A ROOM IN CORVINO'S HOUSE.

ENTER CORVINO, WITH HIS SWORD IN HIS HAND, DRAGGING

IN CELIA.

CORV

Death of mine honour, with the city's fool!

A juggling, tooth-drawing, prating mountebank!

And at a public window! where, whilst he,

With his strain'd action, and his dole of faces,

To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears,

A crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers,

Stood leering up like satyrs; and you smile

Most graciously, and fan your favours forth,

To give your hot spectators satisfaction!

What; was your mountebank their call? their whistle?

Or were you enamour'd on his copper rings,

His saffron jewel, with the toad-stone in't,

Or his embroider'd suit, with the cope-stitch,

Made of a herse-cloth? or his old tilt-feather?

Or his starch'd 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'd rather mount; would you not mount?

Why, if you'll mount, you may; yes truly, you may:

And so you may be seen, down to the foot.

Get you a cittern, lady Vanity,

And be a dealer with the virtuous man;

Make one: I'll but protest myself a cuckold,

And save your dowry. I'm a Dutchman, I!

For, if you thought me an Italian,

You would be damn'd, ere you did this, you whore!

Thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder

Of father, mother, brother, all thy race,

Should follow, as the subject of my justice.

CEL

Good sir, have pacience.

CORV

What couldst thou propose

Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath

And stung with my dishonour, I should strike

This steel into thee, with as many stabs,

As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes?

CEL

Alas, sir, be appeas'd! I could not think

My being at the window should more now

Move your impatience, than at other times.

CORV

No! not to seek and entertain a parley

With a known knave, before a multitude!

You were an actor with your handkerchief;

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 sister's,

Your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the turn.

CEL

Why, dear sir, when do I make these excuses,

Or ever stir abroad, but to the church?

And that so seldom—

CORV

Well, it shall be less;

And thy restraint before was liberty,

To what I now decree: and therefore mark me.

First, I will have this bawdy light damm'd up;

And till't be done, some two or three yards off,

I'll chalk a line: o'er which if thou but chance

To set thy desperate foot; more hell, more horror

More wild remorseless rage shall seize on thee,

Than on a conjurer, that had heedless left

His circle's safety ere his devil was laid.

Then here's a lock which I will hang upon thee;

And, now I think on't, I will keep thee backwards;

Thy lodging shall be backwards; thy walks backwards;

Thy prospect, all be backwards; and no pleasure,

That thou shalt know but backwards: nay, since you force

My honest nature, know, it is your own,

Being too open, makes me use you thus:

Since you will not contain your subtle nostrils

In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air

Of rank and sweaty passengers.

[KNOCKING WITHIN.]

—One knocks.

Away, and be not seen, pain of thy life;

Nor look toward the window: if thou dost—

Nay, stay, hear this—let me not prosper, whore,

But I will make thee an anatomy,

Dissect thee mine own self, and read a lecture

Upon thee to the city, and in public.

Away!

[EXIT CELIA.]

[ENTER SERVANT.]

Who's there?

SERV

'Tis signior Mosca, sir.

CORV

Let him come in.

[EXIT SERVANT.]

His master's dead: There's yet

Some good to help the bad.—

[ENTER MOSCA.]

My Mosca, welcome!

I guess your news.

MOS

I fear you cannot, sir.

CORV

Is't not his death?

MOS

Rather the contrary.

CORV

Not his recovery?

MOS

Yes, sir,

CORV

I am curs'd,

I am bewitch'd, my crosses meet to vex me.

How? how? how? how?

MOS

Why, sir, with Scoto's oil;

Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it,

Whilst I was busy in an inner room—

CORV

Death! that damn'd mountebank; but for the law

Now, I could kill the rascal: it cannot be,

His oil should have that virtue. 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 spoonful of dead wine, with flies in't?

It cannot be. All his ingredients

Are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow,

Some few sod earwigs pounded caterpillars,

A little capon's grease, and fasting spittle:

I know them to a dram.

