Volt. Why, what success?

Mos. Most hapless! you must help, sir.
Whilst we expected the old raven, in comes
Corvino’s wife, sent hither by her husband—

Volt. What, with a present?

Mos. No, sir, on visitation;
(I’ll tell you how anon;) and staying long,
The youth he grows impatient, rushes forth,
Seizeth the lady, wounds me, makes her swear
(Or he would murder her, that was his vow)
To affirm my patron to have done her rape:
Which how unlike it is, you see! and hence,
With that pretext he’s gone, to accuse his father,
Defame my patron, defeat you—

Volt. Where is her husband?
Let him be sent for straight.

Mos. Sir, I’ll go fetch him.

Volt. Bring him to the Scrutineo.

Mos. Sir, I will.

Volt. This must be stopt.

Mos. O you do nobly, sir.
Alas, ’twas labour’d all, sir, for your good;
Nor was there want of counsel in the plot:
But fortune can, at any time, o’erthrow
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir.

Corb. [listening.] What’s that?

Volt. Will’t please you, sir, to go along?

Mos. Patron, go in, and pray for our success.

Volp. [rising from his couch.] Need makes devotion: heaven
your labour bless!