Bon. Do fo. Yet

Cannot my thought imagine this a truth.

Enter Corvino and Celia.

Mof. Death on me! You are come too foon. What

Did not I fay I would fend?

Corv. Yes; but I fear'd

[meant you!

You might forget it, and then they prevent us.

Mof. Prevent! Did e'er man hafte fo for his horns ?

A courtier would not ply it fo for a place.

Well, now there's no helping it; stay here;

I'll presently return.

Corv. Where are you,' Celia ?

[Afide

You know not wherefore I have brought you hither?
Cel. Not well, except you told me.

Corv. Now I will:

Hark hither.

Mof. Sir, Your father hath fent word,
It will be half an hour ere he come :

And therefore if you'll please to walk the while
Into that gallery; at the upper end

[To Bon...

There are fome books, to entertain the time:
And I'll take care no man fhall come unto you, Sir.
Bon. Yes, I'll stay there. I do doubt this fellow. [Afide.
[Bonario retires.

Mof. There, he is far enough; he can hear nothing:
And for his father, I can keep him off.

Coru. Nay, now there is no ftarting back; and thereRefolve upon it. I have fo decreed.

It must be done. Nor would mov't afore,
-Because I would avoid all fhifts and tricks

That might deny me.

If

you doubt

for ever;

Cel. Sir, let me befeech you,
Affect not these strange trials.
My chastity, why, lock me up
Make me the heir of darkness; let me live
Where I may please your fears, if not your trust,
Cor. Believe it, I have no fuch humour, I;
All that I fpeak, I mean: yet I'm not mad.
Not horn mad, fee you? Go to, fhew yourself
Obedient, and a wife.

Cel. Oh, Heaven!

E 2

[fore,

Carv

Corv. I fay it.

Do fo.

Cel. Was this the train?

Cory. I have told you reafons,

What the phyficians have fet down, how much
It may concern me, what my engagements are,
My means, and the necffity of thofe means,
For my recovery: wherefore, if you be
Loyal, and mine, be won, refpect my venture?
Cel. Before your honour?

Corv. Honour! Tut, a breath;

There's no fuch thing in nature; a mere term, • Invented to awe fools.' What is my gold The worfe for touching Cloaths for being look'd on ? Why, this's no more. An old decrepit wretch, That has no fenfe, no finew; 'takes his meat • With others' fingers; only knows to gape, • When you do fcald his gums;' a voice, a fhadowAnd what can this man hurt you?

Cel. Lord! what fpirit

Is this has enter'd him?

Cor. And for your fame,

That's fuch a jig as if I would go tell it,
Cry it on the Piazza. Who fhall know it,
But he that cannot fpeak it, and this fellow,
Whofe lips are i' my pocket, fave yourself?
If you proclaim't, you may. I know no other
Should come to know it.

Cel. Are Heaven and faints then nothing?
Will they be blind or ftupid?

Corv. How?

Cel. Good Sir,

Be jealous ftill; emulate them, and think
What hate they burn with toward every fin.
Corv. I grant you, if I thought it were a fin,
I would not urge you. Should I offer this
To fome young Frenchman, or hot Tufcan blood,
That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints,
Knew every quirk within luft's labyrinth,
And were profefs'd critic in letchery,

And I would look upon him, and applaud him,'
This were a fin. But here 'tis contrary,

A pious

A pious work, mere charity for phyfic,
And honest polity, to affure mine own.

Cel. Oh, Heaven! canft thou fuffer fuch a change? Volp. [Afide to Mof.] Thou art mine honour, Mofca, and my pride,

My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go, bring 'em.
Mof. Pleafe you, draw near, Sir.

Cory. Come on.

What

You will not be rebellious? By that light

Mof. Sir, Signior Corvino here, is come to fee you.
Volp. Oh!

Mof. And hearing of the confultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, Sir, to proftrate-

Cory. Thanks, fweet Mofca.

Mof. Freely, or unask'd,

His own moft fair and proper wife; the beauty
Only of price in Venice-

Corv. Tis well urg'd.

