The noses of my bellows; and those bellows
I keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion,
Which is the easiest matter of a hundred.
Now, sir, your onion, which doth naturally
Attract the infection, and your bellows blowing
The air upon him, will show, instantly,
By his changed color, if there be contagion;
Or else remain as fair as at the first.
—Now it is known, ’tis nothing.
PER. You are right, sir.
SIR P. I would I had my note.
PER. ’Faith, so would I:
But you have done well for once, sir.
SIR P. Were I false,
Or would be made so, I could show you reasons
How I could sell this state now to the Turk,
Spite of their galleys or their—
[Examining his papers]
PER. Pray you, sir Pol.
SIR P. I have them not about me.
PER. That I feared:
They are there, sir.
SIR P. No, this is my diary,
Wherein I note my actions of the day.
PER. Pray you, let’s see, sir. What is here? [Reads]
Notandum,
A rat had gnawn my spur-leathers; notwithstanding,
I put on new, and did go forth: but first
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item,
I went and bought two tooth-picks, whereof one
I burst immediately, in a discourse
With a Dutch merchant, ’bout ragion del stato.115
From him I went and paid a moccinigo
For piecing my silk stockings; by the way
I cheapened116 sprats; and at St. Mark’s I urined.
’Faith these are politic notes!
SIR P. Sir, I do slip
No action of my life, but thus I quote it.
PER. Believe me, it is wise!
SIR P. Nay, sir, read forth.
Enter, at a distance, Lady Politick Would-be, Nano, and two Waiting-women.
LADY P. Where should this loose knight be, trow? sure he’s housed.
NAN. Why, then he’s fast.
LADY P. Ay, he plays both with me.
I pray you stay. This heat will do more harm
To my complexion, than his heart is worth.
(I do not care to hinder, but to take him.)
How it comes off!
[Rubbing her cheeks]
1 WOM. My master’s yonder.
LADY P. Where?
2 WOM. With a young gentleman.
LADY P. That same’s the party;
In man’s apparel! ’Pray you, sir, jog my knight:
I will be tender to his reputation,
However he demerit.
SIR P. [Seeing her] My lady!
PER. Where?
SIR P. ’Tis she indeed, sir; you shall know her. She is,
Were she not mine, a lady of that merit,
For fashion and behavior; and for beauty
I durst compare—
PER. It seems you are not jealous,
That dare commend her.
SIR P. Nay, and for discourse—
PER. Being your wife, she cannot miss that.
SIR P. [Introducing Peregrine] Madam,
Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly;
He seems a youth, but he is—
LADY P. None.
SIR P. Yes, one
Has put his face as soon into the world—
LADY P. You mean, as early? but to-day?
SIR P. How’s this?
LADY P. Why, in this habit, sir; you apprehend me:—
Well, master Would-be, this doth not become you;
I had thought the odor, sir, of your good name
Had been more precious to you; that you would not
Have done this dire massacre on your honor;
One of your gravity and rank besides!
But knights, I see, care little for the oath
They make to ladies; chiefly, their own ladies.
SIR P. Now, by my spurs, the symbol of my knighthood,—
PER. [Aside] Lord, how his brain is humbled for an oath!
SIR P. I reach you not.
LADY P. Right, sir, your policy
May bear it through thus.—Sir, a word with you.
[To Peregrine]
I would be loath to contest publicly
With any gentlewoman, or to seem
Forward, or violent, as the courtier says;
It comes too near rusticity in a lady,
Which I would shun by all means: and however
I may deserve from master Would-be, yet
T’have one fair gentlewoman thus be made
The unkind instrument to wrong another,
And one she knows not, ay, and to perséver;
In my poor judgment, is not warranted
From being a solecism in our sex,
If not in manners.
PER. How is this!
SIR P. Sweet madam,
Come nearer to your aim.
LADY P. Marry, and will, sir.
Since you provoke me with your impudence,
And laughter of your light land-siren here,
Your Sporus,117 your hermaphrodite—
PER. What’s here?
Poetic fury, and historic storms!
SIR P. The gentleman, believe it, is of worth,
And of our nation.
LADY P. Ay, Your White-friars118 nation.
Come, I blush for you, master Would-be, I;
And am ashamed you should have no more forehead,119
Than thus to be the patron, or St. George,
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,120
A female devil, in a male outside.
SIR P. Nay,
An you be such a one, I must bid adieu
To your delights. The case appears too liquid.
Exit
LADY P. Ay, you may carry’t clear, with your state-face!—
But for your carnival concupiscence,
Who here is fled for liberty of conscience,
From furious persecution of the marshal,
Her will I dis’ple.121
PER. This is fine, i’faith!
And do you use this often? Is this part
Of your wit’s exercise, ’gainst you have occasion?
