MOS. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will
Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too,
I cannot number ’em, they were so many;
All gaping here for legacies: but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino, took
Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him,
Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who
Should be executor? Corvino. And,
To any question he was silent to,
I still interpreted the nods he made,
Through weakness, for consent: and sent home th’ others,
Nothing bequeathed them, but to cry and curse.
CORV. O, my dear Mosca! [They embrace] Does he not perceive us?
MOS. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man,
No face of friend, nor name of any servant,
Who ’twas that fed him last, or gave him drink:
Not those he hath begotten, or brought up,
Can he remember.
CORV. Has he children?
MOS. Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk.
Knew you not that, sir? ’tis the common fable.
The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his;
He’s the true father of his family.
In all, save me:—but he has given them nothing.
CORV. That’s well, that’s well! Art sure he does not hear us?
MOS. Sure, sir! why, look you, credit your own sense.
[Shouts in Volpone’s ear]
The pox approach, and add to your diseases,
If it would send you hence the sooner, sir,
For your incontinence, it hath deserved it
Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to boot!—
You may come near, sir.—Would you would once close
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime,
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks,
Cover’d with hide instead of skin—Nay, help, sir—
That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end!
CORV. [Aloud] Or like an old smoked wall, on which the rain
Ran down in streaks!
MOS. Excellent, sir! speak out:
You may be louder yet; a culverin22
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.
CORV. His nose is like a common sewer, still running.
MOS. ’Tis good! And what his mouth?
CORV. A very draught.23
MOS. O, stop it up—
CORV. By no means.
MOS. ’Pray you, let me:
Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.
CORV. Do as you will; but I’ll begone.
MOS. Be so:
It is your presence makes him last so long.
CORV. I pray you, use no violence.
MOS. NO, sir! why?
Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir?
CORV. Nay, at your discretion.
MOS. Well, good sir, begone.
CORV. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.
MOS. Puh! nor your diamond. What a needless care
Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours?
Am not I here, whom you have made your creature?
That owe my being to you?
CORV. Grateful Mosca!
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.
MOS. Excepting one.
CORV. What’s that?
MOS. Your gallant wife, sir,—
Exit Corvino
Now is he gone: we had no other means
To shoot him hence, but this.
VOLP. My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. [Knocking within]—Who’s there?
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures,
Than will Volpone. [Exit Mosca] Let me see; a pearl!
A diamond! plate! sequins! Good morning’s purchase
Why, this is better than rob churches, yet,
Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man—
Enter Mosca
Who is’t?
MOS. The beauteous lady Would-be, sir,
Wife to the English knight, sir Politick Would-be,
(This is the style,24 sir, is directed me,)
Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night,
And if you would be visited?
VOLP. Not now:
Some three hours hence—
MOS. I told the squire so much.
VOLP. When I am high with mirth and wine; then, then:
’Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose
Their wives to all encounters!
MOS. Sir, this knight
Had not his name for nothing, he is politick.25
And knows, howe’er his wife affect strange airs,
She hath not yet the face to be dishonest:
But had she signior Corvino’s wife’s face—
VOLP. Has she so rare a face?
MOS. O, sir, the wonder,
The blazing star of Italy! a wench
Of the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest!
Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over,
Than silver, snow, or lilies! a soft lip,
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!
And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood!
Bright as your gold, and lovely as your gold!
VOLP. Why had not I known this before?
MOS. Alas, sir,
Myself but yesterday discover’d it.
VOLP. How might I see her?
MOS. O, not possible;
She’s kept as warily as is your gold;
Never does come abroad, never takes air,
But at a window. All her looks are sweet,
As the first grapes or cherries, and are watched
As near as they are.
VOLP. I must see her.
MOS. Sir,
There is a guard of spies ten thick upon her,
All his whole household; each of which is set
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,
When he goes out, when he comes in, examined.
VOLP. I will go see her, though but at her window.
MOS. In some disguise, then.
VOLP. That is true; I must
Maintain mine own shape still the same: we’ll think.
Exeunt
ACT II, SCENE I
Enter Sir Politick Would-be, and Peregrine
SIR P. Sir, to a wise man, all the world’s his soil:
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my fates call me forth.