MOS

I know not, sir,

But some on't, there, they pour'd into his ears,

Some in his nostrils, and recover'd him;

Applying but the fricace.

CORV

Pox o' that fricace.

MOS

And since, to seem the more officious

And flatt'ring of his health, there, they have had,

At extreme fees, the college of physicians

Consulting on him, how they might restore him;

Where one would have a cataplasm of spices,

Another a flay'd ape clapp'd to his breast,

A third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil,

With wild cats' skins: at last, they all resolved

That, to preserve him, was no other means,

But some young woman must be straight sought out,

Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him;

And to this service, most unhappily,

And most unwillingly, am I now employ'd,

Which here I thought to pre-acquaint you with,

For your advice, since it concerns you most;

Because, I would not do that thing might cross

Your ends, on whom I have my whole dependance, sir:

Yet, if I do it not, they may delate

My slackness to my patron, work me out

Of his opinion; and there all your hopes,

Ventures, 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 entreat you, briefly conclude somewhat;

Prevent them if you can.

CORV

Death to my hopes,

This is my villainous fortune! Best to hire

Some common courtezan.

MOS

Ay, 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 quean may cheat us all.

CORV

'Tis true.

MOS

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?

Odso—Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.

One o' the doctors offer'd there his daughter.

CORV

How!

MOS

Yes, signior Lupo, the physician.

CORV

His daughter!

MOS

And a virgin, sir. Why? alas,

He knows the state of's body, what it is;

That nought can warm his blood sir, but a fever;

Nor any incantation raise his spirit:

A long forgetfulness hath seized that part.

Besides sir, who shall know it? some one or two—

CORV

I prithee give me leave.

[WALKS ASIDE.]

If any man

But I had had this luck—The thing in't self,

I know, is nothing—Wherefore should not I

As well command my blood and my affections,

As this dull doctor? In the point of honour,

The cases are all one of wife and daughter.

MOS

[ASIDE.]: I hear him coming.

CORV

She shall do't: 'tis done.

Slight! if this doctor, who is not engaged,

Unless 't be for his counsel, which is nothing,

Offer his daughter, what should I, that am

So deeply in? I will prevent him: Wretch!

Covetous wretch!—Mosca, I have determined.

MOS

How, sir?

CORV

We'll make all sure. The party you wot of

Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.

MOS

Sir, the thing,

But that I would not seem to counsel you,

I should have motion'd to you, at the first:

And make your count, you have cut all their throats.

Why! 'tis directly taking a possession!

And in his next fit, we may let him go.

'Tis but to pull the pillow from his head,

And he is throttled: it had been done before,

But for your scrupulous doubts.

CORV

Ay, a plague on't,

My conscience fools my wit! Well, I'll be brief,

And so be thou, lest they should be before us:

Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal

And willingness I do it; swear it was

On the first hearing, as thou mayst do, truly,

Mine own free motion.

MOS

Sir, I warrant you,

I'll so possess him with it, that the rest

Of his starv'd clients shall be banish'd all;

And only you received. But come not, sir,

Until I send, for I have something else

To ripen for your good, you must not know't.

CORV

But do not you forget to send now.

MOS

Fear not.

[EXIT.]

CORV

Where are you, wife? my Celia? wife?

[RE-ENTER CELIA.]

—What, blubbering?

Come, dry those tears. I think thou thought'st me in earnest;

Ha! by this light I talk'd so but to try thee:

Methinks the lightness of the occasion

Should have confirm'd thee. Come, I am not jealous.

CEL

No!

CORV

Faith I am not I, nor never was;

It is a poor unprofitable humour.

Do not I know, if women have a will,

They'll do 'gainst all the watches of the world,

And that the feircest spies are tamed with gold?

Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't;

And see I'll give thee cause too, to believe it.

Come kiss me. Go, and make thee ready, straight,

In all thy best attire, thy choicest jewels,

Put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks:

We are invited to a solemn feast,

At old Volpone's, where it shall appear

How far I am free from jealousy or fear.

[exeunt.]