Madam—
LADY P. Go to, sir.
PER. Do you hear me, lady?
Why, if your knight have set you to beg shirts,
Or to invite me home, you might have done it
A nearer way, by far.
LADY P. This cannot work you
Out of my snare.
PER. Why, am I in it, then?
Indeed your husband told me you were fair.
And so you are; only your nose inclines,
That side that’s next the sun, to the queen-apple.
LADY P. This cannot be endured by any patience.
Enter Mosca
MOS. What is the matter, madam?
LADY P. If the senate
Right not my quest in this, I will protest them
To all the world, no aristocracy.
MOS. What is the injury, lady?
LADY P. Why, the callet
You told me of, here I have ta’en disguised.
MOS. Who? this! what means your ladyship? the creature
I mentioned to you is apprehended now,
Before the senate; you shall see her—
LADY P. Where?
MOS. I’ll bring you to her. This young gentleman,
I saw him land this morning at the port.
LADY P. Is’t possible! how has my judgment wandered?
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have erred;
And plead your pardon.
PER. What, more changes yet!
LADY P. I hope you have not the malice to remember
A gentlewoman’s passion. If you stay
In Venice here, please you to use me, sir—
MOS. Will you go, madam?
LADY P. ’Pray you, sir, use me; in faith,
The more you see me, the more I shall conceive
You have forgot our quarrel.
Exeunt Lady Would-be, Mosca, Nano, and Waiting-women
PER. This is rare!
Sir Politick Would-be? no; sir Politick Bawd,
To bring me thus acquainted with his wife!
Well, wise sir Pol, since you have practised thus
Upon my freshman-ship, I’ll try your salt-head,
What proof it is against a counter-plot.
Exit
SCENE II
Enter Voltore, Corbaccio, Corvino, and Mosca
VOLT. Well, now you know the carriage of the business,
Your constancy is all that is required
Unto the safety of it.
MOS. Is the lie
Safely conveyed amongst us? is that sure?
Knows every man his burden?
CORV. Yes.
MOS. Then shrink not.
CORV. But knows the advocate the truth?
MOS. O, sir,
By no means; I devised a formal tale,
That salved your reputation. But be valiant, sir.
CORV. I fear no one but him, that this his pleading
Should make him stand for a co-heir—
MOS. Co-halter!
Hang him; we will but use his tongue, his noise,
As we do Croaker’s122 here.
CORV. Ay, what shall he do?
MOS. When we have done, you mean?
CORV. Yes.
MOS. Why, we’ll think:
Sell him for mummia; he’s half dust already.
Do you not smile, [to Voltore] to see this buffalo,
How he doth sport it with his head?—I should,
If all were well and past. [Aside]—Sir, [to Corbaccio] only you
Are he that shall enjoy the crop of all,
And these not know for whom they toil.
CORB. Ay, peace.
MOS. [Turning to Corvino] But you shall eat it. Much!
[Aside]—Worshipful sir, [to Voltore]
Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue,
Or the French Hercules, and make your language
As conquering as his club, to beat along,
As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries;
But much more yours, sir.
VOLT. Here they come, have done.
MOS. I have another witness, if you need, sir,
I can produce.
VOLT. Who is it?
MOS. Sir, I have her.
Enter Avocatori and take their seats, Bonario, Celia, Notario,
Commandadori, Saffi, and other Officers of justice
1 AVOC. The like of this the senate never heard of.
2 AVOC. ’Twill come most strange to them when we report it.
4 AVOC. The gentlewoman has been ever held
Of unreproved name.
3 AVOC. So has the youth.
4 AVOC. The more unnatural part that of his father.
2 AVOC. More of the husband.
1 AVOC. I not know to give
His act a name, it is so monstrous!
4 AVOC. But the impostor, he’s a thing created
To exceed example!
1 AVOC. And all after-times!
2 AVOC. I never heard a true voluptuary
Described, but him.
3 AVOC. Appear yet those were cited?
NOT. All but the old magnifico, Volpone.
1 AVOC. Why is not he here?
MOS. Please your fatherhoods
Here is his advocate: himself’s so weak,
So feeble—
4 AVOC. What are you?
BON. His parasite,
His knave, his pandar: I beseech the court,
He may be forced to come, that your grave eyes
May bear strong witness of his strange impostures.
VOLT. Upon my faith and credit with your virtues,
He is not able to endure the air.
2 AVOC. Bring him, however.
3 AVOC. We will see him.
4 AVOC. Fetch him.
VOLT. Your fatherhoods’ fit pleasures be obeyed;
Exeunt Officers
But sure, the sight will rather move your pities,
Than indignation. May it please the court,
In the mean time, he may be heard in me;
I know this place most void of prejudice,
And therefore crave it, since we have no reason
To fear our truth should hurt our cause.
