The workes of Beniamin Ionson

Act III. Scene V.

MOSCA, LADY, VOLPONE.

GOd saue you, Madam.

LAD.

Good sir.

VOLP.

MOSCA? welcom, Welcome to my redemption.

MOS.

Why, sir?

VOLP.

Oh, Rid me of this my torture, quickly, there; My Madam, with the euerlasting voyce: The bells, in time of pestilence, ne're made Like noise, or were in that perpetuall motion; The cock-pit comes not neere it. All my house, But now, steam'd like a bath, with her thicke breath. A lawyer could not haue beene heard; nor scarse Another woman, such a hayle of wordes Shee has let fall. For hells sake, rid her hence.

MOS.

Has shee presented?

VOLP.

O, I doe not care, I'le take her absence, vpon any price, With any losse.

MOS.

Madam—

LAD.

I ha' brought your patron A toy, a cap here, of mine owne worke—

MOS.

'Tis well, I had forgot to tell you, I saw your Knight, Where you'ld little thinke it—

LAD.

Where?

MOS.

Mary, Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend him, Rowing vpon the water in a gondole, With the most cunning curtizan, of Venice.

LAD.

Is't true?

MOS.

Pursue 'hem, and beleeue your eyes: Leaue me, to make your gift. I knew, 't would take.

For lightly, they that vse themselues most licence, Are still most iealous.

VOLP.

MOSCA, hearty thankes, For thy quicke fiction, and deliuery of mee. Now, to my hopes, what saist thou?

LAD.

But doe you heare, sir?—

VOLP.

Againe; I feare a paroxisme.

LAD.

Which way Row'd they together?

MOS.

Toward the rialto.

LAD.

I pray you lend me your dwarfe.

MOS.

I pray you, take him. Your hopes, sir, are like happie blossomes, faire, And promise timely fruit, if you will stay But the maturing; keepe you, at your couch, CORBACCIO will arriue straight, with the will: When he is gone, ile tell you more.

VOLP.

My blood, My spirits are return'd; I am aliue: And like your wanton gam'ster, at primero, Whose thought had whisper'd to him, not goe lesse, Methinkes I lie, and draw—for an encounter.