Ben Jonson

"Volpone; Or, The Fox (Act 5 Scene 5.4)"

A STREET.

ENTER CORBACCIO AND CORVINO.


CORB
They say, the court is set.

CORV
We must maintain
Our first tale good, for both our reputations.

CORB
Why, mine's no tale: my son would there have kill'd me.

CORV
That's true, I had forgot:—
[ASIDE.]—mine is, I am sure.
But for your Will, sir.

CORB
Ay, I'll come upon him
For that hereafter; now his patron's dead.

[ENTER VOLPONE.]

VOLP
Signior Corvino! and Corbaccio! sir,
Much joy unto you.

CORV
Of what?

VOLP
The sudden good,
Dropt down upon you—

CORB
Where?

VOLP
And, none knows how,
From old Volpone, sir.

CORB
Out, arrant knave!

VOLP
Let not your too much wealth, sir, make you furious.

CORB
Away, thou varlet!

VOLP
Why, sir?

CORB
Dost thou mock me?

VOLP
You mock the world, sir; did you not change Wills?

CORB
Out, harlot!

VOLP
O! belike you are the man,
Signior Corvino? 'faith, you carry it well;
You grow not mad withal: I love your spirit:
You are not over-leaven'd with your fortune.
You should have some would swell now, like a wine-fat,
With such an autumn—Did he give you all, sir?

CORB
Avoid, you rascal!

VOLP
Troth, your wife has shewn
Herself a very woman; but you are well,
You need not care, you have a good estate,
To bear it out sir, better by this chance:
Except Corbaccio have a share.

CORV
Hence, varlet.

VOLP
You will not be acknown, sir; why, 'tis wise.
Thus do all gamesters, at all games, dissemble:
No man will seem to win.
[exeunt corvino and corbaccio.]
—Here comes my vulture,
Heaving his beak up in the air, and snuffing.

[ENTER VOLTORE.]

VOLT
Outstript thus, by a parasite! a slave,
Would run on errands, and make legs for crumbs?
Well, what I'll do—

VOLP
The court stays for your worship.
I e'en rejoice, sir, at your worship's happiness,
And that it fell into so learned hands,
That understand the fingering—

VOLT
What do you mean?

VOLP
I mean to be a suitor to your worship,
For the small tenement, out of reparations,
That, to the end of your long row of houses,
By the Piscaria: it was, in Volpone's time,
Your predecessor, ere he grew diseased,
A handsome, pretty, custom'd bawdy-house,
As any was in Venice, none dispraised;
But fell with him; his body and that house
Decay'd, together.

VOLT
Come sir, leave your prating.

VOLP
Why, if your worship give me but your hand,
That I may have the refusal, I have done.
'Tis a mere toy to you, sir; candle-rents;
As your learn'd worship knows—

VOLT
What do I know?

VOLP
Marry, no end of your wealth, sir, God decrease it!

VOLT
Mistaking knave! what, mockst thou my misfortune?

[EXIT.]

VOLP
His blessing on your heart, sir; would 'twere more!—
Now to my first again, at the next corner.

[EXIT.]

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
Copyright © 2018 Bee Lyrics.Net