5. FREAKS, PRODIGIES, METAMORPHOSES, . . .
Presentation: Renaissance Monstrosities (art and woodcuts)
Presentation: Psychology of the Monstrous (society's fascination with the "Freak")
Readings:
E. Spenser extracts fr. The Faerie Queene (1590; ed. DWF 1999)
W. Gamage fr. Linsi-Woolsie (1613)
B. Jonson Volpone (1607 [Q1]; ed. DWF 1999)
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Readings:
from Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
Book I, Canto ii, stanzas 7 - 45
Book I of Spenser's Faerie Queene narrates the progress of the Redcross Knight (Saint George, England's patron saint), whose mission is to lend aid to Lady Una (Oneness, Truth). But the wicked enchanter, Archimago tricks him into believing that Lady Una has been unchaste. Disgusted, Redcross abandons Lady Una and becomes ensnared by the witch Duessa (doubleness, falsehood), who represents herself as Fidessa (Faithfulness).
vii.
Now when the rosy-fingered Morning fair,
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed,
Had spread her purple robe through dewy air,
And the high hills Titans discovered, [the sun
The royal virgins shook off drowsy-heads, [Una [-hood, -ness
And rising forth out of her baser bower,
Looked for her knight, who far away was fled,
And for her Dwarf, that wont to wait each hour;
Then gan she wail and weep, to see that woeful stours. [misfortune
viii.
And after him she rode with so much speed
As her slow beast could make; but all in vain:
For him so far had borne his light-foot steed,
Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce disdain,
That him to follow was but fruitless pain;
Yet she her weary limbs would never rest,
But every hill and dale, each wood and plain
Did search, sore grieved in her gentle breast,
He so ungently left her, whom she loved best.
ix.
But subtle Archimago, when his guests
He saw divided into double parts,
And Una wandering in woods and forests,
The end of his drift, he praised his devilish arts,
That had such might over true meaning hearts;
Yet rests not so, but other means doth make,
How he may work unto her further smarts:
For her he hated as the hissing snake,
And in her many troubles did most pleasure take.
x.
He then devised himself how to disguise;
For by his mighty science he could take
As many forms and shapes in seeming wise,
As ever Proteus to himself could make:
Sometime a fowl, sometime a fish in lake,
Now like a fox, now like a dragon fell,
That of himself he oft for fear would quake,
And oft would fly away. O who can tell
The hidden power of herbs, and might of Magic spell?
xi.
But now seemed best, the person to put on
Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest:
In mighty arms he was y-clad anon,
And silver shield: upon his coward breast
A bloody cross, and on his craven crest
A bunch of hairs discoloreds diversely,
Full jolly knight he seemed, and well addressed,
And when he sate upon his courser free,
Saint George himself ye would have deemed him to be.
xii.
But he the knight, whose semblant he did bear,
The true Saint George was wandered far away,
Still flying from his thoughts and jealous fear;
Will was his guide, and grief led him astray.
At last him chanced to meet upon the way
A faithless Sarazin all armed to point,
In whose great shield was writ with letters gay
Sans foy: full large of limb and every joint [without faith
He was, and cared not for God or man a point.
xiii.
He had a fair companion of his way,
A goodly Lady clad in scarlet red,
Purfled with gold and pearl of rich assay,
And like a Persian mitre on her head
She wore, with crowns and ouchess garnished, [ornaments
The which her lavish lovers to her gave;
Her wanton palfrey all was overspread
With tinsel trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bells and bosses brave.
xiv.
With fair disport and courting dalliance
She entertained her lover all the way:
But when she saw the knight his spear advance,
She soon left off her mirth and wanton play,
And bad her knight address him to the fray:
His foe was nigh at hand. He pricked with pride
And hope to win his Ladies heart that day,
Forth spurred fast: a-down his courser's side
The red blood trickling stained the way, as he did ride.
xv.
The knight of the Redcross when him he spied,
Spurring so hot with rage dispiteous,
Gan fairly couch his spear, and towards ride:
Soon meet they both, both fell and furious,
That daunted with their forces hideous,
Their steeds do stagger, and amazed stand,
And eke themselves too rudely rigorous,
Astonied with the stroke of their own hand,
Do back rebut, and each to other yieldeth land.
xvi.
As when two rams stirred with ambitious pride,
Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flock,
Their horned fronts so fierce on either side
Do meet, that with the terror of the shock
Astonied both, stand senseless as a block,
Forgetful of the hanging victory:
So stood these twain, unmoved as a rock,
Both staring fierce, and holding idly
The broken relics of their former cruelty.
xvii.
The Sarazin sore daunted with the buff
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him flies;
Who well it wards, and quitteths cuff with cuff: [requiteth, repays
Each others equal puissance envies,
And through their iron sides with cruel spiess [glances
Does seek to pierce: repining courage yields
No foot to foe. The flashing fire flies
As from a forge out of their burning shields,
And streams of purple blood new dies the verdant fields.
xviii.
Curse on that Cross (quoth then the Sarazin)
That keeps thy body from the bitter fits; [i.e., from death
Dead long ago I wote thou haddest been,
Had not that charm from theforewarned it:
But yet I warn thenow assured sit,
And hide thy head. Therewith upon his crest
With rigor so outrageous he smitt,
That a large share it hewed out of the rest,
And glancing down his shield, from blames him fairly blest. [injury
xix.
Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping spark
Of native virtue gan eftsoonss review, [by and by
And at his haughty helmet making mark,
So hugely stroke, that it the steel did rive,
And cleft his head. He tumbling down alive,
With bloody mouth his mother earth did kiss,
Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did strive
With the frail flesh; at last it flitted is,
Whither the souls do fly of men, that live amiss.
xx.
The Lady when she saw her champion fall,
Like the old ruins of a broken tower,
Staid not to wail his woeful funeral,
But from him fled away with all her power;
Who after her as hastily gan scour,
Bidding the Dwarf with him to bring away
The Sarazins shield, sign of the conqueror.
Her soon he overtook, and bad to stay,
For present cause was none of dread her to dismay.
xxi.
She turning back with rueful countenance,
Cried, Mercy mercy Sir vouchsafe to show
On silly Dame, subject to hard mischance,
And to your mighty will. Her humbless low
In so rich weeds and seeming glorious show,
Did much emmove his stout heroic heart,
And said, Dear dame, your sudden overthrow
Much rueth me; but now put fear apart,
And tell, both who ye be, and who that took your part.
xxii.
Melting in tears, then gan she thus lament;
The wretched woman, whom unhappy hour
Hath now made thrall to your commandment,
Before that angry heavens list to lower,
And fortune false betrayed me to your power,
Was, (O what now availeth that I was!)
Borne the sole daughter of an Emperor,
He that the wide West under his rule has,
And high hath set his throne, where Tiberiss doth pass. [River Tiber
xxiii.
He in the first flower of my freshest age,
Betrothed me unto the only heir
Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage;
Was never Prince so faithful and so fair,
Was never Prince so meek and debonair;
But ere my hoped day of spousal shone,
My dearest Lord fell from high honors stair,
Into the hands of his accursed fones, [foes
And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever mone.
xxiv.
His blessed body spoild of lively breath,
Was afterward, I know not how, conuaid
And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death
When tidings came to me unhappy maid,
O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid.
Then forth I went his woefull corse to find,
And many yeares throughout the world I straid,
A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind
With love, long time did languish as the striken hind.
xxv
At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin
To meete me wandring, who perforce me led
With him away, but yet could never win
The Fort, that Ladies hold in soveraigne dread.
There lies he now with foule dishonour dead,
Who whiles he liuede, was called proud Sans foy,
The eldest of three brethren, all three bred
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sans joy,
And twixt them both was borne the bloody bold Sans loy. s
[without faithfulness
xxvi.
In this sad plight, friendless, unfortunate,
Now miserable I Fidessa dwell,
Craving of you in pitty of my state,
To do none ill, if please ye not do well.
He in great passion all this while did dwell,
More busying his quick eyes, her face to view,
Then his dull eares, to heare what she did tell;
And said, Fair Lady heart of flint would rew
The undeserued woes and sorrowes, which ye shew.
xxvii.
Henceforth in safe assurance may ye rest,
Having both found a new friend you to aid,
And lost an old foe, that did you molest:
Better new friend then an old foe is said.
With chaunge of cheer the seeming simple maid
Let fall her eyen, as shamefast to the earth,
And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain-said,
So forth they rode, he feining seemely merth,
And she coy looks: so dainty they say maketh derth.
xxviii.
Long time they thus together traveiled,
Till weary of their way, they came at last,
Where grew two goodly trees, that fair did spred
Their armes abroad, with gray mosse overcast,
And their greene leaves trembling with every blast,
Made a calme shadow far in compasse round:
The fearefull Shepheard often there aghast
Under them never sat, nes wont there sound [nor
His mery oaten pipe, but shund th' unlucky ground.
xxix.
But this good knight soone as he them can spie,
For the coole shade him thither hastly got:
For golden Phoebus now ymounted hie,
From fiery wheeles of his fair chariot
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot,
That living creature motes it not abide; [might
And his new Lady it endured not.
There they alight, in hope themselves to hide
From the fierce heat, and rest their weary limbs a tide.
xxx.
Fair seemely pleasaunce each to other makes,
With goodly purposes there as they sit:
And in his falsèds fancy he her takes [deceived
To be the fairst wight, that lived yit;
Which to express, he bends his gentle wit,
And thinking of those braunches greene to frame
A girlond for her dainty forehead fit,
He pluck'd a bough; out of whose rift there came
Small drops of gory blood, that trickled downe the same.
xxxi.
Therewith a piteous yelling voyce was heard,
Crying, O spare with guilty hands to teare
My tender sides in this rough rynd embard,
But fly, ah fly far hence away, for feare
Least to you hap, that happened to me heare,
And to this wretched Lady, my deare love,
O too deare love, love brought with death too deare.
Astond he stood, and up his haire did hove,
And with that suddein horror could no member move.
xxxii.
At last whenas the dreadfull passion
Was overpast, and manhood well awake,
Yet musing at the straunge occasion,
And doubting much his sence, he thus bespake;
What voyce of damned Ghost from Limbo lake,
Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire,
Both which fraile men do oftentimes mistake,
Sends to my doubtfull eares these speaches rare,
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltless blood to spare?
xxxiii.
Then groning deepe, Nor damned Ghost, (quoth he,)
Nor guilefull sprite to thethese wordes doth speake,
But once a man Fradubios, now a tree, ["brother-doubt"
Wretched man, wretched tree; whose nature weake,
A cruell witch her cursed will to wreake,
Hath thus transformd, and plast in open plaines,
Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake,
And scorching Sunne does dry my secret vaines:
For though a tree I seeme, yet cold and heat me paines.
xxxiv.
Say on Fradubio then, or man, or tree,
Quoth then the knight, by whose mischieuous arts
Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see?
He oft finds med'cine, who his griefe imparts;
But double griefs afflict concealing hearts,
As raging flames who striveth to suppress.
The author then (said he) of all my smarts,
Is one Duessa a false sorceress,
That many errant knights hath brought to wretchedness.
xxxv.
In prime of youthly yeares, when corage hot
The fire of love and joy of cheualree
First kindled in my brest, it was my lot
To love this gentle Lady, whom ye see,
Now not a Lady, but a seeming tree;
With whom as once I rode accompanyde,
Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee,
That had a like fair Lady by his syde,
Like a fair Lady, but did fowle Duessa hyde.
xxxvi.
Whose forged beauty he did take in hand,
All other Dames to have exceeded farre;
I in defence of mine did likewise stand,
Mine, that did then shine as the Morning starre:
So both to battell fierce arraunged arre,
In which his harder fortune was to fall
Under my speare: such is the dye of warre:
His Lady left as a prise martiall,
Did yield her comely person, to be at my call.
xxxvii.
So doubly loued of Ladies unlike fair,
th' one seeming such, the other such indeede,
One day in doubt I cast for to compare,
Whethers in beauties glorie did exceede; [Which
A Rosy girlond was the victors meede:
Both seemedto win, and both seemed wons to be, [overcome
So hard the discord was to be agreede.
Fraelissas was as fair, as fair mote be, ["frail one"
And ever false Duessa seemed as fair as shee.
xxxviii.
The wicked witch now seeing all this while
The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway,
What not by right, she cast to win by guile,
And by her hellish science raisd streight way
A foggy mist, that overcast the day,
And a dull blast, that breathing on her face,
Dimmed her former beauties shining ray,
And with foule vgly forme did her disgrace:
Then was she fair alone, when none was fair in place.
xxxix.
Then cried she out, Fye, fye, deformed wight,
Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth plaine
To have before bewitched all mens sight;
O leave her soone, or let her soone be slaine.
Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine,
Eftsoones I thought her such, as she me told,
And would have kild her; but with faigned paine,
The false witch did my wrathfull hand with-hold;
So left her, where she now is turned to treen molds. [tree's-shape
xl.
Thenceforth I tooke Duessa for my Dame,
And in the witch unweetingsjoyed long time, [unwittingly
Ne ever wist, but that she was the same,
Till on a day (that day is every Prime,
When Witches wont do penance for their crime)
I chaunst to see her in her proper hew,
Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme:
A filthy foule old woman I did vew,
That ever to have toucht her, I did deadly rew.
xli.
Her nether partes misshapen, monstruous,
Were hidd in water, that I could not see,
But they did seeme more foule and hideous,
Then womans shape man would beleeve to bee.
Thenceforth from her most beastly companie
I gan refraine, in mind to slip away,
Soone as appeard safe opportunitie:
For danger great, if not assured decay
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne to stray.
xlii.
The divelish hag by chaunges of my cheer
Perceiued my thought, and drownd in sleepie night,
With wicked herbes and ointments did besmeare
My bodie all, through charmes and magick might,
That all my senses were bereaved quight:
Then brought she me into this desert waste,
And by my wretched lovers side me pights, [put
Where now enclosd in wooden wals full faste,
Banisht from living wights, our wearie dayes we waste.
xliii.
But how long time, said then the Elfin knight,
Are you in this misformed house to dwell?
We may not chaunge (quoth he) this evil plight,
Till we be bathed in a living well;
That is the terme prescribed by the spell.
O how, said he, motes I that well out find, [might
That may restore you to your wonted weals? [usual well-being
Time and suffised fates to former kynd
Shall us restore, none else from hence may us unbynd.
xliv.
The false Duessa, now Fidessa hights, [called
Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament,
And knew well all was true. But the good knight
Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment,
When all this speech the living tree had spent,
The bleeding bough did thrust into the ground,
That from the blood he might be innocent,
And with fresh clay did close the wooden wound:
Then turning to his Lady, dead with feare her found.
Her seeming dead he found with feigned fears, [faked swoon
As all unweeting of that well she knew,
And paynd himselfe with busie care to reare
Her out of careless swowne. Her eylids blew
And dimmed sight with pale and deadly hew
At last she up gan lift: with trembling cheer
Her up he tooke, too simples and too trew, [naive
And oft her kist. At length all passed feare,
He set her on her steede, and forward forth did beare.
["The Bower of Bliss"
from Book II, Canto xii, stanzas 42-87
The Bower of Bliss is the domain of
that Enchaunteress,
The vile Acrasia, that with vaine delightes,
And idle pleasures in her Bowre of Blisse,
Does charme her lovers, and the feeble sprightes
Can call out of the bodies of fraile wightes:
Whom then she does transforme to monstruous hues,
And horribly misshapes with vgly sightes,
Captiued eternally in yron mewes,
And darksom dens, where Titan his face never shewes.
(II.v.2 1-9)
In Book II, Canto xii, Spenser's champion, Sir Guyon, enters the Bower of Bliss under the guidance of a holy palmer, and "passing through perils great, / Doth overthrow the Bowre of blisse, / and Acrasie defeat" (II.xii.A2-4).
xlii.
Thence passing forth, they shortly do arrive,
Whereas the Bowre of Blisse was situate;
A place pick'd out by choice of best alive,
That natures worke by art can imitate:
In which what ever in this worldly state
Is sweet, and pleasing unto living sense,
Or that may dayntiest fantasie aggrates, [gratify
Was poured forth with plentifull dispence,
And made there to abound with lavish affluence.
xliii.
Goodly it was enclosed round about,
Aswell their entred guests to keepe within,
As those unruly beasts to hold without;
Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin;
Nought feard their force, that fortilage to win,
But wisdomes powre, and temperaunces might,
By which the mightiest things efforced bin:
And eke the gate was wrought of substaunce light,
Rather for pleasure, then for battery or fight.
xliv.
It framed was of precious yvory,
That seemd a worke of admirable wit;
And therein all the famous history
Of Jason and Medaea was ywrit;
Her mighty charmes, her furious loving fit,
His goodly conquest of the golden fleece,
His falsed faith, and love too lightly flit,
The wondred Argo, which in venturous peece
First through the Euxine seas bore all the flowr of Greece.
xlv.
Ye might have seene the frothy billowes frys [foam
Under the ship, as thoroughs them she went, [through
That seemd the waves were into yvory,
Or yvory into the waves were sent;
And other where the snowy substaunce sprents [sprinkled
With vermell, like the boyes blood therein shed,
A piteous spectacle did represent,
And otherwhiles with gold besprinkeled;
It seemed th' enchaunted flame, which did Creüsas wed.
[Creüsa, Jason's bride-to-be, burned to death in wedding garment
received from the jelous Medusa
xlvi.
All this, and more might in that goodly gate
Be red; that ever open stood to all,
Which thither came: but in the Porch there sate
A comely personage of stature tall,
And semblaunce pleasing, more then naturall,
That travellers to him seemd to entize;
His looser garment to the ground did fall,
And flew about his heeles in wanton wise,
Not fit for speedy pace, or manly exercise.
xlvii.
They in that place him Genius did call:
Not that celestiall powre, to whom the care
Of life, and generation of all
That lives, pertaines in charge particulare,
Who wondrous things concerning our welfare,
And straunge phantomes doth let us oft forsee,
And oft of secret ill bids us beware:
That is our Selfe, whom though we do not see,
Yet each doth in him selfe it well perceive to bee.
xlviii.
Therefore a God him sage Antiquity
Did wisely make, and good Agdistes call:
But this same was to that quite contrary,
The foe of life, that good envyes to all,
That secretly doth us procure to fall,
Through guilefull semblaunts, which he make us see.
He of this Gardin had the governall,
And Pleasures porter was devizd to bee,
Holding a staffe in hand for more formalitee.
xli.
With diverse flowres he daintily was deck'd,
And strowed round about, and by his side
A mighty Mazer bowle of wine was set,
As if it had to him been sacrifieds; [consecrated
Wherewith all new-come guests he gratifide:
So did he eke Sir Guyon passing by:
But he his idle curtesie defide,
And overthrew his bowle disdainfully;
And broke his staffe, with which he charmed semblants sly.s
[conjured up apparitions
l.
Thus being entred, they behold around
A large and spacious plain, on every side
Strowed with pleasauns, whose faire grassy ground
Mantled with green, and goodly beautifide
With all the ornaments of Floraes pride,
Wherewith her mother Art, as halfe in scorn
Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride
Did deck her, and too lavishly adorn,
When forth from virgin bowre she comes in th' early morn.
li.
Thereto the Heavens alwayes Joviall,
Look'd on them lovely, still in stedfast state,
Nes suffred storme nor frost on them to fall, [Neither, Nor
Their tender buds or leaves to violate,
Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate
T'afflict the creatures, which therein did dwelle
But the milde aire with season moderate
Gently attempred, and disposd so well,
That still it breathed forth sweet spirit and holesome smell.
lii.
More sweet and holesome, then the pleasaunt hill
Of Rhodopes, on which the Nimphe, that bore
A giant babes, her selfe for griefe did kill; [her son by Neptune
Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore
Faire Daphne Phoebus hart with love did gore;
Or Ida, where the Gods loved to repaire,
When ever they their heavenly bowres forlore;
Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of Muses faire;
Or Eden selfe, if ought with Eden motes compaire. [might
liii.
Much wondred Guyon at the faire aspect
Of that sweet place, yet suffred no delight
To sink into his sence, nor mind affect,
But passed forth, and look'd still forward right,
Bridling his will, and maistering his might:
Till that he came unto another gate,
No gate, but like one, being goodly dight
With boughes and braunches, which did broad dilate
Their clasping armes, in wanton wreathings intricate.
liv.
So fashioned a Porch with rare device,
Archt over head with an embracing vine,
Whose bounches hanging downe, seemed to entice
All passers by, to tast their lushious wine,
And did themselves into their hands incline,
As freely offering to be gathered:
Some deepe empurpled as the Hyacine,
Some as the Rubine, laughing sweetly red,
Some like faire Emeraudes, not yet well ripened.
lv.
And them amongst, some were of burnisht gold,
So made by art, to beautifie the rest,
Which did themselves emongst the leaves enfold,
As lurking from the vew of covetous guest,
That the weake bowes, with so rich load opprest,
Did bow adowne, as over-burdened.
Under that Porch a comely dame did rest,
Clad in faire weedes, but fowle disordered,
And garments loose, that seemd unmeet for womanheads.
[womanhood
lvi.
In her left hand a Cup of gold she held,
And with her right the riper fruit did reach,
Whose sappy liquor, that with fulness sweld,
Into her cup she scruzeds, with daintie breach [squeezed
Of her fine fingers, without foul impeachs, [staining
That so faire wine-press made the wine more sweet:
Thereof she usd to give to drinke to each,
Whom passing by she happened to meet:
It was her guise, all Straungers goodly so to greet.
lvii.
So she to Guyon offred it to tast;
Who taking it out of her tender hond,
The cup to ground did violently cast,
That all in peeces it was broken fond,
And with the liquor stained all the lond:
Whereat Excess exceedingly was wroth,
Yet no'tes the same amend, ne yet withstond, [could not
But suffered him to passe, all were she loath. [although she was
Who nought regarding her displeasure forward goeth.
lviii.
There the most daintie Paradise on ground,
It selfe doth offer to his sober eye,
In which all pleasures plenteously abound,
And none does others happiness envye;
The painted flowres, the trees upshooting hye,
The dales for shade, the hilles for breathing space,
The trembling groves, the crystals running by; [i.e., water
And that, which all faire workes doth most aggrace,
The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place.
li.
One would have thought, (so cunningly, the rude,
And scorned parts were mingled with the fine,)
That nature had for wantoness ensude
Art, and that Art at nature did repine;
So striving each th' other to undermine,
Each did the others worke more beautifie;
So diff'ring both in willes, agreed in fines: [in the end
So all agreed through sweete diversitie,
This Garden to adorne with all varietie.
l.
And in the midst of all, a fountaine stood,
Of richest substaunce, that on earth might bee,
So pure and shiny, that the silver flood
Through every channell running one might see;
Most goodly it with curious imageree
Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes,
Of which some seemd with lively jollitee,
To fly about, playing their wanton toys, [games
Whilest others did themselves embay in liquid joys.
lxi.
And over all, of purest gold was spred,
A trayle of ivie in his native hew:
For the rich mettall was so coloured,
That wight, who did not well avised it vew,
Would surely deeme it to be ivie trew:
Low his lascivious armes adown did creepe,
That themselves dipping in the silver dew,
Their fleecy flowres they tenderly did steepe,
Which drops of Christall seemd for wantones to weepe.
lxii.
Infinite streames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, sweet and faire to see,
The which into an ample laver fell,
And shortly grew to so great quantitie,
That like a little lake it seemd to bee:
Whose depth exceeded not three cubits hight,
That through the waves one might the bottom see,
All paved beneath with Jaspar shining bright,
That seemed the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright.
lxiii.
And all the margent round about was set,
With shady Laurell trees, thence to defends [ward off
The sunny beames, which on the billowes bet,
And those which therein bathed, mote offend.
As Guyon hapned by the same to wend,
Two naked Damzelles he therein espyde,
Which therein bathing, seemed to contend,
And wrestle wantonly, ne cared to hyde,
Their dainty parts from vew of any, which them eyde.
lxiv.
