Volpone/Act I

by Ben Jonson

VOLPONE, OR THE FOX.

 

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The Argument.^[1]

 

V olpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs,O ffers his state to hopes of several heirs,L ies languishing: his parasite receivesP resents of all, assures, deludes; then weavesO ther cross plots, which ope themselves, are told.$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$N ew tricks for safety are sought; they thrive: when bold,E ach tempts the other again, and all are sold.

 

PROLOGUE.

 

Now, luck yet send us, and a little wit Will serve to make our play hit;(According to the palates of the season) Here is rhime, not empty of reason.This we were bid to credit from our poet, Whose true scope,^[2] if you would know it,

In all his poems still hath been this measure, To mix profit with your pleasure;And not as some, whose throats their envy failing, Cry hoarsely, All he writes is railing:^[3]And when his plays come forth,^[4]think they can flout them, With saying, he was a year about them.To this there needs no lie, but this his creature, Which was two months since no feature;And though he dares give them five lives to mend it, 'Tis known, give weeks fully penn'd it,From his own hand, without a co-adjutor, Novice, journey-man, or tutor.Yet thus much I can give you as a token Of this play's worth, no eggs are broken,Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted,^[5] Wherewith your rout are so delighted;

Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, To stop gaps in his loose writing:With such a deal of monstrous and forced actions, As might make Bethlem a faction:Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, But makes jests to fit his fable;And so presents quick comedy refined, As best critics have designed;The laws of time, place, persons he observeth, From no needful rule he swerveth.And gall and copperas from his ink he draineth, Only a little salt remaineth,^[6]Wherewith he'll rub your cheeks, till red, with laughter,They shall look fresh a week after.

 

ACT I. SCENE I.

 

A Room in Volpone's House.

 

Enter Volpone and Mosca.

 

Volp. Good morning to the day;^[7] and next, my gold!—
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.

[Mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c.

Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is
The teeming earth to see the long'd for sun
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram,
Am I, to view thy splendor darkening his;
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,
Shew'st like a flame by night, or like the day
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled
Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol,
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relick
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,^[8] and far transcending

All style of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dream on earth:
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids;
Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint,
Richest, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues,
That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things;
The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame,
Honour and all things else. Who can get thee,
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise—
Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune
A greater good than wisdom is in nature.
Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,
Than in the glad possession, since I gain

No common way; I use no trade, no venture;
I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat no beasts,
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder:
I blow no subtle glass,^[9] expose no ships
To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
Nor usure private.
Mos. No, sir, nor devour
Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne'er 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 abhor these courses;
You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears
Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries
Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance.
Volp. Right, Mosca; I do lothe it.
Mos. And besides, sir,
You are not like the thresher^[10] that doth stand

With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,
But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs;
Nor like the merchant, who hath fill'd his vaults
With Romagnia, and rich Canadian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar:
You will lie not in straw, whilst moths and worms
Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds;
You know the use of riches, and dare give now
From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer,
Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite,
Your eunuch, or what other household trifle
Your pleasure allows maintenance—
Volp. Hold thee, Mosca,[Gives him money.
Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth in all,
And they are envious term thee parasite.
Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,
And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] What should I do,
But cocker up my genius, and live free
To all delights my fortune calls me to?
I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,
To give my substance to; but whom I make
Must be my heir; and this makes men observe me:
This draws new clients daily to my house,
Women and men of every sex and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,
With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,

And look on that; still bearing them in hand,^[11]
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.—
How now!

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;^[12]And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse, May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.^[13]

If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass,
For know, here is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras,^[14]

That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow;^[15]
Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo,
And was breath'd into Æthalides, Mercurius his son,^[16]
Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done.
From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration
To goldy-lock'd Euphorbus,^[17] who was killed 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,
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,^[18]
Hight Aspasia, the meretrix; and the next toss of her
Was again of a whore, she became a philosopher,
Crates the cynick, as it self doth relate it:
Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools gat it,

Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock,
In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock.^[19]
But I come not here to discourse of that matter,
Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, By quater!
His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh,^[20]
Or his telling how elements shift; but I
Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered translation,
And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation.
And. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see,
Counting all old doctrine heresie.^[21]
Nan. But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured?
And. On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter'd.
Nan. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee?
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?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, pure, illuminate brother, Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another;^[22]And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie.^[23]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!
Now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation,
Which body would'st 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;
No, 'tis 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.
Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagoras still.
This learned opinion we celebrate will,
Fellow eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art,
To dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special a part.
Vol. 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.

