Ben Jonson - Volpone; Or, The Fox (Act 5 Scene 5.1) lyrics

A ROOM IN VOLPONE'S HOUSE. ENTER VOLPONE. VOLP Well, I am here, and all this brunt is past. I ne'er was in dislike with my disguise Till this fled moment; here 'twas good, in private; But in your public,—cave whilst I breathe. 'Fore God, my left leg began to have the cramp, And I apprehended straight some power had struck me With a dead palsy: Well! I must be merry, And shake it off. A many of these fears Would put me into some villanous disease, Should they come thick upon me: I'll prevent 'em. Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright This humour from my heart. [DRINKS.] Hum, hum, hum! 'Tis almost gone already; I shall conquer. Any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery, That would possess me with a violent laughter, Would make me up again. [DRINKS AGAIN.] So, so, so, so! This heat is life; 'tis blood by this time:—Mosca! [ENTER MOSCA.] MOS How now, sir? does the day look clear again? Are we recover'd, and wrought out of error, Into our way, to see our path before us? Is our trade free once more? VOLP Exquisite Mosca! MOS Was it not carried learnedly? VOLP And stoutly: Good wits are greatest in extremities. MOS It were a folly beyond thought, to trust Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit: You are not taken with it enough, methinks? VOLP O, more than if I had enjoy'd the wench: The pleasure of all woman-kind's not like it. MOS Why now you speak, sir. We must here be fix'd; Here we must rest; this is our master-piece; We cannot think to go beyond this. VOLP True. Thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious Mosca. MOS Nay, sir, To gull the court— VOLP And quite divert the torrent Upon the innocent. MOS Yes, and to make So rare a music out of discords— VOLP Right. That yet to me's the strangest, how thou hast borne it! That these, being so divided 'mongst themselves, Should not scent somewhat, or in me or thee, Or doubt their own side. MOS True, they will not see't. Too much light blinds them, I think. Each of them Is so possest and stuft with his own hopes, That any thing unto the contrary, Never so true, or never so apparent, Never so palpable, they will resist it— VOLP Like a temptation of the devil. MOS Right, sir. Merchants may talk of trade, and your great signiors Of land that yields well; but if Italy Have any glebe more fruitful than these fellows, I am deceiv'd. Did not your advocate rare? VOLP O—"My most honour'd fathers, my grave fathers, Under correction of your fatherhoods, What face of truth is here? If these strange deeds May pa**, most honour'd fathers"—I had much ado To forbear laughing. MOS VOLP: In troth, I did a little. MOS But confess, sir, Were you not daunted? VOLP In good faith, I was A little in a mist, but not dejected; Never, but still my self. MOS I think it, sir. Now, so truth help me, I must needs say this, sir, And out of conscience for your advocate: He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd, In my poor judgment, I speak it under favour, Not to contrary you, sir, very richly— Well—to be cozen'd. VOLP Troth, and I think so too, By that I heard him, in the latter end. MOS O, but before, sir: had you heard him first Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate, Then use his vehement figures—I look'd still When he would shift a shirt: and, doing this Out of pure love, no hope of gain— VOLP 'Tis right. I cannot answer him, Mosca, as I would, Not yet; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty, I will begin, even now—to vex them all, This very instant. MOS Good sir. VOLP Call the dwarf And eunuch forth. MOS Castrone, Nano! [ENTER CASTRONE AND NANO.] NANO Here. VOLP Shall we have a jig now? MOS What you please, sir. VOLP Go, Straight give out about the streets, you two, That I am dead; do it with constancy, Sadly, do you hear? impute it to the grief Of this late slander. [EXEUNT CAST. AND NANO.] MOS What do you mean, sir? VOLP O, I shall have instantly my Vulture, Crow, Raven, come flying hither, on the news, To peck for carrion, my she-wolfe, and all, Greedy, and full of expectation— MOS And then to have it ravish'd from their mouths! VOLP 'Tis