Part 12 (2/2)
MOS: Ay, I thought on that, sir; But they are all so subtle, full of art- And age again doting and flexible, So as-I cannot tell-we may, perchance, Light on a quean may cheat us all.
CORV: 'Tis true.
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 prithee 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 [ASIDE.]: I hear him coming.
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 mayst 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.
[EXIT.]
CORV: Where are you, wife? my Celia? wife?
[RE-ENTER CELIA.]
-What, blubbering?
Come, dry those tears. I think thou thought'st me in earnest; Ha! by this light I talk'd so but to try thee: Methinks the lightness of the occasion Should have confirm'd thee. Come, I am not jealous.
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