VOLT: Happy, happy, me!
By what good chance, sweet Mosca?

MOS: Your desert, sir;
I know no second cause.

VOLT: Thy modesty
Is not to know it; well, we shall requite it.

MOS: He ever liked your course sir; that first took him.
I oft have heard him say, how he admired
Men of your large profession, that could speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law;
That, with most quick agility, could turn,
And [re-] return; [could] make knots, and undo them;
Give forked counsel; take provoking gold
On either hand, and put it up: these men,
He knew, would thrive with their humility.
And, for his part, he thought he should be blest
To have his heir of such a suffering spirit,
So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue,
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce
Lie still, without a fee; when every word
Your worship but lets fall, is a chequin!--
[LOUD KNOCKING WITHOUT.]
Who's that? one knocks; I would not have you seen, sir.
And yet--pretend you came, and went in haste:
I'll fashion an excuse.--and, gentle sir,
When you do come to swim in golden lard,