 | The Pleasant Comedie of Old Fortunatus |  |
Fortunatus.
So
, ho, ho, ho, ho.
Eccho
within,
Ho, ho, ho, ho,
Fortun.
There boy.
Eccho.
There boy.
Fort.
And thou bee'st a goodfellow, tell me how
thou cal'st this wood.
Eccho.
This wood.
Fort.
I this wood, & which is my best way out
Eccho.
Best way out.
Fort.
Ha, ha, ha, thats true, my best way out,
is my best way out, but how that out will come in, by this
Maggot I know not, I see by this we are all wormes meate:
well, I am very poore and verie patient, Patience is a vertue:
would I were not vertuous, thats to say, not poore, but full of
vice, (thats to say, ful of chinckes) Ha, ha, so I am, for I am
so full of chinckes, that a Horse with one eye may looke through
and through me, I haue sighed long, and that makes me windie:
I haue fasted long, and that makes me chast, marie I haue
praied little, and that makes mee I still daunce in this coniuring
circle: I haue wandred long, and that makes me wearie;
but for my wearinesse, anon Ile lie downe, in steade of fasting
ile feede vpon Nuts, and in stead of sighing will laugh and bee
leane, Sirra, Eccho.
Eccho,
Sirra Eccho.
Fortu.
Heres a
Nut.
Eccho
Heres a Nut.
Fort.
Cracke it.
Eccho,
Cracke it.
Fort.
Hang thy selfe.
Eccho,
Hang thy selfe.
Fort.
Th'art a knaue, a knaue.
Eccho,
A knaue, a knaue,
Fort.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Eccho,
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Why so, two fooles laugh at one another, I at my
tittle tattle gammer eccho, and shee at me. Shortly there will
creepe out in print some filthie booke of the olde hoarie wandring
Knight, meaning me: would I were that booke, for then
I should be sure to creepe out from hence: I should bee a good
souldiour, for I trauerse my ground rarely, marrie I see neither
enemie nor friends, but Popiniayes, and Squirrels, and
Apes, and Owles, and Dawes, and Wagtailes, and the spite
is that none of these grasse-eaters can speake my language, but
this foole that mockes me, and sweares to haue the last word (in
spite of my teeth) I, and shee shall haue it because shee is a woman,
which kind of cattell are indeede all Eccho, nothing but
tongue, and are like the great bell of S. Michaels in Cyprus,
that keepes most rumbling when men would most sleepe. Eccho,
a poxe on thee for mocking me.
Eccho,
a poxe on thee for
mocking me.
Fortunat.
Why so, Snip snap, this warre is at an end, but
this wildernesse is world without end, to see how trauell can
transforme: my teeth are turn'd into Nut crackers, a thousand
to one I breake out shortly, for I am full of nothing, but waxing
kernels, my tongue speakes no language but an Almond
for Parrat, and cracke me this Nut: If I hop three daies more
vp and downe this cage of Coockooes nests, I shall turne wilde
man sure, and be hyred to throw Squibs among the Cōminaltie
vpon some terrible day. In the meane time to tell truth
here will I lie. Farwell foole.
Eccho,
farwell foole.
Fort.
Are not these comfortable words to a wise man? All
haile Signior tree, by your leaue ile sleepe vnder your leaues,
I pray bow to me, and ile bend to you, for your backe and my
browes must, I doubt, haue a game or two at Noddie erre I
wake againe: downe great heart, downe. Hey, ho, well, well.
He lyes downe and sleepes: Enter a Gardiner, a Smith, a Monke, a Shepheard all crown'd, a Nimph with a Globe, another with Fortunes wheele, then Fortune: After her fowre Kings with broken Crownes and Scepters, chained in siluer Giues and led by her. The foremost
The Song.
Fortune smiles, cry holyday,
Dimples on her cheekes doe dwell,
Fortune frownes, cry wellada,
Her loue is heauen, her hate is hell:
Since heauen and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes doe lowre,
Since heauen and hell her power obey,
When shee smiles, crie holy day.
Holy-day with ioy we cry
And bend, and bend and merily,
Sing Hymnes to Fortunes deitie,
Sing Hymnes to Fortunes deitie.
All.
Let vs sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,
With our song let heauen resound,
Fortunes hands our heads haue crown'd,
Let vs sing merrily, merrily, merrily.
1. King.
Accursed Queene of chaunce, what had we done,
Who hauing sometimes like young Phaetons,
Ryd in the burnisht Charriot of the Sun,
And sometimes beene thy minions, when thy fingers
Wean'd wanton loue-nets in our curled hayre,
And with sweete iugling kisses warm'd our cheekes:
Oh how haue we offended thy proud eyes,
That thus we should be spurnd and trod vpon,
Whilst those infected limmes of the sicke world,
Are fixt by thee for starres in that bright Sphere,
Wherein our Sunne like Radiance did appeare.
All the Kings.
Accursed Queene of chaunce, damn'd sorceresse.
The rest.
Most powr'full Queene of chaunce bread soueraignnesse.
No more: curse on: your cries to me are Musicke,
And fill the sacred roundure of mine eares,
With tunes more sweete then mouing of the Spheres:
Curse on: on our celestiall browes doe sit
Un-numbred smiles, which then leaps from their throne,
When they see Peasants daunce and Monarches groane.
Behold you not this Globe, this golden bowle,
This toy cal'd worlde at our Imperiall feete?
This world is Fortunes ball wherewith she sports.
Sometimes I strike it vp into the ayre,
And then create I Emperours and kings:
Sometimes I spurne it: at which spurne crawles out
That wild beast multitude: curse on you fooles,
Tis I that tumble Princes from their thrones,
And gild false browes with glittering diadems,
Tis I that tread on neckes of Conquerours,
And when like Semi-gods they haue beene drawne,
In Iuorie Charriots to the capitoll,
Circled about with wonder of all eyes,
The shouts of euery tongue, loue of all hearts,
Being swolne with their owne greatnesse, I haue prickt
The bladder of their pride, and made them die,
As water bubbles (without memorie)
I thrust base cowards into Honours chaire,
Whilst the true spirited Souldiour stands by
Bare headed, and all bare, whilst at his skarres
They skoffe, that nere durst view the face of warres.
I set an Ideots cap on vertues head,
Turne learning out of doores, clothe wit in ragges,
And paint ten thousand Images of Loame,
In gawdie silken colours: on the backes
Of Mules and Asses I make asses ride,
Onely for sport, to see the Apish world
Worship such beasts with sound idolatrie.
This Fortune does, and when this is done,
She sits and smiles to heare some curse her name,
Monck.
True center of this wide circumference,
Sacred commaundresse of the destinies,
Our tongues shall onely sownd thy excellence.
The rest.
Thy excellence our tongues shall onely sound.
The second King.
Thou painted strumpet, that with honied smiles,
Openest the gates of heauen and criest, Come in,
Whose glories being seene, thou with one frowne,
(In pride) lower then hell tumblest vs downe.
All Kings.
Euer for euer wil we banne thy name.
Fort.
How sweete your howlings rellish in mine eares?
Stand by; now rise, behold, here lies a wretch,
She comes downe.
To vex your soules, this begger ile aduaunce
Beyond the sway of thought, take instruments,
And let the raptures of choice Harmonie,
Through the hollow windings of his eare,
Musicke a while, and he waketh
Carrie their sacred sounds, & wake each sence,
To stand amaz'd at our bright Eminence.
Fortunat.
Oh, how am I transported? Is this earth?
Or blest Elizium?
Fortune.
Fortunatus, rise.
Fort.
Dread Goddesse, how should such a wretch as I
Be knowne to such a glorious deitie?
Oh pardon me: for to this place I come,
Lead by my fate, not folly; in this wood
With wearie sorrow haue I wandered,
And three times seene the sweating Sun take rest,
And three times franticke Cynthia naked ride,
About the rustie high-waies of the skies
Stucke full of burning Starres, which lent her light
To Court her Negro paramour grim night.
Fortune.
This trauell now expires: yet from this circle,
Where I and these with fairie troopes abide,
Thou canst not stir, vnlesse I be thy guide.
I the worlds Empresse am Fortune my name,
An euerlasting booke of changelesse Fate,
Shewing whoe's happie, who vnfortunate.
Fort.
If euerie name (dread Queene) be there writ down,
I am sure mine stands in Caracters of blacke,
Though happines her selfe lie in my name,
I am sorrowes heire, and eldest sonne to shame.
The Kings.
No, we are sons to shame, and sorrowes heires.
Fortune.
Thou shalt be one of Fortunes minions:
Behold these foure chain'd like Tartarian slaues,
These I created Emperours and Kings,
And these are now my basest vnderlings:
This sometimes was a Germane Emperour,
Henry the fift, who being first depos'd,
Was after thrust into a dungeon,
And thus in siluer chaines shall rot to death.
This Frederick Barbarossa Emperour
Of Almaine once: but by Pope Alexander
Now spurn'd and trod on when he takes his horse,
And in these fetters shall he die his slaue.
This wretch once wore the diademe of Fraunce,
(Lewes the meeke,) but through his childrens pride,
Thus haue I caused him to be famished,
Here stands the verie soule of miserie
Poore Baiazet old Turkish Emperour,
And once the greatest Monarch in the East;
Fortune her selfe is said to view thy fall,
And grieues to see thee glad to licke vp crommes
At the proud feete of that great Scithian swaine,
Fortunes best minion, warlike Tamberlaine:
Yet must thou in a cage of Iron be drawne
In triumph at his heeles, and there in griefe
Dash out thy braines.
The third King.
Oh miserable me.
Fortune.
No teares can melt the heart of destinie:
These haue I rain'd and exalted those:
The golden circle of rich Portugall.
Uiriat a Monarch now, but borne a shepherd.
This Primislaus (a Bohemian king)
Last day a Carter: this Monke Gregorie
Now lifted to the Papall dignitie,
Wretches, why gnaw you not your fingers off,
And teare your tongues out, seeing your selues trod downe,
And this Duch Botcher wearing Munsters crowne?
Iohn Leyden borne in Holland poore and base,
Now rich in Emperie and Fortunes grace.
As these I haue aduaunc'd, so will I thee.
