MOS Who's this? Bonario, old Corbacci...

MOS

Who's this? Bonario, old Corbaccio's son?

The person I was bound to seek.—Fair sir,

You are happily met.

BON

That cannot be by thee.

MOS

Why, sir?

BON

Nay, pray thee know thy way, and leave me:

I would be loth to interchange discourse

With such a mate as thou art

MOS

Courteous sir,

Scorn not my poverty.

BON

Not I, by heaven;

But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy baseness.

MOS

Baseness!

BON

Ay; answer me, is not thy sloth

Sufficient argument? thy flattery?

Thy means of feeding?

MOS

Heaven be good to me!

These imputations are too common, sir,

And easily stuck on virtue when she's poor.

You are unequal to me, and however,

Your sentence may be righteous, yet you are not

That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure:

St. Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman.

[WEEPS.]

BON

[ASIDE.]: What! does he weep? the sign is soft and good;

I do repent me that I was so harsh.

MOS

'Tis true, that, sway'd by strong necessity,

I am enforced to eat my careful bread

With too much obsequy; 'tis true, beside,

That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment

Out of my mere observance, being not born

To a free fortune: but that I have done

Base offices, in rending friends asunder,

Dividing families, betraying counsels,

Whispering false lies, or mining men with praises,

Train'd their credulity with perjuries,

Corrupted chastity, or am in love

With mine own tender ease, but would not rather

Prove the most rugged, and laborious course,

That might redeem my present estimation,

Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness.

BON

[ASIDE.]: This cannot be a personated passion.—

I was to blame, so to mistake thy nature;

Prithee, forgive me: and speak out thy business.

MOS

Sir, it concerns you; and though I may seem,

At first to make a main offence in manners,

And in my gratitude unto my master;

Yet, for the pure love, which I bear all right,

And hatred of the wrong, I must reveal it.

This very hour your father is in purpose

To disinherit you—

BON

How!

MOS

And thrust you forth,

As a mere stranger to his blood; 'tis true, sir:

The work no way engageth me, but, as

I claim an interest in the general state

Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear

To abound in you: and, for which mere respect,

Without a second aim, sir, I have done it.

BON

This tale hath lost thee much of the late trust

Thou hadst with me; it is impossible:

I know not how to lend it any thought,

My father should be so unnatural.

MOS

It is a confidence that well becomes

Your piety; and form'd, no doubt, it is

From your own simple innocence: which makes

Your wrong more monstrous, and abhorr'd. But, sir,

I now will tell you more. This very minute,

It is, or will be doing; and, if you

Shall be but pleas'd to go with me, I'll bring you,

I dare not say where you shall see, but where

Your ear shall be a witness of the deed;

Hear yourself written bastard; and profest

The common issue of the earth.

BON

I am amazed!

MOS

Sir, if I do it not, draw your just sword,

And score your vengeance on my front and face;

Mark me your villain: you have too much wrong,

And I do suffer for you, sir. My heart

Weeps blood in anguish—

BON

Lead; I follow thee.

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