Volpone by Ben Jonson (e book reader pc txt) 📖

the fool, the eunuch, are all his; He’s the true father of his family, In all, save me:—but he has giv’n 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 Thoroughly, and thoroughly, 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— 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, begone.

CORV: I will not trouble him now, to take my pearl.

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 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.]

 

ACT 2. SCENE 2.1.

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, To quote, to learn the language, and so forth— I 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.

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 [ASIDE.]: This fellow, Does he gull me, trow? or is gull’d? —Your name, sir.

SIR P: My name is Politick Would-be.

PER [ASIDE.]: O, that speaks him. —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, ofttimes, 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!

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! Saw you those meteors?

PER: I did, sir.

SIR P: Fearful! 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.

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? [ASIDE.] —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.

SIR P: Stone dead!

PER: Dead.—Lord! how deeply sir, you apprehend it? He was no kinsman to you?

SIR P: That I know of. Well! that same fellow was an unknown fool.

PER: And yet you knew him, it seems?

SIR P: I did so. Sir, I knew him one of the most dangerous heads Living within the state, and so I held him.

PER: Indeed, sir?

SIR P: While he lived, in action. He has received weekly intelligence, Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries, For all parts of the world, in cabbages; And those dispensed again to ambassadors, In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks, Lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like: sometimes In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles.

PER: You make me wonder.

SIR P: Sir, upon my knowledge. Nay, I’ve observed him, at your public ordinary, Take his advertisement from a traveller A conceal’d statesman, in a trencher of meat; And instantly, before the meal was done, Convey an answer in a tooth-pick.

PER: Strange! How could this be, sir?

SIR P: Why, the meat was cut So like his character, and so laid, as he Must easily read the cipher.

PER: I have heard, He could not read, sir.

SIR P: So ‘twas given out, In policy, by those that did employ him: But he could read, and had your languages, And to’t, as sound a noddle—

PER: I have heard, sir, That your baboons were spies, and that they were A kind of subtle nation near to China:

SIR P: Ay, ay, your Mamuluchi. Faith, they had Their hand in a French plot or two; but they Were so extremely given to women, as They made discovery of all: yet I Had my advices here, on Wednesday last. From one of their own coat, they were return’d, Made their relations, as the fashion is, And now stand fair for fresh employment.

PER: ‘Heart! [ASIDE.] This sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing. —It seems, sir, you know all?

SIR P: Not all sir, but I have some general notions. I do love To note and to observe: though I live out, Free from the active torrent, yet I’d mark The currents and the passages of things, For mine own private use; and know the ebbs, And flows of state.

PER: Believe it, sir, I hold Myself in no small tie unto my fortunes, For casting me thus luckily upon you, Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it, May do me great assistance, in instruction For my behaviour, and my bearing, which Is yet so rude and raw.

SIR P: Why, came you forth Empty of rules, for travel?

PER: Faith, I had Some common ones, from out that vulgar grammar, Which he that cried Italian to me, taught me.

SIR P: Why this it is, that spoils all our brave bloods, Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants, Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race:— I not profess it, but my fate hath been To be, where I have been consulted with, In this high kind, touching some great men’s sons, Persons of blood, and honour.—

[ENTER MOSCA AND NANO DISGUISED, FOLLOWED BY PERSONS WITH MATERIALS FOR ERECTING A STAGE.]

PER: Who be these, sir?

MOS: Under that window, there ‘t must be. The same.

SIR P: Fellows, to mount a bank. Did your instructor In the dear tongues, never discourse to you Of the Italian mountebanks?

PER: Yes, sir.

SIR P: Why, Here shall you see one.

PER: They are quacksalvers; Fellows, that live by venting oils and drugs.

SIR P: Was that the character he gave you of them?

PER: As I remember.

SIR P: Pity his ignorance. They are the only knowing men of Europe! Great general scholars, excellent physicians, Most admired statesmen, profest favourites, And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes; The only languaged men of all the world!

PER: And, I have heard, they are most lewd impostors; Made all of terms and shreds; no less beliers Of great men’s favours, than their own vile