That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints,
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,
And were profest critic in lechery;

And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary,
A pious work, mere charity for physic,
And honest polity, to assure mine own.

Cel. O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change? Volp. Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,

My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them.
Mos. [advancing.] Please you draw near, sir...
Coro. Come on, what--

You will not be rebellious? by that light--
Mos. Sir,

Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.
Volp. Oh!

Mos. And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute-

Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca.

Mos. Freely, unask'd, or unintreated--
Coro. Well.

Mos. As the true fervent instance of his love, His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty, Only of price in Venice

Corv. Tis well urged.

Mos. To be your comfortress, and to preserve

you.

Volp. Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him

For his good care and promptness; but for that, "Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven; Applying fire to stone-uh, uh, uh, uh! [coughing.] Making a dead leaf grow again. I take

His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him, What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.

Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune With reverence, when he comes to't.

Mos. Do you hear, sir? Go to him with your wife.

Corv. Heart of my father!

Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee, come.
Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand,
I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say.

Cel. Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,

Eat burning coals, do any thing.——

Corv. Be damn'd!

Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair;
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rochet!'-Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loth-Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!
Cel. Sir, what you please, you may, I am your
martyr.

Coro. Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:

Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet;Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires, What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but

go kiss

him. Or touch him, but. For my sake.-At my suit.This once. No! not! I shall remember this. Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?

5 Like a raw rochet!] A rochet or rouget, so named from its red colour, is a fish of the gurnet kind, but not so large. WHAL.

Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advised.
Coro. No, no.

She has watch'd her time. Ods precious, this is scurvy,

'Tis very scurvy; and you are

Mos. Nay, good sir.

Coro. An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust! Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared, Expecting, how thou'lt bid them flow

Mos. Nay, 'pray you, sir!

She will consider.

Cel. Would my life would serve To satisfy

Coro. S'death! if she would but speak to him, And save my reputation, it were somewhat; But spightfully to affect my utter ruin!

Mos. Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands.

Why i'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her. If you were absent, she would be more coming; I know it and dare undertake for her.

What woman can before her husband? 'pray you, Let us depart, and leave her here.

Corv. Sweet Celia,

Thou may'st redeem all, yet; I'll say no more: If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there. [Shuts the door, and exit with Mosca. Cel. O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,

Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease, Men dare put off your honours, and their own?

Uberibus semper lacrymis, semperque paratis
In statione sud, atque expectantibus illam,

Quo jubeat manare modo.

Juv. Sat. vi.

Is that, which ever was a cause of life,
Now placed beneath the basest circumstance,
And modesty an exile made, for money?

Volp. Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds, [Leaping from his couch.

That never tasted the true heaven of love.
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,
He would have sold his part of Paradise
For ready money, had he met a cope-man.'
Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times raised me, in several shapes,
And, but this morning, like a mountebank,
To see thee at thy window: ay, before
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures, I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.
Now art thou welcome.

Cel. Sir!

Volp. Nay, fly me not.

Nor let thy false imagination

That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so :
Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh,

As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight,
As when, in that so celebrated scene,
At recitation of our comedy,

For entertainment of the great Valois,*

766

Had he met a cope-man] "For this we now say chapinan; which is as much as to say, a merchant, or cope-man." Verstegan on the word ceapman. WHAL.

Is it not rather pure Dutch, koopmun, or coopman?

Or the horned flood.] I should have passed this, had I not observed a query as to "the pagan deity" here meant, in the margin of Mr. Whalley's copy. It is Achelous, of whose "contention" there is a pretty story in Ovid.

* For entertainment of the great Valois,] He probably alludes

I acted young Antinous; and attracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing.
[Sings.

Come, my Celia,' let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love,
Time will not be ours for ever,
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not then his gifts in vain:
Suns, that set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes

Of a few poor household spies?

to the magnificent spectacles which were exhibited for the amusement of Henry III., in 1574, when he passed through Venice, in his return from Poland, to take possession of the crown of France, vacant by the death of his brother Charles, of infamous memory.

9 Come, my Celia, &c.] This song, as Upton says, is imitated from Catullus. WHAL.

As the original is not long, it is subjoined, that the extent of Jonson's obligation to it may be seen at once:

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
Rumoresque senum severiorum
Omnes unius æstimemus assis.
Soles occidere et redire possunt ;
Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux,
Nox est perpetua una dormiunda.
Da me basia mille, deinde centum,
Dein mille altera, dein secunda centum ;
Dein usque altera mille, deinde centum.
Dein, cum millia multa fecerimus,
Conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
Aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
Cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

Here is nothing similar to the concluding lines of this beautiful little poem, which seem to bear an ingenious reference to the well-known Institutes of Sparta respecting theft. The praise, however, which is bestowed on Jonson's genius, cau