Volpone and Other Plays (6 page)

60         have provoked? what public person? whether I have not in all these preserved their dignity, as mine own person, safe? My works are
read,
allowed
(I speak of those that are
entirely mine
); look into them. What broad reproofs have I used? where have I been particular? where personal? except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon, creatures for their insolencies worthy to be taxed? Yet to which of these so pointingly as he might not either ingenuously have confessed or wisely dissembled his disease? But it is not rumour can make men guilty, much less entitle me to other men's crimes. I know that nothing can be so innocently writ or carried,

70        but may be
made obnoxious
to construction; marry, whilst I bear mine innocence about me, I fear it not.
Application
is now grown a trade with many, and there are that profess to have a key for the deciphering of everything; but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, utter their own virulent malice under other men's simplest meanings. As for those that will (by faults which charity hath raked up, or common honesty concealed) make themselves a name with the multitude, or (to draw their rude and beastly claps)

80       care not whose living faces they entrench with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival, for me. I choose rather to lie
graved
in obscurity than share with them in so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blame the wishes of those severe and wiser patriots, who, providing the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a state, desire rather to see fools and devils, and those antique relics of barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous and exploded follies, than behold the wounds of private men, of princes, and nations. For, as Horace makes Trebatius speak, among these:

–
Sibi quisque timet, quamquam est intactus, et odit
.

90        And men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. The increase of which lust in liberty, together with
the present trade of the stage, in all their
misc' line
interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and that with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of solecisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry able to violate the ear of a pagan, and blasphemy to turn the blood of a Christian to water. I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my tame and the reputations of divers honest and learned are the

100      question; when
a name
so full of authority, antiquity, and all great mark, is, through their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age; and those men subject to the petulancy of every
vernaculous
orator that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarchs. This it is that hath not only rapt me to present indignation, but made me studious heretofore, and by all my actions to stand off from them; which may most appear in this my latest work – which you,
most learned Arbitresses
, have seen, judged, and, to my crown, approved – wherein I have laboured, for their instruction and amendment, to
reduce
not only the ancient forms,

110       but manners of the scene: the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesie, to inform men in the best reason of living. And though my
catastrophe
may in the strict rigour of comic law meet with censure, as turning back to
my promise
, I desire the learned and charitable critic to have so much faith in me to think it was done
of industry
: for with what ease I could have varied it nearer his scale (but that I fear to boast my own faculty) I could here insert. But, my special aim being to put the snaffle in their mouths that cry out: We never punish vice in our interludes, &c., I took the

120       more liberty, though not without some lines of example drawn even in the ancients themselves, the
goings-out
of whose comedies
are not always joyful, but oft-times the bawds, the servants, the rivals, yea, and the masters are mulcted, and fitly, it being the office of a comic poet to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as purity of language, or stir up gentle affections. To which I shall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. For the present, most reverenced Sisters, as I have cared to be thankful for your affections past, and here made the understanding acquainted with some ground of your favours, let me not despair their continuance, to

130      the maturing of some worthier fruits; wherein, if my muses be true to me, I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and, stripping her out of those rotten and base rags wherewith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to her
primitive habit
, feature, and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kissed of all the great and master-spirits of our world. As for the vile and slothful, who never affected an act worthy of celebration or are so inwards with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her and think it a high point of policy to keep her in contempt with their declamatory and windy invectives; she shall out of just

140      rage incite her servants (who are
genus irritabile
) to spout ink in their faces that shall eat, farther than their marrow, into their fames, and not Cinnamus the barber with his art shall be able to take out the brands, but they shall live, and be read, till the wretches the, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and then of all mankind.

      From my house in the Blackfriars,

      this 11th day of February, 1607.

V olpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs,

O ffers his state to hopes of several heirs,

L ies languishing; his Parasite receives

P resents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves

O ther cross-plots, which ope themselves, are told.

N ew tricks for safety are sought; they thrive; when, bold,

E ach tempts th'other again, and all are sold.