Yet, I protest, it is no salt26 desire
Of seeing countries, shifting a religion,
Nor any disaffection to the state
Where I was bred, and unto which I owe
My dearest plots, hath brought me out; much less,
That idle, antique, stale, gray-headed project
Of knowing men’s minds and manners, with Ulysses!
But a peculiar humour of my wife’s
Laid for this height27 of Venice, to observe,
To quote, to learn the language, and so forth—
I hope you travel, sir, with license?
PER. Yes.
SIR P. I dare the safelier converse—How long, sir,
Since you left England?
PER. Seven weeks.
SIR P. So lately!
You have not been with my lord ambassador?
PER. Not yet, si
r.
SIR P. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our climate?
I heard last night a most strange thing reported
By some of my lord’s followers, and I long
To hear how ’twill be seconded.
PER. What was’t, sir?
SIR P. Marry, sir, of a raven that should build
In a ship royal of the king’s.
PER. This fellow,
Does he gull me, trow? or is gulled? [Aside] Your name, sir.
SIR P. My name is Politick Would-be.
PER. [Aside] O, that speaks him.—
A knight, sir?
SIR P. A poor knight, sir.
PER. Your lady
Lies here in Venice, for intelligence
Of tires, and fashions, and behaviour,
Among the courtezans? the fine lady Would-be?
SIR P. Yes, sir; the spider and the bee, ofttimes,
Suck from one flower.
PER. Good sir Politick,
I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you:
’Tis true, sir, of your raven.
SIR P. On your knowledge?
PER. Yes, and your lion’s whelping in the Tower.
SIR P. Another whelp!
PER. Another, sir.
SIR P. Now heaven!
What prodigies be these? The fires at Berwick!
And the new star! these things concurring, strange,
And full of omen! Saw you those meteors?
PER. I did, sir.
SIR P. Fearful! Pray you, sir, confirm me,
Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge,
As they give out?
PER. Six, and a sturgeon, sir.
SIR P. I am astonish’d.
PER. Nay, sir, be not so;
I’ll tell you a greater prodigy than these.
SIR P. What should these things portend?
PER. The very day
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,
There was a whale discovered in the river,
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there,
Few know how many months, for the subversion
Of the Stode28 fleet.
SIR P. Is’t possible? believe it,
’Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes:
Spinola’s whale, upon my life, my credit!
Will they not leave these projects? Worthy sir,
Some other news.
PER. Faith, Stone the fool is dead,
And they do lack a tavern fool extremely.
SIR P. Is Mass Stone dead?
PER. He’s dead, sir; why, I hope
You thought him not immortal?—[Aside] O, this knight,
Were he well known, would be a precious thing
To fit our English stage: he that should write
But such a fellow, should be thought to feign
Extremely, if not maliciously.
SIR P. Stone dead!
PER. Dead.—Lord! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it?
He was no kinsman to you?
SIR P. That I know of.
Well! the same fellow was an unknown29 fool.
PER. And yet you knew him, it seems?
SIR P. I did so. Sir,
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads
Living within the state, and so I held him.
PER. Indeed, sir?
SIR P. While he lived, in action.
He has received weekly intelligence,
Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries,
For all parts of the world, in cabbages;
And those dispensed again to ambassadors,
In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks,
Lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like; sometimes
In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles.
PER. You make me wonder.
SIR P. Sir, upon my knowledge.
Nay, I’ve observed him, at your public ordinary,30
Take his advertisement31 from a traveller,
A concealed statesman, in a trencher of meat;
And instantly before the meal was done,
Convey an answer in a tooth-pick.
PER. Strange!
How could this be, sir?
SIR P. Why, the meat was cut
So like his character, and so laid, as he
Must easily read the cipher.
PER. I have heard,
He could not read, sir.
SIR P. So ’twas given out,
In policy, by those that did employ him:
But he could read, and had your languages,
And to’t, as sound a noddle—
PER. I have heard, sir,
That your baboons were spies, and that they were
A kind of subtle nation near to China.
SIR P. Ay, ay, your Mamaluchi.32 Faith, they had
Their hand in a French plot or two; but they
Were so extremely given to women, as
They made discovery of all: yet I
Had my advices here, on Wednesday last.
From one of their own coat, they were returned,
Made their relations, as the fashion is,
And now stand fair for fresh employment.
PER. [Aside] ’Heart!
This sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing.
It seems, sir, you know all.
SIR P. Not all, sir, but
I have some general notions. I do love
To note and to observe: though I live out,
Free from the active torrent, yet I’d mark
The currents and the passages of things,
For mine own private use; and know the ebbs
And flows of state.
PER. Believe it, sir, I hold
Myself in no small tie unto my fortunes,
For casting me thus luckily upon you,
Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it,
May do me great assistance, in instruction
For my behaviour, and my bearing, which
Is yet so rude and raw.
SIR P. Why, came you forth
Empty of rules for travel?
PER. Faith, I had
Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar,
Which he that cried Italian to me, taught me.
SIR P. Why this it is that spoils all our brave bloods,
Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants,
Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem
To be a gentleman, of ingenuous33 race:—
I not profess it, but my fate hath been
To be, where I have been consulted with,
In this high kind, touching some great men’s sons,
Persons of blood and honor.—
Enter Mosca and Nano disguised, followed by persons with materials for erecting a Stage
PER. Who be these, sir?
MOS. Under that window, there ’t must be. The same.
SIR P. Fellows, to mount a bank.34 Did your instructor
In the dear tongues, never discourse to you
Of the Italian mountebanks?
PER. Yes, sir.
SIR P. Why,
Here you shall see one.
PER. They are quacksalvers:
Fellows, that live by venting oils and rugs.
SIR P. Was that the character he gave you of them?
PER. AS I remember.
SIR P. Pity his ignorance.
They are the only knowing men of Europe!
Great general scholars, excellent physicians,
Most admired statesmen, professed favourites,
And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes;
The only languaged men of all the world!
PER. And, I have heard, they are most lewd impostors;
Made all of terms and shreds; no less beliers
Of great men’s favors, than their own vile med’cines;
Which they will utter upon monstrous oaths,
Selling that drug for two-pence, ere they
part,
Which they have valued at twelve crowns before.
SIR P. Sir, calumnies are answered best with silence.
Yourself shall judge.—Who is it mounts, my friends?
MOS. Scoto of Mantua, sir.
SIR P. Is’t he? Nay, then
I’ll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold
Another man than has been phant’sied to you.
I wonder yet, that he should mount his bank,
Here in this nook, that has been wont t’appear
In face of the Piazza!—Here he comes.
Enter Volpone, disguised as a mountebank Doctor, and followed by a crowd
VOLP. Mount, zany. [To Nano]
MOB. Follow, follow, follow, follow!
SIR P. See how the people follow him! he’s a man
May write ten thousand crowns in bank here. Note,
[Volpone mounts the Stage]
Mark but his gesture:—I do use to observe
The state he keeps in getting up.
PER. ’Tis worth it, sir.
VOLP. Most noble gentlemen, and my worthy patrons! It may seem strange, that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was ever wont to fix my bank in face of the public Piazza, near the shelter of the Portico to the Procuratia, should now, after eight months’ absence from this illustrious city of Venice, humbly retire myself into an obscure nook of the Piazza.
SIR P. Did not I now object the same?
PER. Peace, sir.
VOLP. Let me tell you: I am not, as your Lombard proverb saith, cold on my feet; or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, than I accustomed: look not for it. Nor that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our profession, (Alessandro Buttone, I mean,) who gave out, in public, I was condemned a sforzato35 to the galleys, for poisoning the cardinal Bembo’s—cook, hath at all attached, much less dejected me. No, no, worthy gentlemen; to tell you true, I cannot endure to see the rabble of these ground ciarlitani,36 that spread their cloaks on the pavement, as if they meant to do feats of activity, and then come in lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist: some of them discoursing their travels, and of their tedious captivity in the Turks’ gallies, when, indeed, were the truth known, they were the Christians’ galleys where very temperately they eat bread, and drunk water, as a wholesome penance, enjoined them by their confessors, for base pilferies.
SIR P. Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.
VOLP. These turdy-facy-nasty-paty-lousy-fartical rogues, with one poor groat’s-worth of unprepared antimony, finely wrapt up in several scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a week, and play; yet, these meagre, starved spirits, who have half stopt the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations,37 want not their favorers among your shrivelled sallad-eating artizans, who are overjoyed that they may have their ha’perth of physic; though it purge them into another world, it makes no matter.
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