T: Mosca the heir?

CORB: What's that?

VOLP: My advocate is dumb; look to my merchant,
He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is lost,
He faints; my lady will swoon. Old glazen eyes,
He hath not reach'd his despair yet.

CORB [TAKES THE WILL.]: All these
Are out of hope: I am sure, the man.

CORV: But, Mosca--

MOS: "Two cabinets."

CORV: Is this in earnest?

MOS: "One
Of ebony"--

CORV: Or do you but delude me?

MOS: The other, mother of pearl--I am very busy.
Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me--
"Item, one salt of agate"--not my seeking.

LADY P: Do you hear, sir?

MOS: "A perfum'd box"--'Pray you forbear,
You see I'm troubled--"made of an onyx"--

LADY P: How!

MOS: To-morrow or next day, I shall be at leisure
To talk with you all.

CORV: Is this my large hope's issue?

LADY P: Sir, I must have a fairer answer.

MOS: Madam!
Marry, and shall: 'pray you, fairly quit my house.
Nay, raise no tempest with your looks; but hark you,
Remember what your ladyship offer'd me,
To put you in an heir; go to, think on it:
And what you said e'en your best madams did
For maintenance, and why not you? Enough.
Go home, and use the poor sir Pol, your knight, well,
For fear I tell some riddles; go, be melancholy.

[EXIT LADY WOULD-BE.]

VOLP: O, my fine devil!

CORV: Mosca, 'pray you a word.

MOS: Lord! will you not take your dispatch hence yet?
Methinks, of all, you should have been the example.
Why should you stay here? with what thought? what promise?
Hear you; do not you know, I know you an ass,
And that you would most fain have been a wittol,
If fortune would have let you? that you are
A declared cuckold, on good terms? This pearl,
You'll say, was yours? right: this diamond?
I'll not deny't, but thank you. Much here else?
It may be so. Why, think that these good works
May help to hide your bad. I'll not betray you;
Although you be but extraordinary,
And have it only in title, it sufficeth:
Go home, be melancholy too, or mad.

[EXIT CORVINO.]

VOLP: Rare Mosca! how his villany becomes him!

VOLT: Certain he doth delude all these for me.

CORB: Mosca the heir!

VOLP: O, his four eyes have found it.

COR