were professed critic in lechery;
And I would look upon him, and applaud him,
This were a sin: but here, ’tis contrary,
A pious work, mere charity for physic,
And honest polity, to assure mine own.

Cel. O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?

Volp. Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,
My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them. Mos. [advancing.] Please you draw near, sir.

Corv. Come on, what—
You will not be rebellious? by that light—

Mos. Sir,
Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.

Volp. Oh!

Mos. And hearing of the consultation had,
So lately, for your health, is come to offer,
Or rather, sir, to prostitute—

Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca.

Mos. Freely, unask’d, or unintreated—

Corv. Well.

Mos. As the true fervent instance of his love,
His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty,
Only of price in Venice—

Corv. ’Tis well urged.

Mos. To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.

Volp. Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him
For his good care and promptness; but for that,
’Tis a vain labour e’en to fight ’gainst heaven;
Applying fire to stone—uh, uh, uh, uh! [coughing.]
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take
His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him,
What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.
Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune
With reverence, when he comes to’t.

Mos. Do you hear, sir?
Go to him with your wife.

Corv. Heart of my father!
Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee, come.
Thou seest ’tis nothing, Celia. By this hand,
I shall grow violent. Come, do’t, I say.

Cel. Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,
Eat burning coals, do any thing.—

Corv. Be damn’d!
Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair;
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up
Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,
Like a raw rochet!—Do not tempt me; come,
Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave
Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;
And at my window hang you forth, devising
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast.
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I’ll do it!

Cel. Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.

Corv. Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:
Think who it is intreats you. ’Prithee, sweet;—
Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him.
Or touch him, but. For my sake.—At my suit.—
This once.—No! not! I shall remember this.
Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?