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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 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 maintenance

Volp. Hold thee, Mosca, [Gives him money. Take of my hand; thou strikest 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 observe 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 counterwork 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 !

Volp. Good ! and not a fox
Stretch'd on the earth, with fine delusive sleights,
Mocking a gaping crow? ha, Mosca !

Mos. Sharp sir.
Volp. Give me my furs. (Puts on his sick dress.]

Why dost thou laugh so, man ?
Mos. I cannot chuse, 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 ventures;
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. Fetch

him in.
Mos. Stay, sir ; your ointment for your eyes.

Volp. That's true ;
Despatch, despatch : I long to have possession
Of my new present.

Mos. That, and thousands more,
I 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 Mosca !
'Tis well : my pillow now, and let him enter.

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

uh ! uh ! 0 Re-enter Mosca, introducing VOLTORE, with a piece of

Mos. You still are what you were, sir. Only
Of all the rest, are he commands his love, [you,
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. Patron! sir !
Here's signior Voltore is come-

Volp. [faintly.] What say you ?
Mos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning

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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.

seen, sir,

Volp. He is welcome.

Mos. He ever liked your course, sir ; that first Pray him to come more often.

took him. Mos. Yes,

I oft have heard him say, how he admired Volt. What says he ?

Men of your large profession, that could speak Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him To every cause, and things mere contraries, Volp. Mosca.

(often. Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law; Mos. My patron !

That, with most quick agility, could turn, Volp. Bring him near, where is he?

And return ; make knots, and undo them ; I long to feel his hand.

Give forked counsel ; take provoking gold Mos. The plate is here, sir.

On either hand, and put it up : these men, Volt. How fare you, sir ?

He knew, would thrive with their humility. Volp. I thank you, signior Voltore ;

And, for his part, he thought he should be blest Where is the plate ? mine eyes are bad.

To have his heir of such a suffering spirit, Volt. (putting it into his hands.] I'm sorry, So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue, To see you still thus weak.

And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Mos. That he's not weaker.

(Aside. Lie still, without a fee ; when every word Volp. You are too munificent.

Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin ! Volt. No, sir ; would to heaven,

[Knocking without. I could as well give health to you, as that plate! Who's that? one knocks ; I would not have you Volp. You give, sir, what you can; I thank you. Your love

And yet—pretend you came, and went in haste ; Hath taste in this, and shall not be unanswer'd:

I'll fashion an excuse -and, gentle sir, I pray you see me often.

When you do come to swim in golden lard, Volt. Yes, I shall, sir.

Up to the arms in honey, that your chin Volp. Be not far from me.

Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood,
Mos. Do you observe that, sir ?

Think on your vassal ; but remember me :
Volp. Hearken unto me still; it will concern you. I have not been your worst of clients.
Mos. You are a happy man, sir ; know your

Volt. Mosca !
Volp. I cannot now last long-


Mos. When will you have your inventory brought Mos. You are his heir, sir.

Or see a copy of the will !Anon ! - (sir Volt. Am I?

I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone, Volp. I feel me going ; Uh! uh! uh! uh ! Put business in your face.

[Exit VoLTORE. I'm sailing to my port, Uh! uh! uh! uh !

Volp. (springing up.] Excellent Mosca! And I am glad I am so near my haven.

Come hither, let me kiss thee. Mos. Alas, kind gentleman! Well, we must Mos. Keep you still, sir. Voll. But, Mosca

Here is Corbaccio. Mos. Age will conquer.

Volp. Set the plate away: Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me:

The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come ! Am I inscribed his heir for certain ?

Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep. Mos. Are you !

Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe

the rest.] Now shall we see To write me in your family. All my hopes A wretch, who is indeed more impotent Depend upon your worship : I am lost,

Than this can feign to be ; yet hopes to hop Except the rising sun do shine on me.

Over his gravem Volt. It shall both shine, and warm thee, Mosca.