Now, luck yet send us, and a little wit

Will serve to make our play hit;

According to the palates of the season,

Here is rhyme not empty of reason.

This we were bid to credit from our poet,

Whose true scope, if you would know it,

In all his poems still hath been this measure:

To mix profit with your pleasure;

And not as some, whose throats their envy failing,

Cry hoarsely, ‘All he writes is railing,'

10              And when his plays come forth, think they can flout them,

With saying, ‘He was a year about them.'

To these there needs no lie but this his creature,

Which was two months since no feature;

And though he dares give them five lives to mend it,

'Tis known, five weeks fully penned it,

From his own hand, without a coadjutor,

Novice
, journeyman, or tutor.

Yet thus much I can give you as a token

20                     Of his play's worth: no eggs are broken,

Nor
quaking custards
with fierce teeth affrighted,

Wherewith your rout are so delighted;

Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting,

To stop gaps in his loose writing,

With such a deal of monstrous and forced action,

As might make Bedlam a faction;

Nor made he his play for jests stol'n from each table,

But makes jests to fit his fable.

And so presents
quick
comedy refined,

30                    As best critics have designed;

The laws of time, place, persons he observeth,

From no needful rule he swerveth.

All gall and
copperas
from his ink he draineth,

Only a little salt remaineth,

Wherewith he'll rub your cheeks, till, red with laughter,

They shall look fresh a week after.

I, i        [
Volpone's house
.]

[
Volpone in a large bed. Enter
MOSCA
.
VOLPONE
awakes
.]

[
VOLPONE
:] Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!

Open the shrine, that i may see my saint.

     [
MOSCA
draws a curtain, revealing piles of gold
.]

Hail the world's soul, and mine! More glad than is

The teeming earth to see the longed-for sun

Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram,

Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his;

That lying here, amongst my other hoards,

Show'st like a flame by night, or like
the day

Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled

10        Unto the centre. O, thou son of Sol

(But brighter than thy father) let me kiss,

With adoration, thee, and every relic

Of sacred treasure in this blessèd room.

Well did wise poets by thy glorious name

Title
that age
which they would have the best,

Thou being the best of things, and far transcending

All style of joy in children, parents, friends,

Or any other waking dream on earth.

Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,

20        They should have giv'n her twenty thousand Cupids,

Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint,

Riches, the dumb god that giv'st all men tongues,

That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do all things;

The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,

Is made worth heaven! Thou art virtue, fame,

Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee,

He, shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise –

MOSCA
: And what he will, sir. Riches are in fortune

A greater good man wisdom is in nature.

30    
VOLPONE
: True, my belovèd Mosca. Yet, I glory

More in the cunning purchase of my wealth

Than in the glad possession, since I gain

No common way: I use no trade, no venture;

I wound no earth with ploughshares; fat no beasts

To feed the
shambles
; have no mills for iron,

Oil, corn, or men, to grind 'em into powder;

I blow no subtle glass; expose no ships

To threat'nings of the furrow-facèd sea;

I turn no moneys in the public bank,

40        Nor usure private –

MOSCA
:                         No, sir, nor devour

Soft prodigals. You shall ha'some will swallow

A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch

Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for 't;

Tear forth the fathers of poor families

Out of their beds, and coffin them, alive,

In some kind, clasping prison, where their bones

May be forthcoming, when the flesh is rotten.

But, your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;

You loathe the widow's or the orphan's tears

50        Should wash your pavements, or their piteous cries

Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance –

VOLPONE
: Right, Mosca, I do loathe it.

MOSCA
:                                                         And, besides, sir,

You are not like the thresher that doth stand

With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn,

And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain,

But feeds on
mallows
and such bitter herbs;

Nor like the merchant, who hath filled his vaults

With
Romagnia
and rich Candian wines,

Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar.

60        You will not lie in straw, whilst moths and worms

Feed on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds.

You know the use of riches, and dare give, now,

From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer,

Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite,

Your eunuch, or what other household trifle

Your pleasure allows maint'nance –

VOLPONE
:                                               Hold thee, Mosca,