Nano and Castrone sing.

Fools, they are the only nationWorth men's envy or admiration;Free from care or sorrow-taking,Selves and others merry making:All they speak or do is sterling.Your fool he is your great man's darling,And you ladies' sport and pleasure;Tongue and bauble are his treasure. E'en his face begetteth laughter,And he speaks truth free from slaughter;^[24]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[Knocking without. He, he, he?

Volp. Who's that? Away! [Exeunt Nano and Castrone.] Look, Mosca. Fool, begone!

[Exit Androgyno.

Mos. 'Tis 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
And let him entertain himself awhile
Without i' the gallery. [Exit Mosca.] Now, now my clients
Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite,

Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcase, now they come;
I am not for them yet.—

Re-enter Mosca, with the gown, &c.

How now! the news?
Mos. A piece of plate, sir.
Volp. Of what bigness?
Mos. Huge,
Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed,
And arms engraven.
Volp. Good! and not a fox
Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,
Mocking a gaping crow?^[25] 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:
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;
How he should worship'd be, and reverenced;
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:
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 ears,
And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.^[26]
Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in.
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 hundred such as I am, in succession—
Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca.
Mos. You shall live,
Still, to delude these harpies.
Volp. Loving Mosca!
'Tis well: my pillow now, and let him enter.

[Exit Mosca.

Now, my feign'd cough,^[27] my phtisic, and my gout,
My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs,
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—

Re-enter Mosca, introducing Voltore with a piece of Plate.

Mos. 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 grateful. Patron! sir!
Here's signior Voltore is come—
Volp. [faintly.] What say you?
Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning
To visit you.
Volp. I thank him.
Mos. And hath brought
A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark,^[28]
With which he here presents you.
Volp. He is welcome.
Pray him to come more often.
Mos. Yes.
Volt. What says he?
Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him often.
Volp. Mosca.
Mos. My patron!
Volp. Bring him near, where is he?
I long to feel his hand.
Mos. The plate is here, sir.
Volt. How fare you, sir?
Volp. I thank you, signior Voltore;
Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad.

Volt. [putting it into his hands.] I'm sorry,
To see you still thus weak.
Mos. That he's not weaker.[Aside.
Volp. You are too munificent.
Volt. No, sir; would to heaven,
I could as well give health to you, as that plate!
Volp. You give, sir, what you can; I thank you. Your love
Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd:
I pray you see me often.
Volt. Yes, I shall, sir.
Volp. Be not far from me.
Mos. Do you observe that, sir?
Volp. Hearken unto me still; it will concern you.
Mos. You are a happy man, sir; know your good.
Volp. I cannot now last long—
Mos. You are his heir, sir.
Volt. Am I?
Volp. I feel me going; Uh! uh! uh! uh!
I'm sailing to my port, Uh! uh! uh! uh!
And I am glad I am so near my haven.
Mos. Alas, kind gentleman! Well, we must all go—
Volt. But, Mosca—
Mos. Age will conquer.
Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me:
Am I inscribed his heir for certain?
Mos. Are you!
I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe
To write me in your family.^[29] All my hopes

Depend upon your worship: I am lost,
Except the rising sun do shine on me.
Volt. It shall both shine, and warm thee, Mosca.
Mos. Sir,
I am a man, that hath not done your love
All the worst offices: here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods here.
Volt. But am I sole heir?
Mos. Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning:
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.
Volt. Happy, happy, me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?
Mos. Your desert, sir;
I know no second cause.
Volt. Thy modesty
Is not to know it; well, we shall requite it.
Mos. 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 speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law;
That, with most quick agility, could turn,
And [re-]return; [could]^[30] make knots, and undo them;
Give forked counsel; take provoking gold

On either hand, and put it up: these men,
He knew, 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 perplex'd a tongue,
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin!—
[Knocking without.
Who's that? one knocks; I would not have you seen, sir.
And yet—pretend you came, and went in haste;
I'll fashion an excuse—and, gentle sir,
When you do come to swim in golden lard,^[31]
Up to the arms in honey, that your chin
Is born up stiff, with fatness of the flood,
Think on your vassal; but remember me:
I have not been your worst of clients.
Volt. Mosca!—
Mos. When will you have your inventory brought, sir?
Or see a copy of the Will?—Anon!^[32]—
I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone,
Put business in your face.[Exit Voltore.
Volp. [springing up.] Excellent Mosca!
Come hither, let me kiss thee.
Mos. Keep you still, sir.
Here is Corbaccio.

