Corb. That's well. Where is he? Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep. Mos. No wink, sir, all this night, or yesterday; but slumbers. Corb. Good! he shall take -ome counsel of physicians: I have brought him An opiate here, from mine own doctor Mos. He will not hear of drugs. Corb. Why? I myself Stood by, while 'twas made; saw all th' ingredients; My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. He has no faith in physic. Corb. Say you, say you? Mos. He has no faith in physic: he does think, Corb. Not I his heir? Mos. Not your physician, sir. Corb. O, no, no, no, I do not mean it. Mos. No, sir, nor their fees He cannot brook: he says they flay a man, Corb. Right, I do conceive you. Mos. And then, they do it by experiment; For which the law not only doth absolve 'em, But gives them great reward; and he is loth To hire his death, so. Corb. It is true, they kill, With as much licence as a Judge. Mos. Nay, more; For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns, And these can kill him too. Corb. His speech is broken, and his eyes are set, Stronger than he was wont? Mos. No, sir: his face Drawn longer than 'twas wont. Corb. O, good. Mos. His mouth Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang. Corb. Good. Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, And makes the colour of his flesh like lead. Corb. "Tis good. Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull. Corb. Good symptoms still. Mos. And from his brain Corb. Ha? how? not from his brain? Mos. Yes, sir, and from his brain Corb. I conceive you, good. Mos. Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum Forth the resolved corners of his eyes. Corb. Is't possible? yet I am better, ha! How does he with the swimming of his head? Corb. Has he made his will? What has he giv'n me? Mos. No, sir. Corb. Nothing? ha? Mos. He has not made his will, sir. What What then did Voltore the lawyer here? Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard 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. Mos. I do not know, sir. Corb. True, I know it too. Mos. By your own scale, sir. Corb. Well, I shall prevent him yet. See Mosca, look Here I have brought a bag of bright cecchines, Will quite weigh down his plate. Mos. Yea marry, sir, This is true physic, this your sacred medicine; Corb. Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile, Mos. Most blessed cordial. This will recover him. Corb. Yes, do, do, do. Mos. I think it were not best, sir. Corb. What? Mos. To recover him. Corb. O, no, no, no; by no means. Mos. Why, sir, this Will work some strange effect if he but feel it. Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear, I'll take my venture; Give me❜t again. Mos. At no hand; pardon me You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I Will so advise you, you shall have it all. Corb. How? 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? Z Mos. Mos. I'll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover. Mos. And on first advantage Of his gain'd sense, will I re-importune him And shew him this. Corb. Good, good. Mos. 'Tis better yet, If you will hear, sir. Corb. Yes, with all heart. my Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with speed; There frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe My master your sole heir. Corb. And disinherit My son ? Mos. O sir, the better; for that colour Shall make it much more taking. Corb. O, but colour? 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 heir: He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead, Mos. 'Tis true. Corb. This plot Did I think on before. Mos. I do believe it. Corb. Do you not believe it? Mos. Yes, sir. Corb. Mine own project. Mos. Which when he hath done, sir Corb. Corb. Published me his heir? Mos. And you so certain to survive him Mos. Being so lusty a man Corb. 'Tis true. Mos. Yes, sir 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. Mos. 'Tis right, sir. Corb. Still my invention. Mos. 'Las, sir, heaven knows, It hath been all my study, all my care (I e'en grow grey with all) how to work things Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir. Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing. Corb. I may ha' my youth restored to me, why not? Corb. What saist thou? Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. Volp. O, I shall burst; Let out my sides, let out my sides Mos. Contain 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! Z 2 [Exit. I cannot 1 |