famese, the great Duke of Tuscany, my gossip, with divers other princes have given me; but I despise money. Only to show my affection to you, honourable gentlemen, and your illustrious state here, I have neglected the messages of these princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, only to present you with the fruits of my travels. [To NANO and MOSCA.] Tune your voices once more to the touch of your instruments, and give the honourable assembly some delightful recreation.
PEREGRINE: What monstrous and most painful circumstance
180 Is here, to get some three or four gazets!
Some threepence i’th’whole! for that ’twill come to.
SONG
You that would last long, list to my song,
Make no more coil, but buy of this oil.
Would you be ever fair? and young?
Stout of teeth? and strong of tongue?
Tart of palate? quick of ear?
Sharp of sight? of nostril clear?
Moist of hand? and light of foot?
Or I will come nearer to’t –
190 Would you live free from all diseases?
Do the act your mistress pleases,
Yet fright all aches from your bones?
Here’s a med’cine for the nones.
VOLPONE: Well, I am in a humour, at this time, to make a present of the small quantity my coffer contains to the rich, in courtesy, and to the poor, for God’s sake. Wherefore, now mark: I asked you six crowns, and six crowns at other times you have paid me; you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor half a ducat; no, nor a moccenigol
200 Sixpence it will cost you, or six hundred pound – expect no
lower price, for by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine; that I will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from amongst you to show I am not contemned by you. Therefore, now, toss your handkerchiefs, cheerfully, cheerfully; and be advertised that the first heroic spirit that deigns to grace me with a handkerchief, I will give it a little remembrance of something beside, shall please it better than if I had presented it with a double pistolet.
PEREGRINE: Will you be that heroic spark, Sir Pol?
CELIA at the window throws down her handkerchief.
210 O see! the window has prevented you.
VOLPONE: Lady, I kiss your bounty, and for this timely grace you have done your poor Scoto of Mantua, I will return you, over and above my oil, a secret of that high and inestimable nature shall make you forever enamoured on that minute wherein your eye first descended on so mean – yet not altogether to be despised – an object. Here is a powder concealed in this paper of which, if I should speak to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word: so short is this pilgrimage of man (which some call life)
220 to the expressing of it. Would I reflect on the price? Why, the whole world were but as an empire, that empire as a province, that province as a bank, that bank as a private purse to the purchase of it. I will, only, tell you: it is the powder that made Venus a goddess (given her by Apollo), that kept her perpetually young, cleared her wrinkles, firmed her gums, filled her skin, coloured her hair. From her derived to Helen, and at the sack of Troy unfortunately lost; till now, in this our age, it was as happily recovered by a studious antiquary out of some ruins of Asia, who sent a moiety of it to the court of France (but
230 much sophisticated), wherewith the ladies there now colour their hair. The rest, at this present, remains with me; extracted to a quintessence, so that wherever it but touches in youth it perpetually preserves, in age restores the complexion; seats your teeth, did they dance like virginal jacks, firm as a wall; makes them white as ivory, that were black as –
II, iii [Enter CORVINO.]
[CORVINO (to CELIA):] Spite o’the devil, and my shame!
[To VOLPONE] Come down here;
Come down! No house but mine to make your scene?
He beats away the mountebank, etc.
Signior Flaminio, will you down, sir? down?
> What, is my wife your Franciscina, sir?
No windows on the whole Piazza, here,
To make your properties, but mine? but mine?
Heart! ere tomorrow I shall be new christened,
And called the Pantolone di Besogniosi
About the town.
[Exit.]
PEREGRINE: What should this mean, Sir Pol?
10 SIR POLITIC: Some trick of state, believe it. I will home.
PEREGRINE: It may be some design on you.
SIR POLITIC: I know not.
I’ll stand upon my guard.
PEREGRINE: It is your best, sir.
SIR POLITIC: This three weeks all my advices, all my letters,
They have been intercepted.
PEREGRINE: Indeed, sir?
Best have a care.
SIR POLITIC: Nay, so I will.
PEREGRINE [aside]: This knight,
I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night.
[Exeunt.]
II, iv [SCENE TWO]
[VOLPONE’S house.]
[Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA.]
[VOLPONE:] O, I am wounded!
MOSCA: Where, sir?
VOLPONE: Not without;
Those blows were nothing, I could bear them ever.
But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes,
Hath shot himself into me like a flame;
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,
As in a furnace an ambitious fire
Whose vent is stopped. The fight is all within me.
I cannot live except thou help me, Mosca;
My liver melts, and I, without the hope
10 Of some soft air from her refreshing breath,
Am but a heap of cinders.
MOSCA: ’Las, good sir!
Would you had never seen her!
VOLPONE: Nay, would thou
Hadst never told me of her.
MOSCA: Sir, ’tis true;
I do confess I was unfortunate,
And you unhappy; but I’m bound in conscience,
No less than duty, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, sir.
VOLPONE: Dear Mosca, shall I hope?
MOSCA: Sir, more than dear,
I will not bid you to despair of aught
Within a human compass.
20 VOLPONE: O, there spoke
My better angel. Mosca, take my keys,
Gold, plate, and jewels, all’s at thy devotion;
Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too,
So thou in this but crown my longings, Mosca!
MOSCA: Use but your patience.
VOLPONE: So I have.
MOSCA: I doubt not
To bring success to your desires.
VOLPONE: Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.
MOSCA: If you can horn him, sir, you need not.
VOLPONE: True.
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.
