My master was about his testament;

As I did urge him to it for your good

Corb. He came unto him, did he? I thought so
Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate.
Corb. To be his heir?

I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look,
Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines,
Will quite weigh down his plate.

Mos. (taking the bag) Yea, marry, sir.
This is true physic, this your sacred medicine;
No talk of opiates to this great elixir !

Corb. 'Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile.
Mos. It shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl
Corb. Ay, do, do, do.

Why, sir, this

Corb. O, no, no, no; by no means.
Mos.

Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it.

Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take my venture: Give me it again.

Mos. All, sir; 'tis your right, your own: no man Can claim a part: 'tis yours, without a rival,

Decreed by destiny.
Corb.

How, how, good Mosca ?

Mos.

If you will hear, sir.

Corb.

'Tis better yet,

Yes, with all my heart.

Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe

Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me.
Now, when I come to inforce, as I will do,
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,
Your more than many gifts, your this day's present,
And last, produce your will; where, without thought,
Or least regard, unto your proper issue,

A son so brave, and highly meriting,

The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you
Upon my master, and made him your heir ;
He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead,
But out of conscience, and mere gratitude-
Corb. He must pronounce me his?
Mos.

Corb. This plot

Did I think on before.

Mos.

'Tis true.

I do believe it.

Yes, sir.

Corb. Do you not believe it?

Mos.

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he should be

The very organ to express my thoughts!

Mos. You have not only done yourself a good

Corb. But multiplied it on my son.

[Going.

What say'st thou?

[Exit.

Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.
Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee

Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing.
Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, why not?

Mos. (in an under tone) Your worship is a precious ass !

Corb.

Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir
Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done; I go.

Volp. (leaping from his couch) O, I shall burst'
Let out my sides, let out my sides-

Contain

Mos.
Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope
Is such a bait, it covers any hook.

Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it!
I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee:
I never knew thee in so rare a humor.

Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught;

Follow your grave instructions; give them words;
Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence,

Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment

Is avarice to itself!

Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.

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 them, their limbs faint,
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going,
All dead before them; yea, their very teeth,
Their instruments of eating, failing them;
Yet this is reckon'd life! nay, here was one,
Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer!
Feels not his gout, nor palsy: feigns himself
Younger by scores of years, flatters his age
With confident belying it, hopes he may,
With charms, like son, have his youth restored:
And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate

Would be as easily cheated on, as he,

And all turns air! [Knocking within.] Who's that there, now' a third! Mos. Close, to your couch again; I hear his voice:

It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.

Volp. (lies down as before) Dead.

Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [Anointing them.]—Who's

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. (faintly) Signior Corvino!

Mos.

Volp.

Hark.

Signior Corvino !

Mos. He calls you; step and give it him.-He's here, sir,

Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will
Till he be dead: but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too,
I cannot number 'em, they were so many;
All gaping here for legacies: but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino, took

Corvino. Who

Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him,
Whom he would have his heir?
Should be executor? Corvino.
To any question he was silent tc,

And,

I still interpreted the nods he made,

Through weakness, for consent; and sent home th' others,

Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.

Corv. O, my dear Mosca! [They embrace.] 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 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink;

Not those he hath begotten, or brought up,

Can he remember.

Corv.

Mos.

Has he children?

Bastards;

Some dozen, or more; but he has given 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! I could stifle him.

Corv. Do as you will; but I'll be gone.
Mos.

It is your presence makes him last so long.

Corv. I pray you, use no violence.

Mos.

Be so:

No, sir! why?

Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, sir?

Corv. Nay, at your discretion.

Mos.

Well, good, sir, begone.