Chapter 17

ANOTHER PART OF THE STREET.

ENTER CORBACCIO AND CORVINO;-- MOSCA PASSES OVER THE STAGE, BEFORE THEM.

CORB: See, in our habit! see the impudent varlet!

CORV: That I could shoot mine eyes at him like gun-stones.

[ENTER VOLPONE.]

VOLP: But is this true, sir, of the parasite?

CORB: Again, to afflict us! monster!

VOLP: In good faith, sir, I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length Should be so over-reach'd. I never brook'd That parasite's hair; methought his nose should cozen: There still was somewhat in his look, did promise The bane of a clarissimo.

CORB: Knave--

VOLP: Methinks Yet you, that are so traded in the world, A witty merchant, the fine bird, Corvino, That have such moral emblems on your name, Should not have sung your shame; and dropt your cheese, To let the Fox laugh at your emptiness.

CORV: Sirrah, you think the privilege of the place, And your red saucy cap, that seems to me Nail'd to your jolt-head with those two chequines, Can warrant your abuses; come you hither: You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you; approach.

VOLP: No haste, sir, I do know your valour well, Since you durst publish what you are, sir.

CORV: Tarry, I'd speak with you.

VOLP: Sir, sir, another time--

CORV: Nay, now.

VOLP: O lord, sir! I were a wise man, Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold.

[AS HE IS RUNNING OFF, RE-ENTER MOSCA.]

CORB: What, come again!

VOLP: Upon 'em, Mosca; save me.

CORB: The air's infected where he breathes.

CORV: Let's fly him.

[EXEUNT CORV. AND CORB.]

VOLP: Excellent basilisk! turn upon the vulture.

[ENTER VOLTORE.]

VOLT: Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you now; Your winter will come on.

MOS: Good advocate, Prithee not rail, nor threaten out of place thus; Thou'lt make a solecism, as madam says. Get you a biggin more, your brain breaks loose.

[EXIT.]

VOLT: Well, sir.

VOLP: Would you have me beat the insolent slave, Throw dirt upon his first good clothes?

VOLT: This same Is doubtless some familiar.

VOLP: Sir, the court, In troth, stays for you. I am mad, a mule That never read Justinian, should get up, And ride an advocate. Had you no quirk To avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature? I hope you do but jest; he has not done it: 'Tis but confederacy, to blind the rest. You are the heir.

VOLT: A strange, officious, Troublesome knave! thou dost torment me.

VOLP: I know-- It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozen'd; 'Tis not within the wit of man to do it; You are so wise, so prudent; and 'tis fit That wealth and wisdom still should go together.

[EXEUNT.]