Sometimes the one would lift the other quight
Above the waters, and then downe againe
Her plong, as over maistered by might,
Where both awhile would covered remaine,
And each the other from to rise restraine;
The whiles their snowy limbes, as through a vele,
So through the Christall waves appeared plaine:
Then suddeinly both would themselves unheles, [uncover
And th' amarous sweet spoiles to greedy eyes revele.
lxv.
As that faire Starre, the messenger of morne,
His deawy face out of the sea doth reare:
Or as the Cyprian goddesss, newly borne [Venus
Of th' Oceans fruitfull froth, did first appeare:
Such seemed they, and so their yellow heare
Christalline humour dropped downe apace.
Whom such when Guyon saw, he drew him neare,
And somewhat gan relent his earnest pace,
His stubborne brest gan secret pleasaunce to embrace.
lxvi.
The wanton Maidens him espying, stood
Gazing a while at his unwonted guise;
Then th' one her selfe low ducked in the flood,
Abasht, that her a straunger did a vise:
But th' other rather higher did arise,
And her two lilly paps aloft displayd,
And all, that might his melting hart entise
To her delights, she unto him bewrayd:
The rest hid underneath, him more desirous made.
lxvii.
With that, the other likewise up arose,
And her faire locks, which formerly were bownd
Up in one knot, she low adowne did lose:
Which flowing long and thick, her cloth' d arownd,
And th' ivorie in golden mantle gownd:
So that faire spectacle from him was reft,
Yet that, which reft it, no less faire was fownd:
So hid in locks and waves from lookers theft,
Nought but her lovely face she for his looking left.
lxviii.
Withall she laughed, and she blusht withall,
That blushing to her laughter gave more grace,
And laughter to her blushing, as did fall:
Now when they spied the knight to slack his pace,
Them to behold, and in his sparkling face
The secret signes of kindled lust appeare,
Their wanton meriments they did encreace,
And to him beckned, to approch more neare,
And shewd him many sights, that courage colds could rear.
[unaroused feelings
lxix.
On which when gazing him the Palmer saw,
He much rebuk'd those wandring eyes of his,
And counseled well, him forward thence did draw.
Now are they come nigh to the Bower of blis
Of hers fond favorites so named amiss: [Acrasia's
When thus the Palmer; Now Sir, well avise;
For here the end of all our travell is:
Here woness Acrasia, whom we must surprise, [dwells
Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise.
lxx.
Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound,
Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,
Such as attonces might not on living ground, [at one time
Save in this Paradise, be heard elswhere:
Right hard it was, for wight, which did it heare,
To read, what manner musick that mote bee:
For all that pleasing is to living eare,
Was there consorted in one harmonee,
Birdes, voyces, instruments, winds, waters, all agree.
lxxi.
The joyous birdes shrouded in cheerfull shade,
Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet;
th' Angelicall soft trembling voyces made
To th' instruments divine respondence meets: [fitting
The silver sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmur of the waters fall:
The waters fall with difference discreet,
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call:
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.
lxxii.
There, whence that Musick seemed heard to bee,
Was the faire Witch her selfe now solacing,
With a new Lover, whom through sorceree
And witchcraft, she from farre did thither bring:
There she had him now layd a slombering,
In secret shade, after long wanton joyes:
Whilst round about them pleasauntly did sing
Many faire Ladies, and lascivious boyes,
That ever mixt their song with light licentious toyes.
lxxiii.
And all that while, right over him she hong,
With her false eyes fast fixed in his sight,
As seeking medicine, whence she was stong,
Or greedily depasturings delight: [devouring
And oft inclining downe with kisses light,
For feare of waking him, his lips bedewd,
And through his humid eyes did suck his sprites, [spirit
Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd;
Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case she rewd.
lxxiv.
The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay;
Ah see, who so faire thing doest fains to see, [desire
In springing flowre the image of thy day;
Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee
Doth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee,
That fairer seemes, the less ye see her may;
So see soone after, how more bold and free
Her bared bosome she doth broad display;
Lo, see soone after, how she fades, and falles away.
lxxv.
So passeth, in the passing of a day,
Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,
Ne more doth flourish after first decay,
That earst was sought to deck both bed and bowre,
Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre:
Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is primes, [early
For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre:
Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time,
Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equal crimes.
[accountability
lxxvi.
He ceast, and then gan all the quire of birdes
Their diverse notes t'attune unto his lay,
As in approvance of his pleasing words.
The constant pairs heard all, that he did say, [Guyon & the palmer
Yet swarved not, but kept their forward way,
Through many covert groves, and thickets close,
In which they creeping did at last displays [discover
That wanton Ladie, with her lover lose,
Whose sleepie head she in her lap did soft dispose.
lxxvii.
Upon a bed of Roses she was layd,
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin,
And was arayd, or rather disarayd,
All in a vele of silke and silver thin,
That hid no whit her alablaster skin,
But rather shewd more white, if more might bee:
More subtile web Arachne can not spin,
Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see
Of scorched deaw, do not in th' aire more lightly flee.
lxxviii.
Her snowy brest was bare to readie spoyle,
Of hungry eies, which n'ote therewith be fild,
And yet through languour of her late sweet toyle,
Few drops, more cleare then Nectar, forth distild,
That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild,
And her faire eyes sweet smyling in delight,
Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild
Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like starry light
Which sparkling on the silent waves, does seeme more bright.
lxxix.
The young man sleeping by her, seemd to bee
Some goodly swayne of honorable place,
That certes it great pittie was to see
Him his nobilitie so foule deface;
A sweet regard, and amiable grace,
Mixed with manly sternness did appeare
Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond face,
And on his tender lips the downy heare
Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossomes beare.
lxxx.
His warlike armes, the idle instruments
Of sleeping praise, were hong upon a tree,
And his brave shield, full of old monimentss, [emblazoned heraldry
Was fowly ra'st, that none the signes might see;
Ne for them, ne for honour cared hee,
Ne ought, that did to his advauncement tend,
But in lewd loves, and wastfull luxuree,
His dayes, his goods, his bodie he did spend:
O horrible enchantment, that him so did blends. [blind; defile
lxxxi.
The noble Elfs, and careful Palmer drew [Sir Guyon
So nigh them, minding nought, but lustfull game,
That suddein forth they on them rusht, and threw
A subtile net, which onely for the same
The skilfull Palmer formallys did frame. [fittingly
So held them under fast, the whiles the rest
Fled all away for feare of fowler shame.
The faire Enchauntress, so unwares opprest,
Tried all her arts, and all her sleights, thence out to wrest.
lxxxii.
And eke her lover strove: but all in vaine;
For that same net so cunningly was wound,
That neither guile, nor force might it distrains. [tear off
They tooke them both, and both them strongly bound
In captive bands, which there they readie found:
But her in chaines of adamant he tyde;
For nothing else might keepe her safe and sound;
But Verdant (so he hights) he soone untyde, [was called
And counsell sage in steed thereof to him applyde.
lxxxiii.
But all those pleasant bowres and Pallace brave,
Guyon broke downe, with rigour pittiless;
Ne ought their goodly workmanship might save
Them from the tempest of his wrathfulness,
But that their blisse he turned to balefulness:
Their groves he feld, their gardins did deface,
Their arbers spoyle, their cabinetss suppress, [summer cabins
Their banket houses burne, their buildings race,
And of the fairest late, now made the fowlest place.
lxxxiv.
Then led theys her away, and eke that knight [Guyon & palmer
They with them led, both sorrowfull and sad:
The way they came, the same retourned they right,
Till they arrived, where they lately had
Charmed those wild-beasts, that raged with furie mad.
Which now awaking, fierce at them gan fly,
As in their mistress reskew, whom they lad;
But them the Palmer soone did pacify.
Then Guyon ask'd, what meant those beastes, which there did lie.
lxxxv.
Said he, These seeming beasts are men indeed,
Whom this Enchauntress hath transformed thus,
Whylome her lovers, which her lusts did feed,
Now turned into figures hideous,
According to their minds like monstruous.
Sad end (quoth he) of life intemperate,
And mournefull meed of joyes delicious:
But Palmer, if it mote thee so aggrates, [gratify
Let them returned be unto their former state.
lxxxvi.
Streightway he with his vertuous staffe them strooke,
And streight of beasts they comely men became;
Yet being men they did unmanly looke,
And stared ghastly, some for inward shame,
And some for wrath, to see their captive Dame:
But one above the rest in speciall,
That had an hog beene late, hight Grille by name,
Repined greatly, and did him miscalls, [revile
That had from hoggish forme him brought to naturall.
lxxxvii.
Said Guyon, See the mind of beastly man,
That hath so soone forgot the excellence
Of his creation, when he life began,
That now he chooseth, with vile difference,
To be a beast, and lack intelligence.
To whom the Palmer thus, The donghill kind
Delights in filth and foul incontinence:
Let Grill be Grill, and have his hoggish mind,
But let us hence depart, whilest whether serves and wind.
====================================================== William Gamage, fr. Linsi-Woolsie (1613)
[verses accompanying the picture of a monostrous birth]
Sith monsters, as some learned men declare,
Do demonstrate to us our monstrous life,
Repentantly let us our hearts prepare,
Sin to avoid, wherein our feet be rife:
For why, we walk devoid of love, in strife.
And, for the most part, counsel men do scorn,
Which monstrous ways cause monsters to be born.
Behold those eyes which monstrously strout out,
Which typeth forth our boldness to do ill,
And where it hath no forehead, without doubt, 10
The lack of shame right plainly show it will.
Such shameless grace we see frequented still,
Whiles we stoutly our naughty ways defend,
And seem God’s Word to mock and reprehend.
It hath no neck, which may also express
That lack of love doth reign in every wight.
No paps nor teats, which signifieth no less
But that we do regard no truth nor right.
To nourish virtue few have now delight,
But pride, and foolish fond and vain attire. 20
Of women chiefly now is the desire,
Such ruffs, such rolls, such foolish tricks beside,
More heathen-like than any Turk doth use:
In wicked ways thus boldly do we glide,
/... /
Let us therefore have sufficient regard
To these great works of God showed to us:
Least death and hell do shortly us reward,
For these our sins that we committed thus, 60
Let learned wits now more at large discuss,
By these great monstrous tokens what is meant
But in the mean space, let us all repent.
.
======================================================
Volpone
by Ben Jonson
Edited from 1607 Quarto (STC 14783) by DWF (1999)
Volpone, a magnifico [dude]
Mosca, his parasite [sponge]
Voltore, an advocate [magistrate]
Corbaccio, an old gentleman
Corvino, a merchant
Celia, Corvino's wife
Bonario, son to Corbaccio
Sir Politic Would-be, a knight
Lady Would-be Sir Politic's Wife
Peregrin, a gentleman traveler
Nano, a dwarf
Castrone, an eunuch
Androgyno, an hermaphrodite
Grege (or Mob)
Commendatori, officers of police
Mercatori, three merchants
Avocatori, four magistrates
Notario, the register [notary public]
Servitori Servants, two waiting-women, etc.
Act 1
Scene 1: Venice
Volpone.
Good morning to the day; and, next, my Gold:
Open the shrine, that I may see my Saint.
Hayle the worlds soule, and mine. More glad then is
The teeming earth, to see the longd-for Sunne
Peepe through the horns of the Caelestiall Ram,
Am I, to view thy splendor, darkening his:
That lying here, amongst my other hoordes,
Shew'st like a flame, by night; or like the Day
Strook out of Chaos, when all darkenes fled
Unto the center. O thou Son of Sol,
(But brighter then thy father) let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relique
Of sacred treasure, in this blessed room.
Well did wise Poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age, which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things: and far transcending
All stile of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dreame on earth.
Thy lookes when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids;
Such are thy beauties, and our loves. Dear Saint,
Riches, the dombe God, that givest all men tongues;
That canst do naught, and yet mak'st men do all things;
The price of soules; even hell, with theto boote,
Is made worth heaven. Thou art vertue, fame,
Honor, and all things else. Who can get thee
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise, --
Mosca:
And what he will Sir. Riches are in fortune
A greater good, then wisedom is in nature.
Volpone:
True, my beloved Mosca. Yet, I glory
More in the cunning purchasse of my wealth,
Then in the glad possession; since I gaine
No cowmon way: I use no trade, no venter;
I wound no earth with plow-shares; fat no beasts
To feede the Shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oyle, corne, or men, to grind them into poulder;
I blow no subtill glasse; expose no shipps
To threatnings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turne no moneys, in the public banke;
Nor usure private.
Mosca:
No Sir, nor devoure
Soft prodigalls. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heire, as glibly, as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne're purge for it;
Tear forth the fathers of poor families
Out of their beds, and coffin them alive,
In some kind, clasping prison, where their bones
May be forth-coming, when the flesh is rotten:
But your sweet nature doth abhorre these courses;
You loath, the widdowes, or the orphans tears
Should washe your pavements; or their pityous cries
Ring in your roofes: and beate the air, for vengeance.
Volpone:
Right, Mosca, I do loath it.
Mosca:
And besides, Sir,
You are not like a thresher, that doth stand
With a huge flaile, watching a heape of corne,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,
But feeds on mallowes, and such bitter herbes;
Nor like the merchant, who hath filled his vaults
With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombards vineger:
You will not lie in straw, whilst mothes, and worms
Feed on your sumptuous hangings, and soft bedds.
You know the use of riches, and dare give, now,
From that bright heape, to me, your poor observer,
Or to your Dwarfe, or your Hermaphrodite,
Your Eunuch, or what other houshold-trifle
Your pleasure allowes maint'nance.
Volpone:
Hold thee, Mosca,
Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth, in all:
And they are enuious, terme theParasite.
Call forth my Dwarfe, my Eunuch, and my Fool,
And let them make me sport. What should I do,
But cocker up my Genius, and live free
To all delights, my fortune calls me too?
I have no wife, no parent, childe, allye,
To give my substance too; but whom I make,
Must be my heir: and this makes men observe me,
This draws new clients, dayly, to my house,
Women, and men, of every sex, and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coyne, jewels,
With hope, that when I die, (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then returne
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seeke to engrosse me, whole,
And counter-worke, the one, unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seeme, in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coyne them into profit,
To look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still, bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
Nano:
And, draw it, by their mouths, and back againe. How now!
Scene 2
Nano:
Now room, for fresh Gamsters, who do will you to know,
They do bring you neither Play, nor university Show;
And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they reherse,
May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pase of the verse.
If you wonder at this, you will wonder more, ere we passe,
For know, here is inclosed the Soule of Pithagoras,
That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow;
Which Soule (fast, and loose, sir) came first from Apollo,
And was breath' d into Aethalides; Mercurius his son,
Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done.
From thence it fled forth, and made quicke transmigration
To goldy-locked Euphorbus, who was killed, in good fashion,
At the seege of old Troy, by the Cuckold of Sparta.
Hermotimus was next (I find it, in my Charta')
To whom it did passe, where no sooner it was missing,
But with one Pirrhus, of Delos, it learned to go a fishing:
And thence, did it enter the Sophist of Greece.
From Pithagore, she went into a beautifull peece,
Hight Aspasia, the Meretrix; and the next tosse of her
Was, again, of a Whore, she became a Philosopher,
Crates the Cynick: (as itself doth relate it)
Since, Kings, Knights, and Beggars, Knaves, Lords and Fools gat it,
Besides, Ox, and Asse, cammel, Mule, Goat, and Brock,
In all which it hath spoke, as in the Coblers Cock.
But I come not here, to discourse of that matter,
Or his One, Two, or Three, or his greath Oath, by Quater,
His Musicks, his Trigon, his golden Thigh,
Or his telling how Elements shift: but I
Would aske, how of late, thou best suffered translation,
And shifted thy coat, in these dayes of Reformation?
Androgyno:
Like one of the Reformed, a Fool, as you see,
Counting all old Doctrine heresie:
Nano:
But not on thine own forbid meates hast thou ventered?
Androgyno:
On fish, when first, a Carthusian I entered.
Nano:
Why, then thy dogmaticall Silence hath left thee?
Androgyno:
Of that an obstreperous Lawyer bereft me.
Nano:
O wonderfull change! when Sir Lawyer forsook thee,
For Pithagore's sake, what body then took thee?
Androgyno:
A good dull Moil.
Nano:
And how?: by that means,
Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of Beans?
Androgyno:
Yes.
Nano:
But, from the Moil, into whom didst thou passe?
Androgyno:
Into a very strange Beast, by some Writers caled an Asse;
By others, a precise, pure, illuminate Brother,
Of those devoure flesh, and sometimes one an other:
And will drop you forth a libell, or a sanctified lie,
Betwixt every spooneful of a Nativity Pie.
Nano:
Now quit thee, for Heaven, of that profane nation;
And gently, report thy next transmigration.
Androgyno:
To the same that I am.
Nano:
A Creature of delight?
And (what is more then a Fool) an Hermaphrodite?
Now 'pray thee, sweet Soule, in all thy variation,
Which Body wouldst thou choose, to take up thy station?
Androgyno:
Troth, this I am in, even here would I tarry.
Nano:
Because here, the delight of each Sex thou canst varie?
Androgyno:
Alas, those pleasures be stale, and forsaken;
No, it is your Fool, wherewith I am so taken,
The only one Creature, that I can call blessed:
For all other forms I have proved most distressed.
Nano:
Spoke true, as thou wert in Pithagoras still.
This learned opinion we celebrate will,
Fellow Eunuch (as behooves us) with all our wit, and arte,
To dignify that, whereof our selves are so great, and special a part.
Volpone:
Now very, very pretty: Mosca, this
Was thy invention?
Mosca:
If it please my Patron,
Not else.
Volpone:
It doth good Mosca.
Mosca:
Then it was Sir
Androgyno:
Fools, they are the only Nation
Worth mens enuy, or admiration;
Free from care, or sorrow-taking,
Themselves, and others merry making:
All they speake, or do, is sterling.
Your Fool, he is your great man's dearling,
And your Ladies sport, and pleasure;
Tongue, and Bable are his treasure.
His very face begetteth laughter,
And he speakes truth, free from slaughter;
He is the grace of every feast,
And, sometimes, the cheefest guest:
Hath his trencher, and his stool,
When wit shall waite upon the Fool:
O, who would not be
He, he, he?
Volpone:
Who is that? away, look Mosca.
Mosca:
Fool, be gon,
It is Signior Voltore, the Advocate,
I know him, by his knock.
Volpone:
Fetch me my gowne,
My furres, and night-caps; say, my couch is changing:
And let him intertaine himselfe, a while,
Within in the gallery. Now, now, my clients
Beginne their visitation; Vulture, Kite,
Raven, and gor-Crowe, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcasse, now they come:
I am not for them yet. How now? the newes?
Mosca:
A peece of plate, Sir.
Volpone:
Of what bigness?
Mosca:
Huge,
Massie, and antique, with your name inscribed,
And arms ingraven.
Volpone:
Good, And not a Fox
Stretched on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,
Mocking a gaping Crow? ha, Mosca?
Mosca:
Sharpe, Sir.
Volpone:
Give me my furres. Why dost thou laugh so, man?
Mosca:
I cannot choose, Sir, when I apprehend
What thoughts he has (within) now, as he walks:
That this might be the last gift, he should give;
That this would fetch you; if you died to day,
And gave him all, what he should be to morrow;
What large returne would come of all his venters;
How he should worshiped be, and reverenced;
Ride, with his furres, and foote-cloths; waited on
By heards of Fools, and clients; have clear way
Made for his moil, as lettered as himselfe;
Be cald the great, and learned Advocate:
And then concludes, there is nought impossible.
Volpone:
Yes, to be learned, Mosca;
Mosca:
O no: rich
Implies it. Hood an asse, with reverend purple,
So you can hide his two ambitious ears,
And, he shall passe for a cathedrall Doctor.
Volpone:
My caps, my caps, good Mosca, fetch him in.
Mosca:
Stay, Sir, your ointment for your eyes.
Volpone:
That is true;
Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession
Of my new present.
Mosca:
That, and thousands more,
I hope, to see you lord of.
Volpone:
Thankes, kind Mosca.
Mosca:
And that, when I am lost in blended dust,
And hundred such, as I am, in succession --
Volpone:
Nay, that were too much, Mosca.
Mosca:
You shall live,
Still, to delude these Harpyeis.
Volpone:
Loving Mosca,
It is well, my pillow now, and let him enter.
Now, my fained Cough, my Pthisick, and my Goute,
My Apoplexie, Palsie, and Catarrhe,
Helpe, with your forced functions, this my posture,
Wherein, this three year, I have milked their hopes.
He comes, I hear him (uh, uh, uh, uh) o.
Scene 3
Mosca:
You still are, what you were, Sir. Only you
(Of all the rest) are he, commands his love:
And you do wisely to preserve it, thus,
With early visitation, and kind notes
Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,
Cannot but come most gratefull. Patron, Sir.
Here is Signior Voltore is come --
Volpone:
What say you?
Mosca:
Sir Signior Voltore is come, this morning,
To visit you.
Volpone:
I thank him.
Mosca:
And hath brought
A peece of antique plate, bought of Saint Mark,
With which he here presents you.
Volpone:
He is welcome.
Pray him, to come more often.
Mosca:
Yes.
Voltore:
What says he?
Mosca:
He thankes you, and desires you see him often.
Volpone:
Mosca.
Mosca:
My Patron?
Volpone:
Bring him near, where is he?
I long to feel his hand.
Mosca:
The plate is here Sir.
Voltore:
How fare you Sir?
Volpone:
I thank you, Signior Voltore.
Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.
Voltore:
I am sorry,
To see you still thus weake.
Mosca:
That he is not weaker.
Volpone:
You are too munificent.
Voltore:
No Sir. would to heaven,
I could as well give health to you, as that plate.
Volpone:
You give Sir what you can. I thank you. Your love
Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswered.
I pray you see me often.
Voltore:
Yes, I shall Sir.
Volpone:
Be not far from me.
Mosca:
Do you observe that Sir?
Volpone:
Hearken unto me, still. It will concerne you.
Mosca:
You are a happy man Sir, know your good.
Volpone:
I cannot now last long.
Mosca:
You are his heir, Sir.
Voltore:
Am I?
Volpone:
I feel me going, (uh,uh,uh,uh.)
I am sayling to my port, (uh,uh,uh,uh?)
And I am glad, I am so neere my haven.
Mosca:
Alas, kind gentleman, well, we must all go.
Voltore:
But, Mosca.
Mosca:
Age will conquer.
Voltore:
'Pray thee, hear me.
Am I inscribed his heire, for certain?
Mosca:
Are you?
I do beseech you Sir you will vouchsafe
To write me, in your family. All my hopes,
Depend upon your worship; I am lost,
Except the rising Sunne do shine on me.
Voltore:
It shall both shine, and warme thee, Mosca.
Mosca:
Sir.
I am a man, that have not done your love
All the worst offices here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers, and your caskets locked,
Keepe the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate, and moneyes, am your Steward Sir.
Husband your goods here.
Voltore:
But am I sole heir?
Mosca:
Without a partner Sir confirmde this morning;
The wax is warme yet, and the ink scarse dry
Upon the parchment:
Voltore:
Happy, happy me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?
Mosca:
Your desert Sir;
I know no second cause.
Voltore:
Thy modesty
Is loath to know it; well, we shall requite it.
Mosca:
He ever liked your course Sir. That first took him.
I, oft, have heard him say, how he admired
Men of your large profession, that could speake
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hearse again, yet all be Law;
That, with most quicke agility, could turn,
And return; make knots, and undoe them;
Give forked councell; take provoking gold
On eyther hand, and put it up: These men,
He knewe, would thrive, with their humility.
And (for his part) he thought, he should be blest
To have his heir of such a suffering spirit,
So wise, so grave, of so perplexed a tongue,
And loud withall, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a Cecchine.
Who is that? One knockes, I would not have you seen Sir.
And yet -- pretend you came, and went in hast;
I will fashion an excuse. And, gentle Sir,
When you do come to swim, in golden lard,
Up to the arms, in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood,
Think on your vassall; but remember me:
I have not been your worst of clients.