Mos. Sir,

Signior Corbaccio !
I am a man, that hath not done your love You're very welcome, sir.
All the worst offices : here I wear your keys, Corb. How does your patron ?
See all your coffers and your caskets lock’d,

Mos. Troth, as he did, sir ; no amends.
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,

Corb. What ! mends he ?
Your plate and monies ; am your steward, sir, Mos. No, sir : he's rather worse.
Husband your goods here.

Corb. That's well. Where is he?
Voll. But am I sole heir ?

[morning : Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall’n asleep. Mos. Without a partner, sir ; confirm’d this Corb. Does he sleep well ? The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry Mos. No wink, sir, all this night, l'pon the parchment.

Nor yesterday ; but slumbers. Volt. Happy, happy me!

Corb. Good ! he should take By what good chance, sweet Mosca ?

Some counsel of physicians : I have brought him Mos. Your desert, sir ;

An opiate here, from mine own doctor. I know no second cause.

Mos. He will not hear of drugs. Volt. Thy modesty

Corb. Why? I myself

[dients Is not to know it ; well, we shall requite it. Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingre

[all go

And know, it cannot but most gently work :

Mos. No, sir.
My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep.

Corb. Nothing ! ba ?
Volp. Ay, his last sleep, if he would take it. Mos. He has not made his will, sir.

(4 side. Corb. Oh, oh, oh! Mos. Sir,

What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here? He has no faith in physic.

Mos. He smelt a carcase, sir, when he but heard rb. Say you, say you ?

My master was about his testament ; Mos. He has no faith in physic : he does think

As I did urge him to it for your goodMost of your doctors are the greater danger Corb. He came unto him, did he? I thought so. And worse disease, to escape. I often have

Mos. Yes, and presented him this piece of plate. Heard him protest, that your physician

Corb. To be his heir ? Should never be his heir.

Mos. I do not know, sir. Corb. Not I Kis heir ?

Corb. True : Mos. Not your physician, sir.

I know it too. Corb. 0, no, no, no ;

Mos. By your own scale, sir.

(Aside. I do not mean it.

Corb. Well, Mos. No, sir, nor their fees

I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look, He cannot brook : he says, they flay a man, Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines, Before they kill him.

Will quite weigh down his plate. Corb. Right, I do conceive you.

Mos. (taking the bag.] Yea, marry, sir, Mos. And then they do it by experiment;

This is true physic, this your sacred medicine ; For which the law not only doth absolve them,

No talk of opiates, to this great elixir ! But gives them great reward: and he is loth

Corb. "Tis aurum palpabile, if not potabile. To hire his death, so.

Mos. It shall be minister'd to him, in his bowl. Corb. It is true, they kill

Corb. Ay, do, do, do. With as much license as a judge.

Mos. Most blessed cordial! Mos. Nay, more;

This will recover him. For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns,

Corb. Yes, do, do, do. And these can kill him too.

Mos. I think it were not best, sir. Corb. Ay, or me ;

Corb. What ? Or any man. How does his apoplex ?

Mos. To recover him. Is that strong on him still ?

Corb. 0, no, no, no ; by no means. Mos. Most violent.

Mos. Why, sir, this His speech is broken, and his eyes are set,

Will work some strange effect, if he but feel it. His face drawn longer than 'twas wont

Corb. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take my Corb. How ! how !

Give me it again.

(venture : Stronger than he was wont ?

Mos. At no hand ; pardon me : Mos. No, sir : his face

You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I Drawn longer than 'twas wont.

Will so advise you, you shall have it all. Corb. O good!

Corb. How ? Mos. His mouth

Mos. All, sir; 'tis your right, your own; no man Is ever gaping, and his eyelids hang.

Can claim a part : 'tis yours without a rival, Corb. Good,

Decreed by destiny. Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his joints,

Corh. How, how, good Mosca ? And makes the colour of his flesh like lead.

Mos. I'll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover. Corb. 'Tis good.

