VOLPONE'S CHAMBER.—VOLPONE ON HIS COUCH.
MOSCA SITTING BY HIM.
ENTER CORVINO, FORCING IN CELIA.
CORV
Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore,
Resolve upon it: I have so decreed.
It must be done. Nor would I move't, afore,
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks,
That might deny me.
CEL
Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt
My chastity, why, lock me up for ever:
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live,
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.
CORV
Believe it, I have no such humour, I.
All that I speak I mean; yet I'm not mad;
Nor horn-mad, see you? Go to, shew yourself
Obedient, and a wife.
CEL
O heaven!
CORV
I say it,
Do so.
CEL
Was this the train?
CORV
I've told you reasons;
What the physicians have set down; how much
It may concern me; what my engagements are;
My means; and the necessity of those means,
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture.
CEL
Before your honour?
CORV
Honour! tut, a breath:
There's no such thing, in nature: a mere term
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold
The worse, for touching, clothes for being look'd on?
Why, this is no more. An old decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat
With others' fingers; only knows to gape,
When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow;
And, what can this man hurt you?
CEL
[ASIDE.]: Lord! what spirit
Is this hath enter'd him?
CORV
And for your fame,
That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza! who shall know it,
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket? save yourself,
(If you'll proclaim't, you may,) I know no other,
Shall come to know it.
CEL
Are heaven and saints then nothing?
Will they be blind or stupid?
CORV
How!
CEL
Good sir,
Be jealous still, emulate them; and think
What hate they burn with toward every sin.
CORV
I grant you: if I thought it were a sin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood
That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,
And were professed critic in lechery;
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary,
A pious work, mere charity for physic,
And honest polity, to assure mine own.
CEL
O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?
VOLP
Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them.
MOS
[ADVANCING.]: Please you draw near, sir.
CORV
Come on, what—
You will not be rebellious? by that light—
MOS
Sir,
Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.
VOLP
Oh!
MOS
And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute—
CORV
Thanks, sweet Mosca.
MOS
Freely, unask'd, or unintreated—
CORV
Well.
MOS
As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty,
Only of price in Venice—
CORV
'Tis well urged.
MOS
To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.
VOLP
Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
'Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone—
[COUGHING.] uh, uh, uh, uh!
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him,
What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence, when he comes to't.
MOS
Do you hear, sir?
Go to him with your wife.
CORV
Heart of my father!
Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee, come.
Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand,
I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say.
CEL
Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,
Eat burning coals, do any thing.—
CORV
Be damn'd!
Heart, I'll drag thee hence, home, by the hair;
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rotchet!—Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth: devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!
CEL
Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.
CORV
Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:
Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet;—
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him.
Or touch him, but, for my sake.—At my suit.—
This once.—No! not! I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
MOS
Nay, gentle lady, be advised.
CORV
No, no.
She has watch'd her time. Ods precious, this is scurvy,
'Tis very scurvy: and you are—
MOS
Nay, good, sir.
CORV
An arrant Locust, by heaven, a locust!
Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,
Expecting how thou'lt bid them flow—
MOS
Nay, 'Pray you, sir!
She will consider.
CEL
Would my life would serve
To satisfy—
CORV
S'death! if she would but speak to him,
And save my reputation, it were somewhat;
But spightfully to affect my utter ruin!
MOS
Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands.
Why i'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her.
If you were absent, she would be more coming;
I know it: and dare undertake for her.
What woman can before her husband? 'pray you,
Let us depart, and leave her here.
CORV
Sweet Celia,
Thou may'st redeem all, yet; I'll say no more:
If not, esteem yourself as lost,—Nay, stay there.
[SHUTS THE DOOR, AND EXIT WITH MOSCA.]
CEL
O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,
Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease,
Men dare put off your honours, and their own?
Is that, which ever was a cause of life,
Now placed beneath the basest circ*mstance,
And modesty an exile made, for money?
VOLP
Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds,
[LEAPING FROM HIS COUCH.]
That never tasted the true heaven of love.
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a cope-man.
Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times raised me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank;
To see thee at thy window: ay, before
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures, I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.
Now art thou welcome.
CEL
Sir!
VOLP
Nay, fly me not.
Nor let thy false imagination
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:
Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight,
As when, in that so celebrated scene,
At recitation of our comedy,
For entertainment of the great Valois,
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing.
[SINGS.]
Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love,
Time will not be ours for ever,
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns, that set, may rise again:
But if once we loose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus remooved by our wile?—
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal:
But the sweet thefts to reveal;
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.
CEL
Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face!
VOLP
Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found
A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold,
What thou art queen of; not in expectation,
As I feed others: but possess'd, and crown'd.
See, here, a rope of pearl; and each, more orient
Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused:
Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle,
May put out both the eyes of our St Mark;
A diamond, would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels,
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,
And wear, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony,
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peac*cks, and of estriches,
Shall be our food: and, could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.
CEL
Good sir, these things might move a mind affected
With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:
If you have conscience—
VOLP
'Tis the beggar's virtue,
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath
Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber;
Which we will take, until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic.
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,
Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine:
So, of the rest, till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the fables of the gods.
Then will I have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes, unto the Persian sophy's wife;
Or the grand signior's mistress; and, for change,
To one of our most artful courtezans,
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes:
Where we may so transfuse our wandering souls,
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,
[SINGS.]
That the curious shall not know
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious, when they find
What there number is, be pined.
