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MOSCA

You send no man to debtors' prison where flesh rots and bones protrude.

Your sweet nature recoils from such measures. You will not have the tears of

widows and orphans wet your pavement nor hear their pitiful cries.



VOLPONE

Never, Mosca. I am too kind.



MOSCA

You are no miser, like the merchant who fills his vaults with the best wines yet

drinks the sourest vinegar. You do not lie on straw while moths feed on

sumptuous hangings and soft beds. You know the use of riches and sometimes

give from that bright heap to me, your servant, more than enough for

household maintenance.



VOLPONE

What else should I do but use my genius to enjoy the delights my fortune offers


me? I have no wife, no parents, children or other kin to leave my money to.

Whomever I choose will be my heir. Clients come daily to my house, with

presents of gold and jewels, in the hope that when I die they will receive ten

times as much. I am the fox who plays with their hopes and kindness, brushes

the gold against their lips and then withdraws it again. What sport that is!


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