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That understand the fingeringVolt. What do you mean?

Volp. I mean to be a suitor to your worship, For the small tenement, out of reparations; That, at the end of your long row of houses, By the Piscaria: It was, in Volpone's time, Your predecessor, e'er he grew diseased, A handsome, pretty, custom❜d bawdy-house, As any was in Venice (none dispraised) But fell with him; his body and that house Decay'd together.

Volt. Come, sir, leave your prating.

Volp. Why, if your worship give me but your hand,

That I may ha' the refusal; I have done.
Tis a mere toy to you, sir; candle-rents:
As your learn'd worship knows-

Volt. What do I know?

Volp. Marry, no end of your wealth, sir; God decrease it.

Volt. Mistaken knave! what, mock'st thou my misfortune?

Volp. His blessing on your heart, sir; would 'twere more.

(Now, to my first again) at the next corner.

SCENE VIII.

CORBACCIO, CORVINO, (MOSCA passant,) and VOLPONE.

Corb. See, in our habit! see the impudent varlet !

Coro. That I could shoot mine eyes at him, like gun-stones.

Volp. But is this true, sir, of the parasite ?
Corb. Again, t' afflict us? Monster!
Volp. In good faith, sir,

I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length
Should be so over-reach'd. I never brook'd
That parasite's hair; methought his nose should

cozen:

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Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold, [MOSCA walks by them.

Corb. What! come again?

Volp. Upon 'em, Mosca; save me.
Corb. The air's infected where he breathes.
Corv. Let's fly him.

Volp. Excellent basilisk! turn upon the vul

ture.

SCENE IX.

VOLTORE, MOSCA, and VOLPONE. Volt. Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you

now:

Your winter will come on.

Mos. Good advocate,

Pr'y thee not rail, nor threaten out of place, thus;
Thou'lt make a solecism (as madam says.)
Get you a biggen more: your brain breaks loose.
Volt. Well, sir.

Volp. Would you ha' me beat the insolent slave?

Throw dirt upon his first good clothes?
Volt. This same

Is, doubtless, some familiar!

Volp. Sir, the court

In troth stays for you; I am mad, a mule,
That never read Justinian, should get up,
And ride an advocate. Had you no quirk,
To avoid gullage, sir, by such a creature?
I hope you do but jest; he has not done't:
This's but confederacy, to blind the rest.
You are the heir?

Volt. A strange, officious,
Troublesome knave! thou dost torment me.
Volp. I know

It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozen'd;
'Tis not within the wit of man to do it:
You are so wise, so prudent, and, 'tis fit,
That wealth and wisdom still should go together.

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3 Avoc. How'

2 Avoc. Is Volpone dead?

Corv. Dead since, grave fathersBon. O, sure vengeance!

1 Avoc. Stay,

Then he was no deceiver?
Volt. O no, none:
The parasite, grave fathers.
Corv. He does speak

Out of mere envy, 'cause the servant's made
The thing he gap'd for; please your fatherhoods,
This is the truth: Though I'll not justify
The other, but he may be some-deal faulty.

Volt. Ay, to your hopes, as well as mine,
Corvino :

But I'll use modesty. Pleaseth your wisdoms To view these certain notes, and but confer them;

As I hope favour, they shall speak clear truth. Corc. The devil has ent'red him!

Bon. Or bides in you.

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He is a man of great estate, now left.

4 Avoc. Go you, and learn his name; and say, the court

Entreats his presence here; but, to the clearing Of some few doubts.

2 Avoc. This same's a labyrinth!

1 Avoc. Stand you unto your first report? Coro. My state, my life, my fame-Bon. Where is't?

Corv. Are at the stake.

1 Avoc. Is your's too?

Corb. The advocate's a knave:

And has a forked tongue-
2 Avoc. Speak to the point.
Corb. So is the parasite too.
1 Avoc. This is confusion.

Volt. I do beseech your fatherhoods, read but those.

Corv. And credit nothing the false spirit hath writ;

It cannot be, but he is possess'd, grave fathers.