Voltore:
Mosca --
Mosca:
When will you have your inventory brought, Sir
Or see a coppy of the Will? Anone,
I will bring them to you Sir. Away, be gon,
Put business in your face.
Volpone:
Excellent Mosca!
Come hither, let me kiss thee.
Mosca:
Keepe you still Sir.
Here is Corbaccio.
Volpone:
Set the plate away,
The Vulture is gone, and the old Raven is come.
Scene 4
Mosca:
Betake you, to your silence, and your sleepe:
Stand there, and multiply. Now, shall we see
A wretch, who is (indeed) more impotent,
Then this can fain to be; yet hopes to hop
over his grave. Signior Corbaccio,
You are very welcome, Sir.
Corbaccio:
How does your Patron?
Mosca:
Troth as he did, Sir, no amends.
Corbaccio:
What? mends he?
Mosca:
No, Sir: he is rather worse.
Corbaccio:
That is well. Where is he?
Mosca:
Upon his couch Sir, newly fall'n a sleepe.
Corbaccio:
Does he sleepe well?
Mosca:
No winke, Sir, all this night,
Nor yesterday, but slumbers.
Corbaccio:
Good. He should take
Some counsell of Physitians: I have brought him
An Opiate here, from mine own Doctor --
Mosca:
He will not hear of drugs.
Corbaccio:
Why? I myself
Stood by while it was made; saw all the ingredients:
And know, it cannot but most gently worke.
My life for his, it is but to make him sleepe.
Volpone:
Aye, his last sleepe, if he would take it.
Mosca:
Sir.
He has no faith in Physick:
Corbaccio:
'Say you? 'say you?
Mosca:
He has no faith in Physick: He does think
Most of your Doctors are the greater danger,
And worse disease, to escape. I often have
Heard him protest, that your Physitian
Should never be his heir.
Corbaccio:
Not I his heir?
Mosca:
Not your Physitian, Sir.
Corbaccio:
O, no, no, no,
I do not meane it.
Mosca:
No Sir, nor their fees
He cannot brooke: He sayes, they flea a man,
Before they kill him.
Corbaccio:
Right, I conceive you.
Mosca:
And then, they do it by experiment;
For which the Law not only doth absolve them,
But gives them great reward: And, he is loath
To hire his death, so.
Corbaccio:
It is true, they kill,
With as much licence, as a judge.
Mosca:
Nay more;
For he but kills, Sir, where the Law condemnes,
And these can kill him, too;
Corbaccio:
Aye, or me:
Or any man. How does his Apoplex?
Is that strong on him, still?
Mosca:
Most violent.
His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,
His face drawne longer, then it was wont --
Corbaccio:
How? how?
Stronger, then he was wont?
Mosca:
No, Sir: his face
Drawne longer, then it was wont.
Corbaccio:
O, good.
Mosca:
His mouth
Is ever gaping, and his eye-lids hang.
Corbaccio:
Good.
Mosca:
A freezing numness stiffens all his joynts,
And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.
Corbaccio:
It is good.
Mosca:
His pulse beats slow, and dull.
Corbaccio:
Good symptoms, still.
Mosca:
And, from his braine --
Corbaccio:
Ha? how? not from his braine?
Mosca:
Yes, Sir, and from his braine --
Corbaccio:
I conceive you, good.
Mosca:
Flowes a cold sweat, with a continuall rhewme,
Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.
Corbaccio:
Is it possible? yet I am better, ha!
How does he, with the swimming of his head?
Mosca:
O, Sir it is past the Scotomy; he, now,
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:
You hardly can perceive him, that he breaths.
Corbaccio:
Excellent, excellent, sure I shall outlast him:
This makes me young again, a score of years.
Mosca:
I was a coming for you, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Has he made his Will?
What has he given me?
Mosca:
No, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Nothing? ha?
Mosca:
He has not made his Will, Sir.
Corbaccio:
O, o, o.
But what did Voltore, the Lawyer, here?
Mosca:
He smelt a carcasse Sir, when he but heard
My maister was about his Testament;
As I did urge him to it, for your good --
Corbaccio:
He came unto him, did he? I thought so.
Mosca:
Yes, and presented him this peece of plate.
Corbaccio:
To be his heire?
Mosca:
I do not know Sir.
Corbaccio:
True,
I know it too.
Mosca:
By your own scale, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Well,
I shall prevent him, yet. See Mosca, looke,
Here, I have brought a bag of bright Cecchines,
Will quite weigh down his plate.
Mosca:
Yea marry, Sir.
This is true Physick, this your sacred Medicine,
No talke of Opiates, to this great Elixir.
Corbaccio:
It is Aurum palpabile, if not potabile.
Mosca:
It shall be ministered to him, in his boule?
Corbaccio:
Aye, do, do, do.
Mosca:
Most blessed Cordiall,
This will recover him.
Corbaccio:
Yes, do, do, do.
Mosca:
I think, it were not best, Sir.
Corbaccio:
What?
Mosca:
To recover him.
Corbaccio:
O, no, no, no; by no means.
Mosca:
Why, Sir. this
Will work some strange effect if he but feel it.
Corbaccio:
It is true, therefore forbear; I will take my venter:
Give me it againe.
Mosca:
At no hand, pardon me;
You shall not do yourself that wrong Sir I
Will so aduise you, you shall have it all.
Corbaccio:
How?
Mosca:
All Sir it is your right, your own; no man
Can claime a part: it is yours, without a rivall,
Decreed by destiny.
Corbaccio:
How? how, good Mosca?
Mosca:
I will tell you Sir. This fit he shall recover;
Corbaccio:
I do conceive you.
Mosca:
And, on first advantage
Of his gained sense, will I re-importune him
Unto the making of his Testament:
And shew him this.
Corbaccio:
Good, good.
Mosca:
It is better yet,
If you will hear, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Yes, with all my heart.
Mosca:
Now, would I councell you, make home with speed;
There, frame a Will; whereto you shall inscribe
My maister your sole heir.
Corbaccio:
And disinherit
My son?
Mosca:
O Sir, the better: for that colour
Shall make it much more taking.
Corbaccio:
O, but colour?
Mosca:
This Will Sir, you shall send it unto me.
Now, when I come to inforce (as I will do)
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,
Your more then many gifts, your this dayes present,
And last, produce your Will; where (without thought,
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,
A son so brave, and highly meriting)
The streame of your diverted love hath thrown you
Upon my maister, and made him your heir:
He cannot be so stupide, or stone dead,
But, out of conscience, and mere gratitude --
Corbaccio:
He must pronounce me, his?
Mosca:
It is true.
Corbaccio:
This plot
Did I think on before.
Mosca:
I do believe it.
Corbaccio:
Do you not believe it?
Mosca:
Yes Sir.
Corbaccio:
Mine own proiect.
Mosca:
Which when he hath done, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Published me his heire?
Mosca:
And you so certain, to suruive him.
Corbaccio:
Aye.
Mosca:
Beeing so lusty a man.
Corbaccio:
It is true.
Mosca:
Yes Sir.
Corbaccio:
I thought on that too. See, how he should be
The very organ, to express my thoughts!
Mosca:
You have not only done yourself a good,
Corbaccio:
But multiplied it on my son?
Mosca:
It is right, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Still, my invention.
Mosca:
'Lasse Sir, heaven knowes,
It hath been all my study, all my care,
(I even grow grey withall) how to worke things --
Corbaccio:
I do conceive, sweet Mosca.
Mosca:
You are he,
For whom I labor, here.
Corbaccio:
Aye, do, do, do:
I will straight about it.
Mosca:
Rook go with you, Raven.
Corbaccio:
I know thehonest.
Mosca:
You do lie, Sir.
Corbaccio:
And --
Mosca:
Your knowledge is no better then your ears, Sir.
Corbaccio:
I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.
Mosca:
Nor I, to gull my brother of his blessing.
Corbaccio:
I may have my youth restored to me, why not?
Mosca:
Your worship is a precious asse.
Corbaccio:
What sayest thou?
Mosca:
I do desire your worship, to make hast, Sir.
Corbaccio:
It is done, it is done, I go.
Volpone:
O, I shall burst;
Let out my sides, let out my sides --
Mosca:
Containe
Your flux of laughter, Sir; you know, this hope
Is such a baite, it covers any hooke.
Volpone:
O, but thy working, and thy placing it!
I cannot hold; good rascall, let me kiss thee:
I never knew thee, in so rare a humor.
Mosca:
Alas Sir, I but do, as I am taught;
Follow your grave instructions; give them words;
Pour oil into their ears: and send them hence.
Volpone:
It is true, it is true. What a rare punishment
Is avarice, to itself?
Mosca:
Aye, with our help, Sir.
Volpone:
So many cares, so many maladies,
So many fears attending on old age,
Yea, death so often called on, as no wish
Can be more frequent with them, their limbes faint,
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going
All dead before them; yea, their very teeth,
Their instruments of eating, failing them:
Yet this is reckoned life! Nay, here was one;
Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer!
Feeles not his gout, nor palsy, feigns himselfe
Yonger, by scores of years, flatters his age,
With confident bellying it, hopes he may
With charms, like A Eson, have his youth restored,
And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,
And all turns air! Who is that, there, now? a third?
Mosca:
Close, to your couch againe: I hear his voice.
It is Coruino, our spruce merchant.
Volpone:
Dead.
Mosca:
Another bout, Sir, with your eyes. Who is there?
Scene 5
Mosca:
Signior Coruino! come most wisht for! O,
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!
Corvino:
Why? what? wherein?
Mosca:
The tardy houre is come, Sir.
Corvino:
He is not dead?
Mosca:
Not dead, Sir, but as good;
He knowes no man.
Corvino:
How shall I do then?
Mosca:
Why sir?
Corvino:
I have brought him, here, a Pearle.
Mosca:
Perhaps, he has
So much remembrance left, as to know you, Sir;
He still calls on you, nothing but your name
Is in his mouth: Is your Pearle orient, Sir?
Corvino:
Venice was never owner of the like.
Volpone:
Signior Coruino.
Mosca:
Hearke.
Volpone:
Signior
Coruino.
Mosca:
He calls you, step and give it him. He is here, Sir,
And he has brought you a rich Pearle.
Corvino:
How do you
Sir?
Tell him, it doubles the twelfe Caract.
Mosca:
Sir,
He cannot understand, his hearing is gone;
And yet it comforts him, to see you --
Corvino:
Say,
I have a Diamant for him, too.
Mosca:
Best shew it Sir,
Put it into his hand; it is only there
He apprehends: He has his feeling, yet.
See, how he graspes it!
Corvino:
'Lasse, good gentleman!
How pittifull the sight is!
Mosca:
Tut, forget Sir.
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter,
under a visor.
Corvino:
Why? am I his heir?
Mosca:
Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the Will,
Till he be dead: But, here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too,
I cannot nomber them, they were so many,
All gaping here for legacyes; but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
(Signior Coruino, Signior Coruino,) tooke
Paper, and pen, and ynke, and there I asked him,
Whom he would have his heir? Coruino: Who
Should be executor, Coruino: And,
To any question, he was silent too,
I still interpreted the noddes, he made,
(Though weakeness) for consent: and sent home the others,
Nothing bequeath' d them, but to crie, and curse.
Corvino:
O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us?
Mosca:
No more then a blind harper. He knowes no man,
No face of friend, nor name of any servant,
Who it was that fed him last, or gave him drinke:
Not those, he hath begotten, or brought up
Can he remember.
Corvino:
Has he children?
Mosca:
Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
Gipseys, and jewes, and Black-moores, when he was drunke.
Knew you not that Sir? it is the common fable.
The Dwarfe, the Fool, the Eunuch are all his;
He is the true father of his familie,
In all, save me: but he has given them nothing.
Corvino:
That is well, that is well. Art sure he does not hear us?
Mosca:
Sure Sir? why look you, credit your own sense.
The Pox approch, and adde to your diseases,
If it would send you hence the sooner, Sir.
For, your incontinence, it hath deserved it
Throughly, and throughly, and the Plague to boot.
(You may come neere, Sir) Would you would once close
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flowe with slime,
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheekes,
Covered with hide, in steede of skinne: (nay helpe, Sir)
That look like frozen dish-clouts, set on end.
Corvino:
Or, like an old smoaked wall, on which the raine
Ran down in streakes.
Mosca:
Excellent, Sir, speake out;
You may be lowder yet: A Culvering,
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.
Corvino:
His nose is like a common sewre, still running;
Mosca:
It is good: and, what his mouth?
Corvino:
A very draught.
Mosca:
O stop it up --
Corvino:
By no means;
Mosca:
'Pray you let me.
Faith, I could stifle him, rarely, with a pillow,
As well, as any woman, that should keepe him.
Corvino:
Do as you will, but I will be gone.
Mosca:
Be so;
It is your presence makes him last so long.
Corvino:
I pray you, use no violence.
Mosca:
No, Sir? why?
Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'pray you, Sir.
Corvino:
Nay, at your discretion.
Mosca:
Well, good Sir, be gone.
Corvino:
I will not trouble him now, to take my Pearle?
Mosca:
Puh, nor your Diamant. What a needeless care
Is this afflicts you? Is not all, here yours?
Am not I here? whom you have made? your creature?
That owe my beeing to you?
Corvino:
Gratefull Mosca:
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.
Mosca:
Excepting one.
Corvino:
What is that?
Mosca:
Your gallant wife, Sir.
Now, is he gone; we had no other means,
To shoote him hence, but this.
Volpone:
My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to day out-gone thyself. Who is there?
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me musicke, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turke is not more sensual, in his pleasures,
Then will Volpone. Let me see, a Pearle?
A Diamant? Plat? Cecchines? good mornings purchase;
Why this is better then rob Churches, yet:
Or fat, by eating (once a mon'th) a man.
Who is it?
Mosca:
The beauteous Lady Would-bee, Sir.
Wife, to the English Knight, Sir Politique Would-bee,
(This is the stile, Sir, is directed me)
Hath sent to know, how you have slept to night,
And if you would be visited.
Volpone:
Not, now.
Some three houres, hence --
Mosca:
I told the Squire, so much.
Volpone:
When I am high with mirth, and wine; then, then.
'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valure
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose
Their wives, to all encounters!
Mosca:
Sir, this Knight
Had not his name for nothing, he is politique,
And knowes, how ere his wife affect strange airs,
She hath not yet the face, to be dishonest.
But had she Signior Coruino's wives face --
Volpone:
Has she so rare a face?
Mosca:
O Sir, the wonder,
The blazing Starre of Italy; a wench
Of the first year, a beauty, ripe, as harvest!
Whose skinne is whiter then a Swan, all over!
Then silver, snow, or lillies! a soft lip,
Would tempt you to eternity of kissing!
And flesh, that melteth, in the touch, to blood!
Bright as your gold, and lovely, as your gold!
Volpone:
Why had not I known this, before?
Mosca:
Alas,
Sir.
Myself, but yesterday, discovered it.
Volpone:
How might I see her?
Mosca:
O, not possible;
She is kept as warily, as is your gold:
Never does come abroad, never takes air,
But at a windore. All her lookes are sweet,
As the first grapes, or cherries; and are watched
As near, as they are.
Volpone:
I must see her --
Mosca:
Sir.
There is a guard, of ten spies thick, upon her;
All his whole houshold: each of which is set
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,
When he goes out, when he comes in, examined.
Volpone:
I will go see her, though but at her windore.
Mosca:
In some disguise, then?
Volpone:
That is true, I must
Maintaine mine own shape, still, the same: we will think.
Act 2
Scene 1
Sir Politic:
Sir, to a wise man, all the world is his foil.
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my Fates call me forth.
Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire
Of seeing Countries, shifting a Religion,
Nor any dis-affection to the State
Where I was bred, (and, unto which I owe
My dearest plots) hath brought me out; much less,
That idle, antique, stale, grey-headed proiect
Of knowing men's minds, and manners, with Ulysses:
But, a peculiar humour of my wives,
Layd for this height of Venice, to observe,
To quote, to learn the language, and so forth --
I hope you travell, Sir, with licence?
Peregrine:
Yes.
Sir Politic:
I dare the safelier conuerse -- How long, Sir,
Since you left England?
Peregrine:
Seaven weekes.
Sir Politic:
So lately!
You have not been with my Lord Ambassador?
Peregrine:
Not yet, Sir.
Sir Politic:
'Pray you, what newes, Sir, vents our climate?
I heard, last night, a most strange thing reported
By some of my Lords followers, and I long
To hear, how it will be seconded!
Peregrine:
What was it, Sir?
Sir Politic:
Marry, Sir, of a Raven, that should build
In a ship royall of the Kings.
Peregrine:
This fellow
Does he gull me, trow? or is gulled? your name Sir?
Sir Politic:
My name is Politique Would-bee.
Peregrine:
O, that speaks him.
A Knight, Sir?
Sir Politic:
A poor Knight, Sir.
Peregrine:
Your Lady
Lies here, in Venice, for intelligence
Of tires, and fashions, and behaviour,
Among the Curtizans? the fine Lady Would-be?
Sir Politic:
Yes; Sir; the spider, and the bee, oft times,
Suck from one flower.
Peregrine:
Good Sir Politique!
I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you:
It is true, Sir, of your Raven.
Sir Politic:
On your knowledge?
Peregrine:
Yes, and your Lions whelping, in the Tower.
Sir Politic:
Another whelpe?
Peregrine:
Another, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Now heaven!
What prodigies be these? The Fires at Berwike!
And the new Starre! these things concurring, strange!
And full of omen! Saw you those Meteors?
Peregrine:
I did Sir.
Sir Politic:
Fearfull! Pray you Sir, confirme me,
Were there three Porcpisces seene, above the Bridge,
As they give out?
Peregrine:
Six, and a Sturgeon, Sir.
Sir Politic:
I am astonished.
Peregrine:
Nay sir, be not so;
I will tell you a greater prodigie, then these --
Sir Politic:
What should these things portend!
Peregrine:
The very day
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,
There was a Whale discovered, in the river,
As high as Woollwich, that had waited there
(Few know how many moneths) for the subuersion
Of the Stode-Fleet.
Sir Politic:
Is it possible? Believe it,
It was either sent from Spain, or the Arch-duke,
Spinola's Whale, upon my life, my credit;
Will they not leave these proiects? Worthy Sir,
Some other newes.
Peregrine:
Faith, Stone, the Fool, is dead;
And they do lack a tavern-Fool, extremely.
Sir Politic:
Is Mass' Stone dead?
Peregrine:
He is dead Sir; why? I hope
You thought him not immortall? O this Knight
(Were he well knowne) would be a precious thing
To fit our English Stage: He that should write
But such a fellow, should be thought to faine
Extremely, if not maliciously.
Sir Politic:
Stone dead?
Peregrine:
Dead. Lord! how deeply Sir you apprehend it?
He was no kinsman to you?
Sir Politic:
That I know of.
Well! that same fellow was an unknown Fool.
Peregrine:
And yet you know him, it seems?
Sir Politic:
I did so. Sir,
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads
Living within the State, and so I held him.
Peregrine:
Indeed Sir?
Sir Politic:
While he lived, in action.
He has received weekly intelligence,
Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries,
(For all parts of the world) in cabages;
And those dispensed, again, to Ambassadors,
In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks,
Limons, pome-citrons, and such like: sometimes,
In Colchester-oysters, and your Selsey-cockles.
Peregrine:
You make me wonder!
Sir Politic:
Sir. upon my knowledge.
Nay, I, have observed him, at your publique Ordinary,
Take his aduertisement, from a Traveller
(A conceald States-man) in a trencher of meate;
And, instantly, before the meale was done,
Convay an answer in a tooth-pick.
Peregrine:
Strange!
How could this be, Sir?
Sir Politic:
Why, the meate was cut
So like his character, and so layd, as he
Must easily read the cipher.
Peregrine:
I have heard, he could not read, Sir.
Sir Politic:
So, it was given out,
(In pollitie,) by those, that did imploy him:
But he could read, and had your languages,
And to it, as sound a noddle --
Peregrine:
I have heard, Sir,
That your Babiouns were spies; and that they were
A kind of subtle Nation, near to China:
Sir Politic:
Aye, aye, your Mamuluchi. Faith, they had
Their hand in a French plot, or two; but they
Were so extremely given to women, as
They made discovery of all: Yet I
Had my aduises here (on wensday last)
From one of their own coat, they were returned,
Made their relations (as the fashion is)
And now stand fair, for fresh imployment.
Peregrine:
'Hart!
This Sir Poll: will be ignorant of nothing.
It seems Sir, you know all?
Sir Politic:
Not all Sir. But,
I have some generall notions; I do love
To note, and to observe: Though I live out,
Free from the active torrent, yet I would marke
The currents, and the passages of things,
For mine own private use; and know the ebbes,
And flowes of State.
Peregrine:
Believe it, Sir, I hold
Myself, in no small tie, unto my fortunes,
For casting me thus luckily, upon you;
Whose knowledge (if your bounty equall it)
May do me great assistance, in instruction
For my behaviour, and my bearing, which
Is yet so rude, and raw --
Sir Politic:
Why? came you forth
Empty of rules, for travayle?
Peregrine:
Faith, I had
Some common ones, from out that vulgar Grammar,
Which he, that cried Italian to me, taught me.
Sir Politic:
Why, this it is, that spoils all our brave bloods,
Trusting our hopefull gentry unto Pedants,
Fellowes of out-side, and mere barke. You seeme
To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race --
I not profess it, but my fate hath beene
To be, where I have been consulted with,
In this high kind, touching some great men's sons,
Persons of blood, and honor --
Peregrine:
Who be these, Sir?
Scene 2
Mosca:
under that windore, there it must be. The same:
Sir Politic:
Fellowes, to mount a banke! Did your instructer
In the dear Tongues, never discourse to you
Of the Italian Montebankes?
Peregrine:
Yes, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Why,
Here shall you see one.
Peregrine:
They are Quack-salvers,
Fellowes, that live by venting oils, and drugs?
Sir Politic:
Was that the character he gave you of them?
Peregrine:
As I remember.
Sir Politic:
Pitty his ignorance.
They are the only-knowing men of Europe,
Great, generall Schollers, excellent Phisitians,
Most admired States-men, profest Favorites,
And cabinet-Councellors, to the greatest Princes:
The only Languaged-men, of all the world.
Peregrine:
And, I have heard, they are most lewd impostors;
Made all of terms, and shreds; no less beliers
Of great-mens favors, then their own vile med'cines;
Which they will vtter upon monstrous othes:
Selling that drug, for two pence, ere they part,
Which they have valewed at twelve crownes, before.
Sir Politic:
Sir, calumnies are answered best with silence;
Yourself shall judge. Who is it mounts, my friends?
Mosca:
Scoto of Mantua, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Is it he? nay, then
I will proudly promise, Sir, you shall behold
Another man, then has been phant'sied to you.
I wonder, yet, that he should mount his banke
Here, in this nooke, that has been wont to appear
In face of the Piazza! Here, he comes
Volpone:
Mount Zany,
Mob:
Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow.
Sir Politic:
See how the people follow him! he is a man
May write 10000. Crownes, in Banke, here. Note,
Marke but his gesture; I do use to observe
The state he keepes, in getting up!
Peregrine:
It is worth it, Sir.
Volpone:
Most noble Gent: and my worthy Patrons, it may seeme strange, that I, your Scoto Mantuano, who was ever wont to fix my
Bank in face of the public Piazza, near the shelter of the portico, to the Procuratia, should, now (after eight months absence, from this illustrous Citty of Venice) humbly retire myself, into an obscure nook of the Piazza;
Sir Politic:
Did not I, now, obiect the same?
Peregrine:
Peace, Sir.