Six gifts I spend vpon mortalitie,
Wisedome, strength, health, beautie, long life, and riches,
Out of my bountie: one of these is thine,
Choose then which likes thee best.
Fortunat.
Oh most diuine:
Giue me but leaue to borrow wonders eye,
To looke (amaz'd) at thy bright maiestie,
Wisedome, strength, health, beautie, long life and riches,
Fortune.
Before thy soule (at this deepe Lotterie)
Draw foorth her prize, ordain'd by destinie,
Know that heres no recanting a first choice.
Choose then discreetly (for the lawes of Fate,
Being grauen in steele, must stand inuiolate.)
Fortunat.
Daughters of Ioue and the vnblemisht night,
Most righteous Parce, guide my Genius right,
Wisedome, strength, health, beautie, long life, and riches.
Fortune.
Staie, Fortunatus, once more heare me speake,
If thou kisse wisedomes cheeke and make her thine,
Sheele breath into thy lips diuinitie,
And thou (like Phebus) shalt speake Oracle,
Thy heauen-inspired soule, on wisedomes wings,
Shall flie vp to the Parliament of Ioue,
And read the Statutes of eternitie,
And see whats past, and learne what is to come.
To see thee frowne: as Kings at mine doe lie,
So shall thy feete trample on Emperie;
Make Health thine obiect, thou shalt be strong proofe,
Gainst the deepe searching darts of surfetting.
Be euer merrie, euer reuelling,
Wish but for beautie, and within thine eyes,
Two naked Cupids amorously shall swim,
And on thy cheekes ile mixe such white and red,
That Ioue shall turne away young Ganimede,
And with immortall armes shall circle thee.
Are thy desires long life? thy vitall thread
Shalbe stretcht out, thou shalt behold the chaunge
Of Monarchies, and see those children die,
Whose great great Graundsires now in cradles lie.
If through Golds sacred hunger thou dost pine,
Those gilded wantons which in swarmes doe runne,
To warme their slender bodies in the sunne,
Shall stand for number of those golden piles,
Which in rich pride shall swell before thy feete,
As those are; so shall these be infinite.
Awaken then thy soules best faculties,
And gladly kisse this bounteous hand of Fate,
Which striues to blesse thy name of Fortunate.
The Kings.
Old man, take heede, her smiles wil murder thee
Th'other.
Old man, sheele crowne thee with felicitie.
Fort.
Oh, whither am I wrap't beyond my selfe?
More violent conflicts fight in e'rie thought,
Than his whose fatall choice Troyes downfall wrought.
Shall I contract my selfe to wisedomes loue?
Then I lose riches: And a wiseman poore,
Is like a sacred booke thats neuer read,
To himselfe he liues, and to all els seemes dead.
This age thinks better of a gilded foole,
Then of a threedbare Saint in wisedomes schoole.
I will be strong: then I refuse long life,
Theres a leane fellow beates all conquerours:
The greatest strength expires with losse of breath.
The mightiest (in one minute) stoope to death.
Then take long life, or Health: should I doe so,
I might grow vgly, and that tedious Scrole
Of Months and yeeres, much miserie may enrole:
Therefore ile beg for beautie; yet I will not,
The fairest cheeke hath oftentimes a soule
Leaprous as sinne it selfe; then hell more foule.
The wisedome of this world is Idiotisme,
Strength a weake reede: Health sicknesse enemie,
(And it at length will haue the victorie.)
Beautie is but a painting, and long life
Is a long iorney in December gon,
Tedious and full of tribulation.
Therefore dread sacred Empresse make me rich,
Kneele downe.
My choice is store of gold; the rich are wise.
He that vpon his backe rich garments weares,
Is wise, though on his head grow Midas eares.
Gold is the strength, the sinnewes of the world,
The Health, the soule, the beautie most diuine,
A maske of Gold hides all deformities;
Gold is heauens phisicke, lifes restoratiue,
Oh therefore make me rich: Not as the wretch,
That onely serues leane banquets to his eye,
Has Gold, yet starues: is famisht in his store:
No, let me euer spend, be neuer poore.
Fortune.
Thy latest words confine thy destinie,
Thou shalt spend euer, and be neuer poore:
For proofe receiue this purse: with it this vertue,
Still when thou thrusts thy hand into the same,
Thou shalt draw foorth ten pieces of bright gold,
Currant in any Realme where then thou breathest;
If thou can'st dribble out the Sea by drops,
Then shalt thou want: but that can nere be don,
Fortunat.
Thankes, great deitie.
Fortune.
The vertue ends when thou and thy sonnes end.
This path leades thee to Cyprus, get thee hence;
Farewel, vaine couetous foole, thou wilt repent,
That for the loue of drosse thou hast despised
Wisedomes diuine embrace, she would haue borne thee
On the rich wings of immortalitie;
But now goe dwell with cares and quickly die.
The Kings.
We dwell with cares, yet cannot quickly die.
Exeunt all singing, manet Fortunatus.
Fortunat.
But now goe dwell with cares and quickly die?
How quickly? if I die to morrow, ile be merrie to day: if next
day, ile be merrie to morrow: goe dwell with cares? Where
dwels care? Hum ha, in what house dwels care, y
t I may choose
an honester neighbor? In princes courts? No, among faire Ladies,
neither, theres no care dwels with them: but care how to
be most gallant. Among gallants thē? Fie, fie, no: care is afraid
sure of a guilt Rapier, the sent of Muske is her prison, Tobacco
choakes her, rich attire presseth her to death. Princes, faire
Ladies and gallants, haue amongst you then, for this wet
eide wench Care dwelles with wretches: they are wretches
that feele want, I shall feele none if I be neuer poore, therefore
care I casheire you my companie. I wonder what blind Gossip
this minx is that is so prodigall, she should be a good one by
her open dealing: her name's Fortune: Its no matter what she
is, so she does as she saies. Thou shalt spend euer, and bee neuer
poore: Masse, yet I feele nothing here to make mee rich,
heres no sweete Musicke with her siluer sound. Trie deeper: ho
God be here: Ha, ha, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, good, iust
ten. Its gold sure, its so heauie, trie againe, 1, 2, &c. Good againe,
iust ten, and iust ten. Ha, ha, ha, this is rare: a leather
mint, admirable: an Indian mine in a Lambs skinne, miraculous:
Ile fill three or fowre bagges full for my sonnes, but
keepe this for my selfe. If that leane tawnie face Tobacconist
death, that turnes all into smoke, must turne me so quickly into
old lad be merie. Heres riches, wisdome, strength, health, beautie,
& long life. (If I die not quickly, sweete purse I kisse thee,
Fortune, I adore thee, Care, I despise thee, death, I defie thee.
Enter Ampedo, Shaddow after him, both sad: Andolocia after them.
Andelo.
S'hart, why how now: two knights of the post?
Shad.
I, master, and wee are both forsworne, as all such
woodden knights be, for we both tooke an oath (mary it was
not corporall) you may see by our cheekes, that we would not
fast twentie fowre houres to amend, and we haue tasted no
meate since the clocke told two dozen.
Andel.
That lackes not much of twentie fowre, but I
wonder when that halfe faced Moone of thine wil be at the ful.
Sha.
The next quarter, not this, whē the signe is in Taurus.
Andel.
Ho thats to say, when thou eat'st bull biefe. But
Shadow, what day is to day?
Shad.
Fasting day.
Andel.
What day was yester-day?
Shad.
Fasting day too.
Andel.
Will to morrow be so too?
Shad.
I, and next day too.
Andel.
That will be rare, you slaue:
For a leane dyet makes a fat wit.
Shad.
I had rather be a foole & weare a fat paire of cheekes.
Andel.
Now am I prowder of this pouertie, which I
know is mine owne, then a wayting gentlewoman is, of a
frizled groatesworth of haire, that neuer grewe on her head:
Sirrha Shadow, now we can all three sweare like puritans
at one bare word: this want makes vs like good bowlers, we
are able to rub out and shift in euery place.
Shad.
Thats not so, we haue shifted our selues in no place
this three moneths: marrie, we rub out in euery corner, but
here followes no amendement either of life or of liuerie.
Andel.
Why, brother Ampedo, art thou not yet tir'd with
and walke afoote, and talke with your poore friends.
Shad.
Nay by my troth he is like me; if his belly be emptie,
his heart is full.
Andelo.
The famine of Gold gnawes his couetous stomacke,
more then the want of good victuals: Thou hast lookt
very deuilishly euer since the good Angel left thee: come, come,
leaue this broad brim fashions, because the world frownes vpon
thee, wilt not thou smile vpon vs?
Ampe.
Did but the bitternes of mine owne fortunes
Infect my taste, I could paint ore my cheekes
With ruddy-coloured smiles: tis not the want
Of costly dyet or desire of gold,
Inforce this rupture in my wounded brest.
Oh no, our Father (if he liue) doth lie
Under the Iron foote of miserie,
And (as a Doue gript in a Faulcons claw)
There pant'th for life being most assur'd of death.
Brother, for him my soule thus languisheth.
Shad.
Tis not for my old Master that I languish.
Amped.
I am not enamoured of this painted Idoll,
This strumpet world; for her most beautious lookes
Are poysned baits, hung vpon golden hookes,
When fooles doe swim in wealth, her Cynthian beames
Will wantonly daunce on the siluer streames:
But when this squinteide age sees vertue poore,
And by a litle sparke sits shiuering,
Begging at all, relieu'd at no mans doore,
She smiles on her (as the Sunne shines on fire)
To kill that little heate, and with her frowne
Is proud, that she can treade poore vertue downe:
Therefore her wrinckled brow makes not mine sowre,
Her gifts are toyes, and I deride her power.
Shad.
Tis not the crab-tree fac'd world neither that makes mine sowre
Andelo.
Her gifts toyes: wel brother vertue, we haue let slip
the ripe plucking of those toyes so long, that wee florish like
beare neither fruit nor leaues.
Shad.
Nay by my troth, master, none flourish in these
withering times, but Auncient bearers and trumpettors.
Andelo.
Shaddow, when thou prouest a substance, then
the tree of vertue and honestie, and such fruit of heauen shall
florish vpon earth.
Shad.
True, or when the Sunne shines at midnight, or
women flie, and yet they are light enough.
Andelo.