Corb. I do conceive you. Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull.

Mos. And, on first advantage Corb. Good symptoms still.

Of his gain'd sense, will I re-importune him Mos. And from his brain

Unto the making of his testament : Corb. I conceive you ; good.

And show him this.

[Pointing to the money. Mos. Flows a cold sweat, with a continual rheum,

Corb. Good, good. Forth the resolved corners of his eyes.

Mos. 'Tis better yet, Corb. Is't possible? Yet I am better, ha !

If you will hear, sir. How does he, with the swimming of his head ?

Corb. Yes, with all my heart. Mos. 0, sir, 'tis past the scotomy; he now

Mos. Now, would I counsel you, make home Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort :

with speed ; You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes.

There, frame a will ; whereto you shall inscribe Corb. Excellent, excellent ! sure I shall outlast My master your sole heir. This makes me young again, a score of years. [lıim: Corb. And disinherit Mos. I was a coming for you, sir.

My son ! Corb. Has he made his will ?

Mos. 0, sir, the better : for that colour What has he given me ?

Shall make it much more taking.

ears, sir.

Corb. O, but colour !

Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. Now, when I come to inforce, as I will do,

Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee. Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers, Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing. Your more than many gifts, your this day's present, Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, And last, produce your will ; where, without why not? thought,

Mos. Your worship is a precious ass ! Or least regard, unto your proper issue,

Corb. What say'st thou ? A son so brave, and highly meriting,

Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir. The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done ; I go.

[Exit. Upon my master, and made him your heir :

Volp. [leaping from his couch.] 0, I shall burst ! He cannot be so stupid or stone dead,

Let out my sides, let out my sidesBut out of conscience, and mere gratitude

Mos. Contain Corb. He must pronounce me his ?

Your Aux of laughter, sir : you know this hope Mos. 'Tis true.

Is such a bait, it covers any hook. Corb. This plot

Volp. 0, but thy working, and thy placing it! Did I think on before.

I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee : Mos. I do believe it.

I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Corb. Do you not believe it?

Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught ; Mos. Yes, sir.

Follow your grave instructions ; give them words ; Corb. Mine own project.

Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. Mos. Which, when he hath done, sir

Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishCorb. Publish'd me his heir ?

Is avarice to itself!

[ment Mos. And you so certain to survive him--- Mos. Ay, with our help, sir. Corb. Ay.

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, Mos. Being so lusty a man

So many fears attending on old age, Corb. 'Tis true.

Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Mos. Yes, sir

[should be Can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, The very organ to express my thoughts !

All dead before them ; yea, their very teeth, Mos. You have not only done yourself a good- | Their instruments of eating, failing them : Corb. But multiplied it on my son.

Yet this is reckon'd life ! nay, here was one, Mos. 'Tis right, sir.

Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer ! Corb. Still, my invention.

Feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigus himself Mos. 'Las, sir ! heaven knows,

Younger by scores of years, flatters his age It hath been all my study, all my care,

With confident belying it, hopes he may, (I e'en grow gray withal,) how to work things- With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored : Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca.

And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Mos. You are he,

Would be as easily cheated on, as he, For whom I labour, here.

And all turns air ? [Knocking within.] Who's Corb. Ay, do, do, do :

that there, now? a third ! I'll straight about it.

(Going. Mos. Close, to your couch again; I hear his Mos. Rook go with you, raven !

It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. (voice: Corb. I know thee honest,

Volp. [lies down as before.] Dead. Mos. You do lie, sir !

(Aside. Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [AnointCorb. And

ing them.]— Who's there?


(Born, 1589. Died, 1630.)