Volpone:
Let me tel you: I am not (as your Lombard Proverbe sayth) cold on my feet, or content to part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, then I accustomed; look not for it. Nor, that the calumnious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame to our profession,
(Alessandro Buttone, I meane) who gave out, in public, I was condemned a'Sforzato to the Galleys, for poysoning the Cardinall Bemboos --Cooke, hath at all attached, much less deiected me. No, no, worthy Gent: (to tell you true) I cannot indure, to see the rable of these ground Ciarlitani, that spread their clokes on the pavement, as if they meant to do feates of activitie, and then come in, lamely, with their mouldy tales out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the Fabulist: some of them discoursing their travells, and of their tedious captivity in the Turkes Galleyes, when indeed (were the truth knowne) they were the Christians Galleyes, where very temperately, they eate bread, and drunk water, as a wholesome pennance (enioyned them by their Confessors) for base pilferies.
Sir Politic:
Note but his bearing, and contempt of these.
Volpone:
These turdy-facy-nasty-patie-lousie-farticall rogues, with one poor groats-worth of unprepared antimony, finely wraped up in severall 'Scartoccios, are able, very well, to kill their twenty a weeke, and play; yet these meagre starved spirits, who have halfe stoped the organs of their minds with earthy oppilations, want not their favourers among your shriveled, sallad-eating Artizans: who are overioyed, that they may have their halfeperth of Physick, though it purge them into another world, makes no matter.
Sir Politic:
Excellent! have you heard better Language, Sir?
Volpone:
Well, let them go. And Gentlemen, honourable Gentlemen, know, that for this time, our Banque, being thus removed from the clamours of the Canaglia, shall be the Scene of pleasure, and delight;
For I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell:
Sir Politic:
I told you, Sir; his end.
Peregrine:
You did so, Sir.
Volpone:
I protest, I, and my six servants, are not able to make of this pretious liquor, so fast, as it is fetched away from my lodging, by Gentlemen of your Citty; strangers of the Terra-ferma; worshipful Merchants; aye, and Senators too: who, ever since my arrivall, have detained me to their uses, by their splendidous liberalities. And worthily. For what avayles your rich man to have his magazines stuft with Moscadelli, or the purest grape, when his Physitians prescribe him (on paine of death) to drink nothing but water, cocted with Anise-seeds? O health! health! the blessing of the rich, the riches of the poor! who can buy thee at too dear a rate, since there is no enioying this world, without thee? Be not then so sparing of your purses, honorable Gentlemen, as to abridge the naturall course of life --
Peregrine:
You see his end?
Sir Politic:
Aye, is it good?
Volpone:
For, when a humide Flux, or Catarrhe, by the mutability of air, falls from your head, into an arme or shovilder, or any other part; take you a Duckat, or your Cecchine of gold, and apply to the place affected: see, what good effect it can worke. No, no, it is this blessed unguento, this rare Extraction, that hath only power to disperse all malignant humors, that proceede, either of hot, cold, moist or windy causes --
Peregrine:
I would he had put in dry too.
Sir Politic:
'pray you, observe.
Volpone:
To fortify the most indigest, and crude stomacke, aye, were it of one, that (through extreame weakeness) vomited blood, applying only a warme napkin to the place, after the unction, and fricace;
For the Vertigine, in the head, putting but a drop into your nostrills,likewise, behind the ears; a most soveraigne, and approoved remedy.
The Mall-caduco, Crampes, Convulsions, Paralysies, Epilepsies,
Tremor-cordia, retired-Nerves, ill Vapours of the spleene, Stoppings of the Liver, the Stone, the Strangury, Hernia ventosa, Iliaca passio; stops a Disenteria, immediatly; easeth the torsion of the small guts: and cures Melancolia hypocondriaca, being taken and applyed, according to my printed Receipt. For, this is the Physitian, this the medicine; this councells, this cures; this gives the direction, this works the effect: and (in summe) both together may be termed an abstract of the theorick, and practick in the A Esculapian Art. It will cost you eight Crownes. And, Zan Fritada, 'pray thesing a verse, extempore, in honour of it.
Sir Politic:
How do you like him, Sir?
Peregrine:
Most strangely, I!
Sir Politic:
Is not his language rare?
Peregrine:
But Alchimy,
I never heard the like: or Broughtons bookes.
Volpone:
Had old Hippocrates, or Galen,
(That to their bookes put med'cines all in)
But known this secret, they had never
(Of which they will be guilty ever)
Been murderers of so much paper,
Or wasted many a hurtless taper:
No Indian drug had ere been famed,
Tabacco, Sassafras not named;
Ne yet, of Guacum one small stick, Sir,
Nor Raymund Lullies greate Elixir.
Ne, had been known the danish Gonswart.
Or Paracelsus, with his long-sword.
Peregrine:
All this, yet, will not do, eight Crowns is high.
Volpone:
No more; Gentlemen, if I had but time to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this my oil, surnamed oglio del Scoto, with the count-less catalogue of those I have cured of the aforesayd, and many more diseases, the Pattents and Priviledges of all the Princes, and Common-wealthes of Christendome, or but the depositions of those that appeared on my part, before the Signiry of the Sanita', and most learned Colledge of Physitians; where I was authorized, upon notice taken of the admirable vertues of my medicaments, and mine own excellency, in matter of rare, and unknown secrets, not only to disperse them publiquely in this famous Citty, but in all the
Territories, that happily joy under the government of the most pious and magnificent States of Italy. But may some other gallant fellow say, O, there be divers, that make profession to have as good, and as experimented receipts, as yours: Indeed, very many have assayed, like
Apes, in imitation of that, which is really, and essentially in me, to make of this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stilles, alembekes, continuall fires, and preparation of the ingredients, as indeede there goes to it six hundred severall Simples, beside, some quantity of humane fat, for the conglutination, which we buy of the Anatomistes;
But, when these Practitioners come to the last decoction, blow, blow, puff, puff, and all flies in fumo: ha, ha, ha. Poor wretches! I rather pitty their folly, and indiscretion, then their losse of time, and money; for those may be recovered by industry: but to be a Fool born is a disease incurable. For myself, I always from my youth have indeavored to get the rarest secrets, and book them; eyther in exchange, or for money; I spared nor cost, nor labor, where anything was worthy to be learned. And Gentlemen, honourable Gentlemen,
I will undertake (by vertue of Chymicall Art) out of the honourable hat, that covers your head, to extract the foure Elements; that is to say, the Fire, Air, Water, and Earth, and return you your felt, without burn, or staine. For, whilst others have been at the balloo,
I have been at my booke: and am now past the craggy pathes of study, and come to the flowry plaines of honour, and reputation.
Sir Politic:
I do assure you, Sir, that is his ayme.
Volpone:
But, to our price.
Peregrine:
And that withall, Sir Poll.
Volpone:
You all know (honourable Gentlemen) I never valewed this ampulla, or violl, at less then eight Crownes, but for this time, I am content, to be deprived of it for six; six Crowns is the price; and less, in curtesie, I know you cannot offer me; take it, or leave it, howsoever, both it, and I am at your seruice. I aske you not, as the valew of the thing, for then I should demand of you a thousand Crownes, so the Cardinalls Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke of Tuscany, my Gossip, with divers other Princes have given me; but I despise money: only to shew my affection to you, honorable Gentlemen, and your illustrous State here, I have neglected the messages of these Princes, mine own offices, framed my journey hither, only to present you with the fruicts of my travells. Tune your voyces once more, to the touch of your instruments, and give the honorable assembly some delightfull recreation.
Peregrine:
What monstrous, and most painefull circumstance
Is here, to get some three, or foure Gazets?
Some three-pence, in the whole, for that it will come to
Volpone:
You that would last long, list to my song,
Make no more coil, but buy of this oil.
Would you be ever fair? and young?
Stout of teeth? and strong of tongue?
Tart of palat? quick of ear?
Sharpe of sight? of nostrill clear?
Moist of hand? and light of foot?
(Or I will come neerer to it)
Would you live free from all diseases?
Do the act, your mistres pleases;
Yet fright all aches from your bones?
Here is a med'cine, for the nones.
Well, I am in a humor (at this time) to make a present of the small quantity my coffer containes: to the rich, in courtesie, and to the poor, for Gods sake. Wherefore, now marke; I asked you six
Crownes, and six Crownes, at other times, you have payd me; you shall not give me six Crownes, nor five, nor foure, nor three, nor two, nor one; nor halfe a Duckat; no, nor a Muccinigo: six pence it will cost you, or six hundred pound -- expect no lower price, for by the banner of my front, I will not bate a bagatine, that I will have, only, a pledge of your loves, to carry something from amongst you, to shew, I am not contemned by you. Therefore, now, tosse your handkerchiefes, cheerfully, cheerfully; and be aduertised, that the first heroique spirit, that deigns to grace me, with a handkerchiefe, I will give it a little remembrance of something, beside, shall please it better, then if I had presented it with a double Pistolet.
Peregrine:
Will you be that heroique Sparke, Sir Pol?
O see! the windore has prevented you.
Volpone:
Lady, I kiss your bounty; and, for this timely grace, you have done your poor Scoto of Mantua, I will return you, over and above my oil, a secret, of that high, and inestimable nature, shall make you for ever enamoured on that minute, wherein your eye first descended on so meane, yet not altogether to be despised an obiect. Here is a Poulder, concealed in this paper, of which, if I should speake to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one page, that page as a line, that line as a word; so short is this Pilgrimage of man (which some call Life) to the expressing of it: would I reflect on the price? why, the whole World were but as an Empire, that Empire as a Province, that Province as a Banke, that Bank as a private Purse, to the purchase of it. I will, only, tell you; it is the Poulder, that made
Venus a Goddess (given her by Apollo) that kept her perpetually young, cleared her wrinckles, firmed her gums, filled her skinne, coloured her hair; From her, derived to Helen, and at the sack of
Troy (vnfortunately) lost: Till now, in this our age, it was as happily recovered, by a studious Antiquary, out of some ruins of Asia, who sent a moyety of it, to the Court of France (but much sophistcated) wherewith the Ladyes there, now, colour their hair. The rest (at this present) remains with me; extracted, to a Quint essence: so that, where ever it but touches, in youth it perpetually preserves, in age restores the complexion; seats your teeth, did they dance like Virginall jacks, firme as a wall; makes them white, as ivory, that were black, as --
Scene 3
Corvino:
Bloud of the devill, and my shame! come downe, here;
Come downe: No house but mine to make your Scene?
Signior Flaminio, will you downe, Sir? downe?
What is my wife your Franciscina? Sir?
No windores on the whole Piazza, here,
To make your properties, but mine? but mine?
Hart! ere to morrow, I shall be new christened,
And cald the Pantalone di Besogniosi,
About the towne.
Peregrine:
What should this meane, Sir Poll?
Sir Politic:
Some trick of State, believe it. I will home.
Peregrine:
It may be some designe on you:
Sir Politic:
I know not.
I will stand upon my gard.
Peregrine:
It is your best, Sir.
Sir Politic:
This three weekes, all my aduises, all my letters
They have been intercepted.
Peregrine:
Indeed, Sir?
Best have a care.
Sir Politic:
Nay so I will.
Peregrine:
This Knight,
I may not loose him, for my mirth, till night.
Scene 4
Volpone:
O I am wounded.
Mosca:
Where, Sir?
Volpone:
Not without;
Those blowes were nothing: I could beare them ever.
But angry Cupid, boulting from her eyes,
Hath shot himselfe into me, like a flame;
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat,
As in a furnace, some ambitious fire,
Whose vent is stoped. The fight is all within me.
I cannot live, except thou helpe me, Mosca;
My liver melts, and I, without the hope
Of some soft air, from her refreshing breath,
Am but a heape of cinders.
Mosca:
'Lasse, good Sir,
Would you had never seen her.
Volpone:
Nay, would thou
Hadst never told me of her.
Mosca:
Sir it is true;
I do confess, I was unfortunate,
And you unhappy: but I am bound in conscience.
No less then duety, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, Sir.
Volpone:
Dear Mosca, shall I hope?
Mosca:
Sir, more then dear,
I will not bidd you to dispair of ought,
Within a humane compasse.
Volpone:
O, there spoke
My better Angell. Mosca, take my keyes,
Gold, plate, and jewells, all is at thy devotion;
Employ them, how thou wilt; nay, coyne me, too:
So thou, in this, but crown my longings. Mosca?
Mosca:
use but your patience.
Volpone:
So I have.
Mosca:
I doubt not
But bring success to your desires.
Volpone:
Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.
Mosca:
If you can horn him, Sir, you neede not.
Volpone:
True:
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.
Is not the colour of my beards. and eye-browes,
To make me knowne?
Mosca:
No jot.
Volpone:
I did it well.
Mosca:
So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With halfe the happiness; and, yet, I would
Escape your Epilogue.
Volpone:
But, were they gulled
With a beleefe, that I was Scoto?
Mosca:
Sir,
Scoto himselfe could hardly have distinguished;
I have not time to flatter you, we will part:
And, as I prosper, so applaud my art.
Scene 5
Corvino:
Death of mine honour, with the citties Fool?
A jugling, tooth-drawing, prating Montebanke?
And, at a publique windore? where whilst he,
With his strained action, and his dole of faces,
To his drug-Lecture draws your itching ears,
A crewe of old, un-maried, noted lechers,
Stood leering up, like Satyres; and you smile,
Most graciously? and fanne you favours forth,
To give your hote Spectators satisfaction?
What; was your Montebank their call? their whistle?
Or were you 'enamoured on his copper rings?
His saffron jewell, with the toade-stone in it?
Or his imbroydred sute, with the cope-stitch,
Made of a herse-cloath? or his old tilt-feather?
Or his starched beard? well; you shall have him, yes.
He shall come home, and minister unto you
The fricace, for the Mother. Or, let me see,
I think, you had rather mount? would you not mount?
Why, if you will mount, you may; yes truely, you may:
And so, you may be seene, down to the foote.
Get you a cittern, Lady Vanity,
And be a Dealer, with the Vertuous Man;
Make on: I will but protest myselfe a cuckold,
And save your dowry. I am a Dutchman, I;
For, if you thought me an Italian,
You would be damned, ere you did this, you Whore:
Thou wouldst tremble, to imagine, that the murder
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,
Should follow, as the subiect of my justice.
Celia:
Good Sir, have pacience.
Corvino:
What couldst thou propose
Less to thyself, then, in this heate of wrath,
And stung with my dishonour, I should strike
This steel unto thee, with as many stabs,
As thou wert gazed upon with goatish eyes?
Celia:
Alas Sir, be appeased; I could not think
My beeing at the windore should more, now,
Move your impatience, then at other times:
Corvino:
No? not to seeke, and entertaine a parlee;
With a known knave? before a multitude?
You were an Actor, with your handkercheife;
Which he, most sweetly, kist in the receipt,
And might (no doubt) return it, with a letter,
And point the place, where you might meet: your sisters,
Your mothers, or your aunts might serve the turn.
Celia:
Why, dear Sir, when do I make these excuses?
Or ever stirre, abroad, but to the Church?
And that, so seldome --
Corvino:
Well, it shall be less;
And thy restraint, before, was liberty,
To what I now decree: And therefore, marke me.
First, I will have this baudy light damned up;
And, till it be done, some two, or three yards of,
I will chalke a line: ore which, if thou but (chance
To) set thy desp'rate foote; more hell, more horror,
More wilde, remorceless rage shall seize on thee,
Then on a Coniurer, that had heed-less left,
His Circles saftie, ere his Devill was layd.
Then, here is a lock, which I will hang upon thee;
And, now I think of it, I will keepe theback-wards;
Thy lodging shall be back-wards; thy walkes back-wards;
Thy prospect-all be back-wards; and no pleasure,
That thou shalt know, but back-wards: Nay, since you force
My honest nature, know, it is your own
Being too open, makes me use you thus.
Since you will not containe your subtill nostrills
In a sweet roome, but, they must snuffe the air
Of ranke, and sweaty passengers -- One knocks.
Away, and be not seene, paine of thy life;
Not look toward the windore: if thou dost --
(Nay stay, hear this) let me not prosper, Whore,
But I will make thean Anatomy,
Dissect themine own self, and read a lecture
Upon thee, to the citty, and in publique.
Away. Who is there?
Androgyno:
It is Signior Mosca, Sir.
Scene 6
Corvino:
Let him come in, his master is dead: There is yet
Some good, to helpe the bad. My Mosca, welcome;
I gess your newes.
Mosca:
I fear, you cannot, Sir.
Corvino:
Is it not his death?
Mosca:
Rather, the contrary.
Corvino:
Not his recovery?
Mosca:
Yes, Sir,
Corvino:
I am curst,
I am bewitched, my crosses meet to vex me.
How? how? how? how?
Mosca:
Why, Sir, with Scoto's oil;
Corbaccio, and Voltore brought of it,
Whilst I was busy in an inner roome --
Corvino:
Death! that damned Mountebanke; but, for the Law,
Now, I could kill the raskall: it cannot be,
His oil should have that vertue. Have not I
Known him a common rogue, come fidling in
To the Osteria, with a tumbling whore,
And, when he has done all his forced tricks, been glad
Of a poor spoonefull of ded wine, with flies in it?
It cannot be. All his ingredients
Are a sheepes gall, a rosted bitches marrow,
Some fewe sod earwigs pounded caterpillers,
A little capons grease, and fasting spitle:
I know hem, to a dram.
Mosca:
I know not, Sir,
But some of it, there they poured into his ears,
Some in his nostrills, and recovered him;
Applying but the fricace.
Corvino:
Pox on that fricace.
Mosca:
And since to seeme the more officious,
And flatt'ring of his health, there, they have had
(At extreme fees) the Colledge of Physitians
Consulting on him how they might restore him;
Where, one would have a cataplasme of spices,
Another a flead Ape claped to his brest,
A third would have it a Dog, a fourth an oil
With wilde Cates skinnes: At last, they all resolved
That, to preserve him, was no other means,
But some young woman must be streight sought out,
Lusty, and ful if juice, to sleepe by him;
And, to this seruice (most unhappily,
And most unwillingly) am I now imployed,
Which, here, I thought to pre-acquaint you with,
For your aduise, since it concerns you most,
Because, I would not do that thing might crosse
Your ends, on whome I have my whole dependance, Sir:
Yet if I do it not, they may delate
My slackness to my Patron, worke me out
Of his opinion; and there, all your hopes,
Venters, or whatsoever, are all frustrate.
I do but tell you, Sir. Besides, they are all
Now striving, who shall first present him. Therefore --
I could intreate you, breefly, conclude some-what:
Prevent them if you can.
Corvino:
Death to my hopes!
This is my villanous fortune! best to hire
Some common Curtezan?
Mosca:
Aye, I thought on that, Sir.
But they are all so subtle, full of art,
And age again, doting, and flexible,
So as -- I cannot tell -- we may perchance
Light on a queane, may cheate us all.
Corvino:
It is true.
Mosca:
No, no: it must be one, that has no tricks, Sir,
Some simple thing, a creature, made unto it;
Some wench you may command. Have you no kinswoman?
Gods son -- Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, Sir.
One of the Doctors offered, there, his daughter.
Corvino:
How!
Mosca:
Yes, Signior Lupo, the Physitian,
Corvino:
His daughter?
Mosca:
And a virgin, Sir. Why? Alasse
He knowes the state of his body, what it is;
That naught can warme his blood Sir, but a fever;
Nor any incantation raise his spirit:
A long forgetfullness hath seized that part.
Besides, Sir, who shall know it? some one, or two.
Corvino:
I pray thegive me leave: If any man
But I had had this luck -- The thing in itself,
I know, is nothing -- Wherefore should not I
As well command my blood, and my affections,
As this dull Doctor? In the point of honor,
The cases are all one, of wife, and daughter.
Mosca:
I hear him coming.
Corvino:
She shall do it: it is done.
Slight, if this Doctor that is not engaged,
unless it be for his councell (which is nothing)
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am
So deepely in? I will prevent him, wretch!
Covetous wretch! Mosca, I have determined.
Mosca:
How Sir?
Corvino:
We will make all sure. The party, you wot of,
Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.
Mosca:
Sir. The thing,
(But that I would not seeme to councell you)
I should have motioned to you at the first:
And, make your count, you have cut all their throtes.
Why! it is directly taking a possession!
And, in his next fit, we may let him go.
It is but to pul the pillow, from his head,
And he is thratled: it had been done, before,
But for your scrupulous doubts.
Corvino:
Aye, a plague on it,
My conscience fools my wit. Well, I will be briefe,
And so be thou, least they should be before us:
Go home, prepare him, tell him, with what zeale,
And willingness, I do it: swear it was,
On the first hearing, (as thou mayst do, truely)
Mine own free motion.
Mosca:
Sir, I warrant you,
I will so possess him with it, that the rest
Of his starved clients shall be banisht, all;
And only you received. But come not, Sir,
untill I send, for I have something, else
To ripen, for your good (you must not know it)
Corvino:
But do not you forget to send, now.
Mosca:
Fear not.
Scene 7
Corvino:
Where are you, wife? my Celia? wife? what, blubbering?
Come, drye those tears. I think, thou thought'st me in earnest?
Ha? by this light, I talked so but to try thee.
Me thinkes, the lightness of the occasion
Should have confirmed thee. Come, I am not jealous:
Celia:
No?
Corvino:
Faith, I am not I, nor never was:
It is a poor, unprofitable humor.
Do not I know, if women have a will,
They will do against all the watches, of the world?
And that the feircest spies, are tamed with gold?
Tut, I am confident in thethou shalt see it:
And see, I will give the cause too, to believe it.
Come, kisse me. Go, and make theready straight,
In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewells,
Put them all on, and, with them, thy best lookes:
We are inuited to a solemne feast,
At old Volpone's, where it shall appear
How far I am free, from jealousie, or fear.
Act 3
Scene 1
Mosca:
I Fear, I shall begin to grow in love
With my dear selfe, and my most prosp'rous parts,
They do so spring, and burgeon; I can feele
A whimsey in my blood: (I know not how)
Success hath made me wanton. I could skip
Out of my skinne, now, like a subtill snake,
I am so limber. O! Your Parasite
Is a most pretious thing, droped from above,
Not bred amongst clods, and clot-poules, here on earth.
I muse, the Mystery was not made a Science,
It is so liberally profest! Almost,
All the wise world is little else, in nature,
But Parasites, or Sub-parasites. And, yet,
I meane not those, that have your bare Towne-art,
To know, who is fit to feede them; have no house,
No family, no care, and therefore mould
Tales for mens ears, to baite that sense; or get
Kitchin-invention, and some stale receipts
To please the belly, and the groine; nor those,
With their Court-dog-trickes, that can fawne, and fleere,
Make their revenue out of legges, and faces,
Eccho my-Lord, and lick away a moath:
But you fine, elegant rascall, that can rise,
And stoope (almost together) like an arrow;
Shoote through the air, as nimbly as a starre;
Turn short, as doth a swallow; and be here,
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once;
Present to any humour, all occasion;
And change a visor, swifter, then a thought.
This is the creature, had the art born with him;
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it
Out of most excellent nature: And such sparkes,
Are the true Parasites, others but their Zani's.
Scene 2
Mosca:
Who is this? Bonario? old Corbaccio's son?
The person I was bound to seeke. Fair Sir,
You are happ'ly met.
Bonario:
That cannot be by thee.
Mosca:
Why Sir?
Bonario:
Nay 'pray theknow thy way, and leave me;
I would be loath to inter-change discourse,
With such a mate, as thou art
Mosca:
Curteous Sir.
Scorn not my poverty.
Bonario:
Not I, by heaven,
But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.
Mosca:
Baseness?
Bonario:
Aye Answer me, Is not thy sloth
Sufficient argument? thy flattery?
Thy means of feeding?
Mosca:
Heaven, be good to me.
These imputations are too common, Sir,
And eas'ly stuck on vertue, when she is poor;
You are unequall to me, and how ere
Your sentence may be righteous yet you are not,
That ere you know me, thus, proceed in censure:
Saint Mark bear witness against you, it is inhumane.
Bonario:
What? does he weepe? the signe is soft, and good;
I do repent me, that I was so harsh.