Twas neuer merie world with vs, since purses
and bags were inuented, for now men set lime twigges to
catch wealth: And gold, which ryseth like the sunne out of the
East Indies, to shine vpon euery one, is like a Conie taken
napping in a Pursenet, and suffers his glistring yellow face
deitie to be lapt vp in Lambskins, as if the innocencie of those
leather prisons, should dispence with the Cheuerill consciences
of the Iron harted Iaylers.
Shad.
Snudges may well be called Iaylers: for if a poore
wretch steale but into a debt of tenne pound, they leade him
straight to execution.
Andel.
Doth it not vex thee, Shaddow, to stalke vp and
downe Cyprus, and to meete the out-side of a man, lapt all in
Damaske, his head and beard as white as milke, onely with
coniuring in the snowie circles of the field Argent, and his
nose as red as Scarlet, onely with kissing the ruddie lippes of
Angels, and such an Image to weare on his thumbe, three
mens liuings in the shape of a seale Ring, whilst my brother
vertue here,
Shad.
And you his brother Uice.
Andel.
Most true, my little leane Iniquitie, whilst wee
three, if we should starue, cannot borrow fiue shillings of him
neither in word nor deede: does not this vexe thee, Shaddow?
Shad.
Not me; it vexes me no more to see such a picture, then
to see an Asse laden with riches, because I know when hee can
beare no longer, he must leaue his burthen to some other beast.
Andel.
Art not thou mad, to see money on Goldsmithes
Shad.
It mads not me, I thanke the destinies.
Andel.
By my pouertie, and thats but a threed-bare oath,
I am more then mad, to see silkes and veluets, lie crowding
together in Mercers shops, as in prisons, onely for feare of
the smell of waxe (they cannot abide to see a man made out of
waxe) for these Satten commodities haue such smooth consciences,
that theile haue no man giue his word for them, or stand
bownd for their comming foorth, but vow to lie till they rot in
those shop Counters, except Monsieur money baile them.
Shaddow, I am out of my little wits to see this.
Shad.
So is not Shaddow: I am out of my wits, to see fat
gluttons feede all day long, whilst I that am leane, fast euery
day: I am out of my wits, to see our Famagosta fooles, turne
halfe a shop of wares into a suite of gay apparrell, onely to
make other Ideots laugh, and wisemen to crie who's the foole
now? I am mad, to see Souldiours beg, and cowards braue: I
am mad, to see Schollers in the Brokers shop, and Dunces in
the Mercers: I am mad, to see men that haue no more fashion
in them then poore Shaddow, yet must leape thrice a day into
three orders of fashions: I am mad, to see many things, but
horne-mad, that my mouth feeles nothing.
Andel.
Why, now shaddow, I see thou hast a substance:
I am glad to see thee thus mad.
Amped.
The sonnes of Fortunatus had not woont,
Thus to repine at others happines:
But fooles haue al waies this loose garment wore,
Being poore themselues, they wish all others poore,
Fie, brother Andelocia, hate this madnes,
Turne your eyes inward, and behold your soule,
That wants more then your body: burnish that
With glittering Uertue: and make Ideots grieue,
To see your beautious mind in wisedome shine,
As you at their rich pouertie repine.
Enter Fortunatus gallant.
And.
Peace, good vertue, Shad. here comes another Shadow
It should be a Camelion: for he is all in colours.
Amp.
Oh, tis my Father. With these teares of ioye,
My loue and duetie greete your faire returne:
A double gladnesse hath refresht my soule;
One, that you liue, and one, to see your fate
Lookes freshly howsoeuer poore in state.
And.
My father Fortunatus, & thus braue?
Sha.
Tis no wonder to see a man braue, but a wonder how he comes braue.
Fortunat.
Deere Andelocia and sonne Ampedo,
And my poore seruant Shaddow: plume your spirits
With light-wingd mirth: for Fortunatus hand
Can now powre golden showres into their laps,
That sometimes scorn'd him for his want of gold.
Boyes, I am rich, and you shall ne're be poore;
Weare gold, spend gold, we all in gold will feede,
Now is your father Fortunate indeede.
Andel.
Father, be not angrie, if I set open the windowes
of my mind: I doubt for all your bragging, you'le prooue like
most of our gallants in Famagosta, that haue a rich outside, &
a beggerly inside, and like Mules weare gay trappings, and
good Ueluet foote-clothes on their backes, yet champe on
the Iron bitte of penurie, I meane, want coyne: You gild our
eares with a talke of Gold, but I pray dazell our eyes with
the maiestie of it.
Fort.
First will I wake your sences with the sound
Of golds sweete musicke: tell me what you heare?
Amp.
Belieue me, Sir, I heare not any thing.
Andel.
Ha, ha, ha. S'hart, I thought as much, if I heare
any gingling, but of the purse strings y
t goe flip, flap, flip, flap,
flip, flap, would I were turnd into a flip-flap, and solde to the
Butchers.
Fort.
Shaddow: Ile trie thine eares, harke dost rattle?
Shad.
Yes, like three blew Beanes in a blew bladder, rattle
bladder, rattle: your purse is like my bellie, th'ones without
money, th'other without meate.
Fort.
Bid your eyes blame the error of your eares:
Ten golden pieces: take them, Ampedo.
Hold, Andelocia, here are ten for thee.
Ampe.
Shaddow, theres one for thee, prouide thee foode.
Fort.
Stay, boy: hold, Shad. here are ten for thee.
Shad.
Ten master? then defiaunce to Fortune, & a Fig for famine.
Fort.
Now tell me, wags, hath my purse gold or no?
Andel.
Wee the wags haue gold, Father; but I thinke
theres not one Angell more wagging in this sacred Temple;
why this is rare: Saddow, fiue will serue thy turne, giue me
th'other fiue.
Shad.
Nay, soft master, liberalitie dyed long agoe: I see
some rich beggers are neuer well, but when they be crauing:
My ten Duckets are like my ten fingers, they will not ieopard
a ioynt for you: I am yours, and these are mine if I part
from them, I shall neuer haue part of them.
Amp.
Father, if heauen haue blest you once againe,
Let not an open hand disperse that store;
Which gone, lifes gone: for all treade downe the poore.
Fort.
Peace, Ampedo: talke not of pouertie,
Disdaine, my boyes, to kisse the tawnie cheekes
Of leane necessitie: make not inquirie,
How I came rich: I am rich, let that suffice;
There are fowre leathern bags trust full of gold:
Those spent, ile fill you more: goe lads, be gallant:
Shine in the streetes of Cyprus like two starres,
And make them bow their knees that once did spurne you;
For to effect such wonders gold can turne you:
Braue it in Famagosta, or els where,
Ile trauell to the Turkish Emperour:
And then ile reuell it with Prester Iohn,
Or banquet with great Cham of Tartarie,
And trie what frolicke Court the Souldan keepes;
Ile leaue you presently: teare off these rags.
Glitter, my boyes, like Angels, that the world
May (whilst our life in pleasures circle romes)
Andel.
Come, Shaddow: now wee'le feast it royalty.
Shad.
Doe, master, but take heede of beggerie.
Exeunt.
Musick sounds: Enter vice with a gilded face, and hornes on her head: her garments long, painted before with siluer halfe moones, increasing by litle and litle, till they come to the full: in the midst of thē in Capitall letters this written: CRESCIT EVNDO: her garment painted behind with fooles faces & diuels heads: and vnderneath it in the midst this written, Ha, Ha, He: she and others wearing gilded visards, and attirde like deuils, bring out a faire tree of Gold with apples on it: after her comes Vertue, a coxecombe on her head, all in white before, and this written about the middle: Sibi sapit: her attire behind painted with Crownes, & Laurell garlands, stuck full of starres, held out by hands, thrust out of bright cloudes, and among them thus written, Dominabitur astris: Shee and other Nimphes all in white with coxecombs on their heads, bring a tree with greene and withered leaues mingled together, and litle fruit on it: after her Fortune, one bearing her Wheele, another her Globe; and last, the Priest.
Fortune.
You ministers of Uertue, Uice, and Fortune,
Teare off this vpper garment of the earth,
And in her naked bosome sticke these trees.
Vertue.
How many kingdomes haue I measured,
Onely to find a Climat, apt to cherish
These withering braunches? but no ground can prooue
So happie; (ay mee) none doe vertue loue;
Ile trie this soyle; if here I likewise fade,
To heauen ile flie, from whence I tooke my birth,
And tel the Gods, I am banisht from the earth.
Vice.
Uertue, I am sworne thy foe: if there thou plant,
Here opposite to thine, my tree shall florish,
And (as the running wood-bind) spread her armes,
To choke thy withering boughes in their embrace,
Ile driue thee from this world: were Uertue fled,
Fort.
Seruants of this bright diuell & that poore Saint,
Applie your taske whilst you are labouring:
To make your paines seeme short our priest shall sing.
The song: whilst he sings, the rest set the trees into the earth.
Priest.
Uertues braunches wither, vertue pines,
O pittie, pittie, and alacke the time,
Uice doth florish, Uice in glorie shines,
Her gilded boughes aboue the Cedar clime.
Uice hath golden cheekes, O pittie, pittie,
She in euery land doth monarchize.
Uertue is exilde from euery Cittie,
Uertue is a foole, Uice onely wise.
O pittie, pittie, Uertue weeping dies.
Uice laughs to see her faint (alacke the time)
This sinckes: with painted wings the other flies,
Alacke that best should fall, and bad should clime,
O pittie, pittie, pittie, mourne, not sing,
Uice is a Saint, Uertue an vnderling.
Uice doth florish, Uice in glorie shines,
Uertues braunches wither, Uertue pines.
Fort.
Florish or wither, Fortune cares not which,
In eithers fall or height our Eminence
Shines equall to the Sunne: the Queene of chance
Both vertuous soules and vicious doth aduance.
These shadowes of your selues shall (like your selues,)
Striue to make men enamoured of their beauties,
This groue shall be our temple; and henceforth
Be consecrated to our deities.
Vert.
How few will come and kneele at vertues shrine?
Vice.
This contents vertue, that she is cal'd diuine.
Fort.
Poore Uertue, Fortune grieues to see thy lookes
Want cunning to intice: Why hang these leaues,
As loose as Autumnes haire (which euery wind,
In mockerie blowes from his rotten browes?)