Volp. Set the plate away:
The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come!^[33]
Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep.
Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to the rest.] Now, shall we 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!
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,
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 it was made, saw all the ingredients;
And know, it cannot but most gently work:
My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep.
Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. [Aside.

Mos. Sir,
He has no faith in physic.
Corb. Say you, say you?
Mos. He has no faith in physic: he does think
Most of your doctors are the greater danger,
And worse disease, to 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,
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 them,
But gives them great reward: and he is loth
To hire his death, so.
Corb. It is true, they kill
With as much license 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;
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 'twas wont—
Corb. How! how!
Stronger than he was wont?
Mos. No, sir: his face
Drawn longer than 'twas 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. 'Tis good.
Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull.
Corb. Good symptoms still.
Mos. 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!
How does he, with the swimming of his head?
Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy;^[34] 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:
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 given 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?
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.
Corb. To be his heir?
Mos. I do not know, sir.

Corb. True:
I know it too.
Mos. By your own scale, sir.[Aside.
Corb. Well,
I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look,
Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines,
Will quite weigh down his plate.
Mos. [taking the bag.] Yea, marry, sir.
This is true physic, this your sacred medicine;
No talk of opiates, to this great elixir!
Corb. 'Tis 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!
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. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take my venture:
Give me it 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; 'tis your right, your own; no man
Can claim a part: 'tis yours without a rival,
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:
And shew him this.[Pointing to the money.
Corb. Good, good.
Mos. 'Tis 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
My son!
Mos. O, sir, the better: for that colour
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,
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
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. 'Tis true.
Corb. This plot
Did I think on before.
Mos. I do believe it.
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. 'Tis true. Mos. Yes, sir— Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he should beThe very organ to express my thoughts! Mos. You have not only done yourself a good— Corb. But multiplied it on my son. Mos. 'Tis right, sir. Corb. Still, my invention. Mos. 'Las, sir! heaven knows,It hath been all my study, all my care,(I e'en grow gray withal,) how 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. Rook go with you, raven!^[35] Corb. I know thee honest. Mos. You do lie, sir![Aside. Corb. And—

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 have my youth restored to me, why not?
Mos. Your worship is a precious ass!
Corb. What say'st thou?
Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir.
Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis 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.
Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it!
I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee:
I never knee thee in so rare a humour.
Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught;
Follow your grave instructions; give them words;^[36]
Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence.
Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment
Is avarice to itself!
Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies,^[37]
So many fears attending on old age,
Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish
Can be more frequent with them, their limbs 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 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,
With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored:
And with these thoughts, so batters, as if fate
Would be as easily cheated on, as he,
And all turns air! [knocking within.] Who's that there, now? a third!
Mos. Close, to your couch again; I hear his voice:
It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.
Volp. [lies down as before.] Dead.
Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [anointing them.]—Who's there?

Enter Corvino.

Signior Corvino! come most wish'd for! O,
How happy were you, if you knew it, now!
Corv. Why? what? wherein?
Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir.
Corv. He is not dead?
Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good;
He knows no man.

Corv. How shall I do then?
Mos. Why, sir?
Corv. I have brought him here a pear..
Mos. 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 pearl orient, sir?^[38]
Corv. Venice was never owner of the like.
Volp. [faintly.] Signior Corvino!
Mos. Hark.
Volp. Signior Corvino!
Mos. He calls you; step and give it him.—He's here, sir,
And he has brought you a rich pearl.
Corv. How do you, sir?
Tell him, it doubles the twelfth caract.^[39]
Mos. Sir,
He cannot understand, his hearing's gone;
And yet it comforts him to see you—
Corv. Say,
I have a diamond for him, too.
Mos. Best shew it, sir;
Put it into his hand; 'tis only there
He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet.
See how he grasps it!
Corv. 'Las, good gentleman!
How pitiful the sight is!