Mosca:
It is true, that swayed, by strong necessity,
I am enforced to eate my carefull bread
With too much obsequy; it is true, beside,
That I am faine to spin mine own poor rayment,
Out of my mere observance, being not born,
To a free fortune: but that I have done
Base offices, in rending friends asunder,
Dividing families, betraying councells,
Whispering false lies, or mining men with prayses,
Trained their credulity with periuries,
Corrupted chastity, or am in love
With mine own tender ease, but would not rather
Prove the most rugged, and laborious course,
That might redeeme, my present estimation;
Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness.
Bonario:
This cannot be a personated passion.
I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;
'Pray theforgive me: and speake out thy bus'ness.
Mosca:
Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seeme,
At first, to make a maine offence, in manners,
And in my gratitude, unto my maister,
Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right,
And hatred of the wrong, I must reveale it.
This very houre, your father is in purpose
To disinherit you --
Bonario:
How?
Mosca:
And thrust you forth,
As a mere stranger to his blood; it is true, Sir:
The worke no way ingageth me, but, as
I claime an interest in the generall state
Of goodness, and true vertue, which I hear
To abound in you: and, for which mere respect,
Without a second ayme, Sir, I have done it.
Bonario:
This tale hath lost themuch of the late trust,
Thou hadst with me; it is impossible:
I know not how to lend it any thought,
My father should be so unnaturall.
Mosca:
It is a confidence, that well becomes
Your piety; and formed (no doubt) it is,
From your own simple innocence: which makes
Your wrong more monstrous, and abhored. But, Sir,
I now, will tell you more. This very minute,
It is, or will be doing: And, if you
Shall be but pleased to goe with me, I will bring you,
(I dare not say where you shall see, but) where
Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;
Hear yourself written Bastard; and profest
The common issue of the earth.
Bonario:
I am mazed.
Mosca:
Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,
And score your vengeance, on my front, and face;
Marke me your villain: You have too much wrong,
And I do suffer for you, Sir. My heart
Weepes blood, in anguish --
Bonario:
Lead. I follow thee.
Scene 3
Volpone:
Mosca stayes long, me thines. Bring forth your sports
And helpe, to make the wretched time more sweet.
Nano:
Dwarfe, Fool, and Eunuch, well mett here we be.
A question it were now, whether of us three,
Being, all, the known delicates, of a rich man,
In pleasing him, claime the precedency can?
Androgyno:
I claime for myself.
And, so doth the Fool.
Nano:
It is foolish indeed: let me set you both to school.
First, for your Dwarfe, he is little, and witty,
And every thing, as it is little, is pritty;
Else, why do men say to a creature (of my shape)
So soone as they see him, it is a pritty little Ape?
And, why a pritty Ape? but for pleasing imitation
Of greater mens action, in a ridiculous fashion.
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave
Halfe the meat, drinke, and cloth, one of your bulkes will have.
Admit, your Fools face be the Mother of Laughter,
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after:
And, though that do feede him, it is a pittifull case,
His body is beholding to such a bad face.
Volpone:
Who is there? my couch, Away, look Nano, see:
Give me my caps, first -- go, enquire. Now, Cupid
Send it be Mosca, and with fair return.
Nano:
It is the beauteous Madam --
Volpone:
Would-bee? is it?
Nano:
The same.
Volpone:
Now, torment on me; squire her in:
For she will enter, or dwell here for ever.
Nay, quickly, that my fit were past. I fear
A second hell too, that my loathing this
Will quite expell my appetite to the other:
Would she were taking, now, her tedious leave.
Lord, how it threates me, what I am to suffer!
Scene 4
Lady Politic:
I thank you, good Sir. 'Pray you signifie
Unto your Patron, I am here. This band
Shewes not my neck inough (I trouble you, Sir,
Let me request you, bid one of my women
Come hether to me) In good faith, I, am drest
Most favorably, to day, it is no matter,
It is well inough. Looke, see, these petulant things,
How they have done this!
Volpone:
I do feel the Fever
Entring, in at mine ears; O, for a charme
To fright it hence.
Lady Politic:
Come nearer: Is this curle
In his right place? or this? why is this highter
Then all the rest? you have not washed your eies, yet?
Or do they not stand even in your head?
Where is your fellow? call her.
Nano:
Now, St Marke
Deliver us: anone, she will beate her women,
Because her nose is red.
Lady Politic:
I pray you, view
This tire, forsooth; are all things apt, or no
1. Waiting-woman:
One hair a little, here, sticks out, forsooth.
Lady Politic:
Does it so forsooth? and where was your dear sight
When it did so, forsooth? what now? bird-eyd?
And you too? 'pray you both approach, and mend it.
Now (by that light) I muse, you are not ashamed,
I, that have preached these things, so oft, unto you,
Read you the principles, argued all the grounds,
Disputed every grace, every fitness,
Called you to councell of so frequent dressings --
Nano:
(More carefully, then of your fame, or honor)
Lady Politic:
Made you acquainted, what an ample dowry
The knowledge of these things would be unto you,
Able, alone, to get you Noble husbands
At your return: And you, thus, to neglect it?
Besides, you seeing what a curious Nation
The Italians are, what will they say of me?
The English lady cannot dress herself;
Here is a fine imputation, to our Country:
Well, goe your ways, and stay, in the next roome.
This fucus was too course too, it is no matter.
Good-Sir, you will give them entertainment?
Volpone:
The storme comes toward me.
Lady Politic:
How does my Volp?
Volpone:
Troubled with noyse, I cannot sleepe; I dreamt'
That a strange Fury entred, now, my house,
And, with the dreadfull tempest of her breath,
Did cleave my roofe asunder.
Lady Politic:
Believe me, and I
Had the most fearfull dreame, could I remember it --
Volpone:
Out on my fate; I have given her the occasion
How to torment me: she will tell me hers.
Lady Politic:
Me thought, the golden Mediocrity
Polite, and delicate --
Volpone:
O, if you do love me,
No more; I sweate, and suffer, at the mention
Of any dreame: feele, how I tremble yet.
Lady Politic:
Alasse, good soule! the Passion of the heart.
Seed-pearle were good now, boild with sirrope of Apples,
Tincture of Gold, and Currall, Citron-pills,
Your Elicampane roote, Mirobalans--
Volpone:
Ay me, I have ta'ne a grasse-hopper by the wing.
Lady Politic:
Burnt silke, and Amber, you have Muscadell
Good in the house --
Volpone:
You will not drinke, and part?
Lady Politic:
No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall not get
Some English saffron (halfe a dram would serve)
Your sixteen Cloves, a little Muske, dried Mintes,
Buglosse, and barley-meale --
Volpone:
She is in again,
Before I fayned diseases, now I have one.
Lady Politic:
And these applied, with a right scarlet-cloth --
Volpone:
Another floud of words! a very torrent!
Lady Politic:
Shall I, Sir, make you a Poultise?
Volpone:
No, no, no;
I am very well: you neede prescribe no more.
Lady Politic:
I have, a little, studied Physick; but, now,
I am all for Musique: save, in the forenoones,
An houre, or two, for Paynting. I would have
A Lady, indeed, to have all, Letters, and Artes,
Be able to discourse, to write, to paynt,
But principall (as Plato holds) your Musique
(And, so does wise Pithagoras, I take it)
Is your true rapture; when there is concent
In face, in voice, and clothes: and is, indeed,
Our sex's chiefest ornament.
Volpone:
The Poet;
As old in time, as Plato, and as knowing,
Says that your highest female grace is Silence.
Lady Politic:
Which of your Poets? Petrarch? or Tasso? or Dante?
Guerrini? Ariosto? Aretino?
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all.
Volpone:
Is every thing a cause, to my distruction?
Lady Politic:
I think, I have two or three of them, about me.
Volpone:
The sunne, the sea will sooner, both, stand still,
Then her aeternall tongue; nothing can scape it.
Lady Politic:
Here is Pastor Fido --
Volpone:
Profess obstinate silence,
That is, now, my safest.
Lady Politic:
All our English Writers,
I meane such, as are happy in the Italian,
Will deigne to steal out of this Author, mainely;
Almost as much, as from Montagnie;
He has so modern, and facile a veine,
Fitting the time, and catching the Court-ear.
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he,
In dayes of Sonetting, trusted them, with much:
Dante is hard, and fewe can understand him.
But, for a desperate wit, there is Aretine;
only, his pictures are a little obscene --
You marke me not?
Volpone:
Alasse, my mind is perturbed.
Lady Politic:
Why in such cases we must cure our selves,
Make use of our Philosophy --
Volpone:
O 'ay me.
Lady Politic:
And, as we find our passions do rebell,
Encounter them with reason; or divert them,
By giving scope unto some other humour
Of lesser danger: As, in politique bodyes,
There is nothing, more doth overwhelme the judgment,
And clouds the understanding, then too much
Setling, and fixing, and (as it were) subsiding
Upon one obiect. For the incorporating
Of these same outward things, into that part,
Which we call mentall, leaves some certaine faeces,
That stop the organs, and as Plato sayes,
Assassinates our Knowledge.
Volpone:
Now, the spirit
Of patience helpe me.
Lady Politic:
Come, in faith, I must
Visit you more, a dayes; and make you well:
Laugh, and be lusty.
Volpone:
My good Angell save me.
Lady Politic:
There was but one sole man, in all the world,
With whom I ere could sympathize; and he
Would lie you often three, foure houres together,
To hear me speake: and be (sometime) so rap't,
As he would answer me, quite from the purpose,
Like you, and you are like him, just. I will discourse
(And it be but only, Sir, to bring you a sleepe)
How we did spend our time, and loves, together,
For some six years.
Volpone:
O, o, o, o, o, o.
Lady Politic:
For we were Coaetanei, and brought up --
Volpone:
Some power, some fate, some fortune rescue me.
Scene 5
Mosca:
God save you, Madam.
Lady Politic:
Good Sir.
Volpone:
Mosca? welcome,
Welcome to my redemption.
Mosca:
Why, Sir?
Volpone:
O,
Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there;
My Madam, with the everlasting voyce:
The Bells, in time of pestilence, ne're made
Like noyse, or were in that perpetuall motion;
The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house,
But now, steamed like a bath, with her thicke breath.
A Lawyer could not have been heard; nor scarse
Another Woman such a hayle of words
She has let fall. For hells sake, ridd her hence.
Mosca:
Has she presented?
Volpone:
O, I do not care,
I will take her absence, upon any price,
With any losse.
Mosca:
Madam.
Lady Politic:
I have brought your Patron
A toy, a cap here, of mine own worke --
Mosca:
It is well,
I had forgot to tell you, I saw your Knight,
Where you would little think it --
Lady Politic:
Where?
Mosca:
Many,
Where yet, if you make hast you may apprehend him,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning Curtizan, of Venice.
Lady Politic:
Is it true?
Mosca:
Pursue them, and believe your eyes;
Leave me, to make your gift. I knew, it would take.
For lightly, they, that use themselves most licence,
Are still most jealous.
Volpone:
Mosca, hearty thanks,
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.
Now, to my hopes, what saist thou?
Lady Politic:
But do you hear, Sir?
Volpone:
Againe; I fear a paroxisme.
Lady Politic:
Which way
Rowed they together?
Mosca:
Toward the Rialto.
Lady Politic:
I pray you, lend me your Dwarfe.
Mosca:
I pray you, take him --
Your hopes, Sir, are like happy blossoms, fair,
And promise timely fruict, if you will stay
But the maturing; keepe you, at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the Will:
When he is gone, I will tell you more.
Volpone:
My blood,
My spirits are returned; I am alive:
And like your wanton gam'ster, at Primero,
Whose thought had whispered to him not go less,
Me thinkes I lie, and draw -- for an encounter.
Scene 6
Mosca:
Sir, here conceald, you may here all. But 'pray you
Have patience, Sir; the same is your father, knocks:
I am compeld, to leave you.
Bonario:
Do so. Yet,
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.
Scene 7
Mosca:
Death on me! you are come too soone, what meant you?
Did not I say, I would send?
Corvino:
Yes, but I feared
You might forget it, and then they prevent us.
Mosca:
Prevent? did ere man hast so, for his horns?
A Courtier would not ply it so, for a place.
Well, now there is no helping it, stay here;
I will presently return.
Corvino:
Where are you, Celia?
You know not, wherefore I have brought you hether?
Celia:
Not well, except you told me.
Corvino:
Now, I will:
Hearke hether.
Mosca:
Sir, your father hath sent word,
It will be halfe an houre, ere he come;
And therefore, if you please to walke, the while,
Into that gallery -- at the upper end,
There are some bookes, to entertaine the time:
And I will take care, no man shall come unto you, Sir.
Bonario:
Yes, I will stay there; I do doubt this fellow.
Mosca:
There, he is farre inough; he can hear nothing:
And, for his father, I can keepe him of.
Corvino:
Nay, now, there is no starting back; and therefore,
Resolve upon it: I have so decreeed.
It must be done. Nor, would I move it, afore,
Because I would avoyd all shifts and tricks,
That might deny me.
Celia:
Sir, let me beseech you,
Affect not these strange trialls; if you doubt
My chastity, why lock me up, for ever:
Make me the heir of darkeness. Let me live,
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.
Corvino:
Believe it, I have no such humor, I.
All that I speake, I meane; yet I am not mad:
Not horn-mad, see you? Go to, shew yourself
Obedient, and a wife.
Celia:
O heaven!
Corvino:
I say it,
Do so.
Celia:
Was this the traine?
Corvino:
I have told you reasons;
What the Phisitians have set downe; how much,
It may concern me; what my ingagements are;
My means; and the necessity of those means,
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyall, and mine, be wonne, respect my venture.
Celia:
Before your honour?
Corvino:
Honour? tut, a breath;
There is no such thing, in nature: a mere term
Invented to awe fools. What is my gold
The worse, for touching? clothes, for being looked on?
Why, this is no more. An old, decrepit wretch,
That has no sense, no sinewe; takes his meat
With others fingers; only knowes 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 entred him?
Corvino:
And for your same,
That is such a ligg; as if I would go tell it,
Cry it, on the Piazza! who shall know it?
But he, that cannot speake it; and this fellow,
Whose lips are in my pocket: save yourself,
If you will proclaime it, you may. I know no other,
Should come to know it.
Celia:
Are heaven, and Saints then nothing?
Will they be blind, or stupide?
Corvino:
How?
Celia:
Good Sir,
Be jealous stil, aemulate them; and think
What hate they burn with, toward every sinne.
Corvino:
I graunt you; if I thought it were a sinne,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscane blood,
That had read Aretine, conned all his printes,
Knew every quirke within lusts Laborinth,
And were profest Cristique, in lechery;
And I would loope upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sinne: but here, it is contrary,
A pious worke, mere charity, for Physick,
And honest politie, to assure mine own.
Celia:
O heaven, canst thou suffer such a change?
Volpone:
Thou art mine honor, Mosca and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight: go, bring them.
Mosca:
Please you draw near, Sir.
Corvino:
Come on, what --
You will not be rebellious? By that light --
Mosca:
Sir, Signior Coruino, here, is come to see you,
Volpone:
O.
Mosca:
And, hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, Sir, to prostitute --
Corvino:
Thankes, sweet Mosca,
Mosca:
Freely, una -- sked, or un -- intreated --
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:
It is well urged.
Mosca:
To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.
Volpone:
Alasse, I am past already. 'Pray you, thank him,
For his good care, and promptness. But for that,
It is a vaine labor, een to fight, against heaven;
Applying fire to a stone: (uh, uh, uh, uh,)
Making a dead leafe grow againe. I take
His wishes gently, though; and, you may tell him,
What I have done for him: Mary, my state is hopeless,
Will him, to pray for me: and to use his fortune,
With reverence, when he comes to it.
Mosca:
Do you hear, Sir?
Go to him, with your wife.
Corvino:
Heart of my father!
Wilt thou persist thus? Come. I pray thee, come.
Thou seest it is nothing: Celia. By this hand,
I shall grow violent. Come, do it, I say.
Celia:
Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poyson,
Eate burning coales, do any thing --
Corvino:
Be damned.
(Heart I will drag thehence, home, by the hair;
Cry thea strumpet, through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth, unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rotchet -- Do not tempt me, come,
Yeld, I am loth -- (Death) I will buy some slave,
Whom I will kill, and bind theto him, alive;
And, at my windore, hang you forth: devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in CAPITAL letters,
Will eate into thy flesh, with Aqua-fortis,
And burning cor'sives, on this stubborn brest.
Now, by the blood, thou hast incensed, I will do it.
Celia:
Sir, what you please, you may, I am your Martyr.
Corvino:
Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:
Think, who it is, intreats you. 'Pray thee, sweet;
(Good'faith) thou shalt have jewells, gownes, attires,
What thou wilt think, and aske -- Do, but, goe kiss him.
Or touch him, but. For my sake. At my sute.
This once. No? Not? I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me, thus? Do you thirst my undoing?
Mosca:
Nay, gentle Lady, be aduised.
Corvino:
No, no.
She has watched her time. God's precious -- this is skiruy: it is very skiruie: 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 wilt bid hem flow.
Mosca:
Nay, 'Pray you, Sir,
She will consider.
Celia:
Would my life would serve
To satisfy --
Corvino:
(Sedeath) if she would but speake to him,
And save my reputation, it were somewhat;
But, spightfully to affect my vtter ruine:
Mosca:
Aye, now you have put your fortune, in her hands.
Why in 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 departe, and leave her, here.
Corvino:
Sweet Celia,
Thou mayst redeeme all, yet; I will say no more:
If not, esteeme yourself as lost, -- Nay, stay there.
Celia:
O God, and his good Angells! whether, whether
Is shame fled humane brests? that, with such ease,
Men dare put of your honors, and their own?
Is that, which ever was a cause of life,
Now placeed beneath the basest circumstance?
And modesty an exile made, for money?
Volpone:
Aye in Coruino, and such earth-fed minds,
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 beauties miracle;
It is thy great worke: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times, raysed me, in severall shapes,
And, but this morning, like a Mountebanke;
To see theat thy windore. Aye, before
I would have left my practise, for thy love,
In varying figures, I would have contended
With the blew Proteus, or the horned Floud.
Now, art thou welcome.
Celia:
Sir.
Volpone:
Nay, fly me not;
Nor, let thy false imagination
That I was bedrid, make thethink, I am so:
Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh,
As hot, as high, and, in as joviall plight,
As when (in that so celebrated Scene,
At recitation of our Comedy,
For entertayment of the great Valoys)
I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes, and ears of all the Ladies, present,
To admire each gracefull gesture, note, and footing.
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 guiftes, in vaine.
Sunnes, that set, may rise againe:
But if, once, we loose this light,
It is with us perpetuall night.
Why should we deferre our joyes?
Fame, and rumor are but toyes.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor houshold-spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus remooved, by our wile?
It is no sinne, loves fruicts to steale;
But the sweet thefts to reveale:
To be taken, to be seene,
These have crimes accounted beene.
Celia:
Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face.
Volpone:
Why droopes 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 feede others: but possessed, and crowned.
See, here, a rope of pearle; and each, more orient
Then that the brave A Egiptian Queen carroused:
Dissolve, and drink them. See, a Carbuncle,
May put out both the eyes of our St Marke;
A Diamant, would have bought Lollia Paulina,
When she came in, like star-light, hid with jewells,
That were the spoils of Provinces; take these,
And wear, and loose them: Yet, remains an Earring
To purchase them again, and this whole State.
A Gem, but worth a private patrimony,
Is nothing: we will eate such at a meale.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingalles,
The brains of peacocks, and of estriches
Shall be our foode: and, could we get the pho enix,
(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 the enioying,
And, which once lost, I have nought to loose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensuall baits:
If you have conscience --
Volpone:
It is the Beggers vertue,
If thou hast wisdome, hear me Celia.
Thy bathes shall be the juyce of july-flowers,
Spirit of roses, and of violets,
The milke of unicorns, and panthers breath
Gathered in bagges, and mixt with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold, and amber;
Which we will take, untill my roofe whirle round
With the vertigo: and my Dwarfe shall dance,
My Eunuch sing, my Fool make up the antique.
Whilst, we, in changed shapes, act ovids 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 wearyed 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 Beautie;
Sometimes, unto the Persian Sophies Wife;
Or the grand-Signiors Mistress; and, for change,
To one of our most art-full Curtezans,
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee, in as many shapes:
Where we may, so, trans-fuse our wandring soules,
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 enuious, when they find
What there number is, be pind.
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 bountifull, and kill me -- you do know,
I am a creature, hether ill betrayd,
By one, whose shame I would forget it were --
If you will daigne me neither of these graces,
Yet feede your wrath, Sir, rather then your lust --
(It is a vice, comes nearer manliness --)
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty -- Flea my face,
Or poison it, with oyntments, for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion -- Rub these hands,
With what may cause an eating leprosie,
Even to my bones, and marrow -- Any thing,
That may dis-favour me, save in my honour --
And I will kneel to you, 'pray for you, pay downe
A thousand hourly vowes, Sir, for your health --
Report, and think you vertuous --
Volpone:
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 oportunity, thus long:
I should have done the act, and then have parleeed.
Yeeld, or I will force thee.
Celia:
O, just God.
Volpone:
In vaine --
Bonario:
Forbear, foule ravisher, libidinous swine,
Free the forced lady, or thou dy'st, Impostor.
But that I am loath 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 Idoll.
Lady, let us quit the place, it is the den
Of villany; fear nought you have a guard:
And he, ere long, shall meet his just reward.
Volpone:
Fall on me, roofe, and bury me in ruine,
Become my grave, that wert my shelter. O,
I am un-masqued, un-spirited, un-done,
Betrayed to beggary, to infamy --
Scene 8
Mosca:
Where shall I runne, most wretched shame of men,
To beate out my un-lucky braines?
Volpone:
Here, here.
What? dost thou bleede?
Mosca:
O, that his well-driven sword
Had been so curteous, to have cleft me downe,
Unto the navill; e're I lived to see
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my Patron, all
Thus desperately engaged, by my error.
Volpone:
Woe, on thy fortune.
Mosca:
And my follies, Sir.
Volpone:
Thou hast made me miserable.
Mosca:
And myself, Sir.
Who would have thought, he would have harkened, so?
Volpone:
What shall we do?
Mosca:
I know not, if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I would pluck it out.
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throate?
And I will requite you, Sir. Let us die like Romans,
Since we have lived, like Grecians.
Volpone:
Hearke, who is there?
I hear some footing, Officers, the Saffi,
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing, already, at my fore-head: now,
Mine ears are boring.
Mosca:
To your couch, Sir, you
Make that place good, how ever. Guilty men
Suspect, what they deserve still. Signior Corbaccio!
Scene 9
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 heire;
Entred our house with violence, his sword drawne,
Sought for you, called you wretch, unnaturall,
Vowed he would kill you.
Corbaccio:
Me?
Mosca:
Yes, and my Patron.
Corbaccio:
This act, shall disinherit him indeed:
Here is the Will.
Mosca:
It is well, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Right, and well.
Be you as carefull, now, for me.
Mosca:
My life, Sir,
Is not more tenderd, I am only yours.
Corbaccio:
How does he? will he die shortly, think'st thou?
Mosca:
I fear
He will out-last May.
Corbaccio:
To day?
Mosca:
No, last-out May, Sir,
Corbaccio:
Couldst thou not give him a dram?
Mosca:
O by no means, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Nay, I will not bid you.
Voltore:
This is a knave, I see.
Mosca:
How, Signior Voltore! did he hear me?
Voltore:
Parasite,
Mosca:
Who is 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?
Mosca:
Who? I, Sir?
Voltore:
You, Sir. What devise is this
About a Will?
Mosca:
A plot for you, Sir.
Voltore:
Come,
Put not your foysts upon me, I shall sent them.
Mosca:
Did you not hear it?
Voltore:
Yes, I hear, Corbaccio
Hath made your Patron, there, his heire.
Mosca:
It is true,
By my devise, drawne 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 passe the deed:
Being perswaded to it, by this thought, Sir,
That the unnaturallness, first, of the act,
And then, his fathers oft disclayming in him,
Which I did meane to helpe 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 ayme was, to dig you a fortune
Out of these two, old, rotten Sepulchers --
Voltore:
I cry themercy Mosca.
