SCENE II.[1562

[_To him re-enter_] MOSCA, [_with_] NANO, ANDROGYNO, _and_ CASTRONE.

_Nan._ “Now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know, They do bring you neither play nor university show; And therefore do intreat you that whatsoever they rehearse, May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse. If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass, 5 For know, here[1563] is inclos’d the soul of Pythagoras, That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow; Which soul, 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. 10 From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration To goldy-lock’d Euphorbus, who was kill’d in good fashion, At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta. Hermotimus was next (I find it in my charta), To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing, 15 But with one Pyrrhus of Delos it learn’d to go a-fishing; And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece. From Pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece, Hight Aspasia, the meretrix; and the next toss of her Was again of a whore, she became a philosopher, Crates the cynick, as itself doth relate it: 21 Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools gat it, Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock,[1564] In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobbler’s cock.[1565] 24 But I come not here to discourse of that matter, Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, BY QUATER![1566] His musics, his trigon,[1567] his golden thigh, Or his telling how elements shift; but I Would ask, how of late thou hast suffer’d translation, And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. 30

_And._ Like one of the reform’d, a fool, as you see, Counting all old doctrine heresy.

_Nan._ But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventur’d?

_And._ On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter’d.

_Nan._ Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee? 35

_And._ Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me.

_Nan._ O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook thee! For Pythagore’s sake, what body then took thee?

_And._ A good dull mule.

_Nan._ And how! by that means Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans? 40

_And._ Yes.

_Nan._ But from the mule into whom didst thou pass?

_And._ Into a very strange beast, by some writers call’d an ass; By others a precise,[1568] pure, illuminate brother Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another; And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctifi’d lie, Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie.[1569] 46

_Nan._ Now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation, And gently report thy next transmigration.

_And._ To the same that I am.

_Nan._ A creature of delight, And, what is more than a fool, an hermaphrodite! 50 Now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation, Which body wouldst thou choose to keep up thy station?

_And._ Troth, this I am in: even here would I tarry.

_Nan._ ’Cause here the delight of each sex thou canst vary?

_And._ Alas, those pleasures be stale and forsaken; 55 No, ’t is your fool wherewith I am so taken, The only one creature that I can call blessed; For all other forms I have prov’d most distressed.

_Nan._ Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still. This learned opinion we celebrate will, 60 Fellow eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art, To dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special a part.”

_Volp._ Now, very, very pretty! Mosca, this Was thy invention?

_Mos._ If it please my patron, Not else.

_Volp._ It doth, good Mosca.

_Mos._ Then it was, sir. 65

[NANO _and_ CASTRONE _sing_.]

Song.

“Fools, they are the only nation Worth men’s envy or admiration; Free from care or sorrow-taking, Selves and others merry making: All they speak or do is sterling. 70 Your fool he is your great man’s darling, And your ladies’ sport and pleasure; Tongue and bauble are his treasure. E’en his face begetteth laughter, And he speaks truth free from slaughter;[1570] 75 He’s the grace of every feast, And sometimes the chiefest guest; Hath his trencher and his stool, When wit waits upon the fool. O, who would not be 80 He, he, he?” _One knocks without._

_Volp._ Who ’s that? Away! Look, Mosca. Fool, begone! [_Exeunt_ NANO, CAST. _and_ ANDRO.]

_Mos._ ’T is Signior Voltore, the advocate; I know him by his knock.

_Volp._ Fetch me my gown, My furs, and night-caps; say my couch is changing 85 And let him entertain himself awhile Without i’ th’ gallery. [_Exit_ MOSCA.] Now, now my clients Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite, Raven, and gorcrow,[1571] all my birds of prey, 89 That think me turning carcase, now they come: I am not for ’em yet. [_Re-enter_ MOSCA, _with the gown, etc._] How now! the news?

_Mos._ A piece of plate, sir.

_Volp._ Of what bigness?

_Mos._ Huge, Massy, and antique, with your name inscrib’d, And arms engraven.

_Volp._ Good! and not a fox 94 Stretcht on the earth, with fine delusive sleights, Mocking a gaping crow? ha, Mosca!

_Mos._ Sharp, sir.

_Volp._ Give me my furs. [_Puts on his sick dress_.] Why dost thou laugh so, man?

_Mos._ I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend What thoughts he has without now, as he walks: 99 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 return would come of all his ventures; 103 How he should worshipp’d be, and reverenc’d; Ride with his furs, and foot cloths; waited on By herds of fools and clients; have clear way Made for his mule, as letter’d as himself; Be call’d the great and learned advocate: 108 And then concludes, there’s nought impossible.

_Volp._ Yes, to be learned, Mosca.

_Mos._ O, no: rich Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple, So you can hide his two ambitious[1572] ears, And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.

_Volp._ My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in. 114

_Mos._ Stay, sir; your ointment for your eyes.

_Volp._ That ’s true; Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession Of my new present.

_Mos._ That, and thousands more, I hope to see you lord of.

_Volp._ Thanks, kind Mosca.

_Mos._ And that, when I am lost in blended dust, And hundreds such as I am, in succession— 120

_Volp._ Nay, that were too much, Mosca.

_Mos._ You shall live Still to delude these harpies.

_Volp._ Loving Mosca! ’T is well: my pillow now, and let him enter.

[_Exit_ MOSCA.]

Now, my feign’d cough, my phthisic, and my gout, My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, 125 Help, with your forced functions, this my posture, Wherein, this three year, I have milk’d their hopes. He comes; I hear him—Uh! [_coughing_] uh! uh! uh! O——