Riches are in fortune

Yet I glory

Mosca. And what he will, sir.
A greater good than wisdom is in nature.
Volpone. True, my beloved Mosca.
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,
Than in this glad possession, since I gain

No common way; I use no trade, no venture;
I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men to grind them into powder:
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships

To threatenings of the furrow-faced sea;

I turn no moneys in the public bank,
Nor usure1 private.

Mosca. No, sir, nor devour

Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it;
Tear forth the fathers of poor families
Out of their beds, and coffin them alive

In some kind clasping prison, where their bones
May be forthcoming, where the flesh is rotten;
But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;
You loathe the widow's or the orphan's tears
Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries
Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance.
Volpone. Right, Mosca; I do loathe it.

Mosca. And besides, sir,

You are not like the thresher that doth stand
With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn,
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,
But feeds on mallows, and such bitter herbs;
Nor like the merchant, who hath filled his vaults
With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar;
You will not lie in straw, whilst moths and worms
Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds;
You know the use of riches, and dare give now
From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer,
Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite,

1 Interest.

Your eunuch, or what other household trifle

Your pleasure allows maintenance

Volpone. Hold this, Mosca. [Gives him money.] Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth in all, And they are envious term thee parasite.

Go call my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,

And let them make me sport. [Exit MOSCA.] What should

I do,

But cocker up my genius, and live free

To all delights my fortune calls me to?

I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,

To give my substance to; but whom I make,

Must be my heir; and this makes men observe me:
This draws new clients daily to my house,
Women and men of every sex and age,

That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,
With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return
Tenfold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER
(OUTLINE HISTORY, § 34)

PHILASTER AND ARETHUSA
(From Philaster, Act I., Scene II.)

Phi. MADAM, your messenger

Made me believe you wished to speak with me.

Are. 'Tis true, Philaster; but the words are such

I have to say, and do so ill beseem

The mouth of woman, that I wish them said,

And yet am loath to speak them. Have you known That I have aught detracted from your worth?

Have I in person wrong'd you? or have set

My baser instruments to throw disgrace
Upon your virtues ?

Phi. Never, madam, you.

Are. Why, then, should you, in such a public place, Injure a princess, and a scandal lay

Upon my fortunes, famed to be so great,

Calling a great part of my dowry in question?

Phi. Madam, this truth which I shall speak will be Foolish: but, for your fair and virtuous self, I could afford myself to have no right

To anything you wished.

Are. Philaster, know,

I must enjoy these kingdoms.

Phi. Madam, both?

Are. Both, or I die; by heaven, I die, Philaster,

If I not calmly may enjoy them both.

Phi. I would do much to save that noble life;

Yet would be loath to have posterity

Find in our stories, that Philaster gave
His right unto a sceptre and a crown

To save a lady's longing.

Are. Nay, then, hear:

I must and will have them, and more

Phi. What more?

Are. Or lose that little life the gods prepared

To trouble this poor piece of earth withal.

Phi. Madam, what more?

Are. Turn, then, away thy face.

Phi. No.

Are. Do.

Phi. I can endure it. Turn away my face!

I never yet saw enemy that looked

So dreadfully, but that I thought myself
As great a basilisk as he; or spake

So horribly, but that I thought my tongue

Bore thunder underneath, as much as his;

Nor beast that I could turn from: shall I then

Begin to fear sweet sounds? a lady's voice
Say, you would have my life;

Whom I do love?

Why, I will give it you; for 'tis to me

A thing so loathed, and unto you that ask
Of so poor use, that I shall make no price:

If

you entreat, I will unmovedly bear.

Are. Yet, for my sake, a little bend thy looks.
Phi. I do.

Are. Then know, I must have them and thee.
Phi. And me?

Are. Thy love; without which, all the land
Discovered yet will serve me for no use

But to be buried in.

Phi. Is't possible ?

Are. With it, it were too little to bestow

On thee. Now, though thy breath do strike me dead
(Which, know, it may), I have unript my breast.
Phi. Madam, you are too full of noble thoughts
To lay a train for this contemnèd life,

Which you may have for asking; to suspect
Love you!

Were base, where I deserve no ill.

By all my hopes, I do, above my life!

But how this passion should proceed from you
So violently, would amaze a man

That would be jealous.

Are. Another soul into my body shot

Could not have filled me with more strength and spirit

Than this thy breath. But spend not hasty time

In seeking how I came thus; 'tis the gods,
The gods, that make me so; and sure, our love

Will be the nobler and the better blest,

In that the secret justice of the gods

Is mingled with it. Let us leave, and kiss;

Lest some unwelcome guest should fall betwixt us,
And we should part without it.

Phi. 'Twill be ill

I should abide here long.

Are. 'Tis true; and worse

You should come often.

How shall we devise

To hold intelligence, that our true loves,
On any new occasion, may agree

What path is best to tread ?

Phi. I have a boy,

Sent by the gods, I hope, to this intent,

No yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,

I found him sitting by a fountain's side,

Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself
Of many several flowers bred in the vale,
Stuck in that mystic order that the rareness
Delighted me: but ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story:
He told me that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields

Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun,
Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light.
Then took he up his garland, and did show
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify, and how all, ordered thus,

Expressed his grief; and, to my thought, did read
The prettiest lecture of his country-art

That could be wished: so that methought I could
Have studied it. I gladly entertained
Him, who was glad to follow; and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy
That ever master kept. Him will I send
To wait on you, and bear our hidden love.