Why is this Motley-scorne set on thy head?
Why stands thy Court wide open, but none in it?
Why are the Christall pauements of thy temple,
Not worne, not trod vpon? All is for this,
Because thy pride is to weare base attire,
Because thine eyes flame not with amorous fire.
Vert.
Uertue is fairest in a poore aray.
Fort.
Poore foole, tis not this badge of puritie,
Nor Sibi sapit, (painted on thy breast,)
Allures mortalitie to seeke thy loue.
No: now the great wheele of thy Globe hath runne,
And met his first point of creation.
On Crutches went this world but yester-day,
Now it lies bed-rid, and is growne so old,
That its growne young; for tis a child againe,
A childish soule it hath, tis a meere foole:
And fooles and children are well pleasde with toyes:
So must this world, with shewes it must be pleased.
Then Uertue, buy a golden face like Uice,
And hang thy bosome full of siluer Moones,
To tell the credulous world, As those increase,
As the bright Moone swelles in her pearled Spheare,
So wealth and pleasures them to heauen shall reare.
Vert.
Uertue abhorres to weare a borrowed face.
Vice.
Why hast thou borrowed then that Idiots hood?
Vert.
Fooles plac'd it on my head that knew me not,
And I am proud to weare the scorne of fooles.
Fort.
Mourne in that pride & die; all the world hates thee.
Vert.
Not all, ile wander once more through the world:
Wisedome I know hath with her blessed wings
Fled to some bosome: if I meete that brest,
There ile erect my temple, and there rest.
Fortune nor Uice, shall then ere haue the power,
(By their loose eyes) to intice my Paramour;
Then will I cast off this deformitie,
You conquerd at my feete, that tread on me.
Fort.
Uertue begins to quarrell: Uice, farewell.
Vice.
Stay, Fortune, whilst within this Groue we dwel,
If my Angelicall and Saint-like forme
Can win some amorous foole to wanton here,
And taste the fruite of this alluring tree,
Thus shall his sawcie browes adorned bee,
Makes hornes.
To make vs laugh.
Fort.
It will be rare: adiew.
Ver.
Foule hel-bred fiend, Uertue shall striue with you,
If any be enamoured of thine eyes,
Their loue must needes beget deformities.
Men are transformed to beastes, feasting with sinne;
But if (in spite of thee) their soules I winne,
To taste this fruite, though thou disguise their head,
Their shapes shall be re-metamorphosed.
Vice.
I dare thee doe thy worst.
Vert.
My best ile trie.
Fort.
Fortune shall iudge who winnes the soueraigntie.
Exeunt.
Enter Chorus.
Chorus.
The world to the circumference of heauen,
Is as a small point in Geometrie,
Whose greatnes is so little, that a lesse
Cannot be made: into that narrow roome,
Your quicke imaginations we must charme,
To turne that world: and (turn'd) againe to part it
Into large kingdomes, and within one moment,
To carrie Fortunatus on the wings
Of actiue thought, many a thousand miles.
Suppose then since you last beheld him here,
That you haue saild with him vpon the seas,
And leapt with him vpon the Asian shores,
Beene feasted with him in the Tartars palace,
And all the Courts of each Barbarian kings:
From whence (being cald by some vnluckie starre,)
Helpe me to bring him backe to Arragon;
Where for his pride (Riches make all men proude)
On a slight quarrell, by a covetous Earle,
Fortune's dear minion is imprisoned:
There thinke you see him sit with folded armes,
Teares dropping downe his cheekes, his white hairs torne,
His legges in rusty fetters, and his tongue
Bitterly cursing that his squint-eide soule
Did not make choice of wisedome's sacred love;
Fortune (to triumph in unconstancie),
From prison bailes him; (libertie is wild)
For being set free, he like a lustie eagle,
Cuts with his ventrous feathers through the skie,
And lights not till he finds the Turkish court.
Thither transport your eyes, and there behold him,
Revelling with the Emperour of the East;
From whence (through feare) for safegard of his life,
(Flying into the armes of ugly night,)
Suppose you see him brought to Babylon;
And that the Sunne (clothed all in fire) hath rid
One quarter of his hot celestial way
With the bright morning, and that in this instant,
He and the Soldan meete, but what they say,
Listen you, the talke of Kings none dare bewray.
Exit.
Enter the Soldan, his Noblmen, and Fortunatus.
Sould.
Art thou that Fortunatus, whose great name,
Being carried in the Charriot of the winds,
Has fild the Courts of all our Asian Kings,
With love and envie, whose dear presence tyes
The eyes of admiration to thine eyes?
Art thou that Iove that in a shower of gold
Appearedst before the Turkish Emperour?
Fort.
I am that Fortunatus, mightie Souldan.
Sould.
Where is that purse which threw abroad such treasure?
I gave it to the Turkish Soliman,
A second I bestowed on Prester Iohn,
A third the great Tartarian Cham received:
For with these Monarches have I banquetted,
And rid with them in triumph through their courts,
In crystall Charriots drawne by Unicornes.
England, Fraunce, Spaine, and welthy Belgia,
And all the rest of Europs blessed daughters,
Have made my covetous eye rich in th' embrace
Of their celestiall beauties; now I come
To see the glory of faire Babylon.
Is Fortunatus wel-come to the Soldan?
For I am like the Sunne, if Iove once chide,
My gilded browes from amorous beaven I hide.
Sould.
Most welcome; and most happie are mine armes
In circling such an earthly deitie:
But will not Fortunatus make me blessed
By sight of such a purse?
Fort.
Ere I depart,
The Soldan shall receive one at my hands:
For I must spend some time in framing it,
And then some time to breathe that vertuous spirit
Into the heart thereof, all which is don
By a most sacred inspiration.
Sould.
Wel-come, most welcome, to the Soldans court;
Stay here, and be the King of Babylon,
Stay here, and I will more amaze thine eyes
With wondrous sights, then can all Asia.
Behold yon towre, there stands mine Armourie,
In which are Corsiets forg'd of beaten gold,
To arme ten hundred thousand fighting men,
Whose glittering sqaudrons when the Sunne beholds,
They seeme like to ten hundred thousand Ioves,
When Iove on the proud backe of thunder rydes,
Trapt all in lightning flames: there can I shew thee
The ball of gold that set all Troy on fire;
Snatcht from the soft moyst Iuorie of her arme,
To wrap about Adonis wounded thigh;
There shalt thou see a wheele of Titans care,
Which dropt from heauen when Phaeton fir'd the world:
Ile giue thee (if thou wilt) two siluer Dooues
Compos'd by Magicke to diuide the ayre,
Who (as they flie) shall clap their siluer wings,
And giue straunge musicke to the Elements;
Ile giue thee els the fanne of Proserpine,
Which in reward (for a sweete Thracian song,)
The black-browd Empresse threw to Orpheus,
Being come to fetch Euridice from hell.
Fort.
Hath euer mortall eye beheld these wonders?
Sould.
Thine shall behold them, and make choice of any,
So thou wilt giue the Souldan such a purse.
Fort.
By Fortunes blessed hand (who christned me,)
The mightie Souldan shall haue such a purse,
Prouided I may see these prizelesse wonders.
Exeunt Nobles.
Sould.
Leaue vs alone: neuer was mortal eare
Acquainted with the vertue of a Iewell,
Which now ile shew, (out-valuing all the rest.)
Fort.
It is impossible.
Sould.
Behold this Casket,—
Draw a Curtaine.
Fettered in golden chaines, the Lock pure gold,
The key of sollide gold, which my selfe keepe,
And heres the treasure thats containd in it.
Takes out the Hat
Fort.
A course felt Hat? is this the precious Iewel?
Sould.
Ile not exchaunge this, for ten Diadems.
On paine of death, none listen to our talke.
Fort.
What needes this solemne coniuration?
Sould.
O, yes, for none shall vnderstand the worth
Of this inestimable ornament,
But you: and yet not you, but that you sweare
By her white hand, that lent you such a name,
To leaue a wondrous purse in Babylon.
What I haue sworne I will not violate,
But now vncouer the vertues of this Hatte.
Sould.
I thinke none listen; if they doe, they die.
Fort.
None listen: tell what needs this iealousie?
Sould.
You see tis poore in shew; did I want Iewels,
Gold could beget them, but the wide worlds wealth
Buyes not this Hat; this clapt vpon my head,
I (onely with a wish) am through the ayre,
Transported in a moment ouer Seas,
And ouer lands to any secrete place;
By this I steale to euery Princes court,
And heare their priuate councels and preuent
All daungers which to Babylon are meant.
By helpe of this I oft see armies ioyne,
Though when the dreadfull Aluarado sounds,
I am distant from the place a thousand leagues,
Oh, had I such a purse and such a Hat,
The Souldan were, of all, most fortunate.
Fort.
Oh, had I such a Hat, then were I braue.
Wheres he that made it?
Sould.
Dead, and the whole world
Yeelds not a workman that can frame the like.
For.
No does? by what trick shal I make this mine?
Aside.
Me thinkes, me thinkes, when you are borne o're Seas,
And ouer lands, the heauinesse thereof
Should waigh you downe, drowne you, or breake your necke.
Sould.
No, tis more light then any Hat beside:
Your hand shall peise it.
For.
Oh, tis wondrous heauie.
Sould.
Fie, ya're deceau'd: trie it vpon your head,
Fort.
Would I were now in Cyprus with my sons.
Exit.
Sould.
Stay, Fortunatus, stay, I am vndone.
Treason, Lords, treason, get me wings, ile flie
After this damn'd Traytor through the ayre.
Enter Nobles.
Nob.
Who wrongs the mightie king of Babylon?
This Fortunatus, this fiend wrongs your king.
Nobl.
Locke the Court gates, where is the diuell hid?
Sould.
No gates no grates of Iron imprison him,
Like a Magician breakes he through the clouds,
Bearing my soule with him, for that Iewell gon,
I am dead, and all is drosse in Babylon.
Flie after him, tis vaine, on the winds wings,
Heele ride through all the Courts of earthly kings.
Nobl.
What is the Iewell that your grace hath lost?
Sould.
He dies that troubles me: call me not king;
For ile consume my life in sorrowing.
Exeunt.
Enter Andelocia very gallant, and Shaddow.
Andel.