Mos. Tut! forget, sir.
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter
Under a visor.^[40]
Corv. Why, am I his heir?
Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the Will
Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too,
I cannot number 'em, they were so many;
All gaping here for legacies: but I,
Taking the vantage of naming you,
Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino, took
Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask'd him,
Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who
Should be executor? Corvino. And,
To any question he was silent to,
I still interpreted the nods he made,
Through weakness, for consent: and sent home th' others,
Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.^[41]
Corv. O, my dear Mosca! [They embrace.] Does he not perceive us?
Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man,
No face of a friend, nor name of any servant,
Who 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink:
Not those he hath begotten, or brought up,
Can he remember.
Corv. Has he children?
Mos. Bastards,
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,

Gypsies,^[42] and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk.
Knew you not that, sir? 'tis the common fable.
The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his;
He's the true father of his family.
In all, save me:—but he has given them nothing.
Corv. That's well, that's well! Art sure he does not hear us?
Mos. Sure, sir! why, look you, credit your own sense.[Shouts in Vol.'s ear.
The pox approach, and add to your diseases,
If it would send you hence the sooner, sir,
For your incontinence, it hath deserv'd it
Throughly and throughly, and the plague to boot!—
You may come near, sir.—Would you would once close
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime,
Like two frog-pits; and those same hanging cheeks,
Cover'd with hide instead of skin—Nay, help, sir—^[43]
That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end!

Corv. [aloud.] Or like an old smoked wall, on which the rain
Ran down in streaks!
Mos. Excellent, sir! speak out:
You may be louder yet; a culverin
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it.
Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, still running.
Mos. 'Tis good! And what his mouth?
Corv. A very draught.
Mos. O, stop it up——
Corv. By no means.
Mos. 'Pray you, let me:
Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.
Corv. Do as you will; but I'll begone.
Mos. Be so;
It is your presence makes him last so long.
Corv. I pray you, use no violence.
Mos. No, sir! why?
Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir?
Corv. Nay, at your discretion.
Mos. Well, good sir, be gone.
Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.^[44]
Mos. Puh! nor your diamond. What a needless care
Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours?
Am not I here, whom you have made your creature?
That owe my being to you?
Corv. Grateful Mosca!
Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion,
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.

Mos. Excepting one.
Corv. What's that?
Mos. Your gallant wife, sir.—[Exit Corv.
Now he is gone: we had no other means
To shoot him hence, but this.
Volp. My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself. [Knocking within.]—Who's there?
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures,
Than will Volpone. [Exit Mos.] Let me see; a pearl!
A diamond! plate! chequines! Good morning's purchase.
Why, this is better than rob churches, yet;
Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man—

Re-enter Mosca.

Who is't?
Mos The beauteous lady Would-be, sir,
Wife to the English knight, sir Politick Would-be,
(This is the style, sir, is directed me,)
Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night,
And if you would be visited?
Volp. Not now:
Some three hours hence—
Mos. I told the squire so much.
Volp. When I am high with mirth and wine; then, then:
'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valour
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose
Their wives to all encounters!
Mos. Sir, this knight
Had not his name for nothing, he is politick,
And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs,

She hath not yet the face to be dishonest:
But had she signior Corvino's wife's face—^[45]
Volp. Has she so rare a face?
Mos. O, sir, the wonder,
The blazing star of Italy! a wench
Of the first year! a beauty ripe as harvest!
Whose skin is whiter than a swan all over,
Than silver, snow, or lilies! 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!
Volp. Why had not I known this before?
Mos. Alas, sir,
Myself but yesterday discover'd it.
Volp. How might I see her?
Mos. O, not possible;
She's kept as warily as is your gold;
Never does come abroad, never takes air,
But at a window. All her looks are sweet,
As the first grapes or cherries, and are watch'd
As near as they are.
Volp. I must see her.
Mos. Sir,
There is a guard of spies ten thick upon her,
All his whole household; each of which is set
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge,
When he goes out, when he comes in, examined.
Volp. I will go see her, though but at her window.
Mos. In some disguise, then.
Volp. That is true; I must
Maintain mine own shape still the same: we'll think.[Exeunt.