3 AVOC. Speak free.
VOLT. Then know, most honored fathers, I must now
Discover to your strangely abused ears,
The most prodigious and most frontless123 piece
Of solid impudence, and treachery,
That ever vicious nature yet brought forth
To shame the state of Venice. This lewd woman,
That wants no artificial looks or tears
To help the vizor she has now put on,
Hath long been known a close adulteress
To that lascivious youth there; not suspected,
I say, but known, and taken in the act
With him; and by this man, the easy husband,
Pardoned; whose timeless bounty makes him now
Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person,
That ever man’s own goodness made accused.
For these not knowing how to owe a gift
Of that dear grace, but with their shame; being placed
So above all powers of their gratitude,
Began to hate the benefit; and, in place
Of thanks, devise to extirpe the memory
Of such an act: wherein I pray your fatherhoods
To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures
Discovered in their evils; and what heart
Such take, even from their crimes:—but that anon
Will more appear.—This gentleman, the father,
Hearing of this foul fact, with many others,
Which daily struck at his too tender ears,
And grieved in nothing more than that he could not
Preserve himself a parent, (his son’s ills
Growing to that strange flood,) at last decreed
To disinherit him.
1 AVOC. These be strange turns!
2 AVOC. The young man’s fame was ever fair and honest.
VOLT. SO much more full of danger is his vice,
That can beguile so under shade of virtue.
But, as I said, my honored sires, his father
Having this settled purpose, by what means
To him betrayed, we know not, and this day
Appointed for the deed; that parricide,
I cannot style him better, by confederacy
Preparing this his paramour to be there,
Entered Volpone’s house, (who was the man,
Your fatherhoods must understand, designed
For the inheritance,) there sought his father:—
But with what purpose sought he him, my lords?
I tremble to pronounce it, that a son
Unto a father, and to such a father,
Should have so foul, felonious intent!
It was to murder him: when being prevented
By his more happy absence, what then did he?
Not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds,
(Mischief doth never end where it begins)
An act of horror, fathers! he dragged forth
The agèd gentleman that had there lain bed-rid
Three years and more, out of his innocent couch,
Naked upon the floor, there left him; wounded
His servant in the face: and, with this strumpet
The stale124 to his forged practice, who was glad
To be so active,—(I shall here desire
Your f
atherhoods to note but my collections,125
As most remarkable,—) thought at once to stop
His father’s ends, discredit his free choice
In the old gentleman, redeem themselves,
By laying infamy upon this man,
To whom, with blushing, they should owe their lives.
1 AVOC. What proofs have you of this?
BON. Most honored fathers,
I humbly crave there be no credit given
To this man’s mercenary tongue.
2 AVOC. Forbear.
BON. His soul moves in his fee.
3 AVOC. O sir.
BON. This fellow,
For six sols more, would plead against his Maker.
1 AVOC. You do forget yourself.
VOLT. Nay, nay, grave fathers,
Let him have scope: can any man imagine
That he will spare his accuser, that would not
Have spared his parent?
1 AVOC. Well, produce your proofs.
CEL. I would I could forget I were a creature.
VOLT. Signior Corbaccio!
[Corbaccio comes forward]
4 AVOC. What is he?
VOLT. The father.
2 AVOC. Has he had an oath?
NOT. Yes.
CORB. What must I do now?
NOT. Your testimony’s craved.
CORB. Speak to the knave?
I’ll have my mouth first stopped with earth; my heart
Abhors his knowledge: I disclaim in him.
1 AVOC. But for what cause?
CORB. The mere portent of nature!
He is an utter stranger to my loins.
BON. Have they made you to this?
CORB. I will not hear thee,
Monster of men, swine, goat, wolf, parricide!
Speak not, thou viper.
BON. Sir, I will sit down,
And rather wish my innocence should suffer,
Than I resist the authority of a father.
VOLT. Signior Corvino!
[Corvino comes forward]
2 AVOC. This is strange.
1 AVOC. Who’s this?
NOT. The husband.
4 AVOC. IS he sworn?
NOT. He is.
3 AVOC. Speak, then.
CORV. This woman, please your fatherhoods, is a whore,
Of most hot exercise, more than a partridge,
Upon record—
1 AVOC. No more.
CORV. Neighs like a jennet.126
NOT. Preserve the honor of the court.
CORV. I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears.
And yet I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glued unto that piece of cedar,
That fine well-timbered gallant; and that here127
The letters may be read, thorough the horn,128
That makes the story perfect.
MOS. Excellent! sir.
CORV. [Aside to Mosca] There is no shame in this now, is there?
MOS. None.
CORV. Or if I said, I hoped that she were onward
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