Part 6 (1/2)

MOS: You have not only done yourself a good-

CORB: But multiplied it on my son.

MOS: 'Tis right, sir.

CORB: Still, my invention.

MOS: 'Las, sir! heaven knows, It hath been all my study, all my care, (I e'en grow gray withal,) how to work things-

CORB: I do conceive, sweet Mosca.

MOS: You are he, For whom I labour here.

CORB: Ay, do, do, do: I'll straight about it.

[GOING.]

MOS: Rook go with you, raven!

CORB: I know thee honest.

MOS [ASIDE.]: You do lie, sir!

CORB: And-

MOS: Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.

CORB: I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.

MOS: Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing.

CORB: I may have my youth restored to me, why not?

MOS: Your wors.h.i.+p is a precious a.s.s!

CORB: What say'st thou?

MOS: I do desire your wors.h.i.+p to make haste, sir.

CORB: 'Tis done, 'tis done, I go.

[EXIT.]

VOLP [LEAPING FROM HIS COUCH.]: O, I shall burst!

Let out my sides, let out my sides-

MOS: Contain Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook.

VOLP: O, but thy working, and thy placing it!

I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour.

MOS: Alas sir, I but do as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give them words; Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence.

VOLP: 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is avarice to itself!