Shaddow? what haue I lost to day at dice?
Shad.
More then you will win againe in a month.
Andel.
Why sir, how much comes it to?
Shad.
It comes to nothing, Sir, for you haue lost your wits,
and when a mans wittes are lost, the man is like twentie
pounds worth of Tobacco, which mounts into th'aire, and
prooues nothing but one thing.
Andelo.
And what thing is that, you Asse?
Sha.
Marrie sir, that he is an asse that melts so much money in smoke.
Andel.
Twere a charitable deed to hang thee a smoking.
Shad.
I should neuer make good bacon, because I am not fat.
Andel.
Ile besworne thy wit is leane.
Shad.
Its happie I haue a leane wit: but master, you haue
none; for when your money tript away, that went after it,
and euer since you haue beene mad; here com's your brother;
borrow a dramme of him.
If his be not mouldie: for mens wits in these daies,
A're like the Cuckoo, bald once a yeere, and that makes Motley
so deere, and fooles so good cheape.
Andel.
Brother, all haile.
Shad.
Theres a ratling salutation.
Andel.
You must lend me some more money: Nay neuer
me from square play, doe: come come, when the old traueller
my Father comes home, like a young Ape, full of fantasticke
trickes, or a painted Parrat stucke full of outlandish
feathers, heele leade the world in a string, and then (like a hot
shot) Ile charge and discharge all.
Shad.
I would be loth, master, to see that day: for he leades
the world in a string that goes to hanging.
And.
Take heede I turne not that head into the world, and leade you so?
Brother wilt be? Hay any ends of Gold or Siluer?
Amp.
Thus wanton reuelling breedes beggerie.
Brother, twere better that you still liu'd poore.
Want would make wisedome rich: but when your Coffers
Swell to the brim, then ryot sets vp sayles,
And like a desperate vnskild Mariner
Driues your vnsteddie fortunes on the point
Of wracke ineuitable; of all the wealth,
Left (by our Father, when he left vs last)
This little is vnspent, and this being wasted,
Your ryot ends; therefore consume it all,
Ile liue; or dying, find some buriall.
Thankes for my crownes.
Andel.
Shaddow, I am villainous hungrie, to heare one
of the seuen wise Masters talke thus emptily.
Shad.
I am a villaine, master, if I am not hungrie.
Andel.
Because ile saue this gold, sirra Shaddowe, weele
feede our selues with Paradoxes.
Shad.
Oh rare: what meat's that?
Andel.
Meate, you gull: tis no meate: a dish of Paradoxes
is a feast of straunge opinion, tis an ordinarie that our greatest
gallants haunt nowadaies, because they would be held for
Statesmen.
Shad.
I shall neuer fil my belly with opinions.
And.
In despite of sway-bellies, gluttons, & sweet mouth'd Epicures,
Ile haue thee maintaine a Paradox in commendations of hunger.
Shad.
I shall neuer haue the stomacke to doo't.
Seest thou this Crusado? do it, & turne this into a feast
Shad.
Couetousnesse and lecherie are two diuels, they'le
tempt a man to wade through deepe matters: Ile doo't though
good cheare cōspire my death, for speaking treason against her.
Andel.
Fall to it then with a full mouth.
Shad.
Oh famine, inspire me with thy miserable reasons.
I begin, master.
Amp.
O miserable inuocation.
Andel.
Silence.
Shad.
Theres no man but loues one of these three beastes,
a Horse, a Hound, or a Whore; the Horse by his goodwill, has
his head euer in the maunger; the Whore with your ill will
has her hand euer in your purse; and a hungrie Dogge eates
durtie puddings.
Andel.
This is profound, forward: the conclusion of this now.
Shad.
The conclusion is plaine: For since all men loue one
of these three monsters, being such terrible eaters, therefore
all men loue hunger.
Amp.
A very leane argument.
Shad.
I can make it no fatter.
Andel.
Proceede, good Shaddow; this fats me.
Shad.
Hunger is made of Gun-powder.
Andel.
Giue fire to that opinion.
Shad.
Stand by, lest it blow you vp: hunger is made of
Gun-powder, or Gun-powder of hunger; for they both eate
through stone walles; hunger is a grindstone, it sharpens wit,
hunger is fuller of loue then Cupid, for it makes a man eate
himselfe; hunger was the first that euer open'd a Cookes shop;
Cookes the first that euer made sawce; sawce being lickerish,
lickes vp good meate; good meate preserues life: Hunger
therefore preserues life.
Amp.
By my consent thou shouldst still liue by hunger.
Shad.
Not so, hunger makes no man mortall: hunger is
an excellent Physition: for hee dares kill any body: hunger is
one of the seuen liberall sciences.
Andel.
O learned? Which of the seuen?
Musicke, for sheele make a man leape at a crust:
but, as few care for her sixe sisters, so none loue to daunce after
her pipe: Hunger, master, is hungrie and couetous, therefore
the Crusado.
Andel.
But hast thou no sharper reasons then this?
Shad.
Yes one: the dagger in Cyprus had neuer stabd out
such sixe penie pipes, but for hunger.
And.
Why, you dolt, these pies are but in their minority.
Shad.
My belly and my purse haue beene twentie times at
daggers drawing, with parting the little vrchins.
Enter Fortunatus.
Ampe.
Peace, Idiot, peace, my Father is return'd.
Fort.
Touch mee not, boyes, I am nothing but ayre, let
none speake to me, till you haue markt me well.
Shad.
Now speake your mind.
Amp.
Uillaine, why hast thou chalkt my Fathers backe?
Shad.
Onely to marke him, & to trie what colour aire is of.
Fort.
Regard him not, Ampedo: Andelocia, Shaddowe:
view me, am I as you are, or am I transform'd?
And.
I thought trauel would turne my father, mad man or foole.
Amp.
How should you be transform'd I see no chaunge.
Shad.
If your wits be not planet strucken, if your braines
lie in their right place, you are well inough; for your body is
little mended by your fetching fegaries.
Andel.
Mee thinkes, father, you looke as you did, onely
your face is more withered.
Fort.
Thats not my fault, age is like loue, it cannot be hid.
Shad.
Or like Gun-powder a fire, or like a foole, or like
a young nouice new come to his lands; for all these will shew
of what house they come: now sir, you may amplifie.
Fort.
Shaddow, turne thy tongue to a shaddow, be silent:
Boyes be proud, your Father hath the whole world in this
compasse, I am all felicitie, vp to the brimmes. In a minute
am I come from Babylon, I haue beene this halfe howre in
Famagosta.
And.
How? in a minute, father? Ha, ha, I see trauellers must lie.
Tis their destinie: the Fates doe so conspire.
Fort.
I haue cut through the ayre like a Falcon; I would
haue it seeme straunge to you.
Shad.
So it does, Sir.
Fort.
But tis true: I would not haue you belieue it neither.
Shad.
No more we doe not, Sir.
Fort.
But tis miraculous & true: desire to see you, brought
me to Cyprus; ile leaue you more Gold, and goe visite more
Countries.
Sha.
Leaue vs gold inough, and weele make all Countries come visit vs.
Amp.
The frostie hand of age now nips your bloud,
And strowes her snowie flowers vpon your head,
And giue you warning that within few yeeres,
Death needes must marrie you: those short lines minutes,
That dribble out your life, must needes be spent,
In peace not trauell: rest in Cyprus then.
Could you suruaie ten worlds, yet you must die;
And bitter is the sweete thats reapt thereby.
And.
Faith father, what pleasure haue you met by walking
your stations?
Fort.
What pleasure, boy? I haue reueld with kings,
daunc'd with Queenes, dallied with Ladies, worne straunge
attires, seene fantasticoes, conuerst with humorists, beene
rauisht with diuine raptures of Dorick, Lidian and Phrigian
harmonies, I haue spent the day in triumphes, and the
night in banquetting.
Andel.
Oh rare: this was heauenly.
Shad.
Me thinkes t'was horrible.
Andel.
He that would not be an Arabian Phenix to burne
in these sweete fires, let him liue like an Owle for the world
to wonder at.
Amp.
Why, brother, are not all these vanities?
Fort.
Uanities? Ampedo, thy soule is made of lead, too
dull, too ponderous to mount vp to the incomprehensible glorie,
that trauell lifts men to.
Shad.
My olde masters soule is Corke and feathers, and
Ande.
Sweeten mine eares, good father, with some more.
Fort.
When in the warmth of mine owne countries armes
We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small Horizon
Imprison'd vp my body, then mine eyes
Worshipt these clouds as brightest; but, my boyes,
The glistring beames which doe abroad appeare,
(In other heauens) fire is not halfe so cleare.
Shad.
Why, sir, are there other heauens in other countries?
Andel.
Peace, interrupt him not vpon thy life.
For.
For still in all the Regions I haue seene,
I scorn'd to crowd among the muddie throng
Of the rancke multitude, whose thickned breath,
Like to condensed Fogs doe choake that beautie,
Which els would dwell in euery kingdomes cheeke.
No, I still boldly stept into their Courts,
For there to liue tis rare, O tis diuine;
There shall you see faces Angelicall,
There shall you see troopes of chast Goddesses,
Whose star-like eyes haue power, (might they still shine)
To make night day, and day more christalline.
Neere these you shall behold great Heroes,
White headed Councellors and Iouiall spirites,
Standing like fierie Cherubins to gard
The Monarch, who in God-like glorie sits.
In midst of these, as if this deitie
Had with a looke created a new world;
The standers by, being the faire workemanship.
Andel.
Oh how my soule is rapt to a third heauen.
Ile trauell sure, and liue with none but kings.
Shad.
Then Shaddow must die among knaues; and yet
why so? in a bunch of Cards, knaues waite vpon the kings.
And.
When I turne king, then shalt thou waite on me.
Shad.
Well, theres nothing impossible: a dog has his day,
and so haue you.
Amp.
But tell me, father, haue you in all courts
In all perfection? no way blemished?
Fort.
In some Courts shall you see ambition
Sit piecing Dedalus old waxen wings,
But being clapt on, and they about to flie,
Euen when their hopes are busied in the clouds,
They melt against the Sunne of majestie,
And downe they tumble to destruction:
For since the heavens strong armes teach kings to stand,
Angels are plac'd about their glorious throne,
To gard it from the strokes of Traitrous hands.