1. The Argument.] It is an acrostic; and seems to be written in imitation of those acrostical arguments, invented by Priscian or some latter grammarians, and prefixed to the Comedies of Plautus. Whal.
2. Whose true scope, &c.] Jonson never forgets to put the audience in mind of the ethical purpose of his writings. He has adverted to this already in Every Man out of his Humour, and he returns to it again in the Silent Woman: the expression itself is from Horace:
   Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulciLectorem delectando pariterque monendo.
   
3. Cry hoarsely, All he writes is railing, &c.] This alludes to the Apologetical dialogue, Vol. II. p. 547: P. O, but they lay particular imputations— A. As what? P. That all your writing is mere railing, &c.
4. And when his plays come forth, &c.] Again, A. Have they no other? P. Yes; they say you're slow, And scarce bring forth a play a year.Ibid.
5. ————No eggs are broken, Nor quaking custards with fierce teeth affrighted.] In the Poetaster, Marston (not Decker, as Whalley has it) throws up the words quaking custard: the allusion, however, is not to this, but to a burlesque representation of a city feast, of which, in Jonson's days, an immense custard always made a conspicuous part. With this custard a number of foolish tricks were played, at the Lord Mayor's table, to the unspeakable delight of the guests; and some dramatic writer, perhaps, had transferred them, with improvements, to the stage, where they seem to have given equal pleasure. I suspect that Jonson's "taxing" did not always "fly like a wild goose, unclaimed of any man;" yet I cannot pretend to guess at the objects of his present satire. Whalley observes, in the margin of his copy, that Marston is probably meant by the "reciter of old ends;" and it must be granted that they abound, as he says, in the Malcontent. The Malcontent, however, which was inscribed to Jonson, has no "gull" amongst its characters; who are all equally liberal of old ends, and all equally oracular. In those days the town swarmed with writers for the stage; and we ma collect from various sources, that there was no incident so extravagant and ridiculous, which some or other of them did not venture to adopt.
6. Only a little salt remaineth, &c.] from Horace,
   ————at idem, quod sale multoUrbem defricuit, &c.
   
7. Good morning to the day, &c.] The reader cannot but perceive, says Upton, that the diction of this opening scene rises to a tragic sublimity. The expression, Shew'st like a flame by night, is from Pindar:
   
   
   ————ὁ δε
   Χρυσος, αιζομενον πυρ
   Ατε, διΑπρερει νυ—
   κζι μεγανορος εξοχα πλΏτΏ.
   
   
8. Thou being the best of things, &c.] Upton had reason to say that the diction of this piece rose to a tragic sublimity; since Jonson has had recourse for it to the tragic poets. This most learned man, who has "stalked for two centuries," as Mr. Malone takes upon himself to assure us, "on the stilts of an artificial reputation," was not only familiar with the complete dramas of the Athenian stage, but even with the minutest fragments of them, which have come down to us. The beautiful lines above, are from the Bellerophon, a lost play of Euripides. Edit. Beck. Vol. II. p. 432.
   
   
   Ω χρυσε, δεξιωμα καλλιςον βροτοις,
   Ώς ψδε μητερ ήδονας τοιαςδ εχει,
   Ου παιδες αιζρωποιτιν,ου φιλος πατης,
   Οίας συ χὄι σε δωμασιν κεκτημενοι.
   Ει δ ή Κυπρις τοιψτον οφζαλμοις όρα,
   Ον ζαυμ, ερωτας μνριψς αυζην τρεφειν.
   
   
   
   

   The concluding lines are from Horace, lib. ii. Sat. 3.
   

   
   ————Omnis enim res
   Virtus, fama, decus, divina humanaque, pulcris
   Divitus parent, quas qui construxerit, ille
   Clarus erit fortis, justus,—Sapiensque? Etiam, et rex,
   Et quicquid volet.
   
   
9. I blow no subtle glass,] Venice, where the scene is laid, and the neighbouring island of Murano, being famous for their manufactures in glass.Whal.
10. You are not like the thresher, &c.] This too is imitated from Horace, but so obviously, as Upton truly says, as to be visible to every schoolboy. He takes this opportunity, however, of mentioning another imitation, which he thinks not quite so plain:
    
    
    " Great mother Fortune, queen of human state,
    Rectress of action, &c."Sej. A. V.
    
