What beast is this!
PER: It is a fish.
2 MER: Come out here!
PER: Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread upon him;
He'll bear a cart.
1 MER: What, to run over him?
PER: Yes, sir.
3 MER: Let's jump upon him.
2 MER: Can he not go?
PER: He creeps, sir.
1 MER: Let's see him creep.
PER: No, good sir, you will hurt him.
2 MER: Heart, I will see him creep, or prick his guts.
3 MER: Come out here!
PER: Pray you, sir!
[ASIDE TO SIR POLITICK.]
--Creep a little.
1 MER: Forth.
2 MER: Yet farther.
PER: Good sir!--Creep.
2 MER: We'll see his legs.
[THEY PULL OFF THE SHELL AND DISCOVER HIM.]
3 MER: Ods so, he has garters!
1 MER: Ay, and gloves!
2 MER: Is this
Your fearful tortoise?
PER [DISCOVERING HIMSELF.]: Now, sir Pol, we are even;
For your next project I shall be prepared:
I am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir.
1 MER: 'Twere a rare motion to be seen in Fleet-street.
2 MER: Ay, in the Term.
1 MER: Or Smithfield, in the fair.
3 MER: Methinks 'tis but a melancholy sight.
PER: Farewell, most politic tortoise!
[EXEUNT PER. AND MERCHANTS.]
[RE-ENTER WAITING-WOMAN.]
SIR P: Where's my lady?
Knows she of this?
WOM: I know not, sir.
SIR P: Enquire.--
O, I shall be the fable of all feasts,
The freight of the gazetti; ship-boy's tale;
And, which is worst, even talk for ordinaries.
WOM: My lady's come most melancholy home,
And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for physic.
SIR P: And I to shun this place and clime for ever;
Creeping with house on back: and think it well,
To shrink my poor head in my politic shell.
[EXEUNT.]
SCENE 5.3.
A ROOM IN VOLPONE'S HOUSE.
ENTER MOSCA IN THE HABIT OF A CLARISSIMO;
AND VOLPONE IN THAT OF A COMMANDADORE.
VOLP: Am I then like him?
MOS: O, sir, you are he;
No man can sever you.
VOLP: Good.
MOS: But what am I?
VOLP: 'Fore heaven, a brave clarissimo, thou becom'st it!
Pity thou wert not born one.
MOS [ASIDE.]: If I hold
My made one, 'twill be well.
VOLP: I'll go and see
What news first at the court.
[EXIT.]
MOS: Do so. My Fox
Is out of his hole, and ere h
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