The Works of Ben Jonson

VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX.

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISTERS,

THE TWO FAMOUS UNIVERSITIES,

FOR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE SHEWN TO HIS POEM IN THE PRESENTATIO?

BEN JONSON,

THE GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGER,

DEDICATES BOTH IT AND HIMSELF.

NEVER, most equal Sisters, had any man a wit so presently excellent, as that it could raise itself; but there must come both matter, occasion, commenders, and favorers to it. If this be true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily prove it, it behoves the careful to provide well towards these accidents; and, having acquired them, to preserve that part of reputation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence is it, that I now render myself grateful, nd am studious to justify the bounty of your act; to which, though your mere authority were satisfying, yet it being an ge wherein poetry and the professors of it hear so ill on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. It is certain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed, that the too much license of poetasters in this time, hath much deformed their mistress; that, every day, their manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her: but for :beir petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let the learned suffer, or so divine a skill (which indeed should not be attempted with unclean hands) to fall under the least contempt. For, if men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man's being the good poet, without first being a good man. He that is said to be able to inform young men to all good lisciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to childhood, recover them to their first strength; that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things divine no less than human, a master in manners; and can alone, or with a few, effect the business of mankind: this, 1 take him, is no subject for pride and ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. But it will here be hastily answered, that the writers of these days are other things; that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted, and nothing remaining with them of the dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe usurps; that now, espe cially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all license of offence to God and man is practised. I dare not deny a great part of this, and am sorry I dare not, because in some men's abortive features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over true: but that all are embarked in this bold adventure for hell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious slander. For my particular, I can, and from a most clear conscience, affirm, that I have ever trembled to think toward the least profaneness; have loathed the use of such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene: and, howsoever I cannot escape from some, the imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, I have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest infant but hath come into the world with all his teeth; I would ask of these supercilious politics, what nation, society, or general order or state, I 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 intirely 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 confest, or wisely dissembled his disease? But it is not rumor can make men guilty, much less entitle mie to other men's crimes. I know, that nothing can be so innocently writ or carried, 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 decyphering of every thing: 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, care not whose living faces they intrench with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival, for me: I choose rather to live graved in obscurity, than share with them in so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blame the wishes of those severe and wise 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 ridiculons 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, quanquam est intactus, et odit."

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 miscelline interludes, what learned or liberal soul doth not already abhor? where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and 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 car 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 fame, and the reputation of divers honest and learned are the 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 petulaney of overy 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 labored for their instruction and amendment, to reduce not only the ancient forms, but manners of the Acene, 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 rigor of comic law, meet with censure, turning back to my promise; I desiro the learned and charitable critic, to have so much faith in me, to think it was

Jone of industry: for, with what ease I could have varied it nearer his scale (but that I fear to botst my own faculty) I ould 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 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 pu rity 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 favors; let me not despair their continuance, to 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 kist 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 inward with their own vicious natures, as they worthily fear her, and think it an high point of policy to keep her in contempt, with their declamatory and windy invectives; she shall out of just 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 die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and the of all mankind.

From my House in the Black-Friars, this 11th day of February, 1607.

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 rhime, not empty of reason.
This were we 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:

And when his plays come forth, think they can

flout them,

With saying, he was a year about them.
To this there needs no lie, but this his creature,
Which was two nonths since no feature;

And though he dares give them five lives to mend it,
'Tis known, five weeks fully penn'd it,
From his own hand, without a co-adjutor,
Novice, journeyman, or tutor.

Yet thus much I can give you as a token
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 Bethlem a faction:

Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table,
But makes jests to fit his fable;

And so presents quick comedy refined,

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.

ACT I.

SCENE I. A Room in VOLPONE'S House. Enter VOLPONE and MOSCA.

Volp. Good morning to the day; and next, my gold!

Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.

[Mosca withdraws the curtain, and discovers
piles of gold, plate, jewels, &c.
Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad than is
The teeming earth to see the long'd-for sun
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram,
Am I, to view thy splendor darkening his;
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,
Shew'st like a flame by night, or like the day
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled
Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol,
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relick
Of sacred treasure in this blessed 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 tran-
scending

All style of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dream on earth:
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand
Cupids;

Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint, Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men tongues,

Thou 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,
Honor, and all things else. Who can get thee,
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise
Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in
fortune

A greater good than wisdom is in nature.