By travell, boyes, I haue seen all these things,
Fantasticke complement stalkes up and downe,
Trickt in out-landish Fethers, all his words,
His lookes, his oathes, are all ridiculous,
All apish, childish, and Italianate.
Enter Fortune: after her three destinies working.
Shad.
I know a medicine for that maladie.
Fort.
By travell, boyes, I have seen all these things.
Andel.
And these are sightes for none, but gods & kings.
Shad.
Yes, and for Christen creatures, if they be not blind.
Fort.
In these two hands doe I gripe all the world.
This leather purse, and this bald woollen Hat
Make me a Monarch: heres my Crowne and Scepter.
In progresse will I now goe through the world.
Ile cracke your shoulders, boyes, with bags of gold
Ere I depart; on Fortune's wings I ride,
And now sit in the height of humane pride.
Fortune.
Now, foole, thou liest; where thy proud feete doe tread
These shal throw downe thy cold & breathlesse head.
Fort.
O sacred deitie, what sinne is done
All kneele.
That deaths Iron fist should wrestle with thy sonne?
Thou art no sonnne of Fortune, but her slave:
Thy Cedar hath aspir'd to his full height.
Thy Sunne like glorie hath advaunc'd herselfe
Into the top of prides Meridian,
And downe amaine it comes. From beggerie
I plum'd thee like an Estrich, like that Estrich
Thou hast eaten Metals, and abusde my giftes,
Hast plaid the Ruffian, wasted that in ryots,
Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee.
Fort.
Forgive me, I will be more provident.
Fortune.
No, endlesse follies follow endlesse wealth.
Thou hadst thy fancie, I must have thy fate,
Which is, to die when th' art most fortunate.
This inckie thread thy ugly sinnes have spun,
Black life, black death: faster that it were don.
Fort.
Oh, let me live, but till I can redeeme.
Fortune.
The destinies denie thee longer life.
Fort.
I am but now lifted to happiness.
Fortune.
And now take I must pride to cast thee downe.
Hadst thou chosen wisedome, this blacke had been white,
And deaths sterne browe could not thy soul afright.
Fort.
Take this againe; give wisedome to my sonnes.
Fortune.
No, foole, 'tis now too late; as death strikes thee,
So shall their ends sudden and wretched bee.
Ioves daughters (righteous destinies) make haste,
His life hath wastefull beene, and let it waste.
Exeunt.
Andel.
Why the pox doest thou sweat so?
Shad.
For anger to see any of Gods Creatures have such
filthie faces as these Semsters had that went hence.
Andel.
Semsters? why, you asse, they are destinies.
Shad.
Indeede, if it be ones destinie to have a filthie face,
I know no remedie but to goe maskt and crie, Woe worth
the Fates.
Amp.
Why droopes my father? these are onely shadowes,
Raiz'd by the malice of some enemie,
To fright your life, o're which they have no power.
Shaddowes? I defie their kinred.
Fort.
O Ampedo, I faint: helpe me, my sonnes.
Andel.
Shaddow, I pray thee runne and call more helpe.
Shad.
If that desperate Don Dego death hath tane vp the
Cudgels once, heres neuer a Fencer in Cyprus dare take my
old masters part.
Andel.
Runne, villaine, call more helpe.
Shad.
Bid him thanke the destinies for this.
Exit.
Fort.
Let him shrincke downe, & die betweene your armes,
Helpe comes in vaine. No hand can conquer Fate,
This instant is the last of my lifes date.
This Goddesse (if at least shee be a goddesse)
Names her selfe Fortune: wandring in a wood,
Halfe famisht, her I met. I haue, quoth shee,
Sixe gifts to spend vpon mortalitie,
Wisedome, strength, health, beautie, long life and riches,
Out of my bountie one of these is thine.
Amp.
What benefit did from your choyce arise?
Fort.
Listen, my sonnes: In this small compasse lies,
Infinite treasure: this shee gaue to mee,
And gaue to this, this vertue, Take (quoth shee)
So often as from hence thou drawst thy hand,
Ten golden peeces of that kingdomes coyne,
Where er'e thou liu'st, which plenteous sure shall last,
After thy death, till thy sonnes liues doe waste.
Andel.
Father, your choice was rare, the gift diuine.
Fort.
It had beene so, if riches had beene mine.
Amp.
But hath this golden vertue neuer faild?
Fort.
Neuer.
Andelo.
O admirable: heare's a fire
Hath power to thaw the very heart of death,
And giue stones life, by this most sacred death,
See brother, heres all India in my hand.
Fort.
Inherite you (my Sonnes) that golden land.
This Hat I brought away from Babylon,
I robd the Souldan of it, tis a prize
Andel.
How, father? Iewell? call you this a Iewell? It's
course Wool, a bald fashion, and greasie to the brim; I haue
bought a better Felt for a French crowne fortie times: Of
what vertuous blocke is this Hat, I pray?
Fort.
Set it vpon thy head, and with a wish,
Thou in the moment on the winds swift wings,
Shalt be transported into any place.
Andel.
A wishing Hat, and a golden mine?
For.
O Andelocia, Ampedo, now death
Sounds his third sommons: I must hence: these Iewels
To both I doe bequeath; diuide them not,
But vse them equally: neuer bewray
What vertues are in them; for if you doe,
Much shame, much griefe, much daunger followes you.
Peruse this booke: farwell: behold in me
The rotten strength of proud mortalitie.
Dyes.
Ampe.
His soule is wandring to the Elizium shades.
Andel.
The flowre thats fresh at noone, at Sun-set fades.
Brother, close you downe his eyes, because you were his eldest;
and with them close vp your teares, whilst I (as all yonger
brothers doe) shift for my selfe: let vs mourne, because
hees dead, but mourne the lesse, because he cannot reuiue: the
honour we can doe him, is to burie him royally, lets about it
then, for ile not melt my selfe to death with scalding sighes,
nor drop my soule out at mine eyes, were my father an Emperour.
Amp.
Hence, hence, thou stop'st the tide of my true teares.
True griefe is dumbe, though it hath open eares.
Andel.
Yet God send my griefe a tongue, that I may haue
good vtterance for it: Sob on, brother mine, whilst you sigh
there, ile sit & read what Storie my father has written here.
They both fall asleepe: Fortune and a companie of Satyres enter with Musicke, and playing about Fortunatus body, take them away; They gone, Saddow enters running.
I can get none, I can find none: where are you,
master? Haue I tane you napping? and you too? I see sorrowes
eye-lids are made of a Dor-mouse skin, they seldome open, or
of a misers purse, that's alwaies shut: So ho, master.
Andel.
Shaddow, why how now? whats the matter?
Shad.
I can get none Sir, tis impossible.
Amp.
What is impossible? what canst not get?
Shad.
No helpe for my old master.
Andel.
Hast thou beene all this while calling for helpe?
Sha.
Yes sir: he scornd all Famagosta when he was in his
huffing, and now hee lies puffing for wind, they say they
scorne him.
Amp.
The poyson of their scorne infects not him;
He wants no helpe. See where he breathles lies:
Brother, to what place haue you borne his body?
Andel.
I beare it? I toucht it not.
Amp.
Nor I: a leaden slumber prest mine eyes.
Shad.
Whether it were lead or lattin that haspt downe
those winking casements, I knowe not, but I found you
both snorting.
Amp.
And in that sleepe (me thought) I heard the tunes
Of sullen passions apt for Funerals,
And saw my Fathers liuelesse body borne
By Satyres: O I feare that deitie
Hath stolne him hence, that Snudge his destinie.
And.
I feare hees rysen againe, didst not thou meete him?
Shad.
I sir? doe you thinke this white and red durst haue
kist my sweete cheekes, if they had seene a ghost? But, master,
if the destinies, or Fortune, or the Fates, or the Fayries haue
stolne him, neuer indite them for the Felonie: for by this
meanes the charges of a Tombe is sau'd, and you being his
heyres, may doe as many rich Executors doe, put that money
in your purses, and giue out he dyed a begger.
Andel.
Away, you Roague, my Father die a begger?
Ile build a Tombe for him of massie Gold.
Shad.
Me thinkes, master, it were better to let the memory
Andel.
I shall mangle that Alablaster face, you whoreson
vertuous vice.
Shad.
He has a Marble heart, that can mangle a face of
Alablaster.
Andel.
Brother, come, come, mourne not, our Father is
but stept to agree with Charon for his boate hyre to Elizium.
See, heres a Storie of all his trauels; this booke shall come
out with a new Addition: Ile treade after my Fathers steps;
ile goe measure the world, therefore lets share these Iewels,
take this or this.
Amp.
Will you then violate our Fathers Will?
Andel.
A puritane? keepe a dead mans Will? Indeed in
the old time, when men were buried in soft Church-yardes,
that their Ghosts might rise, it was good: but, brother, now
they are imprisond in strong Brick and Marble, they are fast:
feare not: away, away, these are fooleries, gulleries, trumperies;
heres this or this, or I am gon with both.
Amp.
Doe as you please, the sinne shall not be mine.
Fooles call those things prophane, that are diuine.
Andel.
Are you content to weare the Iewels by turnes?
Ile haue the purse for a yeere, you the Hat, and as much gold,
as youle aske; & when my pursourship ends, ile resigne, and
cap you.
Amp.
I am content to beare all discontents.
Exit.
Andel.
I should serue this bearing Asse rarely now, if I
should load him, but I will not, though conscience bee (like
Physicke) seldome vsed, (for so it does least hurt) yet ile take
a dram of it: this for him, and some gold: this for me: for hauing
this mint about me, I shall want no wishing Cap: gold
is an Eagle, that can flie to any place, and like death, that
dares enter all places.
Sha.
I shal neuer fadge with yr humor because I cannot lie.
And.
Thou dolt, weele visit all the kings courts in ye world.
So we may, and returne dolts home, but what shall
we learne by trauaile?
Andel.
Fashions.
Shad.
Thats a beastly disease: me thinkes its better staying
in your owne countrie.
Andel.
How? In mine owne countrie? like a Cage-birde
and see nothing?
Shad.