Mosca:
Worth your patience,
And your great merit, Sir. And, see the change!
Voltore:
Why? what success?
Mosca:
Most happless! you must helpe, Sir.
Whilst we expected the old Raven, in comes
Coruino's wife, sent hether, by her husband --
Voltore:
What, with a present?
Mosca:
No, Sir, On visitation;
(I will tell you how, anone) and, staying long,
The youth, he growes impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wound's me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
To affirme my patron would have done her rape:
Which how unlike it is, you see! and, hence,
With that pretext, he is gone, to accuse his father;
Defame my Patron; defeate you --
Voltore:
Where is her husband?
Let him be sent for, streight.
Mosca:
Sir, I will go fetch him.
Voltore:
Bring him, to the Scrutineo.
Mosca:
Sir, I Will.
Voltore:
This must be stoped.
Mosca:
O, you do nobly, Sir.
Alasse, it was labored all, Sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of councell, in the plot:
But fortune can, at any time, ore throw
The proiects of a hundred learned Clearkes, Sir.
Corbaccio:
What is that?
Voltore:
Wilt please you, Sir, to go along?
Mosca:
Patron, go in, and pray for our success.
Volpone:
Need makes devotion; Heaven your labor bless.
Act 4
Scene 1
Sir Politic:
I told you, Sir, it was a plot: you see
What observation is. You mentioned me,
For some instructions: I will tell you, Sir,
(Since we are met, here, in this height of Venice)
Some few perticulars, I have set downe,
only, for this meridian, fit to be knowne
Of your crude Travailer, and they are these.
I will not touch, Sir, at your phrase, or clothes,
For they are old.
Peregrine:
Sir, I have better.
Sir Politic:
Pardon
I meant, as they are Theames.
Peregrine:
O, Sir, proceed:
I will slander you no more of wit, good Sir.
Sir Politic:
First, for your garbe, it must be grave, and serious,
Very reserved, and lock't; not tell a secret,
On any terms, not to your father; scarse
A fable, but with caution; make sure choise
Both of your company, and discourse; beware,
You never speake a truth --
Peregrine:
How?
Sir Politic:
Not to strangers,
For those be they, you must conuerse with, most;
Others I would not know, Sir, but, at distance,
So as I still might be a saver, in them:
You shall have tricks, else, past upon you, hourely.
And then, for your Religion, profess none;
But wonder, at the diversity of all;
And, for your part, protest, were there no other
But simply the Laws, of the Land, you could content you:
Nic: Machiavell, and Monsieur Bodine, both,
Were of this mind. Then, must you learn the use,
And handling of your silver forke, at meales;
The mettall of your glasse -- These are maine matters,
With your Italian, and to know the hower,
When you must eat your melons, and your figges.
Peregrine:
Is that a point of State, too?
Sir Politic:
Here it is,
For your Venetian, if he see a man
Preposterous, in the least, he has him straight;
He has: he strips him. I will acquaint you, Sir,
I now have lived here (it is some fourteen monthes)
Within the first weeke, of my landing here,
All took me for a Citizen of Venice:
I knew the forms, so well --
Peregrine:
And nothing else.
Sir Politic:
I had read Contarene, took me a house,
Dealt with my Jews, to furnish it with moveables --
Well, if I could but find one man -- one man,
To mine own heart, whome I durst trust -- I would --
Peregrine:
What? what, Sir?
Sir Politic:
Make him rich; make him a fortune:
He should not think, againe. I would command it.
Peregrine:
As how?
Sir Politic:
With certaine proiects, that I have:
Which, I may not discover.
Peregrine:
If I had
But one to wager with, I would lay odds, now,
He tells me, instantly.
Sir Politic:
One is, (and that
I care not greatly, who knowes) to serve the State
Of Venice, with red herrings, for three years,
And at a certaine rate, from Roterdam,
Where I have correspendence. There is a letter,
Sent me from one of the States, and to that purpose;
He cannot write his name, but that is his marke.
Peregrine:
He is a Chaundler?
Sir Politic:
No, a Cheesemonger.
There are some other two, with whome I treate
About the same negotiation;
And -- I will undertake it: For, it is thus,
I will do it with ease, I have cast it all. Your hoigh
Carries but three men in her, and a boy;
And she shall make me three returns, a year:
So, if there come but one of three, I save,
If two, I can defalke. But, this is now,
If my main proiect faile.
Peregrine:
Then, you have otheres?
I should be loath to draw the subtill air
Sir Politic:
Of such a place, without my thousand ayms.
I will not dissemble, Sir, where ere I come,
I love to be considerative; and, it is true,
I have, at my free houres, thought upon
Some certaine Goods, unto the State of Venice,
Which I do call my Cautions: and, Sir, which
I meane (in hope of pension) to propound
To the great Councell, then unto the Forty,
So to the Ten. My means are made already --
Peregrine:
By whome?
Sir Politic:
Sir, one, that though his place be obscure,
Yet, he can sway, and they will hear him. He is
A Commandadore.
Peregrine:
What, a common sergeant?
Sir Politic:
Sir, such, as they are, put it in their mouthes,
What they should say, sometimes: as well as greater.
I think I have my notes, to shew you --
Peregrine:
Good, Sir.
Sir Politic:
But, you shall swear unto me, on your gentry,
Not to anticipate --
Peregrine:
I, Sir?
Sir Politic:
Nor reveale
A circumstance -- My paper is not with me.
Peregrine:
O, but, you can remember, Sir.
Sir Politic:
My first is
Concerning Tinder-boxes. You must know,
No family is, here, without its box;
Now Sir, it being so portable a thing,
Put case, that you, or I were ill affected
Unto the State: Sir, with it, in our pockets,
Might not I go into the Arsenale?
Or you? come out againe? and none the wiser?
Peregrine:
Except yourself, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Go to, then. I, therefore,
Aduertise to the State, how fit it were,
That none, but such as were known Patriots,
Sound lovers of their country, should be sufferd
To enioy them in their houses: And, even those,
Seald, at some office, and at such a bigness,
As might not lurke in pockets.
Peregrine:
Admirable!
Sir Politic:
My next is, how to enquire, and be resolved,
By present demonstration, whether a Ship,
Newly arrived from Soria, or from
And suspected part of all the Levant,
Be guilty of the Plague: And, where they use
To lie out forty, fifty dayes, sometimes,
About the Lazaretto, for their triall;
I will save that charge, and loss unto the merchant,
And, in an houre, clear the doubt.
Peregrine:
Indeede, Sir?
Sir Politic:
Or -- I will loose my labor.
Peregrine:
"My faith, that is much.
Sir Politic:
Nay, Sir, conceive me. It will cost me, in onions,
Some thirty Liveres --
Peregrine:
Which is one pound sterling.
Sir Politic:
Beside my water-workes: For this I do, Sir.
First, I bring in your ship, 'twixt two brickwalles;
(But those the State shall venter) on the one
I straine me a fair tarre-paulin; and, in that,
I stick my onions, cut in halfes: the other
Is full of loope holes, out at which, I thrust
The noses of my bellowes; and, those bellowes
I keepe, with water-workes, in perpetuall motion,
Which is the easi'st matter of a hundred.)
Now, Sir, your onion, which doth naturally
Attract the infection, and your bellowes, blowing
The air upon him, will shew (instantly)
By his changed colour, if there be contagion;
Or else, remaine as fair, as at the first:
Now it is knowne, it is nothing.
Peregrine:
You are right, Sir.
Sir Politic:
I would, I had my note.
Peregrine:
'Faith, so would Celia:
But, you have done well, for once, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Were I false,
Or would be made so, I could shew you reasons,
How I could sell this State, now, to the Turke;
Spight of their Galleys, or their --
Peregrine:
Pray you, Sir Poll.
Sir Politic:
I have them not, about me.
Peregrine:
That I feared.
They are there, Sir?
Sir Politic:
No. This is my Diary,
Wherein I note my actions of the day.
Peregrine:
'Pray you, let us see, Sir. What is here? Notandum,
A Rat had gnawne my spur-lethers; notwithstanding,
I put on new, and did go forth: but, first,
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item,
I went, and bought two tooth-pickes, whereof one
I burst, immediatly, in a discourse
With a dutch Merchant, about Ragion del stato.
From him, I went, and payd a moccinigo,
For peecing my silke stockings; by the way,
I cheapend sprats: and at St Markes, I urined.
'Faith, these are politique notes!
Sir Politic:
Sir, I do slippe
No action of my life, thus, but I quote it.
Peregrine:
Believe me, it is wise!
Sir Politic:
Nay, Sir, read forth.
Scene 2
Lady Politic:
Where should this loose Knight be, trow? sure he is housed.
Nano:
Why, then he is fast.
Lady Politic:
Aye, he plays both, with me:
I pray you, stay. This heate will do more harme
To my complexion, then his heart is worth;
(I do not care to hinder, but to take him)
How it comes of!
1. Waiting-woman:
My maister is, yonder.
Lady Politic:
Where?
1. Waiting-woman:
With a young Gentleman.
Lady Politic:
That same is the party,
In mans apparell. 'Pray you, Sir, jog my Knight:
I will be tender to his reputation,
How ever he demerit.
Sir Politic:
My Lady!
Peregrine:
Where?
Sir Politic:
It is she indeed Sir, you shall know her. She is,
Were she not mine, a Lady of that merite,
For fashion, and behaviour; and, for beauty
I durst compare --
Peregrine:
It seems, you are not jealous,
That dare commend her.
Sir Politic:
Nay, and for discourse --
Peregrine:
Beeing your wife, she cannot miss that.
Sir Politic:
Madame,
Here is a Gentleman, 'pray you, use him, fairly,
He seems a youth, but he is --
Lady Politic:
None?
Sir Politic:
Yes, one
Has put his face, as soone, into the world --
Lady Politic:
You meane, as early? but to day?
Sir Politic:
How is this?
Lady Politic:
Why in this habit, Sir, you apprehend me.
Well Mr. Would-bee, this doth not become you;
I had thought, the odour, Sir, of your good name,
Had been more precious to you; that you would not
Have done this dire massacre, on your honour;
One of your gravitie, and ranke, besides:
But, Knights, I see, care little for the oath
They make to Ladies; chiefely their own Ladies.
Sir Politic:
Now by my Spurres (the Symbol of my Knight-hood)
Peregrine:
(Lord! how his brain is humbled, for an oath)
Sir Politic:
I reach you not.
Lady Politic:
Right, Sir, your politie
May bear it through, thus. Sir, a word with you.
I would be loath, to contest, publicly,
With any Gentlewoman or to seeme
Froward, or violent (as the Courtier sayes)
It comes too near rusticity, in a Lady,
Which I would shun, by all means: and, how-ever
I may deserve from Mr Would-bee, yet,
To have one fair Gentlewoman, thus, be made
The unkind instrument, to wrong another,
And one she knowes not; aye, and to persever:
In my poor judgement, is not warranted
From being a solo ecisme in our sex,
If not in manners.
Peregrine:
How is this!
Sir Politic:
Sweet Madame,
Come nearer to your ayme.
Lady Politic:
Mary, and will, Sir.
Since you provoke me, with your impudence,
And laughter of your light land-Syren, here,
Your Sporus, your Hermaphrodite --
Peregrine:
What is here:
Poetique fury, and Historique storms?
Sir Politic:
The Gentleman, believe it, is of worth,
And of our Nation.
Lady Politic:
Aye, your white-Friars nation?
Come, I blush for you, Mr. Would-bee, I;
And am ashamed, you should have no more forehead,
Then, thus, to be the Patron, or Saint George
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice,
A female devill, in a male out-side.
Sir Politic:
Nay,
And you be such a one! I must bid, adieu
To your delights. The case appears too liquide.
Lady Politic:
Aye, you may carry it clear, with your State-face;
But, for your Carnivale Concupiscence,
Who here is fled, for liberty of conscience,
From furious persecution of the Marshall,
Her will I disc'ple.
Peregrine:
This is fine, In faith!
And do you use this, often? is this part
Of your wits exercise, against you have occasion?
Madam --
Lady Politic:
Go to, Sir.
Peregrine:
Do you hear me, Lady?
Why, if your Knight have set you to begge shirts,
Or to inuite me home, you might have done it
A nearer way, by farre:
Lady Politic:
This cannot worke you,
Out of my snare.
Peregrine:
Why? am I in it, then?
Indeed, your husband told me, you were fair,
And so you are; only, your nose enclines
(That side, that is next the Sunne) to the Queene-apple:
Lady Politic:
This cannot be indured, by any patience.
Scene 3
Mosca:
What is the matter, Madame?
Lady Politic:
If the Senate
Right not my quest, in this; I will protest them,
To all the world, no Aristocracye.
Mosca:
What is the iniurie, Lady?
Lady Politic:
Why, the callet,
You told me of, here I have ta'ne disguised.
Mosca:
Who? this? What means your Ladiship? The creature
I mentioned to you, is apprehended, now,
Before the Senate, you shall see her --
Lady Politic:
Where?
Mosca:
I will bring you to her. This young Gentleman
I saw him land, this morning, at the Port.
Lady Politic:
Is it possible! how has my judgement wandered?
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have erred:
And plead your pardon.
Peregrine:
What! more changes, yet?
Lady Politic:
I hope, you have not the malice to remember
A Gentlewomans passion. If you stay,
In Venice, here, please you to use me, Sir --
Mosca:
Will you goe, Madam?
Lady Politic:
'Pray you, Sir, use me. In faith,
The more you use me the more I shall conceive,
You have forgot our quarrell.
Peregrine:
This is rare!
Sir Politique Would-bee? No, Sir Politique Baud.
To bring me, thus, acquainted with his wife!
Well, wise Sir Pol: since you have practised, thus,
Upon my freshman-ship, I will try your salt-head,
What proofe it is against a counter-plot.
Scene 4
Voltore:
Well, now you know the carriage of the business,
Your constancy is all, that is required
Unto the safety of it.
Mosca:
Is the lie
Safely conveyed amongst us? Is that sure?
Knowes every man his burden?
Corvino:
Yes.
Mosca:
Then, shrink not.
Corvino:
But, knowes the Advocate the truth?
Mosca:
O, Sir,
By no means. I devised a formall tale,
That salved your reputation. But, be valiant, Sir.
Corvino:
I fear no one, but him; that, this his pleading
Should make him stand for a co-heire --
Mosca:
Co-halter,
Hang him: we will but use his tongue, his noise,
As we do Croakers, here.
Corvino:
Aye, what shall he do?
Mosca:
When we have done, you meane?
Corvino:
Yes.
Mosca:
Why, we will think,
Sell him for Mummia, he is halfe dust already.
Do not you smile, to see this Buffalo,
How he does sport it with his head? -- I should
If all were well, and past. Sir, only you
Are here, that shall enioy the crop of all,
And these not know for whome they toil.
Corbaccio:
Aye, peace.
Mosca:
But you shall eate it. Much. Worshipfull Sir,
Mercury sit upon your thundring tongue,
Or the French Hercules, and make your language
As conquering as his club, to beate along,
(As with a tempest) flat, our aduersaries;
But, much more, yours, Sir.
Voltore:
Here they come, have done.
Mosca:
I have another witness, if you neede, Sir,
I can produce.
Voltore:
Who is it?
Mosca:
Sir, I have her.
Scene 5
1. Avocatore:
The like of this the Senate never heard of.
2. Avocatore:
It will come most strange to them, when we report it.
4. Avocatore:
The Gentlewoman has been ever held
Of un-reproved name.
3. Avocatore:
So has the youth.
4. Avocatore:
The more unnaturall part that of his father.
2. Avocatore:
More, of the husband.
1. Avocatore:
I not know to give
His act a name, it is so monstrous!
4. Avocatore:
But the Impostor, he is a thing created
To exceed example!
1. Avocatore:
And all after times!
2. Avocatore:
I never heard a true voluptuary.
Discribed, but him.
3. Avocatore:
Appear yet those were cited?
Androgyno:
All, but the old magnifico, Volpone.
1. Avocatore:
Why is not he here?
Mosca:
Please your Fatherhoods,
Here is his Avvocate. Himselfe is, so weake,
So feeble --
4 Avocatore:
What are you?
Bonario:
His Parasite,
His Knave, his Pandar -- I beseech the Court,
He may be forced to come, that your grave eies
May bear strong witness of his strange impostures.
Voltore:
Upon my faith, and credit, with your vertues,
He is not able to endure the air.
2. Avocatore:
Bring him, howe ever.
3. Avocatore:
We will see him.
4. Avocatore:
Fetch him.
Voltore:
Your Father-hoodes fit pleasures be obeyed,
But sure, the sight will rather moove your pittyes,
Then indignation; may it please the Court,
In the meane time, he may be heard in me:
I know this Place most voide of preiudice,
And therefore crave it, since we have no reason
To fear our truth should hurt our cause.
3. Avocatore:
Speake free.
Voltore:
Then know, most honored Fathers, I must now
Discover, to your strangely abused ears,
The most prodigious, and most frontless piece
Of solid impudence, and trechery,
That ever vicious nature yet brought forth
To shame the State of Venice. This lewd woman
(That wants no artificiall lookes, or tears,
To helpe the visor, she has now put on)
Hath long been known a close adultress,
To that lascivious youth there, not suspected,
I say, but knowne; and taken, in the act,
With him; and by this man, the easy husband,
Pardoned: whose timeless bounty makes him, now,
Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person,
That ever mans own vertue made accused.
For these, not knowing how to owe a gift
Of that dear grace, but with their shame; being placed
So above all powers of their gratitude,
Began to hate the benefit; and, in place
Of thankes, devise to extirpe the memory
Of such an act: wherein, I pray your Father-hoods,
To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures
Discovered in their evils; and what heart
Such take, even, from their crimes. But that, anone,
Will more appear. This Gentleman, the father,
Hearing of this foule fact, with many others,
That dayly strook at his too-tender ears,
And, grieved in nothing more, then that he could not
Preserve himselfe a parent (his sons ills
Growing to that strange floud) at last decreed
To dis-inherit him.
1. Avocatore:
These be strange turns!
2. Avocatore:
The young mans fame was ever fair, and honest.
Voltore:
So much more full of danger is his vice,
That can beguile so, under shade of vertue.
But as I said (my honoured Sires) his father
Having this setled purpose, (by what means
To him betrayed, we know not) and this day
Appointed for the deed, that Parricide,
(I cannot stile him better) by confederacy
Preparing this his Paramour, to be there,
Entred Volpone's house (who was the man
Your Father-hoods must understand, designed
For the inheritance) there, sought his father;
But, with what purpose sought he him, my Sires?
(I tremble to pronounce it, that a son
Unto a father, and to such a father
Should have so foule, felonious intent)
It was, to murder him. When, being prevented
By his more happy absence, what then did he?
Not check his wicked thoughts; no, now new deeds:
(Mischiefe doth ever end. Where it begins)
An act of horror, Fathers! he draged forth
The aged Gentleman, that had there lien, bed-rid,
Three years, and more, out off his innocent couch,
Naked upon the floore, there left him; wounded
His servant in the face; and, with this strumpet
The stale to his for'gd practise, who was glad
To be so active, (I shall here desire
Your Father-hoods to note but my collections,
As most remarkable) thought, at once, to stop
His fathers ends; discredit his free choise,
In the old Gentleman; redeeme themselves,
By laying infamy, upon this man
To whome, with blushing, they should woe their lives.
1. Avocatore:
What proofes have you of this?
Bonario:
Most honoured Fathers,
I humbly crave, there be no credite given
To this mans mercenary tongue.
2. Avocatore:
Forbear.
Bonario:
His soule moves in his face.
3. Avocatore:
O, Sir.
Bonario:
This fellow,
For six sols more, would pleade against his Maker.
1. Avocatore:
You do forget yourself.
Voltore:
Nay, nay, grave Fathers,
Let him have scope; can any man imagine
That he will spare his accuser, that would not
Have spared his parent?
1. Avocatore:
Well, produce your proofes.
Celia:
I would, I could forget, I were a creature.
Voltore:
Signior Corbaccio.
4. Avocatore:
What is he?
Voltore:
The father.
2. Avocatore:
Has he had an oath?
Androgyno:
Yes.
Corbaccio:
What must I do now?
Androgyno:
Your testimony is craved.
Corbaccio:
Speake to the knave?
I will have my mouth, first, stoped with earth; my heart
Abhors his knowledge: I disclaime in him
1. Avocatore:
But, for what cause?
Corbaccio:
The mere portent of nature.
He is an vtter stranger to my loynes.
Bonario:
Have they made you to this?
Corbaccio:
I will not hear thee,
Monster of men, swine, goate, wolfe, Parricide,
Speake not, thou viper.
Bonario:
Sir, I will sit downe,
And rather wish my innocence should suffer,
Then I resist the authority of a father.
Voltore:
Signior Coruino.
2. Avocatore:
This is strange!
1. Avocatore:
Who is this?
Androgyno:
The husband.
4. Avocatore:
Is he sworn?
Androgyno:
He is.
3. Avocatore:
Speake then.
Corvino:
This woman (please your Father-hoods) is a whore,
Of most hot exercise, more then a partrich,
Upon record --
1. Avocatore:
No more.
Corvino:
Neighes, like a gennet.
Androgyno:
Preserve the honour of the Court.
Corvino:
I shall,
And modesty of your most reverend ears.
And, yet, I hope that I may say, these eyes
Have seen her glewed unto that peece of Cedar;
That fine well-timbered gallant: and that, here,
The letters may be read, through the horn,
That make the story perfect.
Mosca:
Excellent, Sir.
Corvino:
There is no harme in this, now, is there?
Mosca:
None.
Corvino:
Or if I said, I hoped that she were onward
To her damnation, if there be a hell
Greater then whore, and woman; a good Christian
May make the doubt.
3. Avocatore:
His griefe hath made him frantique.
1. Avocatore:
Remove him, hence.
2. Avocatore:
Look to the woman.
Corvino:
Rare!
Prettily fained! againe!
4. Avocatore:
Stand from about her.
1. Avocatore:
Give her the air.
3. Avocatore:
What can you say?
Mosca:
My wound
(May it please your wisdoms) speakes for me, received
In ayde of my good Patron, when he mist
His sought for father, when that well-taught dame
Had her Qu: given her, to cry out a rape.
Bonario:
O, Most layed impudence! Fathers.
3. Avocatore:
Sir, be silent,
You had your hearing free, so must they theirs.
2. Avocatore:
I do begin to doubt the imposture, here.
4. Avocatore:
This woman, has too many moodes.
Voltore:
Grave Fathers,
She is a creature, of a most profest,
And prostituted lewdness.
Corvino:
Most impetuous,
unsatisfied, grave Fathers.
Voltore:
May her faynings
Not take your wisdoms: but, this day, she bayted
A stranger, a grave Knight, with her loose eeyes,
And more lascivious kisses. This man saw them
Together, on the water, in a Gondola.
Mosca:
Here is the Lady herselfe, that saw them too,
Without; who, then, had in the open streets
Pursewed them, but for saving her Knights honour.
1. Avocatore:
Produce that Lady.
2. Avocatore:
Let her come.
4. Avocatore:
These things
They strike, with wonder!
3. Avocatore:
I am turned a stone!
Scene 6
Mosca:
Be resolute, Madam.
Lady Politic:
Aye, this same is she.
Out, thou Chameleon harlot; now, thine eyes
Vie tears with the Hyaena: darst thou looke
Upon my wronged face? I cry your pardons.
I fear, I have (forgettingly) transgrest
Against the dignity of the Court --
2. Avocatore:
No, Madame.
Lady Politic:
And been exorbitant --
4. Avocatore:
You have not, Lady. These proofes are strong.
Lady Politic:
Surely, I had no purpose,
To scandalize your Honors, or my sex's.
3. Avocatore:
We do believe it.
Lady Politic:
Surely, you may believe it.