Volp. True, my beloved 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 plough-shares, fat no
beasts,

To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder:
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships
To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
Nor usure private.

Mos. No, sir, nor devour

Soft prodigals.

swallow

You shall have some will

A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it;
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 forth-coming, when the flesh is rotten :
But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses;
You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears
Should wash your pavements, or their piteous
cries

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

Volp. Right, Mosca; I do lothe it. Mos. 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 fill'd his vaults
With Romagnia, and rich Candian wines,
Yet drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar :
You will lie not in straw, whilst moths and

worms

Fed 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 maintenance-

Volp. Hold thee, Mosca, [Gives him money.
Take of my hand; thou strik'st on truth in all,
And they are envious term thee parasite.
Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,
And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] What
should I do,

But cocker up my genius, and live free
To all delights my fortune calls me to?
I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,
To give my substance to; but whom I make
Must be my heir: and this makes men observa

me:

This draws new clients daily to my house,
Women and men of every sex and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin,
jewels,

With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again
How now!

Re-enter Mosca with NANO, ANDROGYNO, and
CASTRONE.

Nan. Now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know,

They do bring you neither play nor university show;

And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse,

May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace

of the verse.

To goldly-lock'd Euphorbus, who was killed in good fashion,

At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta.
Hermotimus was next (I find it in my char‘a)
To whom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing
But with one Pyrrhus of Delos it learn'd to go a
fishing;

And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece.

From Pythagore, she went into a beautiful piece, Hight Aspasia, the meretrix; and the next toss of

her

Was again of a whore, she became a philosopher, Crates the cynick, as is self doth relate it :

Since kings, knights, and beggars, knaves, lords, and fools gati,

Besides or and ass, came', mule, goat, and brock,
In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock.
But I come not here to discourse of that matter,
Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, BY
QUATER!

His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh,

Or his telling how elements shift, but I Would ask, how of late thou hast suffered translation,

And shifted thy coat in these days of reformation. And. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see, Counting all old doctrine heresie.

Nan. But not on thine own forbid meats hast thou ventured?

And. On fish, when first a Carthusian I enter'd. Nan. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left thee?

And. Of that an obstreperous lawyer bereft me. Nan. O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook

thee!

For Pythagore's sake, what body then took thee? And. A good dull mule. Nan. And how! by that

means

Thou wert brought to allow of the eating of beans? And. Yes. Nan. But from the mule into whom didst thou pass?

And. Into a very strange beast, by some writers call'd an ass;

By others, a precise, pure, illuminate brother,

Of those devour flesh, and sometimes one another; And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie, Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie. Nan. Now quit thee, for heaven, of that profane nation,

And gently report thy next transmigration. And. To the same that I am. Nan. A creature of delight,

And, what is more than a fool, an hermaphrodite! Now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation,

Which body would'st thou choose, to keep up thy station?

And. Troth, this I am in: even here would I tarry. Nan. 'Cause here the delight of each sex thou canst vary?

And. Alas, those pleasures be stale and forsaken;
No, 'tis your fool wherewith I am so taken,
The only one creature that I can call blessed;

For all other forms I have proved most distressed. Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagor is still. This learned opinion we celebrate will,

Fellowo eunuch, as behoves us, with all our wit and art,

Tc dignify that whereof ourselves are so great and special a part.

Volp. It doth, good Mosca.
Mos. Then it was, sir.

NANO and CASTRONE sing.
Fools, they are the only nation
Worth men's envy or admiration ;
Free from care or sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry making:
All they speak or do is sterling.
Your fool he is your great man's darling.
And your ladies' sport and pleasure;
Tongue and bauble are his treasure.
E'en his face begetteth laughter,
And he speaks truth free from slaughter;
He's the grace of every feast,
And sometimes the chiefest guest;
Hath his trencher and his stool,
When wit waits upon the fool.
O, who would not be
He, he, he?

[Knocking without.

Volp. Fetch me my gown,

[Exit ANDROGYNO.

