VOLP: Signior Corvino!

MOS: He calls you; step and give it him.--He's here, sir,
And he has brought you a rich pearl.

CORV: How do you, sir?
Tell him, it doubles the twelfth caract.

MOS: Sir,
He cannot understand, his hearing's gone;
And yet it comforts him to see you--

CORV: Say,
I have a diamond for him, too.

MOS: Best shew it, sir;
Put it into his hand; 'tis only there
He apprehends: he has his feeling, yet.
See how he grasps it!

CORV: 'Las, good gentleman!
How pitiful the sight is!

MOS: Tut! forget, sir.
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter
Under a visor.

CORV: Why, am I his heir?

MOS: Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the will,