–

Well, now there’s no helping it, stay here;

I’ll presently return.

[He crosses the stage.]

CORVINO:                        Where are you, Celia?

You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?

CELIA: Not well, except you told me.

CORVINO:                                           Now I will:

Hark hither.

[They talk apart.]

10    MOSCA (To BONARIO): Sir, your father hath sent word,

It will be half an hour ere he come;

And therefore, if you please to walk the while

Into that gallery – at the upper end

There are some books to entertain the time.

And I’ll take care no man shall come unto you, sir.

BONARIO: Yes, I will stay there. [Aside] I do doubt this fellow.

[Exit.]

MOSCA: There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing.

And for his father, I can keep him off.

[MOSCA stands by VOLPONE’s bed.]

CORVINO: Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore

20        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.

CELIA:                                  Sir, let me beseech you,

Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt

My chastity, why, lock me up forever;

Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live

Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.

CORVINO: Believe it, I have no such humour, I

All that I speak I mean; yet I am not mad,

30        Not horn-mad, see you? Go to, show yourself

Obedient, and a wife.

CELIA:                                  O heaven!

CORVINO:                                              I say it,

Do so.

CELIA: Was this the train?

CORVINO:                                            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.

CELIA: Before your honour?

CORVINO:                                             Honour! tut, a breath.

There’s no such thing in nature; a mere term

40        Invented to awe fools. What, is my gold

The worse for touching? clothes for being looked on?

Why, this ’s 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?

CELIA:                                        Lord! what spirit

Is this hath entered him?

CORVINO:                                            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

50        But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,

Whose lips are i’ my pocket, save yourself –

If you’ll proclaim ’t, you may. I know no other

Should come to know it.

CELIA:                                  Are heaven and saints then nothing?

Will they be blind, or stupid?

CORVINO:                                       How?

CELIA:                                                       Good sir,

Be jealous still, emulate them, and think

What hate they burn with toward every sin.

CORVINO: 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

60        That had read Aretine, conned 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 policy to assure mine own.

CELIA: O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?

VOLPONE: Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,

My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go, bring ’em.

MOSCA [advancing]: Please you draw near, sir.

70    CORVINO:                                                           Come on, what –

You will not be rebellious? By that light –

[He forces CELIA to the bed.]

MOSCA: Sir, signior corvino, here, is come to see you.

VOLPONE: oh!

MOSCA:             And hearing of the consultation had,

So lately, for your health, is come to offer,

Or rather, sir, to prostitute –

CORVINO:                                         Thanks, sweet Mosca.

MOSCA: Freely, unasked, or unentreated –

CORVINO:                                                              Well

MOSCA: As the true, fervent instance of his love,

His own most fair and proper wife, the beauty

Only of price in Venice –

CORVINO:                               ’Tis well urged.

80    MOSCA: To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.

VOLPONE: Alas, I’m 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 a stone: uh, uh, uh, uh!

Making a dead leaf grow again. I take

His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him

What I’ve done for him. Marry, my state is hopeless!

Will him to pray for me, and t’ use his fortune

With reverence when he comes to’t.

MOSCA:                                              Do you hear, sir?

90         Go to him with your wife.

CORVINO: [to CELIA]:          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.

CELIA: Sir, kill me rather. I will take down poison,

Eat burning coals, do anything –

CORVINO:                                             Be damned!

Heart! I will 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 rochet! – Do not tempt me, come.

100      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 cor’sives, on this stubborn breast.

Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I’ll do ’t!

CELIA: Sir, what you please, you may; I am your martyr.

CORVINO: Be not thus obstinate, I ha’ not deserved it.

Think who it is entreats you. Pray thee, sweet;

110      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? D’ you thirst my undoing?

MOSCA: Nay, gentle lady, be advised.

CORVINO:                                                 No, no.

She has watched her time. God’s precious, this is Scurvy,

’Tis very scurvy; and you are –

MOSCA:                                                  Nay, good sir.

CORVINO: An errant locust, by heaven, a locust! whore,

Crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,

Expecting how thou’lt bid ’em flow.

120  MOSCA:                                                          Nay, pray you, sir!

She will consider.

CELIA                          Would my life would serve

To satisfy.

CORVINO: ’Sdeath! if she would but speak to him,

And save my reputation, ’twere somewhat;

But spitefully to effect my utter ruin!

MOSCA: Ay, now you’ve 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.

130  CORVINO:                                          Sweet Celia,

Thou may’st redeem all yet; I’ll say no more.

If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there.

    [Exeunt MOSCA and CORVINO.]

CELIA: 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 circumstance,

And modesty an exile made, for money?

VOLPONE: Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds,

   He leaps off from the couch.

140      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,

150     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 hornèd flood.

Now, art thou welcome.

CELIA:                                     Sir!

VOLPONE:                                    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,

160      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,

T’ admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing.