[ging,

My furs and night-caps; say, my couch is chan-
And let him entertain himself awhile
Without i' the gallery. [Ecit Mosca.] Now,
now, my clients

Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite,
Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcase, now they come;
I am not for them yet —

Re-enter Mosca, with the gown, &c.
How now! the news:

Mos. A piece of plate, sir.
Volp. Of what bigness?
Mos. Huge,

Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed.
And arms engraven.

Volp. Good! and not a fox

Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive Mocking a gaping crow? ha, Mosca! [sleights, Mos. Sharp, sir.

Volp. Give me my furs. [Puts on his sick dress.]
Why dost thou laugh so, man?
Mos. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend
What thoughts he has without now, as he walks:
That this might be the last gift he should give;
That this would fetch you; if you died to-day,
And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow;
What large return would come of all his ven-
tures;

How he should worship'd be, and reverenced;
Ride with his furs, and foot-cloths; waited on
By herds of fools, and clients; have clear way
Made for his mule, as letter'd as himself;
Be call'd the great and learned advocate:
And then concludes, there's nought impossible.
Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca.

Mos. O, no: rich

Implies it. Hood an ass with reverend purple,
So you can hide his two ambitious ears,
And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor.
Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Feta
him in.

Mos. Stay, sir; your ointment for your eyes.
Volp. That's true;

Dispatch, dispatch: I long to have possession
Of my new present.

Mos. That, and thousands more, hope to see you lord of.

Volp. Thanks, kind Mosca.

Mos. And that, when I am lost in blended dust,
And hundred such as I am, in succession

Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca.
Mos. You shall live,

Still, to delude these harpies.

Volp. Loving Moser.

'Tis well: my pillow now, and let him enter.

[Exit Mosca. Now, my feign'd cough, my phthisic, and my My apoplexy, palsy, and catarrhs, [gout, Help, with your forced functions, this my posture, [hopes.. Wherein, this three year, I have milk'd their He comes; I hear him-Uh! [coughing] uh! uh! uh! O

Re-enter Mosca, introducing VOLTORE, with a piece of plate.

Only
[you,

Mos. You still are what you were, sir.
Of all the rest, are he commands his love,
And you do wisely to preserve it thus,
With early visitation, and kind notes
Of your good meaning to him, which, I know,
Cannot but come most grateful.
Here's signior Voltore is come-
Volp. [faintly.] What say you?

Patron! sir!

Volp. I cannot now last long-
Mos. You are his heir, sir.
Volt. Am I?

Volp. I feel me going; Uh! uh! uh! uh! I'm sailing to my port, Uh! uh! uh! uh! And I am glad I am so near my haven.

Mos. Alas, kind gentleman! Well, we must all go

Volt. But, Mosca

Mbs. Age will conquer.

Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me :

Am I inscribed his heir for certain?
Mos. Are you!

I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe
To write me in your family. All my hopes
Depend upon your worship: I am lost,
Except the rising sun do shine on me.

Volt. It shall both shine, and warm thee,
Mos. Sir,

[Mosca
I am a man, that hath not done your love
All the worst offices: here I wear your keys.
See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods here.

Volt. But am I sole heir?

Mos. Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this
morning:

The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.

Volt. Happy, happy, me!

By what good chance, sweet Mosca ?
Mos. Your desert, sir;

Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning I know no second cause.

To visit you.

Volp. I thank him./

Mos. And hath brought

A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark,
With which he here presents you.

Volp. He is welcome.

Pray him to come more often.

Volt. Thy modesty

Is not to know it; well, we shall requite it.
Mos. He ever liked your course, sir; that first
took him.

I oft have heard him say, how he admired
Men of your large profession, that could speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law;
That, with most quick agility, could turn,
And [re-] return; [could] make knots, and
undo them;

Give forked counsel; take provoking gold
On either hand, and put it up: these men,
He knew, would thrive with their humility.
And, for his part, he thought he should

blest

To have his heir of such a suffering spirit,
So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue,
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin ! -
[Knocking without.
Who's that? one knocks; I would not have you
seen, sir.

And yet - pretend you came, and went in haste
I'll fashion an excuse and, gentle sir,
When you do come to swim in golden lard,
Up to the arms in honey, that your chin
Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood,
Think on your vassal; but remember me:
I have not been your worst of clients.
Volt. Mosca !

Mos. When will you have your inventory
brought, sir?
· Anon!·

Or see a copy of the will?

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The Works of Ben Jonson, Volume 2