    
    
    

    "Those," he adds, "who know any thing of Jonson's perpetual allusions to ancient authors, will plainly perceive that he wrote,
    

    " Rectress of Antium!—from Horace lib. i. Od. 35."

    
    

    There is nothing in the "treatise on the Bathos" quite so good as this.

11. Still bearing them in hand,] i.e. flattering their hopes, keeping them in expectation: "You may remembers," says archbishop King to Swift, "how we were borne in hand in my lord Pembroke's time, that the Queen had passed the grant, &c." The phrase occurs perpetually in our old poets. Thus in Ram Alley, Act. II.
    
    
    "Yet I will bear some dozen more in hand,
    And make them all my gulls."
    
    
    
    

    In the preceding lines Jonson had Petronius in view:—Incidimus in turbam hœredipetarum sciscitantium quod genus hominum, aut unde veniremus. Ex prescripto ergo conilii communis, exaggerati prudenter unde, aut qui essemus, haud dubie credentibus indicavimus. Qui statim opes suas summo cum certamine in Eumolpum congesserunt: et omnes ejus gratiam sollicitant."

12. Now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know,
    They do bring you neither play nor university show;] This scene is a kind of antimasque or jig, such as is found in many of our old plays. "It is chiefly taken," as Upton observes, "from one of Lucian's dialogues, and is meant as a ridicule on the metempsychosis." Both Lucian and Jonson, however, had better objects in view, than the exposure of such absurdities. "By university show, is meant, such masques and plays, as our universities used to exhibit to our kings and queens, and which were acted by the scholars in their halls."
13. May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.] Upton, a man of very considerable learning, which (unaccompanied, as it was, with an adequate portion of judgment) frequently betrayed him into absurdities; published, in 1749, "Remarks" on this, and the two following plays; of which, Mr. Walley occasionally availed himself. It seems to have been Upton's chief object to point out Jonson's allusions to the classics; in this he is generally succesful; indeed, he seldom ventures beyond such as are sufficiently trite and obvious. When he attempts to correct the text, he fails; whilst his explanations, which are given in a tone of formal gravity highly ludicrous, when contrasted with the subject, usually aim beyond the poet, and perplex where they do not mislead. Jonson apologizes for the false pace of his doggrel. But of this Upton will not hear: "We must not understand," he says, "that he errs against the laws of metre: but that the pace of his verse may sometimes offend the too delicate ear." Those who recollect, that, when Shakspeare produced a few words of prose, such as "Where hast thou been, sister?" Upton pronounced that he meant to afford a beautiful example of the "trochaic-dimeter-brachy-cataletic, commonly called the ithypallic measure," (Observ. p. 381,) will not be surprised to hear, that the hobbling lines above are all good metre: they are, it seems, of the "anapestic kind, consisting of anapests, spondees, dactyls, and sometimes the pes proceleusmaticus," and are to be scanned in this manner,

    1 And therefore 1 May not fare a

    2 do intreat you 2 whit the worse

    3 that whasoever 3 for the false pace

    4 they rehearse, 4 of the verse.

    "To this measure," exclaims Upton with great glee, "the reader may reduce them all." There is no doubt of it: and so he may all the lines in the daily papers, if he pleases. Surely unlettered sense is far more valuable than learning thus ridiculously abused.

14. For know here is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras,] δεικτικως, in Androgyno the hermaphrodite, of whose various transformations the dwarf gives an account.
15. That juggler divine, that hereafter shall follow;] That juggler divine, as Upton observes, is from Lucian, γοητα και τετραταργον, as indeed is much of the rest.
16. Which soul—came first from Apollo,] Ώς μεν εξ Απολλωνος τε προτον ή Ψυχη μοι καταπζαμενη εις τεν γκν ενεδυ ες ανζρωπα σομα, &c. Luc. Gall.
17. To goldy-lock'd Euphorbus, &c.] πλην αλλα επειπερ Ευφορξος εγενομην, εμαχομην εν Ιλιω και απαζανων ύπο Μενελαω κ. τ. α. Luc. ibid.
18. From Pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece,] Αποδυσαμενος δε τον Πυζαγοραν, τινα μεζημφιασω μεταυτον;—Ασπασιαν την εκ Μιλητα εταιραν. κ. τ. α.
19. The cobler.] Mycillus, with whom the cock carries on the dialogue, here abridged.
20. His one, two, or three, or his great oath, by quater,
    