Nothing? yes you may see things enough, for
what can you see abroad that is not at home? The same
Sunne cals you vp in the morning, and the same man in
the Moone lights you to bed at night, our fields are as
greene as theirs in summer, and their frosts will nip vs
more in winter: Our birds sing as sweetly & our women
are as faire: In other countries you shall haue one drinke
to you, whilst you kisse your hand, and ducke, heele poyson
you: I confesse you shall meete more fooles, and asses,
and knaues abroad then at home (yet God be thanked we
haue prettie store of all) but for Punckes, wee put them
downe.
And.
Prepare thy spirits, for thou shalt goe with me,
To England shall our starres direct our course,
Thither the prince of Cyprus (our kings sonne)
Is gon to see the louely Agripyne,
Shaddow, weele gaze vpon that English dame,
And trie what vertue gold has to inflame.
First to my brother, then away lets flie,
Shaddow must be a Courtier ere he die.
Exit.
Shad.
If I must, the Fates shall bee seru'd: I have
seene many clownes Courtiers, then why not Shaddow?
Fortune, I am for thee.
Exit.
Enter Orleans melancholike, Galloway with him, a boy after them with a Lute.
Orle.
Be gone: leaue that with me, and leaue me to
my selfe, if the king aske for me, sweare to him I am sicke,
and thou shalt not lie, pray thee leaue me.
Exit.
Boy.
I am gon, Sir.
This musicke makes me but more out of tune:
O, Agripyna.
Gall.
Gentle friend, no more.
Thou saiest loue is a madnes, hate it then,
Euen for the names sake.
Orle.
O, I loue that madnes,
Euen for the names sake.
Gall.
Let me tame this frenzie,
By telling thee thou art a prisoner here,
By telling thee shees daughter to a king,
By telling thee the king of Cyprus sonne
Shines like a Sunne betweene her lookes and thine,
Whilst thou seem'st but a starre to Agripyne:
He loues her.
Orle.
If he doe: why so doe I.
Gall.
Loue is ambitious and loues maiestie.
Orle.
Deere friend, thou art deceiued, loues voice doth sing
As sweetely in a begger as a king.
Gall.
Deere friend, thou art deceyu'd: O bid thy soule
Lift vp her intellectuall eyes to heauen,
And (in this ample booke of wonders) read,
Of what celestiall mold, what sacred essence,
Her selfe is formd, the search whereof will driue
Sounds musicall among the iarring spirits,
And in sweete tune set that which none inherits.
Orle.
Ile gaze on heauen if Agripyne be there:
If not: Fa, La, la, Sol, la, &c.
Gall.
O, call this madnes in, see from the windowes
Of euery eye Derision thrusts out cheekes,
Wrinckled with Idiot laughter; euery finger
Is like a Dart shot from the hand of scorne,
By which thy name is hurt, thine honour torne.
Orle.
Laugh they at me, sweete Galloway?
Gall.
Euen at thee.
Orle.
Ha, ha, I laugh at them, are not they mad,
That let my true true sorrow make them glad?
That in that anger, he might smite life downe
With his Iron fist: good heart, it seemeth then,
They laugh to see griefe kill me: O, fond men,
You laugh at others teares, when others smile,
You teare your selues in pieces: vile, vile, vile,
Ha, ha, when I behold a swarme of fooles,
Crowding together to be counted wise,
I laugh because sweete Agripine's not there,
But weepe because shee is not any where,
And weepe because whether shee be or not,
My loue was euer and is still forgot: forgot, forgot, forgot.
Gall.
Draw backe this streame, why should my Orleans
mourne?
Orle.
Looke yonder, Galloway, doest thou see that Sunne?
Nay good friend, stare vpon it, marke it well,
Ere he be two howres elder, all that glorie
Is banisht heauen, and then (for griefe) this skie,
That's now so iocund, will mourne all in blacke,
And shall not Orleans mourne? Alacke, alacke,
O, what a Sauage tyrannie it were,
T'inforce care, laugh and woe: not shed a teare?
Dead is my loue, I am buried in her scorne,
That is my Sun-set, and shall I not mourne?
Yes by my troth I will.
Gall.
Heere friend forbeare,
Beautie (like sorrow) dwelleth euery where.
Race out this strong Idea of her face,
As faire as hers shineth in any place.
Orle.
Thou art a Traytor to that white and red,
Which sitting on her cheekes (being Cupids throne)
Is my hearts soueraigne: O when she is dead,
This wonder (Beautie) shall be found in none.
Now Agripyne's not mine, I vow to be
In loue with nothing but deformitie.
O faire Deformitie, I muse all eyes
Murder mens hearts, or let them pine like wax,
Melting against the Sunne of thy destinie,
Thou art a faithfull nurse to Chastitie,
Thy beautie is not like to Agripynes,
For cares, and age, and sicknesse hers deface,
But thine's eternall: O Deformitie,
Thy fairenes is not like to Agripynes,
For (dread) her beautie will no beautie haue,
But thy face lookes most louely in the graue.
Enter Prince of Cyprus and Agripyne.
Gall.
See where they come together hand in hand.
Orle.
O, watch sweete Galloway, when their hands doe part,
Betweene them, shalt thou find my murdred heart.
Cypr.
By this then it seemes a thing impossible, to know
when an English Lady loues truely.
Agrip.
Not so, for when her soule steales into her heart,
and her heart leapes vp to her eyes, and her eyes drop into
her hands, then if shee say, Heres my hand, shees your owne,
else neuer.
Cyp.
Heres a paire of your prisoners, lets try their
opinion.
Agrip.
My kind prisoners well encountred, the Prince
of Cyprus here and my selfe haue beene wrangling about
a question of loue: My Lord of Orleans, you looke leane,
and likest a louer; Whether is it more torment to loue a
Lady and neuer enioy her, or alwaies to enioy a Lady,
whome you cannot choose but hate?
Orle.
To hold her euer in mine armes whome I loath
in my heart, were some plague, yet the punishment were
no more then to be enioyned to keepe poyson in my hand,
yet neuer to taste it.
Agri.
But say you should be compeld to swallow y
e poyson.
Orle.
Then a speedy death would end a speeding miserie:
But to loue a Lady and neuer enioy her, oh it is not death,
but worse then damnation; Tis hell, tis.
No more, no more, good Orleans, nay then I
see my prisoner is in loue too.
Cypr.
Me thinkes, souldiers cannot fal into the fashion of loue.
Agrip.
Me thinkes, a Souldier is the most faithfull louer
of all men els: for his affection stands not vpon complement:
his wooing is plaine home-spun stuffe: theres no outlandish
thred in it, no Rethoricke: a Souldier casts no figures to get
his mistris heart, his loue is like his valour in the field, when
he payes downe-right blowes.
Gall.
True, Madam, but would you receiue such paiment?
Agrip.
No, but I meane, I loue a Souldier best, for his
plaine dealing.
Cypr.
Thats as good as the first.
Agrip.
Be it so, that goodnesse I like: for what Lady can
abide to loue a Spruce silken face Courtier, that stands euery
morning two or three howres learning how to looke by his
Glasse, how to speake by his Glasse, how to sigh by his glasse,
how to court his Mistris by his Glasse. I would wish him
no other plague, but to haue a Mistris as brittle as glasse.
Gall.
And that were as bad as the horne plague.
Cypr.
Are any louers possest with this madnes?
Agrip.
What madmen are not possest with this loue?
yet by my troth, wee poore women doe but smile in our
sleeues to see all this fopperie: yet we all desire to see our
louers attirde gallantly, to heare them sing sweetely, to behold
them daunce comely and such like; but this apish monkie
fashion of effeminate nicenesse, out vpon it: Oh, I hate it
worse then to bee counted a scould.
Cypr.
Indeede men are most regarded, when they least
regard themselues.
Gall.
And women most honored, when they shew most
mercy to their louers.
Orle.
But ist not a miserable tyranie, to see a Lady triumph
in the passions of a soule languishing through her crueltie?
Cypr.
Me thinkes it is.
Gall.
Me thinkes tis more then tyrannie.
So thinke not I: for as there is no reason to hate
any that loue vs, so it were madnes to loue all that doe not
hate vs: women are created beautifull, onely because men
should wooe them: for twere miserable tyrannie to inioyne
poore women to wooe men: I would not heare of a woman
in loue for my fathers kingdome.
Cyp.
I neuer heard of any woman that hated loue.
Agrip.
Nor I: but we had all rather die then confesse
wee loue; our glorie is to heare men sigh whilst we smile, to
kil them with a frowne, to strike them dead with a sharpe eye,
to make you this day weare a feather, and to morrow a sicke
night-cap: Oh, why this is rare, there's a certaine deitie in
this, when a Lady by the Magicke of her lookes, can turne
a man into twentie shapes.
Orle.
Sweete friend, shee speakes this but to torture mee.
Gall.
Ile teach thee how to plague her: loue her not.
Agrip.
Poore Orleans, how lamentably he lookes: if hee
stay, heele make me surely loue him for pure pittie. I must
send him hence, for of all sortes of loue. I hate the French:
I pray thee, sweet prisoner, intreate Lord Longauile to
come to me presently.
Orle.
I will: and esteeme myselfe more then happie,
that you will imploy me.
Exit.
Agrip.
Watch him, watch him for Gods sake, if hee sigh
not or looke not backe.
Cyp.
He does both: but what misterie lyes in this?
Agrip.
Nay, no misterie, tis as plaine as Cupids forehead:
why this is as it should be: And esteeme my selfe
more then happie, that you will imploy me: my French
prisoner is in loue ouer head and eares.
Cypr.
Its wonder how he scapes drowning.
Gall.
With whom thinke you?
Agrip.
With his keeper, for a good wager: Ah, how glad
is he to obey? And how proud am I to command in this Empire
of affection? Ouer him and such Spungy-liuerd youthes,
(that lie soaking in loue) I triumph more with mine eye,
gallant victorie for me to subdue my Fathers enemy with a
looke? Prince of Cyprus, you were best take heede, how
you encounter an English Lady.
Cypr.
God blesse me from louing any of you, if all bee so cruell.
Agrip.
God blesse me from suffring you to loue me, if
you be not so formable.
Cyp.
Wil you commaund me any seruice, as you haue done Orleans:
Agrip.
No other seruice but this, that (as Orleans) you
loue me, for no other reason, but that I may torment you.
Cypr.
I wil: conditionally, that in all companie I may
call you my tormenter.
