Mos. No, no: it must be one that has no tricks, sir,
Some simple thing, a creature made unto it;
Some wench you may command. Have you no kinswoman?
Odso—Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, sir.
One o’ the doctors offer’d there his daughter.

Corv. How!

Mos. Yes, signior Lupo, the physician.

Corv. His daughter!

Mos. And a virgin, sir. Why, alas,
He knows the state of’s body, what it is;
That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a fever;
Nor any incantation raise his spirit:
A long forgetfulness hath seized that part.
Besides sir, who shall know it? some one or two—

Corv. I pray thee give me leave. [Walks aside.] If any man
But I had had this luck—The thing in’t self,
I know, is nothing—Wherefore should not I
As well command my blood and my affections,
As this dull doctor? In the point of honour,
The cases are all one of wife and daughter.

Mos. I hear him coming.

[Aside.

Corv. She shall do’t: ’tis done.
Slight! if this doctor, who is not engaged,
Unless ’t be for his counsel, which is nothing,
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am
So deeply in? I will prevent him: Wretch!
Covetous wretch!—Mosca, I have determined.

Mos. How, sir?

Corv. We’ll make all sure. The party you wot of
Shall be mine own wife, Mosca.

Mos. Sir, the thing,
But that I would not seem to counsel you,
I should have motion’d to you, at the first:
And make your count, you have cut all their throats.
Why, ’tis directly taking a possession!
And in his next fit, we may let him go.
’Tis but to pull the pillow from his head,
And he is throttled: it had been done before,
But for your scrupulous doubts.

Corv. Ay, a plague on’t,
My conscience fools my wit! Well, I’ll be brief,
And so be thou, lest they should be before us:
Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal
And willingness I do it; swear it was
On the first hearing, as thou may’st do, truly,
Mine own free motion.

Mos. Sir, I warrant you,
I’ll so possess him with it, that the rest
Of his starv’d clients shall be banish’d all;
And, only you received. But come not, sir,
Until I send, for I have something else
To ripen for your good, you must not know’t.

Corv. But do not you forget to send now.

Mos. Fear not.

Corv. Where are you, wife? my Celia! wife!