Corb. See, in our habit! see the impudent varlet!

Corv. That I could shoot mine eyes at him like gun-stones!

Enter Volpone.

Volp. But is this true, sir, of the parasite?

Corb. Again, to afflict us! monster!

Volp. In good faith, sir,
I’m heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length
Should be so over-reach’d. I never brook’d
That parasite’s hair; methought his nose should cozen:
There still was somewhat in his look, did promise
The bane of a clarissimo.

Corb. Knave—

Volp. Methinks
Yet you, that are so traded in the world,
A witty merchant, the fine bird, Corvino,
That have such moral emblems on your name,
Should not have sung your shame, and dropt your cheese,
To let the Fox laugh at your emptiness.

Corv. Sirrah, you think the privilege of the place,
And your red saucy cap, that seems to me
Nail’d to your jolt-head with those two chequines,
Can warrant your abuses; come you hither:
You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you; approach.

Volp. No haste, sir, I do know your valour well,
Since you durst publish what you are, sir.

Corv. Tarry,
I’d speak with you.

Volp. Sir, sir, another time—

Corv. Nay, now.

Volp. O lord, sir! I were a wise man,
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold.

Corb. What, come again!

Volp. Upon ’em, Mosca; save me.

Corb. The air’s infected where he breathes.

Corv. Let’s fly him.

Volp. Excellent basilisk! turn upon the vulture.

Volt. Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you now;
Your winter will come on.