1

Gypsies, 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. Coro. That's well, that's well! Art sure he does not hear us?

own sense.

Mos. Sure, sir! why, look you, credit your [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-2

That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end!

1 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 equitibus vernis.

Paterfamilias 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.

2 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.

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?
Coro. A very draught.

Mos. O, stop it up

Coro. 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.
Coro. I pray you, use no violence.

Mos. No, sir! why?

Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir? Coro. Nay, at your discretion.

Mos. Well, good sir, be gone.

Coro. I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.❜

Mos. Puh! nor your diamond. What a need

less 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?

Coro. Grateful Mosca!

Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes.

3 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.

1

Mos. Excepting one.

Coro. What's that?

Mos. Your gallant wife, sir.

[Exit Coro.

Now is he 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—*
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.

4 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.

ACT II. SCENE I.

St. Mark's Place; a retired corner before Corvino's House.

Enter Sir POLITICK WOULD-BE, and PEREGRine.

Sir P. Sir, to a wise man, all the world's his soil:
It is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe,
That must bound me, if my fates call me forth.
Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire

Of seeing countries, shifting a religion,
Nor any disaffection to the state

Where I was bred, and unto which I owe

My dearest plots, hath brought me out; much less, That idle, antique, stale, gray-headed project Of knowing men's minds and manners, with Ulysses!

But a peculiar humour of my wife's,

Laid for this height of Venice, to observe,

4

To quote, to learn the language, and so forthI hope you travel, sir, with license?

Per. Yes.

Sir P. I dare the safelier converse--How long, sir,

Since you left England?

Per. Seven weeks.

4 To quote, &c.] To quote, is to notice, to write down. Thus Polonius:

"I'm sorry that with better heed and judgment

I had not quoted him."

And thus Webster, in the White Devil,

"It is reported you possess a book

Wherein you have quoted by intelligence,

The names of all offenders."

The triumph of Sir Politick over poor Ulysses, is an excellent trait of character.