« PreviousContinue »
Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep.
Mos. No wink, sir, all this night,
Nor yesterday; but slumbers.
Corb. Good! he shall take
Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him
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,
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.
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?
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort:
Mos. I was coming for you, sir.
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 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.
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.
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
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.
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. 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. Yes, with all my
Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with
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
He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead,
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. 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
Mos. You have not only done yourself a good
Mos. 'Tis right, sir.
Corb. Still my invention.
Mos. 'Las, sir, heaven knows,
It hath been all my study, all my care
Mos. You are he,
For whom I labour, here.
Corb. I, do, do, do :
I'll straight about it.
Mos. Rook go with you, raven.
Corb. I know thee honest.
Mos. You do lie, sir
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
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!