    His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh,] It would perhaps have puzzled Pythagoras himself, "juggler" as he was, to explain this empty jargon. His scholars have written innumerable volumes upon it, more to their own satisfaction, I believe, than the edification of their readers; for, while it was thought worth contending about, no two of them were agreed upon any part of the subject. The "great oath" or tetractys, as Upton observes, "is mentioned in the Golden Verses;" a little poem written by one of Pythagoras's scholars, and containing more wisdom, perhaps, than his master taught.
21. Counting all old doctrine heresie.] By old doctrine, he means the doctrines commonly received before the reformation; which was at first opprobriously called the new learning. It is not improbably that Jonson, when he wrote this, was a convert to the church of Rome; and might design to sneer at the zealots of the establishment, as he does soon after at the puritans.Whal.
22. Of those devour flesh and sometimes one another;] Wonderful is the advantage of scansion, aided by the occasional admission of the pes proceleusmaticus, in detecting the errors of copyists and printers. Upton, who measured the harmonious line

    1 Counting

    2 all old

    3 doctrine

    4 heresie,

    and found it perfect in all its members, immediately discovered the unmetrical pace of that above. "There is plainly," says he, "a word wanting which spoils both the measure and the sense; we must read,

    1 Of those that

    2 devour flesh

    3 and sometimes

    4 one another."

    Whalley subscribes to this assertion; and the verse thus happily restored to "sense and and measure," is accordingly placed in his text. It is singular that neither of these critics should have adverted to the peculiarity of Jonson's style.

23. Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity pie.] i.e. of a Christmas-pie. The puritans, who are here ridiculed, affected to shrink with horror, from the mention of the popish word mass, though in conjunction with the most sacred names Jonson alludes to this again, with exquisite humour, in the Alchemist, where the Saints are about to cozen with the philosopher's stone:
    "Subtle. And then the turning of this lawyer's pewterTo plate at Christmas—Ananias. Christ-tide, I pray you."
    
24. And he speaks the truth free from slaughter;] i.e. he is indulged in speaking truth, without being punished, or called to account for it. This impunity, however, if it really existed, did not long survive the period of this song; as Mass Stone, who is mentioned in the second act, found to his sorrow. Jonson makes slaughter rhyme to laughter; it seems, however, to have been considered as improper, and to have excited some degree of disapprobation. In the Faune, which appeared shortly after this comedy, Marston speaks of two critics, one of which "had lost his flesh with fishing at the measure of Plautus's verses, and the other had vowed to get the consumption of the lungs, or leave to posterity the true pronunciation and orthography of laughing. A. IV. Shakspeare spells the word loffe, in Midsummer Night's Dream, to accommodate it to cough; and it is not improbably but that he, as well as Jonson, might be in Marston's thoughts: not that our great bard was in much danger of a consumption from his abstruse studies for the benefit of posterity. To do him justice, few cared less about these matters than himself.
25. ————And not a fox
    Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,
    Mocking a gaping crow?] From Horace:
    
    
    ————Plerumque recoctus
    Scriba ex quinqueviro corvum deludet hiantem.
    
    
    
    

    The fable is well known.

