ANOTHER PART OF THE STREET.
ENTER CORBACCIO AND CORVINO;—
MOSCA PASSES OVER THE STAGE, BEFORE THEM.
See, in our habit! see the impudent varlet!
That I could shoot mine eyes at him like gun-stones.
But is this true, sir, of the parasite?
Again, to afflict us! monster!
In good faith, sir,
I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length
Should be so over-reach'd. I never brook'd
That parasite's hair; methought his nose should cozen:
There still was somewhat in his look, did promise
The bane of a clarissimo.
Yet you, that are so traded in the world,
A witty merchant, the fine bird, Corvino,
That have such moral emblems on your name,
Should not have sung your shame; and dropt your cheese,
To let the Fox laugh at your emptiness.
Sirrah, you think the privilege of the place,
And your red saucy cap, that seems to me
Nail'd to your jolt-head with those two chequines,
Can warrant your abuses; come you hither:
You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you; approach.
No haste, sir, I do know your valour well,
Since you durst publish what you are, sir.
I'd speak with you.
Sir, sir, another time—
O lord, sir! I were a wise man,
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold.
[AS HE IS RUNNING OFF, RE-ENTER MOSCA.]
What, come again!
Upon 'em, Mosca; save me.
The air's infected where he breathes.
Let's fly him.
[EXEUNT CORV. AND CORB.]
Excellent basilisk! turn upon the vulture.
Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you now;
Your winter will come on.
Prithee not rail, nor threaten out of place thus;
Thou'lt make a solecism, as madam says.
Get you a biggin more, your brain breaks loose.
Would you have me beat the insolent slave,
Throw dirt upon his first good clothes?
Is doubtless some familiar.
Sir, the court,
In troth, stays for you. I am mad, a mule
That never read Justinian, should get up,
And ride an advocate. Had you no quirk
To avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature?
I hope you do but jest; he has not done it:
'Tis but confederacy, to blind the rest.
You are the heir.
A strange, officious,
Troublesome knave! thou dost torment me.
It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozen'd;
'Tis not within the wit of man to do it;
You are so wise, so prudent; and 'tis fit
That wealth and wisdom still should go together.