true. I will have thee put on a gown, And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heir: Shew them a will; Open that chest, and reach Forth one of those that has the blanks; I'll straight Put in thy name. MOS [GIVES HIM A PAPER.]: It will be rare, sir. VOLP Ay, When they ev'n gape, and find themselves deluded— MOS Yes. VOLP And thou use them scurvily! Dispatch, get on thy gown. MOS [PUTTING ON A GOWN.]: But, what, sir, if they ask After the body? VOLP Say, it was corrupted. MOS I'll say it stunk, sir; and was fain to have it Coffin'd up instantly, and sent away. VOLP Any thing; what thou wilt. Hold, here's my will. Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink, Papers afore thee; sit as thou wert taking An inventory of parcels: I'll get up Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken; Sometime peep over, see how they do look, With what degrees their blood doth leave their faces, O, 'twill afford me a rare meal of laughter! MOS [PUTTING ON A CAP, AND SETTING OUT THE TABLE, ETC.]: Your advocate will turn stark dull upon it. VOLP It will take off his oratory's edge. MOS But your clarissimo, old round-back, he Will crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch. VOLP And what Corvino? MOS O, sir, look for him, To-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger, To visit all the streets; he must run mad. My lady too, that came into the court, To bear false witness for your worship— VOLP Yes, And kist me 'fore the fathers; when my face Flow'd all with oils. MOS And sweat, sir. Why, your gold Is such another med'cine, it dries up All those offensive savours: it transforms The most deformed, and restores them lovely, As 'twere the strange poetical girdle. Jove Could not invent t' himself a shroud more subtle To pa** Acrisius' guards. It is the thing Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty. VOLP I think she loves me. MOS Who? the lady, sir? She's jealous of you. VOLP Dost thou say so? [KNOCKING WITHIN.] MOS Hark, There's some already. VOLP Look. MOS It is the Vulture: He has the quickest scent. VOLP I'll to my place, Thou to thy posture. [GOES BEHIND THE CURTAIN.] MOS I am set. VOLP But, Mosca, Play the artificer now, torture them rarely. [ENTER VOLTORE.] VOLT How now, my Mosca? MOS [WRITING.]: "Turkey carpets, nine"— VOLT Taking an inventory! that is well. MOS "Two suits of bedding, tissue"— VOLT Where's the Will? Let me read that the while. [ENTER SERVANTS, WITH CORBACCIO IN A CHAIR.] CORB So, set me down: And get you home. [EXEUNT SERVANTS.] VOLT Is he come now, to trouble us! MOS "Of cloth of gold, two more"— CORB Is it done, Mosca? MOS "Of several velvets, eight"— VOLT I like his care. CORB Dost thou not hear? [ENTER CORVINO.] CORB Ha! is the hour come, Mosca? VOLP [PEEPING OVER THE CURTAIN.]: Ay, now, they muster. CORV What does the advocate here, Or this Corbaccio? CORB What do these here? [ENTER LADY POL. WOULD-BE.] LADY P Mosca! Is his thread spun? MOS "Eight chests of linen"— VOLP O, My fine dame Would-be, too! CORV Mosca, the Will, That I may shew it these, and rid them hence. MOS "Six chests of diaper, four of damask."—There. [GIVES THEM THE WILL CARELESSLY, OVER HIS SHOULDER.] CORB Is that the will? MOS "Down-beds, and bolsters"— VOLP Rare! Be busy still. Now they begin to flutter: They never think of me. Look, see, see, see! How their swift eyes run over the long deed, Unto the name, and to the legacies, What is bequeath'd them there— MOS "Ten suits of hangings"— VOLP Ay, in their garters, Mosca. Now their hopes Are at the gasp. VOLT Mosca the heir? CORB What's that? VOLP My advocate is dumb; look to my merchant, He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost, He faints; my lady will swoon. Old glazen eyes, He hath not reach'd his despair yet. CORB [TAKES THE WILL.]: All these Are out of hope: I am sure, the man. CORV But, Mosca— MOS "Two cabinets." CORV Is this in earnest? MOS "One Of ebony"— CORV Or do you but delude me? MOS The other, mother of pearl—I am very busy. Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me— "Item, one salt of agate"—not my seeking. LADY P Do you hear, sir? MOS "A perfum'd box"—'Pray you forbear, You see I'm troubled—"made of an onyx"— LADY P How! MOS To-morrow or next day, I shall be at leisure To talk with you all. CORV Is this my large hope's issue? LADY P Sir, I must have a fairer answer. MOS Madam! Marry, and shall: 'pray you, fairly quit my house. Nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but hark you, Remember what your ladyship offer'd me, To put you in an heir; go to, think on it: And what you said e'en your best madams did For maintenance, and why not you? Enough. Go home, and use the poor sir Pol, your knight, well, For fear I tell some riddles; go, be melancholy. [EXIT LADY WOULD-BE.] VOLP O, my fine devil! CORV Mosca, 'pray you a word. MOS Lord! will you not take your dispatch hence yet? Methinks, of all, you should have been the example. Why should you stay here? with what thought? what promise? Hear you; do not you know, I know you an a**, And that you would most fain have been a wittol, If fortune would have let you? that you are A declared cuckold, on good terms? This pearl, You'll say, was yours? right: this diamond? I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else? It may be so. Why, think that these good works May help to hide your bad. I'll not betray you; Although you be but extraordinary, And have it only in title, it sufficeth: Go home, be melancholy too, or mad. [EXIT CORVINO.] VOLP Rare Mosca! how his villany becomes him! VOLT Certain he doth delude all these for me. CORB Mosca the heir! VOLP O, his four eyes have found it. CORB I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite slave; Harlot, thou hast gull'd me. MOS Yes, sir. Stop your mouth, Or I shall draw the only tooth is left. Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch, With the three legs, that, here, in hope of prey, Have, any time this three years, snuff'd about, With your most grovelling nose; and would have hired Me to the poisoning of my patron, sir? Are not you he that have to-day in court Profess'd the disinheriting of your son? Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink. If you but croak a syllable, all comes out: Away, and call your porters! [exit corbaccio.] Go, go, stink. VOLP Excellent varlet! VOLT Now, my faithful Mosca, I find thy constancy. MOS Sir! VOLT Sincere. MOS [WRITING.]: "A table Of porphyry"—I marle, you'll be thus troublesome. VOLP Nay, leave off now, they are gone. MOS Why? who are you? What! who did send for you? O, cry you mercy, Reverend sir! Good faith, I am grieved for you, That any chance of mine should thus defeat Your (I must needs say) most deserving travails: But I protest, sir, it was cast upon me, And I could almost wish to be without it, But that the will o' the dead must be observ'd, Marry, my joy is that you need it not, You have a gift, sir, (thank your education,) Will never let you want, while there are men, And malice, to breed causes. Would I had But half the like, for all my fortune, sir! If I have any suits, as I do hope, Things being so easy and direct, I shall not, I will make bold with your obstreperous aid, Conceive me,—for your fee, sir. In mean time, You that have so much law, I know have the conscience, Not to be covetous of what is mine. Good sir, I thank you for my plate; 'twill help To set up a young man. Good faith, you look As you were costive; best go home and purge, sir. [EXIT VOLTORE.] VOLP [COMES FROM BEHIND THE CURTAIN.]: Bid him eat lettuce well. My witty mischief, Let me embrace thee. O that I could now Transform thee to a Venus!—Mosca, go, Straight take my habit of clarissimo, And walk the streets; be seen, torment them more: We must pursue, as well as plot. Who would Have lost this feast? MOS I doubt it will lose them. VOLP O, my recovery shall recover all. That I could now but think on some disguise To meet them in, and ask them questions: How I would vex them still at every turn! MOS Sir, I can fit you. VOLP Canst thou? MOS Yes, I know One o' the commandadori, sir, so like you; Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you his habit. VOLP A rare disguise, and answering thy brain! O, I will be a sharp disease unto them. MOS Sir, you must look for curses— VOLP Till they burst; The Fox fares ever best when he is curst. [EXEUNT.]