MOS: 'Las, good sir,
Would you had never seen her!
VOLP: Nay, would thou
Had'st never told me of her!
MOS: Sir 'tis true;
I do confess I was unfortunate,
And you unhappy: but I'm bound in conscience,
No less than duty, to effect my best
To your release of torment, and I will, sir.
VOLP: Dear Mosca, shall I hope?
MOS: Sir, more than dear,
I will not bid you to dispair of aught
Within a human compass.
VOLP: O, there spoke
My better angel. Mosca, take my keys,
Gold, plate, and jewels, all's at thy devotion;
Employ them how thou wilt; nay, coin me too:
So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca.
MOS: Use but your patience.
VOLP: So I have.
MOS: I doubt not
To bring success to your desires.
VOLP: Nay, then,
I not repent me of my late disguise.
MOS: If you can horn him, sir, you need not.
VOLP: True:
Besides, I never meant him for my heir.--
Is not the colour of my beard and eyebrows,
To make me known?
MOS: No jot.
VOLP: I did it well.
MOS: So well, would I could follow you in mine,
With half the happiness!
[ASIDE.
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