26. ————Hood an ass with reverend purple,
    So you can hide his two ambitious ears,
    And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.] This, as Upton well observes, is true satire, and very elegantly expressed.—Ambitious is used according to its original meaning in the Latin language.
27. Now my feign'd cough, &c.] "Secundùm hanc formulam imperamus Eumolpo, ut plurimum tussiat, ut sit modò salatiaris stomachi," &c.Petron.
28. ————bought of St. Mark,] The great mart of Venice. Whalley supposed the allusion to be to the treasure in St. Mark's church: he did not know, perhaps, that this celebrated edifice was surrounded with shops of all kinds, particularly goldsmiths.
29. To write me in your family.] This, as Upton says, is borrowed from Horace; Scribe tui gregis hunc. It may be so; though it is quite as probably that it was "borrowed" from the poet's own times; when it was the custom for the names and offices of the servants and retainers of great families, to be entered in the Household Book: of this practice many proofs yet remain. The conduct of this scene is above all praise.
30. I have ventured to interpolate a word in this verse, which, as it stands in the old copes, is too imperfect to have come from the hands of Jonson. What is added might easily have been lost at the press.
31. ————and, gentle sir,
    When you do come to swim in golden lard, &c.] Upton was too busy with his trite classical imitations, to notice this bold and beautiful adoption of the eastern metaphor for a state of prosperity.
32. Anon!] In the margin of Whalley's copy, a note in the hand-writing of Mr. Waldron gives this expression to Voltore. It belongs, however, to Mosca, who pretends to speak to some one without, in order to quicken the advocate's departure.
33. The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come!] In allusion to their different names. Corbaccio, in Italian, signifies an old raven. Whal.
34. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy;] Scotomia is a dizziness or swimming in the head. See Massinger, vol. IV. 521.
35. Rook go with you, raven!] May you, raven, be rooked, or cheated! as Upton explains it. There never was a scene of avarice in the extremity of old age better drawn than this.

    Whal.

    Nor ever so well. Hurd (who had just been reading Congreve's letters to Dennis) terms the humour of it "inordinate;" and blames Jonson for sporting so freely with the infirmities of Corbaccio. I can see no occasion for this. If avarice be, in any case, a legitimate object of satire, surely it is eminently so when accompanied, as here, with age and infirmity. Bad passions become more odious in proportion as the motives for them are weakened; and gratuitous vice cannot be too indignantly exposed to reprehension.

36. ————give them words;] i.e. deceive or impose on them:
    
    
    ————An ut ignotum, dare nobis
    Verba putas?Horat. L. i. Sat. 3.
    
    
    
    

    This is Upton's remark. That dare verba signifies to cajole, to impose upon, is certain; such, however, is not the sense of the expression here. By give them words, Mosca simply, or rather artfully, means, that he clothes the "grave instructions" of his patron in fitting language. He speaks of Volpone, not of Corbaccio and the rest, who are distinctly noticed in the next line. The glimpse of a classical allusion is a perfect ignis fatuus to Upton, who is sure to blunder after it at all hazards.

37. So many cares, &c.] In this fine speech Jonson has again laid the fragments of the Greek drama under contribution; Lucian and Juvenal, however, had set him the example.
38. Is your pearl orient, sir?] i.e. bright, sparkling, pellucid. Thus Shakspeare:
    

    Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded."

    
    

    And Milton,
    

    
    —"Offering to every wearied traveller
    "His orient liquor in a crystal glass." Comus, v. 64.
    
    
39. It doubles the twelfth caract.] A caract is a weight of four grains, by which jewels are weighed. The same expression occurs in Cartwright:
    
    
    "————Diamonds, two whereof
    "Do double the twelfth caract."Lady Errant.
    
    
40. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter
    Under a visor.]
    

    Hœredis fletus sub personá risus est. P. Syrus.

41. Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.] From Horace, as Upton observes:
    
    
    ————Invenietque
    Nil sibi legatum, prœter plorare, suisque.
    
42. Bastards,
    Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars,
    Gypsies, &c.] This is a playful application of Martial's epigram on Quirinalis:
    
    
    Uxorem habendam non putat Quirinalis,
    Cum vult habere filios; et invenit
    Quo possit istud more: (amplectitur) ancillas,
    Domumque et agros implet quitibus vernis.
    Paterfamiliar verus est Quirinalis. Lib. i. ep. 85.
    
    
    Upton also points out the allusions to Juvenal; but they are too well known to call for particular notice.
43. Nay, help, sir,] i.e. to rail and abuse Volpone. This exposure of Corvino is happily designed: but, indeed, the whole of the act is a master-piece of truth and genuine comic humour.
44. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.] i.e. to wrest it from Volpone, who, in his supposed state of insensibility, had closed his hand upon it.
45. But had she signior Corvino's wife's face—] This circumstance, on which the catastrophe of the play hinges, is very naturally introduced. Mosca's glowing description of the lady might inflame the imagination of a less voluptuous sensualist than Volpone.