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THE FOX.

SCENE. A Room in VOLPONE'S House.

Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA.

Volp. Good morning to the day; and next, my gold !—

Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.

[Mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c.]

Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is

The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram,
Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his ;
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,
Shew'st like a flame by night, or like the day
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled
Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol,
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relick
Of sacred treasure in this blessed room.
Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things, and far transcending
All style of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dream on earth.

Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,

They should have given her twenty thousand Cupids;
Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint,
Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues,
Thou canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things;
The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame,
Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee,
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise-

Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune A greater good than wisdom is in nature.

Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,
Than in the glad possession, since I gain

No common way; I use no trade, no venture;
I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder :

I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships
To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
Nor usure private.

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Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch

Will pills of butter;

Tear forth the fathers of poor families

Out of their beds, and coffin them alive

In some kind clasping prison, where their ones
May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten :
But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;
You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears
Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries
Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance.
Volp. Right, Mosca; I do lothe it.

Mosc.

And besides, sir,

You are not like the thresher that doth stand
With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,
But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs;
Nor like the merchant, who hath fill'd his vaults
With their Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar :
You will lie not in straw, whilst moths and worms
Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds ;

You know the use of riches, and dare give now

From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer.

Volp. (Gives him money.) Take of my hand; thou strik'st on

truth in all,

And they are envious term thee parasite.

I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,

To give my substance to; but whom I make

Must be my heir and this makes men observe me :

This draws new clients daily to my house,

Women and men of every sex and age,

That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,
With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love :
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips.
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.

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My furs and night-caps; say, my couch is changing,

And let him entertain himself awhile.

Without i' the gallery. (Exit Mosca.)

Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite,

Now, now, my clients

Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcase, now they come ;
I am not for them yet-

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Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed,

And arms engraven.

Volp. Good! and not a fox

Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,

Mocking a gaping crow? ha, Mosca!

Mos.

Sharp, sir.

Volp. Give me my furs. (Puts on his sick dress.) Why dost

thou laugh so, man?

Mos. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend
What thoughts he has without now, as he walks:
That this might be the last gift he should give;
That this would fetch you; if you died to-day,
And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow;
What large return would come of all his ventures;
How he should worshipp'd be, and reverenced;
Ride with his furs, and foot-cloths; waited on
By herds of fools, and clients; have clear way
Made for his mule, as letter'd as himself;
Be call'd the great and learned advocate:
And then concludes, there's nought impossible.
Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca.

Mos.

O, no: rich

Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple,

So you can hide his two ambitious ears,

And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.

Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch him in.
Mos. Stay, sir; your ointment for your eyes.

Volp.

Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession
Of my new present.

That's true;

Mos.

That, and thousands more,

I hope to see you lord of.

Volp.

Thanks, kind Mosca.

Mos. And that, when I am lost in blended dust,

And hundred such as I am, in succession

Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca.

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Now, my feign'd cough, my phthisic, and my gout,
My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs,

Help, with your forced functions, this my posture,
Wherein, this three year, I have milk'd their hopes.

[Exit MOSCA.

He comes; I hear him-Uh! (coughing) uh! uh! uh! O-
Re-enter Mosca, introducing VOLTORE, with a piece of plate.
Mos. (to Volt.) You still are what you were, sir. Only you,
Of all the rest, are he commands his love;
And you do wisely to preserve it thus,

With early visitation, and kind notes

Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,
Cannot but come most grateful. Patron! sir!

Here's signior Voltore is come.

Volp. (faintly)

[Speaking loudly in his ear.

What say you?

Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning

To visit you.

Volp.

Mos.

I thank him.

And hath brought

A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark,

With which he here presents you.

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Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him often.

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