2. Avocatore:
Madame, we do.
Lady Politic:
Indeede, you may; my breeding
Is not so course --
4. Avocatore:
We know it.
Lady Politic:
To offend
With pertinacy --
3. Avocatore:
Lady.
Lady Politic:
Such a presence;
No, surely.
1. Avocatore:
We well think it.
Lady Politic:
You may think it.
1. Avocatore:
Let her o'recome. What witnesses have you,
To make good your report?
Bonario:
Our consciences:
Celia:
And heaven, that never fayles the innocent.
4. Avocatore:
These are no testimonies.
Bonario:
Not, in your Courts,
Where multitude, and clamour, overcomes.
1. Avocatore:
Nay, then you do wax insolent.
Voltore:
Here, here,
The testimony comes, that will conuince,
And put to vtter dumbness, their bold tongues.
See here, grave Fathers, here is the Ravisher,
The Rider on mens wives, the great Impostor,
The grand Voluptuary: Do you not think,
These limbes should affect Venery? or these eyes
Covet a concubine? 'Pray you, marke these hands,
Are they not fit to stroke a Ladies brests?
Perhaps, he doth dissemble.
Bonario:
So he does.
Voltore:
Would you have him tortured?
Bonario:
I would have him proved.
Voltore:
Best try him, then, with goades, or burning Irons;
Put him to the strappado; I have heard,
The Rack hath cured the goute; faith, give it him,
And helpe him of a malady, be courteous:
I will undertake, before these honored Fathers,
He shall have, yet, as many left diseases,
As she has known adulterers, or thou strumpets.
O, my most equall Hearers, if these deeds,
Acts, of this bold, and most exorbitant strain,
May passe with suffrance; what one Cittizen,
But owes the forfeit of his life, yea fame,
To him that dares traduce him? Which of you
Are safe, my honord Fathers? I would aske
(With leave of your grave Father-hoods) if their plot
Have any face, or colour like to truth?
Or if, unto the dullest nostrill, here,
It smell not ranke, and most abhorred flaunder?
I crave your care of this good Gentleman,
Whose life is much indangered, by their fable;
And, as for them, I will conclude with this,
That vicious persons when they are hot, and fleshed
In impious acts, their constancy abounds:
Damned deeds are done with greatest confidence.
1. Avocatore:
Take them to custody, and sever them.
2. Avocatore:
It is pitty, two such prodigies should live.
1. Avocatore:
Let the old Gentleman be returned, with care;
I am sory, our credulity wronged him.
4. Avocatore:
These are two creatures!
3. Avocatore:
I have an earthquake in me!
2. Avocatore:
Their shame (even in their cradles) fled their faces.
4. Avocatore:
[to Voltore] You have done a worthy seruice to the State, Sir,
In their discovery.
1. Avocatore:
You shall hear, ere night,
What punishment the Court decrees upon them.
Voltore:
We thank your Father-hoods. How like you it?
Mosca:
Rare.
I would have your tongue, Sir, tiped with gold, for this;
I would have you be the heir to the whole Citty;
The earth I would have want men, ere you want living:
They are bount to erect your Statue, in St Markes.
Signior Coruino, I would have you goe,
And shew yourself, that you have conquered.
Corvino:
Yes.
Mosca:
It was much better, that you should profess
Yourself a cuckold, thus; then that the other
Should have been proved.
Corvino:
Nay I considered that;
Now it is her fault:
Mosca:
Then, it had been yours.
Corvino:
True, I do doubt this Advocate, still.
Mosca:
In faith,
You need not, I dare ease you of that care.
Corvino:
I trust thee, Mosca.
Mosca:
As your, own soule, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Mosca.
Mosca:
Now for your business, Sir.
Corbaccio:
How? have you busines?
Mosca:
Yes, yours, Sir.
Corbaccio:
O, none else?
Mosca:
None else, not I.
Corbaccio:
Be carefull, then.
Mosca:
Rest you, with both your eies, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Dispatch it,
Mosca:
Instantly.
Corbaccio:
And looke, that all,
What-ever, be put in, jewells, plate, moneyes,
House-holdstuffe, bedding, curtines.
Mosca:
Curtine-rings, Sir.
only, the Advocates fee must be deducted.
Corbaccio:
I will pay him, now: you will be too prodigall.
Mosca:
Sir. I must tender it.
Corbaccio:
Two Cecchines is well?
Mosca:
No, six, Sir.
Corbaccio:
It is too much.
Mosca:
He talked a great while,
You must consider that, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Well, there is three --
Mosca:
I will give it him.
Corbaccio:
Do so, and there is for thee.
Mosca:
Bountifull bones! What horrid strange offence
Did he commit against nature, in his youth,
Worthy this age? You see, Sir, how I worke
Unto your ends; take you no notice.
Voltore:
No,
I will leave you.
Mosca:
All, is yours; the Devill, and all,
Good Advocate. Madame, I will bring you home.
Lady Politic:
No, I will go see your Patron.
Mosca:
That you shall not:
I will tell you, why. My purpose is, to urge
My patron to reforme his Will; and, for
The zeale, you have shew'n to day, whereas before
You were but third, or fourth, you shall be now
Put in the first; which would appear as begged,
If you be present. Therefore --
Lady Politic:
You shall sway me.
Act 5
Scene 1
Volpone:
Well, I am here; and all this brunt is past:
I ne're was in dislike with my disguise,
Till this fled moment; here, it was good, in private,
But, in your public, Cave, whilst I breath.
'Fore God, my left legge began to have the crampe;
And I appre'nded, straight, some power had strook me
With a dead Palsey: 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 will prevent them.
Give me a boule of lusty wine, to fright
This humor from my heart; (Hum, hum, hum)
It is almost gone, already: I shall conquer.
Any devise, now, of rare, ingenious knavery,
That would possess me with a violent laughter,
Would make me up, againe: So, so, so, so.
This heate is life; it is blood, by this time: Mosca!
Scene 2
Mosca:
How now, Sir? does the day look clear againe?
Are we recoverd? and wrought out of error,
Into our way? to see our path, before us?
Is our trade free, once more?
Volpone:
Exquisite Mosca!
Mosca:
Was it not carryed learnedly?
Volpone:
And stoutly.
Good wits are greatest in extremities.
Mosca:
It were a folly, beyond thought, to trust
Any grand act unto a cowardly spirit:
You are not taken with it, enough, me thinkes?
Volpone:
O, more, then if I had enioyed the wench:
The pleasure of all woman-kind is not like it.
Mosca:
Why, now you speake, Sir. We must, here be fixt;
Here, we must rest; this is our maister-peice;
We cannot think, to goe beyond this.
Volpone:
True.
Thou hast playd thy prise, my precious Mosca.
Mosca:
Nay Sir,
To gull the Court --
Volpone:
And, quite divert the torrent,
Upon the innocent.
Mosca:
Yes, and to make
So rare a Musique, out of Discordes --
Volpone:
Right.
That, yet, to me is the strangest! how thou hast borne it!
That these (being so divided amongst them selves)
Should not sent some-what, or in me, or thee,
Or doubt their own side.
Mosca:
True. They will not see it;
Too much light blinds them, I think: each of them
Is so possessed, 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 --
Volpone:
Like a temptation of the Devill.
Mosca:
Right Sir.
Merchants may talke of trade, and your great Signiors
Of land, that yeelds well; but if Italy
Have any glebe, more fruictfull, then these fellowes,
I am deceived. Did not your Advocate rare?
Volpone:
O, my most honored Fathers, my grave Fathers,
under correction of your Father-hoods,
What face of truth is, here? If these strange deeds
May passe, most honoured Fathers -- I had much a do
To forbear laughing.
Mosca:
It seemed to me, you sweate, Sir.
Volpone:
In troth, I did a little.
Mosca:
But confess, Sir,
Were you not daunted?
Volpone:
In good faith, I was
A little in a mist; but not deiected:
Never, but still myself.
Mosca:
I think it, Sir.
Now (so truth helpe me) I must needs say this, Sir,
And, out of conscience; for your Advocate:
He has taken pains, in faith, Sir, and deserved,
In my poor judgement, I speake it, under favour,
Not to contrary you, Sir, very richly --
Well -- to be cosend.
Volpone:
Troth, and I think so too,
By that I heard him, in the latter end.
Mosca:
O, but before, Sir; had you heard him, first,
Draw it to certaine heads, then aggravate,
Then use his vehement figures -- I looked stil,
When he would shift a shirt; and, doing this
Out of pure love, no hope of gaine --
Volpone:
It is right.
I cannot answer him, Mosca, as I would,
Not yet; but, for thy sake, at thy intreaty,
I will beginne, even now, to vex them all:
This very instant.
Mosca:
Good, Sir.
Volpone:
Call the Dwarfe,.
And Eunuch, forth.
Mosca:
Castrone, Nano.
Nano:
Here.
Volpone:
Shall we have a Iig, now?
Mosca:
What you please, Sir.
Volpone:
Goe,
Streight, give out, about the streets, you two,
That I am dead; do it, with constancy,
Sadly, do you hear? impute it to the griefe
Of this late slander.
Mosca:
What do you meane Sir?
Volpone:
O,
I shall have, instantly, my Vulture, Crow,
Raven, come flying hither (on the newes)
To peck for carrion, my shee-Wolfe, and all,
Greedy, and full of expectation --
Mosca:
And then, to have it ravished from their mouths?
Volpone:
It is true, I will have theput on a gowne,
And take upon thee, as thou wert mine heire;
Shew them a Will; Open that chest, and reach
Forth one of those, that has the Blankes. I will straight
Put in thy name.
Mosca:
It will be rare, Sir.
Volpone:
Aye
When they even gape, and find themselves deluded,
Mosca:
Yes.
Volpone:
And, thou use them skiruily. Dispatch,
Get on thy gowne.
Mosca:
But, what, Sir, if they aske
After the body?
Volpone:
Say, it was corrupted,
Mosca:
I will say it stunke, Sir; and was faine to have it
Coffined up instantly, and sent away.
Volpone:
Any thing, what thou wilt. Hold, here is my Will.
Get thea cap, a count-booke, pen and inke,
Papers afore thee; sit, as thou wert taking
An inventory of parcells: I will get up,
Behind the curtine, on a stool, and hearken;
Sometime, peepe over; see, how they do looke;
With what degrees, their blood doth leave their faces;
O, it will afford me a rare meale of laughter.
Mosca:
Your Advocate will turn starke dull, upon it.
Volpone:
It will take of his Oratories edge.
Mosca:
But your Clarissimo, old round-backe, he
Will crumpe you, like a hog-louse, with the touch.
Volpone:
And what Coruino?
Mosca:
O, Sir, look for him,
To morrow morning, with a rope, and a dagger,
To visite all the streets; he must runne madd.
My Lady too, that came into the Court,
To bear false witness, for your Worship.
Volpone:
Yes,
And kist me 'fore the Fathers; when my face
Flowed all with oils.
Mosca:
And sweate -- Sir. Why, your gold
Is such another med'cine, it dries up
All those offensive savors! It tranforms
The most deformed, and restores them lovely,
As it were the strange poeticall Girdle. Jove
Could not inuent, to himselfe, a shroud more subtle,
To passe Acrisius guardes. It is the thing
Makes all the world her grace, her youth, her beauty.
Volpone:
I think, she loves me.
Mosca:
Who? the Lady, Sir?
She is jealous of you.
Volpone:
Dost thou say so?
Mosca:
Hearke,
There is some, already.
Volpone:
Looke.
Mosca:
It is the Vulture:
He has the quickest sent.
Volpone:
I will to my place,
Thou, to thy posture,
Mosca:
I am set.
Volpone:
But, Mosca,
Play the Artificer now, torture them, rarely.
Scene 3
Voltore:
How now, my Mosca?
Mosca:
Turkie Carpets, nine --
Voltore:
Taking an inventory? that is well.
Mosca:
Two Sutes of bedding, Tissew --
Voltore:
Where is the Will?
Let me read that, the while.
Corbaccio:
So, set me downe:
And get you home.
Voltore:
Is he come, now, to trouble us?
Mosca:
Of Cloth of gold, two more--
Corbaccio:
Is it done, Mosca?
Mosca:
Of severall vellets, eight --
Voltore:
I like his care.
Corbaccio:
Dost thou not hear?
Corvino:
Ha? is the houre come, Mosca?
Volpone:
Aye, now, they muster.
Corvino:
What does the Advocate, here?
Or this Corbaccio?
Corbaccio:
What do these here?
Lady Politic:
Mosca?
Is his thred spunne?
Mosca:
Eight Chests of Linnen --
Volpone:
O,
My fine Dame would-bee, too!
Corvino:
Mosca, the Will,
That I may shew it these, and rid hem hence.
Mosca:
Six Chests of Diaper foure of Damasske -- There.
Corbaccio:
Is that the Will?
Mosca:
Downe-Beds, and Boulsters --
Volpone:
Rare!
Be busy still. Now, they begin to flutter:
They never think of me. Looke, see, see, see!
How their swift eies runne over the long deed,
Unto the Name, and to the Legacies,
What is bequeath' d them, there --
Mosca:
Ten Sutes of Hangings --
Volpone:
Aye, in their garters, Mosca. Now, their hopes
Are at the gaspe.
Voltore:
Mosca the heire?
Corbaccio:
What is that?
Volpone:
My Advocate is dumbe, Look to my Merchant,
He has heard of some strange storme, a ship is lost:
He faintes. My Lady will swoune. Old Glazen-eies,
He hath not reached his dispair, yet.
Corbaccio:
All these
Are out of hope, I am sure the man.
Corvino:
But, Mosca --
Mosca:
Two Cabinets.
Corvino:
Is this in earnest?
Mosca:
One
Of Ebony --
Corvino:
Or, do you but delude me?
Mosca:
The other, Mother of Pearle -- I am very busie.
Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me --
Item, one Salt of Agat -- not my seeking.
Lady Politic:
Do you hear, Sir?
Mosca:
A perfumed Box -- 'pray you forbear,
You see I am troubled -- made of an Onyx --
Lady Politic:
How!
Mosca:
To morrow, or next day, I shall be at leasure,
To talke with you all.
Corvino:
Is this my large hopes issue?
Lady Politic:
Sir, I must have a fairer answere.
Mosca:
Madame?
Mary, and shall: 'pray you, fairly quit my house.
Nay, raise no tempest with your lookes; but, hearke you:
Remember, what your Ladyship offerd me,
To put you in, an heire; go to, think on it.
And what you said, een your best Madames did
For maintaynance, and why not you? Inough.
Go home, and use the poor Sir Poll. Your Knight, well;
For fear I tell some riddles; Go, be melancholique.
Volpone:
O, my fine Devill!
Corvino:
Mosca, 'pray you a word.
Mosca:
Lord! will not you take your dispatch hence, yet?
Me thinkes (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 asse?
And, that you would; most fain, have been a wittoll,
If fortune would have let you? that you are
A declared cuckold, on good terms? This Pearle,
You will say, was yours? right. This Diamant?
I will not deny it, but thank you. Much here, else?
It may be so. Why, think that these good workes
May helpe to hide your bad: I will not betray you,
Although you be but extraordinary,
And have it only in title, it sufficeth.
Go home; be melancholique, too: or mad.
Volpone:
Rare Mosca! how his villany becomes him.
Voltore:
Certain, he doth delude all these, for me.
Corbaccio:
Mosca the heire?
Volpone:
O, his four eies have found it.
Corbaccio:
I am cosened, cheated, by a Parasite-slave;
Harlot, thou hast guled me.
Mosca:
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 legges, that, here, in hope of prey,
Have, any time this three year, snuft about,
With your most groveling nose; and would have hired
Me, to the pois'ning of my Patron? Sir?
Are not you he, that have, to day, in Court,
Professed the dis-inheriting of your son?
Periured yourself? goe home, and die, and stinke;
If you but croake a sillable, all comes out:
Away, and call your porters, go, go stinke.
Volpone:
Excellent varlet!
Voltore:
Now, my faithfull Mosca,
I find thy constancie.
Mosca:
Sir?
Voltore:
Sincere.
Mosca:
A Table
Of Porphiry -- I mar'le, you will be thus troublesome.
Volpone:
Nay, leave off now, they are gone.
Mosca:
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 defeate
Your (I must needs say) most deseruing travailes:
But, I protest, Sir, it was cast upon me,
And I could, almost, wish to be without it,
But, that the will of the dead must be observed,
Mary, 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 halfe the like, for all my fortune, Sir.
If I have any sutes (as I do hope,
Things being so easie, and direct, I shall not)
I will make bold with your obstreperous aide,
(Conceive me) for your fee, Sir. In meane 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; it will helpe
To set up a young man. Good faith, you looke
As you were costive; best goe home, and purge, Sir,
Volpone:
Bid him, eate lettice well: my witty mischiefe,
Let me embrace thee. O, that I could now
Transforme theto a Venus -- Mosca, goe,
Streight, take my habite of Clarissimo,
And walke the streets; be seene, torment them more:
We must purseew, as well as plot. Who would
Have lost this feast?
Mosca:
I doubt, it will loose them.
Volpone:
O, my recovery shall recover all,
That I could now but think on some disguise,
To meet them in: and aske them questions.
How I would vex them still, at every turn?
Mosca:
Sir, I can fit you.
Volpone:
Canst thou?
Mosca:
Yes. I know
One of the Commandadori, Sir, so like you,
Him will I streight make drunke, and bring you his habite.
Volpone:
A rare disguise, and answering thy braine!
O, I will be a sharpe disease unto them.
Mosca:
Sir you must look for curses --
Volpone:
Till they burst;
The FOX fares ever best, when he is curst.
Scene 4
Peregrine:
Am I inough disguised?
Androgyno:
I warrant you.
Peregrine:
All my ambition is to fright him, only.
Androgyno:
If you could ship him away, twere excellent,
To Zant, or to Alepo?
Peregrine:
Yes, and have his
Adventures put in the Book of voyages.
And his guld story registred, for truth?
Well, Gentlemen, when I am in, a while;
And that you think us warme in our discourse,
Know your approaches.
Androgyno:
Trust it, to our care.
Peregrine:
'Save you fair Lady. Is Sir Poll. within?
1. Waiting-woman:
I do not know, Sir.
Peregrine:
'Pray you, say unto him,
Here is a merchant, upon earnest business,
Desires to speake with him.
1. Waiting-woman:
I will see, Sir.
Peregrine:
'Pray you.
I see, the Family is all female, here.
1. Waiting-woman:
He says, Sir, he has waighty affairs of State,
That now require him whole; some other time,
You may possess him.
Peregrine:
Pray you, say again,
If those require him whole; these will exact him,
Whereof I bring him tideings. What might be
His grave affair of State, now? how, to make
Bolognian sauseges, here, in Venice, sparing
One of the Ingredients.
1. Waiting-woman:
Sir, he says, he knowes
By your word tidings, that you are no States-man,
And therefore, wills you stay.
Peregrine:
Sweet, 'pray you return him,
I have not read so many Proclamations,
And studied them, for words, as he has done --
But, here he deignes to come.
Sir Politic:
Sir!! I must crave
Your courteous pardon; There hath chanced (to day)
unkind disaster, 'twixt my Lady, and me:
And I was penning my Apologie
To give her satisfaction, as you came, now.
Peregrine:
Sir, I am greived, I bring you worse disaster;
The Gentleman, you met at the Port, to day,
That told you, he was newly arrived --
Sir Politic:
Aye, was
A fugitive-Punke?
Peregrine:
No, Sir, a Spie, set on you,
And he has made relation to the Senate,
That you profest to him, to have a plot,
To sell the State of Venice, to the Turke.
Sir Politic:
O me.
Peregrine:
For which, warrants are signed by this time,
To apprehend you, and to search your study,
For papers --
Sir Politic:
Alasse, Sir. I have none, but notes,
Drawne out of Play-bookes--
Peregrine:
All the better, Sir.
Sir Politic:
And some Essayes. What shall I do?
Peregrine:
Sir, Best
Convay yourself into a Sugar-Chest;
Or, if you could lie round, a Frayle were rare:
And I could send you, aboard.
Sir Politic:
Sir, I but talked so,
For discourse sake, merely.
Peregrine:
Hearke, they are there.
Sir Politic:
I am a wretch, a wretch.
Peregrine:
What, will you do Sir?
Have you nere a Curren-Butt to leape into?
They will put you to the Rack, you must be sodaine.
Sir Politic:
Sir, I have an ingine --
Androgyno:
Sir Politique Would-be?
Where is he?
Sir Politic:
That I have thought upon, before time.
Peregrine:
What is it?
Sir Politic:
I shall ne're indure the torture.
Mary, it is, Sir, of a Tortoyse-shell,
Apted, for these extremities: 'Pray you Sir, helpe me.
Here, I have a place, Sir, to put back my leggs,
Please you to lay it on, Sir, with this cap,
And my black gloves, I will lie, Sir, like a Tortoyse,
Till they are gone,
Peregrine:
And, call you this an ingine?
Sir Politic:
Mine own devise -- Good Sir, bid my wives women
To burn my papers.
Androgyno:
Where is he hid?
We must,
And will, sure, find him.
Which is his study?
What
Are you, Sir?
Peregrine:
I am a merchant, that came here
To look upon this Tortoyse.
Androgyno:
How?
St Marke!
What Beast is this?
Peregrine:
It is a Fish.
Androgyno:
Come out, here.
Peregrine:
Nay, you may strike him, Sir, and tread upon him:
He will bear a cart.
Androgyno:
What, to runne over him?
Peregrine:
Yes.
Androgyno:
Let us jumpe, upon him;
Can he not goe?
Peregrine:
He creepes Sir.
Androgyno:
Let us see him creepe
Peregrine:
No, good Sir, you will hurt him.
Androgyno:
(Heart) I will see him creepe; or prick his gutts.
Come out, here.
Peregrine:
'Pray you, Sir , (creepe a little)
Androgyno:
Forth.
Yet furder.
Peregrine:
Good Sir. (creepe)
Androgyno:
We will see his leggs.
Gods 'so he has garters!
Aye, and gloves!
Is this
Your fearfull Tortoyse?
Peregrine:
Now, Sir Poll. We are even;
For your next proiect, I shall be prepared:
I am sory, for the funerall of your notes, Sir.
Androgyno:
It were a rare motion, to be seen in Fleet-street!
Aye, in the Terme.
Or Smithfield, in the Fair.
Me thinkes, it is but a melancholique sight!
Peregrine:
Farewell, most politique Tortoyse.
Sir Politic:
Where is my Lady?
Knowes she of this?
1. Waiting-woman:
I know not, Sir.
Sir Politic:
Enquire.
O, I shall be the fable of all feasts;
The freight of the Gazetti; ship-boies tale;
And, which is worst, even talke for Ordinaries.
1. Waiting-woman:
My Lady is come most melancholique, home,
And says, Sir, she will straight to sea, for Physick.
Sir Politic:
And I, to shunne, this place, and clime for ever;
Creeping, with house, on back: and think it well,
To shrink my poor head, in my politique shell,
Scene 5
Volpone:
Am I then like him?
Mosca:
O, Sir, you are he:
No man can sever you.
Volpone:
Good.
Mosca:
But, what am I?
Volpone:
'Fore heaven, a brave Clarissimo, thou becom'st it!
Pitty, thou wert not born one.
Mosca:
If I hold
My made one, it will be well.
Volpone:
I will goe, and see
What newes, first, at the Court.
Mosca:
Do so. My FOX
Is out on his hole, and, ere he shall re-enter,
I will make him languish, in his borrowed case,
Except he come to composition, with me:
Androgyno, Castrone, Nano.
the Mob:
Here.
Mosca:
Go, recreate your selves, abroad; go, sport:
So, now I have the keies, and am possessed.
Since he will, needs, be dead, afore his time,
I will bury him, or gaine by him; I am his heir:
And so will keepe me, till he share at least.
To cosen him of all, were but a cheat
Well placed; no man would construe it a sinne:
Let his sport pay for it, this is called the FOX-trap.
