• Made for his moile, as letter'd as himself;"
Be call'd the great and learned advocate:
And then concludes, there's nought impoffible.
Vol. Yes, to be learned, Mofca.

Mof. Oh, no; rich

Implies it. Hood an afs with reverend purple,
So you can hide his too ambitious ears,

And he fhall pafs for a cathedral doctor.

Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mofca; fetch him in Mof. Stay, Sir, your ointment for your eyes.

Vol. That's true;

Dispatch, dispatch; I long to have poffeffion
Of my new present.

Mof. That, and thousands more,'

I hope to fee you lord of.

Vol. Thanks, kind Mosca.

Mof. And that, when I am loft in blended duft. An hundred fuch as I am, in fucceffion

Vol. Nay, that were too much, Mofca.

Mof. You fhall live,

Still to delude these harpies.]

Vol. Loving Mosca,

'Tis well, my pillow now, and let him enter.
Now, my feign'd cough, my phthific, and my gout,
My apoplexy, palfy, and catarrhs,

Help with your forced functions, this my posture,
Wherein, this three year, I have milked their hopes.
He comes, I fear him' (uh, uh, uh, uh) Oh!

Enter Voltore. !

Mof. You ftill are what you were, Sir. Only you
(Of all the reft) are he, commands his love:
And you do wifely, to preferve it thus,
With early vifitation, and kind notes

Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,
Cannot but come moft grateful. Patron, Sir,
Here's Signior Voltore is come.

Vol. What fay you?!

Mof. Sir, Signior Voltore is come, this morning, To vifit you.

Vol. I thank him.

Mof. And hath brought

4

A piece

A piece of plate, bought of St. Mark,

With which he here presents you.

Vol. He is welcome.

Pray him to come more often.

Mof. Yes.

Volt. What fays he?

Mof. He thanks you, and defires you fee him often. Volp. Mofca.

Mof. My patron?

Volp. Bring him near, where is he?

I long to feel his hand.

Mof. The plate is here, Sir.

Volt. How fare you, Sir?

Volp. I thank you, Signior Voltore. Where is the plate? mine eyes are bad. Volt. I'm forry,

To fee you ftill thus weak.

Mof. That he is not weaker,
Volp. You are too munificent.

Volt. No, Sir; would to heav'n

I could as well give health to you, as that plate.
Volp. You give, Sir, what you can. I thank you.
Your love

Hath taste in this, and fhall not be unanfwer'd.

I pray you, fee me often.

Volt. Yes, I fhall, Sir.

Volp. Be not far from me.'

Mof. Do you obferve that, Sir?

Volp. Hearken unto me ftill: it will concern you.

Mof. You are a happy man, Sir, know your good. Volp. I cannot now laft long

Mof. You are his heir, Sir.

Volt. Am I?

Volp. I feel me going, (uh, uh, uh, uh.)

I am failing to my port, (uh, uh, uh, uh.)

And I am glad, I am so pear my haven.

Mof. Alas, kind gentlemen! Well, we must all go Volt. But, Mofca.

Mof. Age will conquer.

Volt. Pray thee, hear me.

Am I infcrib'd his heir for certain ?

Mof. Are you?

I do befeech you, Sir, you will vouchfafe
To write me i' your family. All my hopes,
Depend upon your worship. I am loft,
Except the rifing fun do fhine on me.

Volt. It fhall both shine, and warm thee, Mofca.
Mof. Sir,

I am a man, that hath not done your love
All the worst offices; here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers, and your cafkets lock'd,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate and monies; I'm your steward, Sir,
Husband your goods here.

Volt. But am I fole heir?

Mef. Without a partner, Sir, confirm'd this morning; The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry

Upon the parchment.

Volt. Happy, happy, me!

But what good chance, fweet Mofca?
Mof. Your defert, Sir;

I know no fecond caufe.

Volt. Thy modesty

Is loth to know it; well, we fhall requite it.

Mof. He ever lik'd your course, Sir; that first took I oft have heard him fay, how he admir'd,

Men of your large profeffion, that could speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hoarfe again, yet all be law;
That with moft quick agility, could turn,
And return; make knots and undo them;
• Give forked counfel;' take provoking gold
On either hand, and put it up: these men,
'He knew, would thrive, with their humility;
And (for his part) he thought, he should be bleft
To have his heir of fuch a fuffering fpirit,'
So wife, fo grave, of fo perplex'd a tongue,
And loud withal, that could not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin.

[him;

[Another knock. Who's that? one knocks, I would not have you feen, Sir. And yet pretend you came, and went in hafte; To fashion an excufe. And, gentle Sir,

B

When

When you do come to swim in golden lard,
Up to the arm in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiff with fatnefs of the flood,
Think on your vaffal; but remember me;
I ha' not been your worst of clients.

Volt. Mofca

Mof. When will you have your inventory brought, Sir? Or fee a copy of the will!

Anon'

I'll bring them to you, Sir.

Away, begone,

[Exit Voltore.

Put business i' your face.
Volp. Excellent Mosca !

Come hither, let me kifs thee.'
Corv. [Calls within.] Mofca!

Mof. Close to your couch again. I hear his voice.
It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.

Volp. Dead.

Corv. [Within.] Mofca!

Mof. Another bout, Sir, with your eyes.' Who's there?

Enter Corvino.

Mof. Signior Corvino! Come most wifh'd for! Oh, How happy were you, if you knew it, now! Cory. Why? What? Wherein?

Mof. The tardy hour is come, Sir.

Corv. He is not dead?

Mof. Not dead, Sir, but as good;

He knows no man.

Corv. How fhall I do then?

Mof. Why, Sir?

Cory. I have brought him here a pearl.
Mof. Perhaps he has

So much remembrance left as to know you, Sir;

He ftill 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.

Mof. Hark!

Volp. Signior Corvino.

Mof. 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 carat.

Mof

Mof. Sir,

He cannot understand; his hearing gone;
And yet it comforts him to see you.
Cor. Say,

I have a diamond for him too.
Mof. Beft fhew't, Sir;

Put it into his hand; 'tis only there
He apprehends; he has his feeling yet.
See how he grafps it!

Corv. 'Las, good gentleman!

How pitiful the fight is!

Mof. Tut! forget, Sir.

The weeping of an heir should still be laughter,
Under a visor.

Cerv. Why, am I his heir?

Mof. Sir, I am fworn; I may not flew the will,
Till he be dead. But

Here has been Voltore, here were others too;
I cannot number them, they were fo many,
All gaping here for legacies; but I,
Taking the 'vantage of his naming you,
(Signior Corvino, Signior Corvino) took

Paper and pen and ink, and there I ask'd him

Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who

Should be executor? Corvino.

To any question he was filent to,

And

I ftill interpreted the nods he made

(Thro' weakness) for confent; and fent home th'others, Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry, and curse.

Corv. Oh, my dear Mosca !-Does he not perceive us

[They embrace.

Mof. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man, No face of friend, nor name of any fervant,

Who 'twas that fed him laft, or gave him drink;
Not thofe he hath begotten or brought up

Can he remember.

Corv. Has he children?

Mof. Baftards,

Some dozen or more, that he begot on beggars,

Gypfies, and jews, and Black-a-moors, when he was drunk. Knew you not that, Sir? 'Tis the common fable.' The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his ;

B. 2

H' is