Scene IV.[1576

MOSCA, VOLPONE.

_Mos._ Betake you to your silence, and your sleep. Stand there and multiply. [_Putting the plate to the rest._] Now we shall see A wretch who is indeed more impotent Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop Over his grave. [_Enter_ CORBACCIO.] Signior Corbaccio! 5 You’re very welcome, sir.

_Corb._ How does your patron?

_Mos._ Troth, as he did, sir; no amends.

_Corb._ What! mends he?

_Mos._ No, sir: he ’s rather worse.

_Corb._ That ’s well. Where is he?

_Mos._ Upon his couch, sir, newly fall’n asleep.

_Corb._ Does he sleep well?

_Mos._ No wink, sir, all this night, 10 Nor yesterday; but slumbers.

_Corb._ Good! he should take Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him An opiate here, from mine own doctor.

_Mos._ He will not hear of drugs.

_Corb._ Why? I myself Stood by while ’t was made, saw all th’ ingredients; 15 And know it cannot but most gently work: My life for his, ’t is but to make him sleep.

_Volp._ [_Aside._] Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it.

_Mos._ Sir, He has no faith in physic.

_Corb._ Say you, say you?

_Mos._ He has no faith in physic: he does think 20 Most of your doctors are the greater danger, And worse disease, t’ escape. I often have Heard him protest that your physician Should never be his heir.

_Corb._ Not I his heir?

_Mos._ Not your physician, sir.

_Corb._ O, no, no, no, 25 I do not mean it.

_Mos._ No, sir, nor their fees He cannot brook; he says they flay a man Before they kill him.

_Corb._ Right, I do conceive you.

_Mos._ And then they do it by experiment; For which the law not only doth absolve ’em, But gives them great reward: and he is loth 31 To hire his death so.

_Corb._ It is true, they kill With as much licence as a judge.

_Mos._ Nay, more; For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, And these can kill him too.

_Corb._ Ay, or me; 35 Or any man. How does his apoplex? Is that strong on him still?

_Mos._ Most violent. His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, His face drawn longer than ’t was wont——

_Corb._ How! how! Stronger than he was wont?

_Mos._ No, sir; his face 40 Drawn longer than ’t was wont.

_Corb._ O, good!

_Mos._ His mouth Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang.

_Corb._ Good.

_Mos._ A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.

_Corb._ ’T is good.

_Mos._ His pulse beats slow, and dull.

_Corb._ Good symptoms still. 45

_Mos._ And from his brain——

_Corb._ Ha? How? Not from his brain?

_Mos._ Yes, sir, and from his brain—

_Corb._ I conceive you; good.

_Mos._ Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum, Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.

_Corb._ Is ’t possible? Yet I am better, ha! 50 How does he with the swimming of his head?

_Mos._ O, sir, ’t is past the scotomy;[1577] he now Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.

_Corb._ Excellent, excellent! sure I shall outlast him: 55 This makes me young again, a score of years.

_Mos._ I was a-coming for you, sir.

_Corb._ Has he made his will? What has he giv’n me?

_Mos._ No, sir.

_Corb._ Nothing! ha?

_Mos._ He has not made his will, sir.

_Corb._ Oh, oh, oh! What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here? 60

_Mos._ He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard My master was about his testament; As I did urge him to it for your good——

_Corb._ He came unto him, did he? I thought so.

_Mos._ Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. 65

_Corb._ To be his heir?

_Mos._ I do not know, sir.

_Corb._ True: I know it too.

_Mos._ [_Aside._] By your own scale, sir.

_Corb._ Well, I shall prevent him yet. See, Mosca, look, Here I have brought a bag of bright chequins,[1578] Will quite lay down his plate.

_Mos._ [_taking the bag._] Yea, marry, sir. 70 This is true physic, this your sacred medicine; No talk of opiates to this great elixir!

_Corb._ ’T is _aurum palpabile_, if not _potabile_.

_Mos._ It shall be minister’d to him in his bowl.

_Corb._ Ay, do, do, do.

_Mos._ Most blessed cordial! 75 This will recover him.

