NEW YORK (AP) — Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont said Tuesday that he would forgo another presidential bid of his own and instead endorse President Joe Biden’s reelection.

The leading progressive, who was Biden’s chief rival in the 2020 Democratic presidential primary, told The Associated Press that he would “do everything I can to see the president is reelected.” 

“The last thing this country needs is a Donald Trump or some other right-wing demagogue who is going to try to undermine American democracy or take away a woman’s right to choose, or not address the crisis of gun violence, or racism, sexism or homophobia,” Sanders said in an interview. “So, I’m in to do what I can to make sure that the president is reelected.”

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https://apnews.com/article/bernie-sanders-biden-endorsement-2024-d8f0772b117e2bf83e1062708ea651c0

YES, BERNIE HATES BILLIONAIRES... BUT WHY SUPPORT JOE WHO IS WORSE THAN TRUMP... WHY NOT SUPPORT KENNEDY?

MEANWHILE BERNIE IS ANTI-RUSSIA AND PRO-CORRUPT NAZI (READ ARTICLES ON THIS SUBJECT ON THIS SITE) ON THE UKRAINE QUESTION... ONE CAN DESPAIR AT THE IGNORANCE AND SILLINESS OF OLD (AND YOUNG) MEN AND HOW THEY CAN BE CONNED, SOMETIMES WILLINGLY FOR GREED OR POWER....

AND THIS BRINGS US TO A PIECE OF BRILLIANT WRITING FROM BEN JOHNSON — VOLPONE OR THE FOX (1606)...

VOLPONE IS RICH AND "DYING" — HE WANTS TO "GIVE HIS MONEY AWAY" IN HIS WILL TO WHOEVER GIVES HIM THE BEST GIFT... CORVINO WANTS TO GIVE HIS OWN WIFE, CELIA, TO VOLPONE...

VOLPONE'S CHAMBER.—VOLPONE ON HIS COUCH.

     MOSCA SITTING BY HIM.

     ENTER CORVINO, FORCING IN CELIA.

     CORV: Nay, now, there is no starting back, and therefore,

     Resolve upon it: I have so decreed.

     It must be done. Nor would I move't, afore,

     Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks,

     That might deny me.

     CEL: Sir, let me beseech you,

     Affect not these strange trials; if you doubt

     My chastity, why, lock me up for ever:

     Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live,

     Where I may please your fears, if not your trust.

     CORV: Believe it, I have no such humour, I.

     All that I speak I mean; yet I'm not mad;

     Nor horn-mad, see you? Go to, shew yourself

     Obedient, and a wife.

     CEL: O heaven!

     CORV: I say it,

     Do so.

     CEL: Was this the train?

     CORV: I've told you reasons;

     What the physicians have set down; how much

     It may concern me; what my engagements are;

     My means; and the necessity of those means,

     For my recovery: wherefore, if you be

     Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture.

     CEL: Before your honour?

     CORV: Honour! tut, a breath:

     There's no such thing, in nature: a mere term

     Invented to awe fools. What is my gold

     The worse, for touching, clothes for being look'd on?

     Why, this is no more. An old decrepit wretch,

     That has no sense, no sinew; takes his meat

     With others' fingers; only knows to gape,

     When you do scald his gums; a voice; a shadow;

     And, what can this man hurt you?

     CEL [ASIDE.]: Lord! what spirit

     Is this hath enter'd him?

     CORV: And for your fame,

     That's such a jig; as if I would go tell it,

     Cry it on the Piazza! who shall know it,

     But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow,

     Whose lips are in my pocket? save yourself,

     (If you'll proclaim't, you may,) I know no other,

     Shall come to know it.

     CEL: Are heaven and saints then nothing?

     Will they be blind or stupid?

     CORV: How!

     CEL: Good sir,

     Be jealous still, emulate them; and think

     What hate they burn with toward every sin.

