by Ben Jonson
INT: A CLOSET OPENING INTO A GALLERY.
Celia, to Volpone.
If you have ears that will be pierc'd-or eyes
That can be open'd-a heart that may be touch'd-
Or any part that yet sounds man about you-
If you have touch of holy saints-or heaven-
Do me the grace to let me 'scape-if not,
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know,
I am a creature, hither ill betray'd,
By one, whose shame I would forget it were:
If you will deign me neither of these graces,
Yet feed your wrath, sir, rather than your lust,
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness,)
And punish that unhappy crime of nature,
Which you miscall my beauty; flay my face,
Or poison it with ointments, for seducing
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands,
With what may cause an eating leprosy,
E'en to my bones and marrow: anything,
That may disfavor me, save in my honor-
And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down
A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;
Report, and think you virtuous.