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What? to buy ginger-bread? or to drown kitlings?
Nan. Sir, master Mosca call'd us out of doors,
And bid us all go play, and took the keys.
And. Yes.

Volp. Did master Mosca take the keys? why so?

I am farther in. These are my fine conceits!
I must be merry, with a mischief to me!
What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear
My fortune soberly? I must ha' my crotchets !
And my conundrums! well, go you and seek him:
His meaning may be truer than my fear.
Bid him, he straight come to me to the court;
Thither will I, and, if't be possible,
Unscrew my advocate upon new hopes;
When I provok'd him, then I lost myself.

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He vomits crooked pins! his eyes are set,
Like a dead hare's hung in a poulterer's shop!
His mouth's running away! do you see, signior?
Now 'tis in his belly.

Coro. Ay, the devil!
Volp. Now in his throat.

Coru. Ay, I perceive it plain.

Volp. Twill out, 'twill out; stand clear. where it flies!

In shape of a blue toad, with bat's wings!

Do not you see it, sir?

Corb. What? I think I do.

Corr. 'Tis too manifest.

Volp. Look, he comes t' himself!

Volt. Where am I?

See

Volp. Take good heart, the worst is past, sir.

You are dispossest.

1 Avoc. What accident is this?

2 Avoc. Sudden, and full of wonder! 3 Avoc. If he were

Possest, as it appears, all this is nothing. Cort. He has been often subject to these fits. 1 Avoc. Shew him that writing; do you know it, sir?

Volp. Deny it, sir, forswear it, know it not. Volt. Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand: But all that it contains is false.

Bon. O practice!

2 Avoc. What maze is this!

1 Avoc. Is he not guilty then,

Whom you there name the parasite?
Volt. Grave fathers!

No more than his good patron, old Volpone.

4 Avoc. Why, he is dead?

Volt. O no, my honour'd fathers,

He lives

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More intricate!

1 Avoc. And come about again!

4 Avoc. It is a match, my daughter is bestow'd. Mos. Will you gi' me half?

Volp. First, I'll be hang'd.

Mos. I know,

Your voice is good, cry not so loud

1 Avoc. Demand

The advocate. Sir, did not you affirm Volpone was alive?

Volp. Yes, and he is;

[Aside.

This gentleman told me so.-Thou shalt have

half.

Mos. Whose drunkard is this same? speak some that know him :

I never saw his face.-I cannot now

Afford it you so cheap.
Volp. No?

1 Avoc. What say you?
Volt. The officer told me.
Volp. I did, grave fathers,

And will maintain he lives, with mine own life, And that this creature told me. I was born With all good stars my enemies!

Mos. Most grave fathers,

If such an insolence as this must pass
Upon me, I am silent: 'Twas not this,
For which you sent, I hope.

2 Avoc. Take him away.

Volp, Mosca!

3 Apoc. Let him be whipp❜d.

Volp. Wilt thou betray me! cozen me? 3 Avoc. And taught to bear himself Toward a person of his rank,

4 Avoc. Away!

Mos, I humbly thank your fatherhoods.
Volp. Soft, soft:-whipp'd?

And lose all that I have? If I confess,

It cannot be much more.

4 Avoc. Sir, are you married?

Volp. They'll be allied, anon; I must be re

solute :

The fox shall here uncase.

Mos. Patron!

Volp. Nay, now,

My ruin shall not come alone: your match

[He puts off his disguise

4 Avoc. A proper man! and, were Volpone I'll hinder sure: my substance shall not glew dead,

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This, his own knave; this avarice's fool;
This a chimera, of wittol, fool, and knave:
And, reverend fathers, since we all can hope
Nought but a sentence, let's not now despair it.
You hear me brief.

Cord. May it please your fatherhoods !—
Com. Silence.

1 Avoc. The knot is now undone, by miracle! 2 Avoc. Nothing can be more clear.

3 Avoc. Or can more prove these innocent. 1 Avoc. Give 'em their liberty.

Bon. Heav'n could not long let such gross crimes be hid.