     CORV: I grant you: if I thought it were a sin,

     I would not urge you. Should I offer this

     To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood

     That had read Aretine, conn'd all his prints,

     Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth,

     And were professed critic in lechery;

     And I would look upon him, and applaud him,

     This were a sin: but here, 'tis contrary,

     A pious work, mere charity for physic,

     And honest polity, to assure mine own.

     CEL: O heaven! canst thou suffer such a change?

     VOLP: Thou art mine honour, Mosca, and my pride,

     My joy, my tickling, my delight! Go bring them.

     MOS [ADVANCING.]: Please you draw near, sir.

     CORV: Come on, what—

     You will not be rebellious? by that light—

     MOS: Sir,

     Signior Corvino, here, is come to see you.

     VOLP: Oh!

     MOS: And hearing of the consultation had,

     So lately, for your health, is come to offer,

     Or rather, sir, to prostitute—

     CORV: Thanks, sweet Mosca.

     MOS: Freely, unask'd, or unintreated—

     CORV: Well.

     MOS: As the true fervent instance of his love,

     His own most fair and proper wife; the beauty,

     Only of price in Venice—

     CORV: 'Tis well urged.

     MOS: To be your comfortress, and to preserve you.

     VOLP: Alas, I am past, already! Pray you, thank him

     For his good care and promptness; but for that,

     'Tis a vain labour e'en to fight 'gainst heaven;

     Applying fire to stone—

     [COUGHING.] uh, uh, uh, uh!

     Making a dead leaf grow again. I take

     His wishes gently, though; and you may tell him,

     What I have done for him: marry, my state is hopeless.

     Will him to pray for me; and to use his fortune

     With reverence, when he comes to't.

     MOS: Do you hear, sir?

     Go to him with your wife.

     CORV: Heart of my father!

     Wilt thou persist thus? come, I pray thee, come.

     Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand,

     I shall grow violent. Come, do't, I say.

     CEL: Sir, kill me, rather: I will take down poison,

     Eat burning coals, do any thing.—

     CORV: Be damn'd!

     Heart, I'll drag thee hence, home, by the hair;

     Cry thee a strumpet through the streets; rip up

     Thy mouth unto thine ears; and slit thy nose,

     Like a raw rotchet!—Do not tempt me; come,

     Yield, I am loth—Death! I will buy some slave

     Whom I will kill, and bind thee to him, alive;

     And at my window hang you forth: devising

     Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital letters,

     Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis,

     And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast.

     Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, I'll do it!

     CEL: Sir, what you please, you may, I am your martyr.

     CORV: Be not thus obstinate, I have not deserved it:

     Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet;—

     Good faith, thou shalt have jewels, gowns, attires,

     What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss him.

     Or touch him, but, for my sake.—At my suit.—

     This once.—No! not! I shall remember this.

     Will you disgrace me thus? Do you thirst my undoing?

     MOS: Nay, gentle lady, be advised.

     CORV: No, no.

     She has watch'd her time. Ods precious, this is scurvy,

     'Tis very scurvy: and you are—

     MOS: Nay, good, sir.

     CORV: An arrant Locust, by heaven, a locust!

     Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared,

     Expecting how thou'lt bid them flow—

     MOS: Nay, 'Pray you, sir!

     She will consider.

     CEL: Would my life would serve

     To satisfy—

     CORV: S'death! if she would but speak to him,

     And save my reputation, it were somewhat;

     But spightfully to affect my utter ruin!

     MOS: Ay, now you have put your fortune in her hands.

     Why i'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her.

     If you were absent, she would be more coming;

     I know it: and dare undertake for her.

     What woman can before her husband? 'pray you,

     Let us depart, and leave her here.

     CORV: Sweet Celia,

     Thou may'st redeem all, yet; I'll say no more:

     If not, esteem yourself as lost,—Nay, stay there.

     [SHUTS THE DOOR, AND EXIT WITH MOSCA.]

     CEL: O God, and his good angels! whither, whither,

     Is shame fled human breasts? that with such ease,

     Men dare put off your honours, and their own?

     Is that, which ever was a cause of life,

     Now placed beneath the basest circumstance,

     And modesty an exile made, for money?