SONG

Come, my Celia, let us prove,

While we can, the sports of love;

Time will not be ours forever,

He, at length, our good will sever;

170                          Spend not then his gifts in vain.

Suns that set may rise again;

But if once we lose 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 removèd by our wile?

180                          ’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.

CELIA: Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike

This my offending face.

VOLPONE:                            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,

190      As I feed others, but possessed and crowned.

See, here, a rope of pearl, and each more orient

Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused;

Dissolve and drink ’em. 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 ’em; yet remains an ear-ring

To purchase them again, and this whole state.

200      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 peacocks, and of estriches

Shall be our food, and, could we get the phoenix,

Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.

CELIA: 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,

210      Cannot be taken with these sensual baits.

If you have conscience –

VOLPONE:                               ’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

Gathered in bags and mixed 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,

220      My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic.

Whilst we, in changèd 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,

Attirèd like some sprightly dame of France,

Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;

Sometimes unto the Persian Sophy’s wife,

230      Or the Grand Signior’s mistress; and, for change,

To one of our most artful courtesans,

Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;

And I will meet thee in as many shapes;

Where we may so transfuse our wand’ ring souls

Out at our lips and score up sums of pleasures,

That the curious shall not know

How to tell them as they flow;

And the envious, when they find

What their number is, be pined.

240  CELIA: If you have ears that will be pierced, or eyes

That can be opened, a heart may be touched,

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 betrayed

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,

250      (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; anything

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 –

260  VOLPONE:                                    Think me cold,

Frozen, 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 parleyed.

Yield, or I’ll force thee.

[He seizes her.]

CELIA                                    O! just God!

VOLPONE:                                                    In vain –

BONARIO: Forbear, foul ravisher! libidinous swine!

He leaps out from where MOSCA had placed him.

Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor.

But that I am loath to snatch thy punishment

270      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 villainy; fear nought, you have a guard;

And he ere long shall meet his just reward.

[Exeunt BONARIO and CELIA.]

VOLPONE: Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin!

Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!

I am unmasked, unspirited, undone,

Betrayed to beggary, to infamy –

III, Viii   [Enter MOSCA, wounded and bleeding.]

[MOSCA:] Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,

To beat out my unlucky brains?

VOLPONE:                                               Here, here.

What! dost thou bleed?

MOSCA:                                  O, that his well-driven 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 engagèd by my error.

VOLPONE: Woe on thy fortune!

MOSCA:                                       And my follies, sir.

VOLPONE: Th’ hast made me miserable.

MOSCA:                                                     And myself, sir.

10        Who would have thought he would have hearkened so?

VOLPONE: What shall we do?

MOSCA:                                             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’s the like Romans,

Since we have lived like Grecians.

They knock without.

VOLPONE:                                   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.

MOSCA:                              To your couch, sir; you

20        Make that place good, however. Guilty men

Suspect what they deserve still.

[MOSCA admits CORBACCIO.]

                              Signior Corbaccio!

III, ix   [CORBACCIO:] Why, how now, Mosca?

MOSCA:                                                     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,

Entered our house with violence, his sword drawn,

Sought for you, called you wretch, unnatural,

Vowed he would kill you.

CORBACCIO:                             Me?

MOSCA:                                          Yes, and my patron.

CORBACCIO: This act shall disinherit him indeed.

Here is the will.

MOSCA:                    ’Tis well, sir.

CORBACCIO:                                 Right and well.

Be you as careful now for me.

[Enter VOLTORE, behind.]

10    MOSCA:                                              My life, sir,

Is not more tendered; I am only yours.

CORBACCIO: How does he? Will he the shortly, think’st thou?

MOSCA:                                                                I fear

He’ll outlast May.

CORBACCIO:                         Today?

MOSCA [shouting]:                         No, last out May, sir.

CORBACCIO: Couldst thou not gi’ him a dram?

MOSCA:                                                              O, by no means, sir.

CORBACCIO: Nay, I’ll not bid you.

VOLTORE:                                      This is a knave, I see.

MOSCA [aside]: How! Signior Voltore! Did he hear me?

VOLTORE:                                                                               Parasite!

MOSCA: Who’s that? O, sir, most timely welcome.

VOLTORE:                                                                  Scarce

To the discovery of your tricks, I fear.

You are his, only? And mine, also, are you not?

[CORBACCIO stands aside.]

20  MOSCA: Who? I, sir?

VOLTORE:                  You, sir. what device is this

About a will?

MOSCA:               A plot for you, sir.

VOLTORE:                                         Come,

Put not your foists upon me; I shall scent ’em.

MOSCA: Did you not hear it?

VOLTORE:                                Yes, I hear Corbaccio

Hath made your patron there his heir.

MOSCA:                                                            ’Tis true,

By my device, drawn to it by my plot,

With hope –

VOLTORE:   Your patron should reciprocate?

And you have promised?

MOSCA:                                   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;

30        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 –

VOLTORE: I cry thee mercy, Mosca.

40    MOSCA:                                            Worth your patience,

And your great merit, sir.