Scene 6
Corbaccio:
They say, the Court is set.
Corvino:
We must mainteine
Our first tale good, for both our reputations.
Corbaccio:
Why? mine is no tale: my son would, there, have kild me.
Corvino:
That is true, I had forgot; Mine is, I am sure
But, for your Will, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Aye, I will come upon him,
For that, hereafter; now his Patron is dead.
Volpone:
Signior Coruino! and Corbaccio! Sir,
Much joy unto you.
Corvino:
Of what?
Volpone:
The sodaine good,
Droped down upon you --
Corbaccio:
Where?
Volpone:
(And, none knowes how)
From old Volpone, Sir.
Corbaccio:
Out, errant Knave.
Volpone:
Let not your too much wealth, Sir, make you furious.
Corbaccio:
Away, thou varlet.
Volpone:
Why Sir?
Corbaccio:
Dost thou mock me?
Volpone:
You mock the world, Sir, did you not change Wills?
Corbaccio:
Out, harlot.
Volpone:
O! belike you are the man,
Signior Coruino? 'faith, you carry it well;
You grow not mad withall: I love your spirit.
You are not over-leavend, with your fortune.
You should have some would swell, now, like a wine-fat,
With such an Autumne -- Did he give you all, Sir?
Corbaccio:
Avoid, you Rascall.
Volpone:
'Troth, your wife has shew'ne
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?
Corvino:
Hence varlet.
Volpone:
You will not be a' knowne, Sir: it is wise,
Thus do all Gam'sters, at all games, dissemble;
No man will seeme to winne: here, comes my Vulture,
Heaving his beake up in the air, and snuffing.
Scene 7
Voltore:
Ovt-striped thus, by a Parasite? a slave?
Would run on errands? and make less, for crums?
Well, what I will do --
Volpone:
The Court stayes for your worship.
I ee'ne reioyce, Sir, at your worships happiness,
And, that it fell into so learned hands,
That understand the fingering.
Voltore:
What do you meane?
Volpone:
I meane to be a sutor to your worship,
For the small tenement, out of reparations;
That, at the end of your long row of houses,
By the Piscaria: It was, in Volpone's time,
Your predecessor, e're he grew diseased,
A handsome, pretty, customed baudy-house,
As any was in Venice (none dispraised)
But fell with him; His body, and that house
Decayed, together.
Voltore:
Come, Sir, leave your prating.
Volpone:
Why, if your worship give me but your hand,
That I may have the refusall; I have done.
It is a meere toy, to you, Sir; candle rents:
As your learned worship knowes --
Voltore:
What do I know?
Volpone:
Mary, no end of your wealth, Sir, God decrease it.
Voltore:
Mistaking knave! what, mockst thou my mis-fortune?
Volpone:
His blessing on your heart, Sir, would it were more.
Now, to my first, againe; at the next corner.
(MOSCA passant [crosses stage])
Scene 8
Corbaccio:
See, in our habite! see the impudent varlet!
Corvino:
That I could shoote mine eyes at him, like gunstones.
Volpone:
But, is this true, Sir, of the Parasite?
Corbaccio:
Again, to afflict us? Monster!
Volpone:
In good faith, Sir,
I am hartily grieved, a beard of your grave length
Should be so over-reached. I never brooked
That Parasites hair, me thought his nose should cosen,
There still was somewhat, in his looke, did promise
The bane of a Clarissimo.
Corbaccio:
Knave --
Volpone:
Me thinkes,
Yet you, that are so traded in the world,
A witty merchant, the fine bird, Coruino,
That have such morall Emblems on your name,
Should not have sung your shame; and droped your cheese:
To let the FOX laugh at your emptiness.
Corvino:
Sirrah, you think, the priviledge of the place,
And your red saucy cap, that seems (to me)
Nayled to your jolt-head, with those two Cecchines,
Can warrant your abuses; come you, hither:
You shall perceive, Sir, I dare beate you. Approch.
Volpone:
No hast, Sir, I do know your valure, well,
Since you durst publish what you are, Sir.
Corvino:
Tarry,
I would speake , with you.
Volpone:
Sir, another time --
Corvino:
Nay, now.
Volpone:
O God, Sir! I were a wise man
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold.
Corbaccio:
What! come againe?
Volpone:
Upon them, Mosca; save me.
Corbaccio:
The air is infected, where he breathes.
Corvino:
Lets fly him.
Volpone:
Excellent Basiliske! Turn upon the Vulture.
Scene 9
Voltore:
Well, flesh-flie, it is Sommer with you now;
Your Winter will come on.
Mosca:
Good Advocate,
'Pray thee, not rayle, nor threaten out of place, thus;
Thou wilt make a solo ecisme (as Madam sayes)
Get you a biggen, more: your brain breakes loose.
Voltore:
Well, Sir.
Volpone:
Would you have me beate the insolent slave?
Throwe durt, upon his first good cloathes?
Voltore:
This same
Is, doubtless, some Familiar!
Volpone:
Sir, the Court,
In troth, stayes for you. I am madd, a Mule,
That never read justinian, should get up,
And ride an Advocate. Had you no quirk,
To avoide gullage, Sir., by such a creature?
I hope you do but jest; he has not done it:
This is but confederacy, to blind the rest.
You are the heir?
Voltore:
A strange, officious,
Trouble-some knave! thou dost torment me.
Volpone:
I know --
It cannot be, sir, that you should be consened;
It is not within the wit of man, to do it:
You are so wise, so prudent -- And, it is fit,
That wealth, and wisdome still, should go together --
Scene 10
1. Avocatore:
Are all the parties, here?
Androgyno:
All but the Advocate.
2. Avocatore:
And, here he comes.
1. Avocatore:
Then bring them forth to sentence.
Voltore:
O my most honourd Fathers, let your mercy
Once winne upon your justice, to forgive --
I am distracted --
Volpone:
What will he do, now?
Voltore:
O,
I know not which to address myself to, first,
Whether your Father-hoods, or these innocents --
Corvino:
Will he betray himselfe,
Voltore:
Whome, equally,
I have abused, out of most covetous ends --
Corvino:
The man is mad!
Corbaccio:
What is that?
Corvino:
He is possessed.
Androgyno:
For which; now strook in conscience, here I prostate
Myself, at you offended feet, for pardon.
the Mob:
Arise.
Celia:
O heaven, how just thou art!
Volpone:
I am caught
In myne own noose --
Corvino:
Be constant. Sir, nought now
Can helpe, but impudence.
1. Avocatore:
Speake forward.
Androgyno:
Silence.
Voltore:
It is not passion in me, reverend Fathers,
But only conscience, conscience, my good Sires,
That makes me, now, tell truth. That Parasite,
That Knave hath been the instrument of all --
1. Avocatore:
Where is that Knave? fetch him.
Volpone:
I go.
Corvino:
Grave Fathers,
This man is distracted, he confest it, now;
For, hoping to be old Volpone's heir,
Who now is dead --
3. Avocatore:
How?
2. Avocatore:
Is Volpone dead?
Corvino:
Dead since, grave Fathers --
Bonario:
O, sure vengeance!
1. Avocatore:
Stay, --
Then, he was no deceiver?
Voltore:
O, no, none:
The Parasite, grave Fathers --
Corvino:
He does speake,
Out of mere enuie, 'cause the servant is made
The thing, he gap't for; please your Father-hoods,
This is the truth: though, I will not justifie
The other, but he may be somewhere faulty.
Voltore:
Aye, to your hopes, as well as mine, Coruino:
But I will use modesty. 'Pleaseth your wisdoms
To view these certaine notes, and but conferre them;
As I hope favour, they shall speake clear truth.
Corvino:
The Devill has entred him.
Bonario:
Or bides in you.
4. Avocatore:
We have done ill, by a public Officer,
To send for him, if he be heire;
2. Avocatore:
For whome?
4. Avocatore:
Him, that they call the Parasite.
3. Avocatore:
It is true;
He is a man, of great estate, now left.
4. Avocatore:
Goe you, and learn his name; and say, the Court
Intreates his presence, here: but, to the clearing
Of some few doubts.
2. Avocatore:
This same is a labyrinth!
1. Avocatore:
Stand you unto your first report?
Corvino:
My state,
My life, my fame --
Bonario:
Where is it?
Corvino:
Are at the stake
1. Avocatore:
Is yours so too?
Corbaccio:
The Advocate is a knave:
And has a forked tongue --
2. Avocatore:
Speake to the point.
Corbaccio:
So is the Parasite, too.
1. Avocatore:
This is confusion.
Voltore:
I do beseech your Father-hoods, read but those;
Corvino:
And credit nothing, the false spirit hath writ:
It cannot be (my Sires) but he is possessed.
Scene 11
Volpone:
To make a snare, for mine own neck! and run
My head into it, wilfully! with laughter!
When I had newly scap't, was free, and clear!
Out of mere wantonness! o, the dull Devill
Was in this braine of mine, when I devised it;
And Mosca gave it second: he must now
Helpe to sear up this veyne, or we bleed dead.
How now! who let you loose? whether go you, now?
What? to bury Ginger bread? or to drown Kitlings?
Nano:
Sir, Maister Mosca called us out of dores,
And bid us all go play, and took the keyes.
Androgyno:
Yes.
Volpone:
Did Maister Mosca take the keyes? why, so!
I am farder, in. These are my fine conceipts!
I must be merry, with a mischiefe to me!
What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear
My fortune, soberly? I must have my Crotchets!
And my Conundrums! well, go you, and seeke him:
His meaning may be truer, then my fear.
Bid him he, streight, come to me, to the Court;
Thether will I; and, if it be possible,
un-screw my Advocate, upon new hopes:
When I provoked him, then I lost my self.
Scene 12
1. Avocatore:
These things can ne're be reconciled. He, here,
Professth, that the Gentleman was wronged;
And that the Gentlewoman was brought thether,
Forced by her husband: and there left.
Voltore:
Most true.
Celia:
How ready is heaven to those, that pray.
1. Avocatore:
But, that
Volpone would have ravished her, he holds
Vtterly false; knowing his impotence.
Corvino:
Grave Fathers, he is possessed; again, I say
Possessed: nay, if there be possession,
And obsession, he has both.
3. Avocatore:
Here comes our Officer.
Volpone:
The Parasite will streight be, here, grave Fathers.
1. Avocatore:
You might invent some other name, Sir varlet.
3. Avocatore:
Did not the Notary meet him?
Volpone:
Not, that I know.
1. Avocatore:
His coming will clear all.
2. Avocatore:
Yet it is misty.
Voltore:
May it please your Father-hoods --
Volpone:
Sir, the Parasite
Willed me to tell you, that his Maister lives;
That you are still the man; your hopes the same;
And this was, only a jest --
Voltore:
How?
Volpone:
Sir, to trie
If you were firme, and how you stood affected.
Voltore:
Art sure he lives?
Volpone:
Do I live, Sir?
Voltore:
O me!
I was too violent.
Volpone:
Sir, you may redeeme it,
They said, you were possessed; fall downe, and seeme so:
I will helpe to make it good. God bless the man!
Stop your wind hard, and swell: See, see, see, see!
He vomits crooked pinnes! his eyes are set,
Like a dead hares, hung in a poulters shop!
His mouth is running away! Do you see, Signior?
Now, it is in his belly!
Corvino:
Aye, the Devill!
Volpone:
Now, in his throate.
Corvino:
Aye, I perceive it plaine.
Volpone:
It will out, it will out; stand cleere. See, where it flyes!
In shape of a blew toad, with a battes wings!
Do not you see it, Sir?
Corbaccio:
What? I think I do.
Corvino:
It is too manifest.
Volpone:
Looke! he comes to himselfe!
Voltore:
Where am I?
Volpone:
Take good heart, the worst is past, Sir.
You are dis-possessed.
1. Avocatore:
What accident is this?
2. Avocatore:
Sodain, and full of wonder!
3. Avocatore:
If he were
Possessed, as it appears, all this is nothing.
Corvino:
He has beene, often, subiect to these fitts.
1. Avocatore:
Shew him that writing, do you know it, Sir?
Volpone:
Deny it, Sir, forwear it, know it not.
Voltore:
Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand:
Volpone:
But all, that it containes, is false.
Bonario:
O practise!
2. Avocatore:
What maze is this!
1. Avocatore:
Is he not guilty, then,
Whome you, there, name the Parasite?
Voltore:
Grave Fathers,
No more then, his good Patron, old Volpone.
1. Avocatore:
Why, he is dead?
Voltore:
O no, my honored Fathers,
He lives --
1. Avocatore:
How! lives?
Voltore:
Lives.
2. Avocatore:
This is subtler, yet!
3. Avocatore:
You sayd, he was dead?
Voltore:
Never.
3. Avocatore:
You sayd so?
Corvino:
I heard so.
1. Avocatore:
Here comes the Gentleman, make him way.
3. Avocatore:
A stool.
4. Avocatore:
A proper man! and, were Volpone dead,
A fit match for my daughter.
3. Avocatore:
Give him way.
Volpone:
Mosca, I was almost lost, the Advocate
Had betrayd all; but, now, it is recovered:
All is on the hinge againe -- say, I am living.
Mosca:
What busy knave is this. Most reverend Fathers,
I sooner had attended your grave pleasures,
But that my order, for the funerall
Of my dear Patron did require me --
Volpone:
(Mosca!)
Mosca:
Whome I intend to bury, like a Gentleman --
Volpone:
Aye, quick, and cosen me of all.
2. Avocatore:
Still stranger!
More intricate!
1. Avocatore:
And come about, againe!
4. Avocatore:
It is a match, my daughter is bestowed.
Mosca:
(Will you give me halfe?
Volpone:
First I will be hanged.
Mosca:
I know,
Your voice is good, cry not so lowed)
1. Avocatore:
Demand
The Advocate. Sir, did not you affirme,
Volpone was alive?
Volpone:
Yes, and he is;
This Gent'man told me, so. (Thou shalt have halfe.)
Mosca:
Whose drunkard is this same? speake some, that know him:
I never saw his face. (I cannot now
Afford it you so cheape.
Volpone:
No?)
1. Avocatore:
What say you?
Voltore:
The Officer told me.
Volpone:
I did, grave Fathers,
And will maintain, he lives, with mine own life.
And that this creature told me. (I was born,
With all good starres my enemies.)
Mosca:
Most grave Fathers,
If such an insolence, as this, must passe
Upon me, I am silent: it was not this,
For which you sent, I hope.
2. Avocatore:
Take him away.
Volpone:
(Mosca.)
3. Avocatore:
Let him be whiped.
Volpone:
(Wilt thou betray me? Cosen me?)
3. Avocatore:
And taught, to bear himselfe
Toward a person of his ranke.
1. Avocatore:
Away.
Mosca:
I humbly thank your Father-hoods.
Volpone:
Soft, soft: whiped?
And lose all that I have? If I confess,
It cannot be much more.
4. Avocatore:
Sir, are you married?
Volpone:
They will be allied anon; I must be resolute:
The FOX shall, here, uncase.
Mosca:
(Patron!)
Volpone:
Nay, now,
My ruins shall not come alone; your match
I will hinder sure: my substance shall not glew you,
Nor screw you into a Family.
Mosca:
(Why, Patron!)
Volpone:
I am Volpone, and this is my Knave;
This, his own Knave; This, avarice's Fool;
This, a Chimera of Wittall, Fool, and Knave;
And, reverend Fathers, since we all can hope
Nought, but a sentence, let us not now dispair it.
You hear me brief.
Corvino:
May it please your Father-hoods --
Androgyno:
Silence.
1. Avocatore:
The knot is now undone, by miracle!
2. Avocatore:
Nothing can be more clear.
3. Avocatore:
Or, can more prove
These innocent.
1. Avocatore:
Give them their liberty.
Bonario:
Heaven could not, long, let such gross crimes be hid.
2. Avocatore:
If this be held the high way to get riches,
May I be poor!
3. Avocatore:
This is not the gain, but torment.
1. Avocatore:
These possess wealth, as sick men possess Fevers,
Which, trulier, may be sayd to possess them.
2. Avocatore:
Disrobe that Parasite!
the Mob:
Most honored Fathers --
1. Avocatore:
Can you plead ought to stay the course of justice?
If you can, speake.
the Mob:
We beg favor,
Celia:
And mercy.
1. Avocatore:
You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty.
Stand forth; and, first, the Parasite. You appear
To have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter,
In all these leud impostures; and now, lastly,
Have, with your impudence, abused the Court,
And habite of a Gentleman of Venice,
Being a fellow of no birth or blood:
For which, our sentence is, first thou be whiped;
Then live perpetuall prisoner in our Gallies.
Voltore:
I thank you, for him.
Mosca:
Bane to thy woluish nature.
1. Avocatore:
Deliver him to the Saffi. Thou, Volpone,
By blood, and rank a Gentleman, canst not fall
under like censure; But our judgement on thee
Is, that thy substance all be straight confiscate
To the Hospitall, of the Incurabili:
And, since the most was gotten by imposture,
By fayning lame, gout, palsey and such diseases,
Thou art to lie in prison, cramed with irons,
Till thou bee'st sick, and lame indeed. Remove him.
Volpone:
This is called mortifiyng of a FOX.
1. Avocatore:
Thou Voltore, to take away the scandale
Thou hast given all worthy men, of thy profession,
Art banished from their Fellowship, and our State.
Corbaccio, bring him near. We here possess
Thy son, of all thy estate; and confine thee
To the Monastery of San' Spirito:
Where since thou knewst not how to live well here,
Thou shalt be learned to die well.
Corbaccio:
Ha! what said he?
Androgyno:
You shall know anon, Sir.
1. Avocatore:
Thou Coruino, shalt
Be straight imbarqued from thine own house, and rowed
Round about Venice, thorough the grand Canale,
Wearing a cap, with fair, long Asses ears,
In steed of horns: and so, to mount (a paper
Pined on thy brest) to the Berlino --
Corvino:
Yes,
And, have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish,
Brused fruit and rotten egges -- it is well. I am glad,
I shall not see my shame, yet.
1. Avocatore:
And to expiate
Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her
Home, to her father, with her dowry trebled:
And these are all your judgements --
the Mob:
(Honoured Fathers.
1. Avocatore:
Which may not be revoked. Now, you begin
When crimes are done, and past, and to be punished,
To think what your crimes are; away, with them.
Let all, that see these vices thus rewarded,
Take heart, and love to study them. Mischiefes feed
Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed.
Volpone:
The seasoning of a Play is the applause,
Now, though the Fox be punished by the laws,
He, yet, doth hope there is no suffring due,
For any fact, which he hath done against you;
If there be, censure him: here he, doubtfull, stands.
FINIS
================================================
Other texts of interest:
[The Elizabethan tabloids: Freakish News]
In The Sicke Womans Private Looking-Glasse [1636], John Sadler writes that monsters are caused either divinely or naturally; the divine cause 'proceeds from the permissive will of God, suffering parents to bring forth such abominations, for their filthie and corrupt affectons which are let loose unto wickednesse, like brute beasts that have no understanding' [p. 133].
John Hall (b. 1529), "The description & declaration of a monstrous chyld, borne in the towne of Maydston in the Countie of Kent, in the yeare of oure Saluation .1561. the .xxix. daye of September, beynge Sayncte Mychaell the Archangels day, betwene two & thre of the clock in the mornyng," in The Courte of Vertu (1565)
Anon., This horryble monster is cast of a sowe in ... Lebenham (1531). STC 15346.
Anon. The Strange News of the History of Strange Wonders (1561). STC 19507.
Anon., The True Report of a Monstrous Childe, Borne at Muche Horkeslye. [1562]. STC 12207.
John D., A Description of a Monstrous Chyde Borne at Chichester (1562). STC 6177.
Anon., The description of a monstrous pig (1562), STC 6768; cf. STC 12737.
William Fulwood, The shape of .ii. mo[n]sters (1562), STC 11485.
Anon., The Description of Two Monsterous Chyldren Borne at Herne in Kent (1565). STC 6774.
C.R., ...Straunge fishe (1569). STC 20570.
I. or J. P[hilip?], A Mervaylous straunge deformed swyne [1570?]. STC 19071.
William Elderton, The True Form And Shape of a Monsterous Chyld Borne in Stony Stratforde (1565). STC 7565.
John Mellys, The True Description of Two Monsterous Children (1566). STC 17803.
H.B., The true discripcion of a childe with ruffes borne in the parish of Micheham in the cou[n]tie of Surrey in the yeere of our Lord. M.D.LXvi (1566), STC 1033.
Anon., The Forme and Shape of a Monstrous Child Borne at Maydstone (1568). STC 17194.
Anon., A right strange and woonderful example of the handie worke of a mightie God (1585), STC 20127
Anon., A right strange example of the handie worke of God [triplets]. (1585). STC 20127.
I.L., Monster Borne in Rome in 1585 (1590). STC 15107.
Anon., Strange signes seen in the aire, strange monsters behelde on the land, and wonderfull prodigies both by land and sea, ouer, in, and about the citie of Rosenberge in high Germany the nineteenth of Ianuarie last past. (1594), STC 21321.
Luke Hutton, London Monster called the Black Dog of Newgate (in verse) (1596?; repr. 1612). STC 14030.
C. G., The Minte of Deformities (1600). STC 11491.
I.R., A most straunge, and true discourse, of the wonderfull iudgement of God. Of a monstrous, deformed infant, begotten by incestuous copulation, between the brothers sonne and the sisters daughter, being both vnmarried persons. Which childe was borne at Colwall, in the country and diocesse of Hereford, vpon the sixt day of Ianuary last, being the feast of the Epiphany, commonly called Twelfth day. A notable and most terrible example against incest and whoredome (1600.) STC 20575.
Anon., A true relation of the birth of three monsters in the city of Namen n Flanders (1609), STC 18347.5.
Anon., Strange newes out of Kent (1609), STC 14934.
Edward Leigh, Monster borne at Adlington in Lancashire (1613). STC 15428.
William Leigh, Strange newes of a prodigious monster (1613), STC 15428.
A.R., ...Strange serpent in Sussex (1614). STC 20569.
Anon., A True Report and Exact Description of a Mighty Sea-Monster (1617), STC 20892.
Anon., Wonder woorth the reading, of a woman in Kent street (1617). STC 14935.
Anon., Two remarkable and true histories, which hapned this present yeare, 1619. (1620), STC 13525.
John Tyson, The Lancashire wonder, to warn all sinners to repentance [1630?]. STC 24478.
Thomas Bedford, A New Relation Of A Strange Birth (1635). STC 1791.
Anon., News and strange news from St. Christophers (1638). STC 21558.
Edward May, Strange serpent found in the heart of John Pennant (1639). STC 17709.
L.P. . A monstrous shape. Or a shapelesse monster. (1639), STC 20317.
Anon., A certaine relation of the hog-faced gentlewoman called Mistris Tannakin Skinker, who was borne at Wirkham a neuter town between the Emperour and the Hollander, scituate on the river Rhyne (1640), STC 22627, 22627.5.
Thomas Belasyse, Viscount Fauconberg, A relation of a terrible monster taken by a fisherman neere Wollage, July the 15. 1642. and is now to be seen in Kings street, Westminster. (1642), Wing R796.
M.P., A description of a strange (and miraculous) fish (1635), STC 19226.
Anon., A declaration of a strange and wonderfull monster (1646), Wing D60.
Anon., A Monstrous Birth: or, a True Relation (1657) Wing M2467.
Anon., A True And Perfect Account of The Miraculous Sea-Monster, Or, Wonderful Fish Lately Taken In Ireland By Eye Witness. (1674), Wing T2520.
Anon., A Brief narrative of a strange and wonderful old woman that hath a pair of horns growing upon her head (1676), Wing B4610.
Anon., News from St. John Street (1676), Wing N996
Anon. A True relation of two prodigious births the like not hapning in many generations, the signification whereof is left to the judicious to contemplate. (1680), Wing T3075A.
Anon., Strange and wonderful news of the birth of a monstrous child with two heads, and three arms (1685), Wing B55.