Mos. And then they do it by experiment: For which the law not only doth absolve them, But gives them great reward: and he is loth To hire his death, so.

Corb. It is true, they kill

With as much license as a judge.

Mos. Nay, more;

For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns,
And these can kill him too.

Corb. Ay, or me;

Or any man. How does his apoplex?
Is that strong on him still?

Mos. Most violent.

His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,
His face drawn longer than 'twas wont-
Corb. How how !
Stronger than he was wont ?

Mos. No, sir: his face
Drawn longer than 'twas wont.
Corb. O, good!

Mos. His mouth

Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints, And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.

Corb. 'Tis good.

Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull.

Corb. Good symptoms still.

Mos. And from his brain

Corb. I conceive you good.

Mos. Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,

Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.

Corb. Is't possible? Yes, I am better, ha!

How does he, with the swimming of his head

Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort: You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. Corb. Excellent, excellent! sure I shall outlast him; This makes me young again, a score of years.

Mos. I was a coming for you, sir.

Corb. Has he made his will?

What has he given me?

Mos. No, sir.

Corb. Nothing, ha!

Mos. He has not made his will, sir.

Corb. Oh, oh, oh !

What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here?

Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard My master was about his testament;

As I did urge it to him for your good

Corb. He came unto him, did he? I thought so.
Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate.
Corb. To be his heir?

Mos. I do not know, sir.

Corb. True:

I know it too.

Mos. By your own scale, sir.

Corb. Well,

I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look,
Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines,
Will quite weigh down his plate.

Mos. [Taking the bag.] Yea, marry sir,

This is true physic, this your sacred medicine;
No talk of opiates, to this great elixir !

Corb. 'Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile.
Mos. It shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl.
Corb. Ay, do, do, do.

Mos. Most blessed cordial !

This will recover him.

[Aside.

Corb. Yes, do, do, do.

Mos. I think it were not best, sir.

Corb. What?

Mos. To recover him.

Corb. O, no, no, no; by no means.

Mos. Why, sir, this

Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take my venture :

Give me it again.

Mos. At no hand; pardon me :

You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I

Will so advise you, you shall have it all.

Corb. How?

Mos. All, sir; 'tis your right, your own: no man

Can claim a part: 'tis yours, without a rival,

Decreed by destiny.

Corb. How, how, good Mosca ?

Mos. I'll tell you, sir.

Corb. I do conceive you.

This fit he shall recover.

Mos. And, on first advantage

Of his gain'd sense, will I re-importune him

Unto the making of his testament:

And shew him this.

Corb. Good, good.

Mos. 'Tis better yet,

If you will hear, sir.

Corb. Yes, with all my heart.

[Pointing to the money.

[speed;

Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home with

There, frame a will; whereto you shall inscribe

My master your sole heir.

Corb. And disinherit

My son !

Mos. O, sir, the better: for that colour Shall make it much more taking.

Corb. O, but colour ?

Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. Now, when I come to inforce, as I will do,

Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, Your more than many gifts, your this day's present, And last, produce your will; where, without thought, Or least regard, unto your proper issue,

A son so brave, and highly meriting,

The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you
Upon my master, and made him your heir:

He cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead,

But out of conscience, and mere gratitude-
Corb. He must pronounce me his?
Mos. 'Tis true.

Corb. This plot

Did I think on before.

Mos. I do believe it.

Corb. Do you not believe it?

Mos. Yes, sir.

Corb. Mine own project.

Mos. Which, when he hath done, sir

Corb. Publish'd me his heir?

Mos. And you so certain to survive him

Corb. Ay.

Mos. Being so lusty a man

Corb. 'Tis true.

Mos. Yes, sir

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he

should be

The very organ to express my thoughts!

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. You do lie, sir!

[Aside.

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 worship is a precious ass !

Corb. What say'st thou ?

Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir.
Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done; I go.

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.

[Exit.

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

Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.