Sir, I am sworn, I may not show the will
Till he be dead; but here has been Corbaccio,
Here has been Voltore, here were others too;
I cannot number 'em, they were so many,
All gaping here for legacies; but I,
Taking the vantage of his naming you,
Signior Corvino, signior Corvino, took
Paper and pen and ink, and there I asked him,
Whom he would have his heir? Corvino. Who
Should be executor? Corvino. And
To any question he was silent to,
I still interpreted the nods he made
Through weakness for consent, and sent home th' others,
Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse.
CORVINO.
O, my dear Mosca!... Has he children?
MOSCA.
Bastards, Some dozen or more, that he begat on beggars,
Gypsies and Jews, and black-moors, when he was drunk....
Speak out,
You may be louder yet.
Faith, I could stifle him rarely with a pillow,
As well as any woman that should keep him.
CORVINO.
Do as you will; but I'll begone.
My divine Mosca!
Thou hast to-day outgone thyself....
Prepare
Me music, dances, banquets, all delights;
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures
Than will Volpone.
(Ibid.)