I'll straight about it. Mos. Rook go with you, raven. Corb. I know thee honest. Mos. You do lie, sir― Corb. And Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir. Corb. I do not doubt to be a father to thee. Mos. Nor 1 to gull my brother of his blessing. Corb. I may ha' my youth restored to me, why not? Corb. What say'st thou ? Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sır. Volp. O, I shall burst ; Let out my sides, let out my sides Mos. Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! Mos. Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught ; Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. Is avarice to itself! Mos. I, with our help, sir. What a rare punishment Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with 'em, their limbs faint, [Exit. With confident belying it, hopes he may With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored: And all turns air! Who's that there, now? a third? [Another knocks. Mos. Close to your couch again: I hear his voice. It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. Volp. Dead. Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Who's there? CORVINO, a Merchant, enters. Mos. Signior Corvino! come most wisht for! O, How happy were you, if you knew it now! Corv. Why? what? wherein? Mos. The tardy hour is come, sir. Corv. He is not dead? Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good; He knows no man. Corv. How shall I do then? Mos. Why, sir? Corv. I have brought him here a pearl. Mos. Perhaps he has So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir: He still calls on you: nothing but your name Is in his mouth; is your pearl orient, sir? Corv. Venice was never owner of the like. Volp. Signior Corvino. Mos. Hark. Volp. Signior Corvino. Mos. He calls you, step and give it him. He's here, sir. And he has brought you a rich pearl. Corv. How do you, sir? Tell him it doubles the twelfth caract. Mos. Sir. He cannot understand, his hearing's gone: And yet it comforts him to see you · Corv. Say, PART II. I have a diamond for him too. Mos. Best show 't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there He apprehends: he has his feeling yet. Corv. 'Las, good gentleman! How pitiful the sight is! Mos. Tut, forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Corv. Why, am I his heir? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will, Taking the vantage of his naming you Corvino. Who Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I ask'd him, I still interpreted the nods, he made Through weakness, for consent: and sent home the others, Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry, and curse. Corv. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man, No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Who 't was that fed him last, or gave him drink; Not those he hath begotten, or brought up, Can ne remember. Corv. Has he children? Mos. Bastards. Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, 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 'em 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. 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. Corv. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out ; You may be louder yet: a culvering 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, It is your presence makes him last so long. Mos. No, sir, why? Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'Pray you, sir. Mos. Well, good sir, be gone. 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, Corv. Grateful Mosca ! Thou art my friend, my fellow, my companion, Thou hast to-day out gone thyself. [Exit. THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE: BEING THE SECOND OF FOUR PLAYS, OR MORAL REPRESENTATIONS. BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT. Violanta, Daughter to a Nobleman of Milan, is with child by Gerrard, supposed to be of mean descent: an offence which by the laws of Milan is made capital to both parties. VIOLANTA. GERRARD. Viol. Why does my Gerrard grieve? It is not life (which by our Milan law My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive; Of this your noble burthen from least hurt, Made poor incompatible me the parent (Being we are not married) your dear blood Falls under the same cruel penalty : And can heaven think fit ye die for me? For Heaven's sake say I ravish'd you; I'll swear it, Viol. O Gerrard, thou art my life and faculties, It was so far from rape, that heaven doth know, Knew simply in the state of innocence, Such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush. |