Sir, I am a man that hath not done your love
All the worst offices; here I wear your keys,
See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd,
Keep the poor inventory of your jewels,
Your plate and monies; am your steward, sir,
Husband your goods here.
VOLTORE.
But am I sole heir?
MOSCA.
Without a partner, sir; confirm'd this morning;
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry
Upon the parchment.
VOLTORE.
Happy, happy me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?
MOSCA.
Your desert, sir;
I know no second cause....
When will you have your inventory brought, sir?
Or see a copy of the will?
(Acte I, sc. i.)