Volpone Or the Fox - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
VOLT: How now, my Mosca?
MOS [WRITING.]: "Turkey carpets, nine"-
VOLT: Taking an inventory! that is well.
MOS: "Two suits of bedding, tissue"-
VOLT: Where's the Will?
Let me read that the while.
[ENTER SERVANTS, WITH CORBACCIO IN A CHAIR.]
CORB: So, set me down: And get you home.
[EXEUNT SERVANTS.]
VOLT: Is he come now, to trouble us!
MOS: "Of cloth of gold, two more"-
CORB: Is it done, Mosca?
MOS: "Of several velvets, eight"-
VOLT: I like his care.
CORB: Dost thou not hear?
[ENTER CORVINO.]
CORB: Ha! is the hour come, Mosca?
VOLP [PEEPING OVER THE CURTAIN.]: Ay, now, they muster.
CORV: What does the advocate here, Or this Corbaccio?
CORB: What do these here?
[ENTER LADY POL. WOULD-BE.]
LADY P: Mosca!
Is his thread spun?
MOS: "Eight chests of linen"-
VOLP: O, My fine dame Would-be, too!
CORV: Mosca, the Will, That I may shew it these, and rid them hence.
MOS: "Six chests of diaper, four of damask."-There.
[GIVES THEM THE WILL CARELESSLY, OVER HIS SHOULDER.]
CORB: Is that the will?
MOS: "Down-beds, and bolsters"-
VOLP: Rare!
Be busy still. Now they begin to flutter: They never think of me. Look, see, see, see!
How their swift eyes run over the long deed, Unto the name, and to the legacies, What is bequeath'd them there-
MOS: "Ten suits of hangings"-
VOLP: Ay, in their garters, Mosca. Now their hopes Are at the gasp.
VOLT: Mosca the heir?
CORB: What's that?
VOLP: My advocate is dumb; look to my merchant, He has heard of some strange storm, a s.h.i.+p is lost, He faints; my lady will swoon. Old glazen eyes, He hath not reach'd his despair yet.
CORB [TAKES THE WILL.]: All these Are out of hope: I am sure, the man.
CORV: But, Mosca-
MOS: "Two cabinets."
CORV: Is this in earnest?
MOS: "One Of ebony"-
CORV: Or do you but delude me?
MOS: The other, mother of pearl-I am very busy.
Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me- "Item, one salt of agate"-not my seeking.
LADY P: Do you hear, sir?
MOS: "A perfum'd box"-'Pray you forbear, You see I'm troubled-"made of an onyx"-
LADY P: How!
MOS: To-morrow or next day, I shall be at leisure To talk with you all.
CORV: Is this my large hope's issue?
LADY P: Sir, I must have a fairer answer.
MOS: Madam!