_Corb._ Yes, do, do, do.

_Mos._ I think it were not best, sir.

_Corb._ What?

_Mos._ To recover him.

_Corb._ O, no, no, no; by no means.

_Mos._ Why, sir, this Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it.

_Corb._ ’T is true, therefore forbear; I ’ll take my venture: 80 Give me ’t again.

_Mos._ At no hand: pardon me: You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I Will so advise you, you shall have it all.

_Corb._ How?

_Mos._ All, sir; ’t is your right, your own; no man Can claim a part: ’t is yours without a rival, 85 Decreed by destiny.

_Corb._ How, how, good Mosca?

_Mos._ I’ll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover.—

_Corb._ I do conceive you.

_Mos._ And on first advantage Of his gain’d sense, will I re-importune him Unto the making of his testament: 90 And show him this. [_Pointing to the money._]

_Corb._ Good, good.

_Mos._ ’T is better yet. If you will hear, sir.

_Corb._ Yes, with all my heart.

_Mos._ Now would I counsel you, make home with speed; There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe My master your sole heir.

_Corb._ And disinherit 95 My son?

_Mos._ O, sir, the better: for that colour[1579] Shall make it much more taking.

_Corb._ O, but colour?

_Mos._ 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, 100 Your more than many gifts, your this day’s present, And last, produce your will; where, without thought, Or least regard, unto your proper issue, A son so brave, and highly meriting, The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you 105 Upon my master, and made him your heir; He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead, But out of conscience and mere gratitude——

_Corb._ He must pronounce me his?

_Mos._ ’T is true.

_Corb._ This plot Did I think on before.

_Mos._ I do believe it. 110

_Corb._ Do you not believe it?

_Mos._ Yes, sir,

_Corb._ Mine own project.

_Mos._ Which, when he hath done, sir——

_Corb._ Publish’d me his heir?

_Mos._ And you so certain to survive him——

_Corb._ Ay.

_Mos._ Being so lusty a man——

_Corb._ ’T is true.

_Mos._ Yes, sir——

_Corb._ I thought on that too. See, how he should be 115 The very organ to express my thoughts!

_Mos._ You have not only done yourself a good——

_Corb._ But multipli’d it on my son.

_Mos._ ’T is right, sir.

_Corb._ Still, my invention.

_Mos._ ’Las, sir! heaven knows, It hath been all my study, all my care, 120 (I e’en grow gray withal,) now to work things——

_Corb._ I do conceive, sweet Mosca.

_Mos._ You are he For whom I labour here.

_Corb._ Ay, do, do, do: I ’ll straight about it. [_Going._]

_Mos._ [_Aside._] Rook go with you,[1580] raven!

_Corb._ I know thee honest.

_Mos._ You do lie, sir!

_Corb._ And—— 125

_Mos._ Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.

_Corb._ I do not doubt to be a father to thee.

_Mos._ Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing.

_Corb._ I may ha’ my youth restor’d to me, why not?

_Mos._ Your worship is a precious ass!

_Corb._ What sayst thou?

_Mos._ I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. 131

_Corb._ ’T is done, ’t is done; I go. [_Exit_]

_Volp._ [_leaping from his couch._] O, I shall burst! Let out my sides, let out my sides——

_Mos._ Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook. 135

_Volp._ O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour.

_Mos._ Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give ’em words; 140 Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence.

_Volp._ ’T is true, ’t is true. What a rare punishment Is avarice to itself!

_Mos._ Ay, with our help, sir.

_Volp._ So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age. 145 Yea, so often call’d on, as no wish Can be more frequent with ’em, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them: 150 Yet this is reckon’d life! Nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer! Feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigns himself Younger by scores of years, flatters his age With confident belying it, hopes he may 155 With charms like Aeson, have his youth restor’d; And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on as he, And all turns air! Who ’s that there, now? a third! _Another knocks_.

_Mos._ Close, to your couch again; I hear his voice. 160 It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.

_Volp._ [_Lies down as before_.] Dead.

_Mos._ Another bout, sir, with your eyes [_Anointing them_]. Who ’s there?