VOLPONE I know I should be reading King Lear but this caught my eye :))

(In the play, Volpone by Ben Johnson (1616), the central character, Volpone, spends much of the time pretending to be bedridden as he finds this suits his purpose. In this, Act 3 of the play, his lusting after the innocent Celia causes him to drop his defenses.)


VOLPONE:
Why are thou amazed, to see me thus revived?
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;
'Tis thy great work, that hath, not now alone,
But sundry times raised me in several shapes
And, but this morning, like a mountebank
To see thee at thy window. Ay, before
I would have left my practice for thy love,
In varying figures, I would have contended
With blue Proteus, or the horned flood.
Now, thou art welcome.


CELIA:
Sir!


VOLPONE:
Nay, fly me not,
Now let they false imagination
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:
Thou shalt not find it. I am now, as fresh,
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight
As when, in that so celebrated scene,
At recitation of our comedy,
For entertainment of the young Valois,
I acted young Antinous, and atrracted
The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,
T'admire each graceful gesture, note and footing.

SONG

Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
Thus removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal:
But the sweet thefts to reveal: to be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.


CELIA:
Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike
This my offending face.


VOLPONE:
Why droops my Celia?
Thou hast in place of a base husband found
A worthy lover; use thy fortune well,
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold,
What thou art queen of;
Not in expectation,
As I feed others,but possessed and crowned.
See, here, a rope of pearl, and each more orient
Than the brave Egyptian queen caroused;
Dissolve and drink 'em. See, a carbuncle
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark;
A diamond would have bought Lollia Paulina
When she came in, like star-light, hid with jewels
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,
And wear and lose 'em; yet remains an ear-ring
To purchase them again, and in this whole state.
A gem but worth a private patrimony
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.
The heads of carrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of ostriches
Shall be our food, and, could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.


CELIA:
Good sir, these things might move a mind unaffected
With such delights; but I, whose innocence
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits.
If you have conscience--

VOLPONE:
'Tis the beggar's virtue.
If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,
Spirits of roses, and of violets,
The milk of unicorns, and panther's breath
Gathered in bags and mixed with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold, and amber,
which we will take until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo; and my dwarf shall dance,
My sunuch sing, my fool make up the antic.
Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,
Thou like Europa now, and I like Jove,
Then I lie Mars, and thou Erycine;
So of the rest of us, till we have quite run through,
And wearied all the fables of the gods.
Then i will have thee in more modern forms,
Attired like some sprightly dame of France,
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;
Sometimes unto the Persian Sophy's wife,
Or the Grand Signor's mistress; and, for a change,
To one of or most artful courtesans,
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;
And I will meet thee in as many shapes;
Where we may so transfuse our wand'ring souls
Out at our lips and score up sums of pleasures, (Sings)
That at the curious shall not know
How to tell them as they flow;
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.


CELIA:
If you have ears that will be pierced, or eyes
That can be opened, a heart may be touched,
Or any part of you that yet sounds man about you;
If you have touch of holy saints, or heaven,
Do me the grace to let me 'scape. If not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do not know
I am a creature hither ill betrayed
By one whose shame I would forget it were.
If you deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir rather than your lust,
(It is a vice, comes nearer manliness)
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty, flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow; anything
That may disfavour me, save in my honour,
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous--


VOLPONE:
Think me cold,
Frozen, and impotent, and so report me?
That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think.
I do degenerate and abuse my nation
To play with opportunity this long;
I should have done the act, and then have parleyed.
Yield, or I'll force thee.


CELIA:
O! Just God!


VOLPONE:
In vain--


BONARIO:
For bear, foul ravisher! libidinous swine!

He leaps out from where MOSCA had placed him

Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor.
But that I am loathed to snatch thy punishment
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst yet
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance.
Before this altar and this dross, thy idol.
Lady, let's quit this place, it is the den
Of villiany; fear nought, you have a guard;
And he ere long shall meet his just reward.

[Exeunt BONARIO and CELIA]


VOLPONE:
Fall one me, roof, and bury me in ruin!
Become my grave, that wert my shelter! O!
I am unmasked, unspirited, undone,
Betrayed to beggary, to infamy--


[Enter MOSCA, wounded and bleeding]

MOSCA:
Where shall I run, most wretched shame of men,
To beat out my unlucky brains?


VOLPONE:
Here, here.
What, dost thou bleed?


MOSCA:
O, that his well-driven sword
Had been so courteous to have left me cleft down
Unto my navel, ere I lived to see
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all
Thus desperately engaged,by my error.


VOLPONE:
Woe on thy fortune!


MOSCA:
And my follies, sir.


VOLPONE:
Th' hast made me miserable.


MOSCA:
And myself, sir.
Who would have thought he would have hearkened so?


VOLPONE:
What shall we do?



And this was an extract for a lit paper. no, im not joking O.O