2 Avoc. If this be held the highway to get riches,

May 1 be poor.

3 Aroc. This's not the gain, but torment. 1 Avoc. These possess wealth, as sick men possess fevers,

Which trulier may be said to possess them. 2 Avoc. Disrobe that parasite.

Corv. Mos. Most honour'd fathers!

1 Avoc. Can you plead aught to stay the course of justice?

If you can, speak.

Corv. Volt. We beg favour.

Cel. And mercy.

1 Avoc. You hurt your innocence, suing for the guilty.

Stand forth; and first the parasite. You appear
T'have been the chiefest minister, if not plotter,
In all these lewd impostures; and now, lastly,
Have, with your impudence, abus'd the court,
And habit of a gentleman of Venice,
Being a fellow of no birth or blood:

For which our sentence is, first thou be whipp'd,
Then live perpetual prisoner in our galleys.
Volt. I thank you for him.

Mos. Bane to thy wolfish nature!

1 Avoc. Deliver him to the Saffi. Thou, Vol

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And, since the most was gotten by imposture, By feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such diseases, Thou art to lie in prison, crampt with irons, "Till thou beʼst sick and lame indeed.--Remove him!

Volp. This is call'd mortifying of a fox.

1 Avoc. Thou Voltore, to take away the scandal

Thou hast giv'n all worthy men of thy profession,
Art banish'd from their fellowship, and our state.
Corbaccio, bring him near. We here possess
Thy son of all thy state; and confine thee
To the monastery of San' Spirito :
Where, since thou knew'st not how to live well
here,

Thou shalt be learn'd to die well.

Corb. Ha, what said he ?

Com. You shall know anon, sir. 1 Avoc. Thou Corvino, shalt

Be straight embark'd from thine own house, and row'd

Round about Venice, through the grand canal, Wearing a cap, with fair long ass's ears Instead of horns; and so to mount, a paper Pinn'd on thy breast, to the Berlino

Coro. Yes,

And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, Bruis'd fruit, and rotten eggs-'Tis well. I'm glad

I shall not see my shame yet.

1 Avoc. And to expiate

Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her

Home to her father, with her dowry trebled:
And these are all your judgments.

All. Honoured fathers!

1 Avoc. Which may not be revok'd.-Now you begin,

When crimes are done and past, and to be punish'd,

To think what your crimes are: away with them!
Let all that see these vices thus rewarded,
Take heart, and love to study 'em. Mischiefs
feed

Like beasts, 'till they be fat, and then they bleed. [Exeunt.

VOLPONE.

The seas'ning of a play is the applause.
Now, though the fox be punish'd by the laws;
He yet doth hope there is no suff'ring due,
For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you;-
If there be, censure him:-here he doubtful
stands:-

If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands!

THE

ALCHEMIST.

BY

BEN JONSON.

PROLOGUE.

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Did never aim to grieve, but better men;
Howe'er the age he lives in, doth endure
The vices that she breeds, above their cure.
But, when the wholesome remedies are sweet,
And, in their working, gain and profit meet,
He hopes to find no spirit so much diseas'd,
But will, with such fair correctives, be pleas'd.
For here, he doth not fear, who can apply.
If there be any, that will sit so nigh
Unto the stream, to look what it doth run,
They shall find things, they'd think, or wish,
were done;

They are so natural follies, but so shown,
As even the doers may see, and yet not own.

THE ARGUMENT.

The sickness hot, a master quit, for fear,
His house in town: And left one servant there.
E ase him corrupted, and gave means to know
A cheater, and his punk; who, now brought low,
Leaving the narrow practice, were become
Cos'ners at large; and, only wanting some
House to set up, with him they here contract,
E ach for a share, and all begin to act.
Much company they draw, and much abuse,
In casting figures, telling fortunes, news,
Selling of flies, flat bawdry, with the stone:
Till it, and they, and all in fume are gone.

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