30 Is not the colour o’my beard and eyebrows
To make me known?
MOSCA: No jot.
VOLPONE: I did it well.
MOSCA: So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With half the happiness; and, yet, I would
Escape your epilogue.
VOLPONE: But were they gulled
With a belief that I was Scoto?
MOSCA: Sir,
Scoto himself could hardly have distinguished!
I have not time to flatter you now; we’ll part,
And as I prosper, so applaud my art.
[Exeunt.]
II, V [SCENE THREE]
[CORVINO’S house.]
[Enter CORVINO, dragging in CELIA.]
[CORVINO:] Death of mine honour, with the city’s fool?
A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank?
And at a public window? where, whilst he,
Withhis strained action, andhis dole of faces,
To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears,
A crew of old, unmarried, noted lechers
Stood leering up like satyrs: and you smile
Most graciously, and fan your favours forth,
To give your hot spectators satisfaction!
10 What, was your mountebank their call? their whistle?
Or were y’enamoured on his copper rings?
His saffron jewel, with thetoad-stone in ’t?
Or his embroiderèd suit, with the cope-stitch,
Made of a hearse cloth? or his old tilt-feather?
Or his starched beard? Well, you shall have him, yes!
He shall come home and minister unto you
The fricace for the mother. Or, let me see,
I think you’d rather mount? would you not mount?
Why, if you’ll mount, you may; yes truly, you may,
20 And so you may be seen, down to th’foot.
Get you a cittern, Lady Vanity,
And be a dealer with the virtuous man;
Make one. I’ll but protest myself a cuckold,
And save your dowry. I am a Dutchman, I!
For if you thought me an Italian,
You would be damned ere you did this, you whore!
Thou’dst tremble to imagine that the murder
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,
Should follow as the subject of my justice.
CELIA: Good sir, have patience!
30 CORVINO [waving his sword]: What couldst thou propose
Less to thyself than in this heat of wrath,
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike
This steel into thee, with as many stabs
As thou wert gazed upon with goatish eyes?
CELIA: Alas, sir, be appeased! I could not think
My being at the window should more now
Move your impatience than at other times.
CORVINO: No? not to seek and entertain a parley
With a known knave? before a multitude?
40 You were an actor with your handkerchief,
Which he, most sweetly, kissed in the receipt,
And might, no doubt, return it with a letter,
And ’point the place where you might meet: your sister’s,
Your mother’s, or your aunt’s might serve the turn.
CELIA: Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses?
Or ever stir abroad but to the church?
And that so seldom –
CORVINO: Well, it shall be less;
And thy restraint before was liberty
To what I now decree; and therefore mark me.
50 First, I will have this bawdy light dammed up;
And till’t be done, some two, or three yards off
I’ll chalk a line, o’er which if thou but chance
To set thy desp’rate foot, more hell, more horror,
More wild, remorseless rage shall seize on thee
Than ona conjurer that had heedless left
His circle’s safety ere his devil was laid.
Then, here’s alock which I will hang upon thee;
And, now I think on ’t, I will keep thee backwards;
Thy lodging shall be backwards, thy walks backwards;
60 Thy prospect – all be backwards, and no pleasure,
That thou shalt know butbackwards. Nay, since you force
My honest nature, know it is your own
Being too open makes me use you thus.
Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils
In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air
Of rank and sweaty passengers –
Knock within.
One knocks.
Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life;
Not look toward the window; if thou dost –
Nay, stay, hear this – let me not prosper, whore,
70 But I will make thee ananatomy,
Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture
Upon thee to the c
ity, and in public.
Away!
[Exit CELIA.]
Who’s there?
[Enter SERVANT.]
SERVANT: ’Tis Signior Mosca, sir.
II, vi [CORVINO:] Let him come in. His master’s dead. There’s yet
Some good to help the bad.
[Enter MOSCA.]
My Mosca, welcome!
I guess your news.
MOSCA: I fear you cannot, sir.
CORVINO: Is’t not his death?
MOSCA: Rather the contrary.
CORVINO: Not his recovery?
MOSCA: Yes, sir.
CORVINO: I am cursed,
I am bewitched, my crosses meet to vex me.
How? how? how? how?
MOSCA: Why, sir, with Scoto’s oil!
Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it,
Whilst I was busy in an inner room –
10 CORVINO: Death! that damned mountebank! but for the law,
Now, I could kill the rascal; ’t cannot be
His oil should have that virtue. Ha’not I
Known him a common rogue, come fiddling in
To th’osterìa, with a tumbling whore,
And, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad
Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flies in ’t?
It cannot be. All his ingredients
Are a sheep’s gall, a roasted bitch’s marrow,
Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars,
20 A little capon’s grease, and fasting spittle;
I know ’em to a dram.
MOSCA: I know not, sir;
But some on ’t, they poured into his ears,
Some in his nostrils, and recovered him,
Applying but the fricace.
CORVINO: Pox o’that fricace.
MOSCA: And since, to seem the more officious And flatt’ring of his health, there they have had,
At extreme fees, the College of Physicians
Consulting on him how they might restore him;
Where one would have acataplasm of spices,
30 Another a flayed ape clapped to his breast,
A third would ha’it a dog, a fourth an oil
With wild cats’skins. At last, they all resolved
That to preserve him was no other means
But some young woman must be straight sought out,
Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him;
And to this service, most unhappily
And most unwillingly, am I now employed,
Which here I thought to pre-acquaint you with,