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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!

Mos. "Tis signior Voltore, the advocate; I know him by his knock.

Volp. Fetch me my gown,

My furs, and night-caps; say, my couch is changing; And let him entertain himself awhile

Without i' the gallery. [Exit 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 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: Of my new present.

long to have possession

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 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. [Exit 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! O

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 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.

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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, Mosca.
Mos. Sir,

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 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;

I know no second cause.

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 return; 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 be 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 Or see a copy of the will?- -Anon ![sir I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone, Put business in your face. [Exit VOLTORE.

Volp. [springing up.] Excellent Mosca! Come hither, let me kiss thee.

Mos. Keep you still, sir. Here is Corbaccio.

Volp. Set the plate away:

The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come!
Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your sleep.
Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to
the rest.] Now shall we see
A wretch, who is indeed more impotent
Than this can feign to be; yet hopes to hop
Over his grave—


Signior Corbaccio!
You're very welcome, sir.
Corb. How does your patron?

Mos. Troth, as he did, sir; no amends.
Corb. What! mends he?

Mos. No, sir: he's rather worse.

Corb. That's well. Where is he?

Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep. Corb. Does he sleep well?

Mos. No wink, sir, all this night,

Nor yesterday; but slumbers.

Corb. Good! he should take

Some counsel of physicians: I have brought him An opiate here, from mine own doctor.

Mos. He will not hear of drugs.

Corb. Why? I myself


Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingre

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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 him to it for your good

Corb. He came unto him, did he? 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.

Corb. Yes, do, do, do.

Mos. I think it were not best, sir. Corb. What?

Mos. To recover him.


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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

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.

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Mos. Yes, sir

[should be

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he 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 thingsCorb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. Mos. You are he,

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[Born, 1589. Died, 1639.]

Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them: Yet this is reckon'd life! nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer! Feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigus himself Younger by scores of years, flatters his age With confident belying it, hopes he may, With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored : And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he,

And all turns air? [Knocking within.] Who's that there, now? a third!

Mos. Close, to your couch again; I hear his It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. [voice:

Volp. [lies down as before.] Dead.
Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [Anoint-
ing them.]-Who's there?

a zealous adherent of the fortunes of Charles I. He was educated at Oxford, but was neither matriculated nor took any degree. After returning from his travels, he was received with distinction at the court of Charles I. for his elegant manners and accomplishments, and was appointed gentleman of the privy chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his majesty. The rest of his days seem to have passed in affluence and ease, and

he died just in time to save him from witnessing the gay and gallant court, to which he had contributed more than the ordinary literature of a courtier, dispersed by the storm of civil war that was already gathering *.

The want of boldness and expansion in Carew's thoughts and subjects, excludes him from rivalship with great poetical names; nor is it difficult, even within the narrow pale of his works, to discover some faults of affectation, and of still more objectionable indelicacy. But among the poets who have walked in the same limited path, he is pre-eminently beautiful, and deservedly ranks among the earliest of those who gave a cultivated grace to our lyrical strains. His slowness in composition was evidently that sort of care in


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.

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.]

the poet, which saves trouble to his reader. His poems have touches of elegance and refinement, which their trifling subjects could not have yielded without a delicate and deliberate exercise of the fancy; and he unites the point and polish of later times with many of the genial and warm tints of the elder muse. Like Waller, he is by no means free from conceit; and one regrets to find him addressing the Surgeon bleeding Celia, in order to tell him that the blood which he draws proceeds not from the fair one's arm, but from the lover's heart. But of such frigid thoughts he is more sparing than Waller; and his conceptions, compared to that poet's, are like fruits of a richer flavour, that have been cultured 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.



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.



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 Waller; 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 hesi tate 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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