CEL
If you have ears that will be pierc'd—or eyes
That can be open'd—a heart that may be touch'd—
Or any part that yet sounds man about you—
If you have touch of holy saints—or heaven—
Do me the grace to let me 'scape—if not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know,
I am a creature, hither ill betray'd,
By one, whose shame I would forget it were:
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust,
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness,)
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty; flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments, for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands,
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow: any thing,
That may disfavour me, save in my honour—
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous—
VOLP
Think me cold,
Frosen and impotent, and so report me?
That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think.
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,
To play with opportunity thus long;
I should have done the act, and then have parley'd.
Yield, or I'll force thee.
[SEIZES HER.]
CEL
O! just God!
VOLP
In vain—
BON
[RUSHING IN]: Forbear, foul ravisher, libidinous swine!
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor.
But that I'm loth to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet,
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance,
Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol.—
Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den
Of villany; fear nought, you have a guard:
And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward.
[EXEUNT BON. AND CEL.]
VOLP
Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin!
Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!
I am unmask'd, unspirited, undone,
Betray'd to beggary, to infamy—
[ENTER MOSCA, WOUNDED AND BLEEDING.]
MOS
Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,
To beat out my unlucky brains?
VOLP
Here, here.
What! dost thou bleed?
MOS
O that his well-driv'n sword
Had been so courteous to have cleft me down
Unto the navel; ere I lived to see
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged, by my error!
VOLP
Woe on thy fortune!
MOS
And my follies, sir.
VOLP
Thou hast made me miserable.
MOS
And myself, sir.
Who would have thought he would have harken'd, so?
VOLP
What shall we do?
MOS
I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out.
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat?
And I'll requite you, sir. Let us die like Romans,
Since we have lived like Grecians.
[KNOCKING WITHIN.]
VOLP
Hark! who's there?
I hear some footing; officers, the saffi,
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead; now,
Mine ears are boring.
MOS
To your couch, sir, you,
Make that place good, however.
[VOLPONE LIES DOWN, AS BEFORE.]
—Guilty men
Suspect what they deserve still.
[ENTER CORBACCIO.]
Signior Corbaccio!
CORB
Why, how now, Mosca?
MOS
O, undone, amazed, sir.
Your son, I know not by what accident,
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron,
Touching your Will, and making him your heir,
Enter'd our house with violence, his sword drawn
Sought for you, call'd you wretch, unnatural,
Vow'd he would kill you.
CORB
Me!
MOS
Yes, and my patron.
CORB
This act shall disinherit him indeed;
Here is the Will.
MOS
'Tis well, sir.
CORB
Right and well:
Be you as careful now for me.
[ENTER VOLTORE, BEHIND.]
MOS
My life, sir,
Is not more tender'd; I am only yours.
CORB
How does he? will he die shortly, think'st thou?
MOS
I fear
He'll outlast May.
CORB
To-day?
MOS
No, last out May, sir.
CORB
Could'st thou not give him a dram?
MOS
O, by no means, sir.
CORB
Nay, I'll not bid you.
VOLT
[COMING FORWARD.]: This is a knave, I see.
MOS
[SEEING VOLTORE.]: How! signior Voltore!
[ASIDE.] did he hear me?
VOLT
Parasite!
MOS
Who's that?—O, sir, most timely welcome—
VOLT
Scarce,
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear.
You are his, ONLY? and mine, also? are you not?
MOS
Who? I, sir?
VOLT
You, sir. What device is this
About a Will?
MOS
A plot for you, sir.
VOLT
Come,
Put not your foists upon me; I shall scent them.
MOS
Did you not hear it?
VOLT
Yes, I hear Corbaccio
Hath made your patron there his heir.
MOS
'Tis true,
By my device, drawn to it by my plot,
With hope—
VOLT
Your patron should reciprocate?
And you have promised?
MOS
For your good, I did, sir.
Nay, more, I told his son, brought, hid him here,
Where he might hear his father pass the deed:
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir,
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act,
And then his father's oft disclaiming in him,
(Which I did mean t'help on,) would sure enrage him
To do some violence upon his parent,
On which the law should take sufficient hold,
And you be stated in a double hope:
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience,
My only aim was to dig you a fortune
Out of these two old rotten sepulchres—
VOLT
I cry thee mercy, Mosca.
MOS
Worth your patience,
And your great merit, sir. And see the change!
VOLT
Why, what success?
MOS
Most happless! you must help, sir.
Whilst we expected the old raven, in comes
Corvino's wife, sent hither by her husband—
VOLT
What, with a present?
MOS
No, sir, on visitation;
(I'll tell you how anon;) and staying long,
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
To affirm my patron to have done her rape:
Which how unlike it is, you see! and hence,
With that pretext he's gone, to accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you—
VOLT
Where is her husband?
Let him be sent for straight.
MOS
Sir, I'll go fetch him.
VOLT
Bring him to the Scrutineo.
MOS
Sir, I will.
VOLT
This must be stopt.
MOS
O you do nobly, sir.
Alas, 'twas labor'd all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot:
But fortune can, at any time, o'erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir.
CORB
[LISTENING]: What's that?
VOLT
Will't please you, sir, to go along?
[EXIT CORBACCIO, FOLLOWED BY VOLTORE.]
MOS
Patron, go in, and pray for our success.
VOLP
[RISING FROM HIS COUCH.]: Need makes devotion:
heaven your labour bless!
[EXEUNT.]