Mof. To be your comfortrefs, and to preferve you.
Volp. Alas, I am past already! Pray you, thank him
For his good eare and promptnefs; but for that,
'Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst Heaven;
Applying fire to a ftone-Uh, uh, uh, uh!-
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take

His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him
What I have done for him. Marry, my ftate is hopeless!
Will him to pray for me, and t'ufe his fortune
With rev'rence, when he comes to it.

Mof. Do you hear, Sir ?

Go to him with your wife.

Corv. Heart of my father!

Wilt thou perfift thus? Come, I pray thee, come.
Thou feest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand,

1 fhall grow violent. Come, do't, I fay.

Cel. Sir, kill me, rather. I will take down poifon, Eat burning coals, do any thing

Corv. Be damn'd!

Heart! I will drag thee hence, home by the hair,
Cry thee a ftrumpet through the streets, rip up
Thy mouth unto thy ears, and flit thy nose,
Like a raw rotchet." Do not tempt me; come.
Yield-

E. 3

• Yield-I am loth-Death! I will buy fome flave,
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive,
And at my window hang you forth, devifing
• Some monftrous crime, which 1, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aqua fortis,

And burning corr'fives, on this stubborn breast.'
Now, by the blood thou haft incens'd, I'll do't.

Cel. Sir, what you please, you may; I am your martyr. Corv. Be not thus obftinate; I ha' not deserv'd it. Think who it is intreats you. Pr'ythee, fweet. Good faith, thou fhalt have jewels, gowns, attires, What thou wilt think, and afk. Do but go kifs him, Or touch him but. For my fake; at my fuit; This once. No, not! I fhall remember this.

Will you difgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing? Mof. Nay, gentle lady, be advis'd.

Corv. No, no;

She has watch'd her time. God's precious! this is fcurvy, "Tis very fcurvy; and you are

Mof. Nay, good Sir

Cory. An errant locuft, by Heaven, a locuft, whore, Crocodile, that haft thy tears prepar'd,

Expecting how thou'lt bid them flow.

Mof. Nay, pray you, Sir.

She will confider.

Cel. Would my life would ferve

To fatisfy!

Cor. Sdeath! if fhe would but fpeak to him, And fave my reputation, 'twere fomewhat;

But fpitefully to affect my utter ruin

Mof. Ay, now you ha' put your fortune in her hands.

Why, i'faith, it is her modefty; I must quit her.

If you were abfent, fhe would be more coming?
I know it, and dare undertake for her.

What woman can before her husband ?` Pray you,
Let us depart, and leave her here.

Corv. Sweet Celia !

Thou may'ft redeem all yet.
If not, efteem yourself as loft.

I'll fay no more.

Nay, stay there.
[Exeunt Corv. and Mof.

Cel. Oh, Heav'n, and his good angels! whither, whi

Is fhame fled buman breafts, that with fuch ease

[ther,

Men

Men dare put off your honours and their own?
Is that which ever was a caufe of life,
"Now plac'd beneath the bafest circumstance?
• And' modesty an exile made, for money?

Volp. Ay, in Corvino, and fuch-earth-fed minds,

He leaps off from his cruch.
That never tasted the true heav'n of love."
Affure thee, Celia, he that would fell thee,
'Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,"
He would have fold his part of Paradife

For ready money, had he met a cope-man,"
Why art thou 'maz'd to fee me thus reviv'd?
Rather applaud thy beauties, miracle!'
'Tis thy great work, that hath, not now alone,
But fundry times, rais'd me, in feveral fhapes,
And but this morning, like a mountebank,
To fee thee at thy window. 1, before
I would have left my practice, for thy love,
In varying figures I would have contended
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.
Now art thou welcome.

Cel. Sir!

Volp. Nay, fly me not,

Nor let thy falfe imagination

'That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am fo :
Thou shalt not find it. I am now as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight,
As when (in that fo celebrated fcene,
At recitation of our comedy,

'For entertainment of the great Valois)
'I acted young Antinous, and attracted

The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,

T'admire each graceful gefture, note, and footing.

SONG.'

Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the fports of love;
Time will not be ours for ever,
'He, at length, our good will fever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns that fet may rife again :

• But