VOLP: Thou hast made me miserable.

MOS: And myself, sir.
Who would have thought he would have harken'd, so?

VOLP: What shall we do?

MOS: I know not; if my heart
Could expiate the mischance, I'd pluck it out.
Will you be pleased to hang me? or cut my throat?
And I'll requite you, sir. Let us die like Romans,
Since we have lived like Grecians.

[KNOCKING WITHIN.]

VOLP: Hark! who's there?
I hear some footing; officers, the saffi,
Come to apprehend us! I do feel the brand
Hissing already at my forehead; now,
Mine ears are boring.

MOS: To your couch, sir, you,
Make that place good, however.
[VOLPONE LIES DOWN, AS BEFORE.]
--Guilty men
Suspect what they deserve still.
[ENTER CORBACCIO.]
Signior Corbaccio!

CORB: Why, how now, Mosca?