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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 [Exeunt.

think.

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.

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.

Sir P. So lately!

You have not been with my lord ambassador ?* Per. Not yet, sir.

Sir P. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our
climate?

I heard last night a most strange thing reported
By some of my lord's followers, and I long
To hear how 'twill be seconded.

Per. What was't, sir?

Sir P. Marry, sir, of a raven that should build In a ship royal of the king's.

Per. This fellow,

Does he gull me, trow? or is gull'd? [Aside.] Your name, sir.

Sir P. My name is Politick Would-be.
Per. O, that speaks him.-[Aside.].

A knight, sir?

Sir P. A poor knight, sir.

Per. Your lady

Lies here in Venice, for intelligence

Of tires and fashions, and behaviour,

Among the courtezans? the fine lady Would-be? Sir P. Yes, sir; the spider and the bee, oftimes, Suck from one flower.

Per. Good sir Politick,

I cry you mercy; I have heard much of you: 'Tis true, sir, of your raven.

Sir P. On your knowledge?

Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tower. Sir P. Another whelp!"

*The celebrated sir Henry Wotton. Coryat found "his lordship" here, he says, in 1608, and experienced "much kindness at his hands." He was introduced to sir Henry, by Mr. Richard Martin (the person to whom Jonson dedicated the Poetaster) in a letter which plays upon the simple vanity of our traveller, in a most arch and entertaining manner.

5 Another whelp!] The birth of the first is thus gravely recorded by Stow: "Sunday, the fifth of August (1604), a lionesse, named Elizabeth, in the Tower of London, brought

Per. Another, sir.

Sir P. Now heaven!

What prodigies be these? The fires at Berwick! And the new star! these things concurring,

strange,

And full of omen!

Per. I did, sir.

Sir P. Fearful!

Saw you those meteors?

Pray you, sir, confirm me,

Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, As they give out?

Per. Six, and a sturgeon, sir.

Sir P. I am astonish'd.

Per. Nay, sir, be not so;

I'll tell you a greater prodigy than these,
Sir P. What should these things portend?
Per. The very day

(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London,
There was a whale discover'd in the river,
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there,
Few know how many months, for the subversion
Of the Stode fleet.

foorth a lyons whelpe, which lyons whelpe lived not longer then till the next day." The other, which is spoken of here, was whelped, as Stow also carefully informs us, on the 26th of February, 1606.-As the former had lived so short a time, James ordered this to be taken from the dam, and brought up by hand; by which wise mode of management, the animal was speedily dispatched after his brother. These were the first whelps produced, in a tame state, in this country, and perhaps in Europe.

Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, &c.] This prodigy, and that of the appearance of the whale at Woolwich, mentioned just below, are duly noticed by Stow: "The 19th of January (1605), a great porpus was taken alive at Westham, -and within a few days after, a very great whale came up as high as Woolwich; and when she tasted the fresh water, and sented the land, she returned into the sea." p. 881. The references to the remaining prodigies, I have (fortunately for the reader's patience) mislaid, or overlooked among my notes.

Sir P. Is't possible? believe it,

'Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes: Spinola's whale, upon my life, my credit!

Will they not leave these projects? Worthy sir,
Some other news.

Per. Faith, Stone the fool is dead,
And they do lack a tavern fool extremely.
Sir P. Is Mass Stone dead?"

Per. He's dead, sir; why, I hope

You thought him not immortal?-O, this knight,

Were he well known, would be a precious thing
To fit our English stage: he that should write
But such a fellow, should be thought to feign
Extremely, if not maliciously.
[Aside.

Sir P. Stone dead!

Per. Dead.-Lord! how deeply, sir, you apprehend it!

He was no kinsman to you?

7 Is Mass Stone dead?] In the margin of his copy, Whalley has written "Mass, an abridgment of Master." The thing scarcely deserved a note; but he is wrong: Mass is an abridgment of Messer, an old Italian word, familiarly applied to a priest, or person above the lower rank of life. I have already alluded to the castigation of Mass Stone: the following passage relating to him is curious. On the expensive preparations for the earl of Northampton's embassy to Spain, Sir Dudley Carlton thus writes to Mr. Winwood. "My Lord Admiral's number is 500, and he swears 500 oaths he will not admit of one man more. But if he will stand to that rule, and take in one as another will desire to be discharged, in my opinion, all men's turn will be served. There was great execution done lately upon Stone the fool, who was well whipped in Bridewell, for a blasphemous speech, "that there went sixty fools into Spaine, besides my Lord Admiral and his two sons. "But he is now at liberty again, and for this unexpected release, gives his lordship the praise of a very pittiful lord. His comfort is, that the news of El Senor Piedra (i. e. Seignior Stone) will be in Spaine before our embassador." Winwood's Memorials, Vol. II.

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