When Mr. Ellis pronounced that Carew cer a zealous adherent of the fortunes of Charles I. tainly died in 1634, he had probably some reasons He was educated at Oxford, but was neither for setting aside the date of the poet's birth matriculated nor took any degree. After returnassigned by Lord Clarendon ; but as he has not ing from his travels, he was received with disgiven them, the authority of a contemporary must tinction at the court of Charles I. for his elegant be allowed to stand. He was of the Carews of manners and accomplishments, and was appointed Gloucestershire, a family descended from the gentleman of the privy chamber, and sewer in elder stock of that name in Devonshire, and a ordinary to his majesty. The rest of his days younger brother of Sir Matthew Carew, who was i seem to have passed in affluence and ease, and

he died just in time to save him from witnessing the poet, which saves trouble to his reader. His the gay and gallant court, to which he had con poems have touches of elegance and refinement, tributed more than the ordinary literature of a which their trifling subjects could not have courtier, dispersed by the storm of civil war that yielded without a delicate and deliberate exercise was already gathering

of the fancy; and he unites the point and polish The want of boldness and expansion in Carew's of later times with many of the genial and warm thoughts and subjects, excludes him from rival- tints of the elder muse. Like Waller, he is by ship with great poetical names; nor is it difficult, no means free from conceit; and one regrets to even within the narrow pale of his works, to dis find him addressing the Surgeon bleeding Celia, cover some faults of affectation, and of still more in order to tell him that the blood which he objectionable indelicacy. But among the poets draws proceeds not from the fair one's arm, but who have walked in the same limited path, he is from the lover's heart. But of such frigid pre-eminently beautiful, and deservedly ranks thoughts he is more sparing than Waller; and among the earliest of those who gave a cultivated | his conceptions, compared to that poet's, are like grace to our lyrical strains. His slowness in fruits of a richer flavour, that have been culcomposition was evidently that sort of care in tured with the same assiduity*.


Spend not in vain your life's short hour,
But crop in time your beauty's flower :
Which will away, and doth together
Both bud and fade, both blow and wither.

Think not, 'cause men flattering say,
Y’are fresh as April, sweet as May,
Bright as is the morning-star,
That you are so ;-or though you are,
Be not therefore proud, and deem
All men unworthy your esteem :



Starve not yourself, because you may
Thereby make me pine away ;
Nor let brittle beauty make
You your wiser thoughts forsake :
For that lovely face will fail ;
Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail ;
'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done,
Than summer's rain, or winter's sun :
Most fleeting, when it is most dear;
'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here.
These curious locks so aptly twined,
Whose every hair a soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
White, and cold as winter's snow.
That eye which now is Cupid's nest
Will prove his grave, and all the rest
Will follow ; in the cheek, chin, nose,
Nor lily shall be found, nor rose ;
And what will then become of all
Those, whom now you servants call ?
Like swallows, when your summer's done
They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun.

Give me more love, or more disdain,

The torrid, or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain ;

The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.
Give me a storm ; if it be love,

Like Danae in a golden shower,
I swim in pleasure ; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd
Of heaven that's but from hell released :
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ;
Give me more love, or more disdain.



The snake each year fresh skin resumes,
And eagles change their aged plumes ;
The faded rose each spring receives
A fresh red tincture on her leaves :
But if your beauties once decay,
You never know a second May.
Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season
Affords you days for sport, do reason ;
(* He is mentioned as alive in 1638 in Lord Falkland's
verses on Jonson's death; and as there is no poem of
Carew's in the Jonsonus Virbius, it is not unlikely that
he was dead before its publication.]

Mark how yon eddy steals away
From the rude stream into the bay;
There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce
Her waters from the channel's course,
And scorns the torrent that did bring
Her headlong from her native spring.
Now doth she with her new love play,
Whilst he runs murmuring away.

[* “ Few will hesitate to acknowledge that he has more fancy and more tenderness than Wallor; but less choice, less judgment and knowledge where to stop, less of the equability which never offends, less attention to the unity and thread of his little pieces. I should hesitate to give him, on the whole, the preference as a poet, taking collectively the attributes of that character."HALLAM, Lit. Hist, vol. iii. p. 507.]

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