     VOLP: Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed minds,

     [LEAPING FROM HIS COUCH.]

     That never tasted the true heaven of love.

     Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee,

     Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain,

     He would have sold his part of Paradise

     For ready money, had he met a cope-man.

     Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived?

     Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle;

     'Tis thy great work: that hath, not now alone,

     But sundry times raised me, in several shapes,

     And, but this morning, like a mountebank;

     To see thee at thy window: ay, before

     I would have left my practice, for thy love,

     In varying figures, I would have contended

     With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood.

     Now art thou welcome.

     CEL: Sir!

     VOLP: Nay, fly me not.

     Nor let thy false imagination

     That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so:

     Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh,

     As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight,

     As when, in that so celebrated scene,

     At recitation of our comedy,

     For entertainment of the great Valois,

     I acted young Antinous; and attracted

     The eyes and ears of all the ladies present,

     To admire each graceful gesture, note, and footing.

     [SINGS.]

     Come, my Celia, let us prove,

     While we can, the sports of love,

     Time will not be ours for ever,

     He, at length, our good will sever;

     Spend not then his gifts in vain;

     Suns, that set, may rise again:

     But if once we loose this light,

     'Tis with us perpetual night.

     Why should we defer our joys?

     Fame and rumour are but toys.

     Cannot we delude the eyes

     Of a few poor household spies?

     Or his easier ears beguile,

     Thus remooved by our wile?—

     'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal:

     But the sweet thefts to reveal;

     To be taken, to be seen,

     These have crimes accounted been.

     CEL: Some serene blast me, or dire lightning strike

     This my offending face!

     VOLP: Why droops my Celia?

     Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found

     A worthy lover: use thy fortune well,

     With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold,

     What thou art queen of; not in expectation,

     As I feed others: but possess'd, and crown'd.

     See, here, a rope of pearl; and each, more orient

     Than that the brave Egyptian queen caroused:

     Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle,

     May put out both the eyes of our St Mark;

     A diamond, would have bought Lollia Paulina,

     When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels,

     That were the spoils of provinces; take these,

     And wear, and lose them: yet remains an ear-ring

     To purchase them again, and this whole state.

     A gem but worth a private patrimony,

     Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.

     The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,

     The brains of peacocks, and of estriches,

     Shall be our food: and, could we get the phoenix,

     Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.

     CEL: Good sir, these things might move a mind affected

     With such delights; but I, whose innocence

     Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,

     And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it,

     Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:

     If you have conscience—

     VOLP: 'Tis the beggar's virtue,

     If thou hast wisdom, hear me, Celia.

     Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowers,

     Spirit of roses, and of violets,

     The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath

     Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines.

     Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber;

     Which we will take, until my roof whirl round

     With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,

     My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic.

     Whilst we, in changed shapes, act Ovid's tales,

     Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove,

     Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine:

     So, of the rest, till we have quite run through,

     And wearied all the fables of the gods.

     Then will I have thee in more modern forms,

     Attired like some sprightly dame of France,

     Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty;

     Sometimes, unto the Persian sophy's wife;

     Or the grand signior's mistress; and, for change,

     To one of our most artful courtezans,

     Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian;

     And I will meet thee in as many shapes:

     Where we may so transfuse our wandering souls,

     Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures,

     [SINGS.]

     That the curious shall not know

     How to tell them as they flow;

     And the envious, when they find

     What there number is, be pined.

     CEL: 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: any thing,

     That may disfavour me, save in my honour—

     And I will kneel to you, pray for you, pay down

     A thousand hourly vows, sir, for your health;

     Report, and think you virtuous—

     VOLP: Think me cold,

     Frosen and impotent, and so report me?

     That I had Nestor's hernia, thou wouldst think.

     I do degenerate, and abuse my nation,

     To play with opportunity thus long;

     I should have done the act, and then have parley'd.

     Yield, or I'll force thee.

     [SEIZES HER.]

     CEL: O! just God!

     VOLP: In vain—

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