Agr.
You shall: conditionally, that you neuer beg for mercy.
Come, my Lord of Galloway.
Gall.
Come, sweete Madam.
Exeunt.
Manet Cyprus.
Cypr.
The Ruby-colourd portals of her speech
Were closde by mercy: but vpon her eye,
(Attir'd in frownes) sat murdring crueltie.
Enter Agrip. and listens.
Shees angrie, that I durst so high aspire.
O, shee disdaines that any straungers brest
Should be a Temple for her deitie:
Shees full of beautie, full of bitternes.
Till now, I did not dally with loues fire:
And when I thought to try his flames indeede,
I burnt me euen to cinders: O, my starres,
Why from my natiue shore did your beames guide me,
To make me dote on her that doth deride me?
She kneeles: he walkes musing.
Agri.
Hold him in this mind, sweete Cupid, I coniure thee.
O, what musick these hey-hoes make? I was about to cast my
litle litle selfe into a great loue trance for him, fearing his hart
had been flint: but since I see tis pure virgin wax, he shal melt
his belly full: for now I know how to temper him.
Exit.
Cypr.
Neuer beg mercy? yet be my tormenter.
He spies her.
I hope shee heard me not: doubtlesse shee did:
And vex my constant loue with mockeries.
Nay, then ile be mine owne Physician,
And out face loue, and make her thinke that I
Mournd thus, because I saw her standing by.
What newes, my Lord of Cornewall?
Enter Cornewall.
Cornew.
This faire Prince,
One of your Countrie-men, is come to Court,
A lustie gallant braue in Cyprus Ile,
With fiftie bard Horses prawncing at his heeles,
Backt by as many strong limbd Cypriots.
All whom he keepes in pay: whose offred seruice,
Our king with Armes of gladnes hath embrac'd.
Cypr.
Borne in the Ile of Cyprus? whats his name?
Cornw.
His seruants call him Fortunatus sonne.
Cypr.
Rich Fortunatus sonne? Is he ariu'd?
Enter Longauile, Galloway, and Chester with Iewels.
Longa.
This he bestowed on me.
Chest.
And this on me.
Gallow.
And this bounteous hand inforc'd mee take.
Longa.
I prize this Iewell at a hundred Markes,
Yet would he needes bestow this gift on me.
Cypr.
My Lords, whose hand hath beene thus prodigal?
Gallow.
Your countrieman my Lord, a Cypriot.
Longa.
The gallant sure is all compact of gold,
To euery Lady hath he giuen rich Iewels,
And sent to euery seruant in the Court
Twentie faire English Angels.
Cypr.
This is rare.
Enter Lincolne.
Lincol.
My Lords, prepare your selues for reueling,
Tis the kings pleasure that this day be spent
In royall pastimes, that this golden Lord,
(For so all that behold him, christen him)
Here comes the gallant, shining like the Sunne.
Trumpets sound: Enter Athelstane, Andelocia, Agripyne, Orleans, Ladies, and other attendants, Insultado a Spanish Lord: Musicke sounds within.
Andel.
For these your royall fauours done to me,
(Being a poore straunger) my best powres shall proue,
By Acts of worth, the soundnes of my loue.
Athelst.
Herein your loue shall best set out it selfe,
By staying with vs: if our English Ile
Hold any obiect welcome to your eyes,
Doe but make choice, and claime it as your prize.
The King and Cyprus conferre aside.
Ande.
I thanke your grace: would he durst keepe his word,
I know what I would claime: Tush, man, be bold,
Were shee a Saint, shee may be wonne with gold.
Cypr.
Tis straunge I must confesse, but in this pride,
His Father Fortunatus (if he liue)
Consumes his life in Cyprus: still he spends,
And still his Coffers with abundance swell,
But how he gets these riches none can tell.
The King and Agripyne conferre aside.
Athelst.
Hold him in talke: come hither, Agripyne.
Cypr.
But what intic'de young Andelociaes soule
To wander hither?
Andel.
That which did allure,
My soueraignes sonne, the wonder of the place.
Agr.
This curious heape of wonders, (which an Empresse
Gaue him) he gaue me, and by Uenus hand,
The warlike Amorato needes would sweare,
Hee left his countrie Cyprus for my loue.
Athelst.
If by the soueraigne Magicke of thine eye,
Thou canst inchant his lookes to keepe the circles
Of thy faire cheekes, be bold to trie thy charmes,
Feede him with hopes, and find the royall veine,
Here's Musicke spent in vaine, Lords, fall to dauncing.
Cypr.
My faire tormentor, will you lend a hand?
Agrip.
Ile try this strangers cunning in a daunce.
Andel.
My cunning is but small, yet whoo'le not proue
To shame himselfe for such a Ladies loue?
Orle.
These Cypriots are the diuels that torture me.
He courts her, and shee smiles, but I am borne,
To be her beauties slaue, and her loues scorne.
And.
I shall neuer haue the face to aske the question twice.
Agrip.
Whats the reason? Cowardlynes or pride?
Andel.
Neither: but tis the fashion of vs Cypriots, both
men and women, to yeeld at first assault, and we expect others
should doe the like.
Agrip.
Its a signe, that either your women are very black, &
are glad to be sped, or your men very fond, & wil take no denial.
Andel.
Indeede our Ladies are not so faire as you.
Agrip.
But your men more ventrous at a breach then you,
or els they are all dastardly souldiers.
Andel.
Hee that fightes vnder these sweete colours, & yet
turnes coward, let him bee shot to death with the terrible arrowes
of faire Ladies eyes.
Athelst.
Nay Insultado, you must not denie vs.
Insultad.
My Corocon es muy pesada, my Anima muy atormentada,
No per los Cielos: La piede de
Espagnoll, no haze musica in Tierra Inglesa.
Cypr.
Sweete Insultado let vs see you daunce.
I haue heard the Spanish daunce is full of state.
Insultad.
Verdad Signor: la danza spagnola, es muy alta,
Maiestica, y para Monarcas: vuestra Inglesa,
Baxa, Fantastica, y muy humilde.
Agrip.
Doth my Spanish prisoner denie to daunce? Hee
has sworne to me by the crosse of his pure Toledo, to bee my
seruant: by that oath (my Castilian prisoner) I coniure you to
shew your cunning, though all your body bee not free, I am
sure your heeles are at libertie.
Nolo quire contra dezir: vuestra oio haze conquesto
a su prisionero: Oyes, la pauyne Hispanola, sea vuestra
musica y grauidad, y maiestad: Paie, dadime Tabacca, Toma
my capa, e my espada. Mas alta, Mas alta: Desuiaios, Desuiaios,
Companieros, Mas alta, Mas alta.
Hee daunces.
Athelst.
Thankes, Insultado.
Cypr.
Tis most excellent.
Agrip.
The Spaniards daunce, is as his deedes bee, full of pride.
Athelst.
The day growes old, & what remaines vnspent,
Shall be consum'd in banquets, Agripyne,
Leaue vs a while, if Andelocia please,
Goe beare our beautious daughter companie.
Exeunt Agrip. and Andel. and Ladies.
And.
Fortune I thanke thee: now thou smil'st on me.
Athe.
This Cipriot beares a gallāt princely mind.
My Lord, of what birth is your country-man?
Thinke not, sweete Prince, that I propound this question,
To wrong you in your loue to Agripyne:
Our fauours grace him to an other end.
Nor let the wings of your affection droope,
Because shee seemes to shun loues gentle lure.
Belieue it on our word, her beauties prize
Onely shall yeeld a conquest to your eyes.
But tell me whats this Fortunatus sonne?
Cypr.
Of honourable bloud, and more renownd
In forreine kingdomes (whither his proud spirit,
Plum'd with ambitious fethers, caries him)
Then in his natiue Countrie. but last day,
The father and the sonnes were through their riots,
Poore and disdainde of all, but now they glister,
More bright than Midas: if some damned fiend
Fed not his bags, this golden pride would end.
Athelst.
His pride weele somewhat tame, & curb the head
Of his rebellious prodigalitie:
He hath inuited vs, and all our Peeres,
To feast with him to morrow, his prouision,
But Lincolne, let our Subiects secretly
Be chargde on paine of life that not a man
Sell any kind of Fewell to his seruants.
Cypr.
This pollicy shall clip his golden wings,
And teach his pride what tis to striue with kings.
Athelst.
Withdraw awhile:
Exeunt. Manet Athelstane.
None fild his hands with Gold, for we set spies,
To watch who fed his prodigalitie:
He hung the Marble bosome of our Court,
As thicke with glistring Spangles of pure gold,
As ere the spring hath stucke the earth with flowers.
Unlesse he melt himselfe to liquid gold,
Or be some God, some diuell, or can transport
A mint about him, (by inchanted power)
He cannot raine such she wers: with his owne hands
He threw more wealth abroad in euery streete,
Then could be thrust into a Chariot:
Hees a Magician sure, and to some fiend,
His soule (by infernall couenants) has he sold,
Alwaies to swimme vp to the chin in gold.
Be what he can be, if those doting fires,
Wherein he burnes for Agripinaes loue,
Want power to melt from him this endlesse Myne,
Then (like a slaue) weele chaine him in our Tower,
Where tortures shall compell his sweating hands
To cast rich heapes into our treasorie.
Musicke sounding still: A curtaine being drawne, where Andelocia lies sleeping in Agripines lap, shee has his purse, and her selfe and another Lady tye another (like it) in the place, and then rise from him.
Agrip.
I haue found the sacred spring that neuer ebs.
Leaue vs: Exit Lady.
But ile not shew't your maiestie,
Till you haue sworne by Englands royall crowne,
To let me keepe it.
By my Crowne I sweare,
None but faire Agripyne the Iem shall weare.
Agrip.
Then is this mine: see, Father, here's the fire,
Whose gilded beames still burne, this is the Sunne,
That euer shines, the tree that neuer dies,
Here growes the Garden of Hesperides,
The out-side mockes you, makes you thinke tis poore,
But entring it, you find eternall store.
Athelst.
Art sure of this? How didst thou driue it out?
Agrip.
Feare not his waking yet, I made him drinke
That soporiferous Iuice which was composd,
To make the Queene (my Mother) rellish sleepe,
When her last sicknes sommond her to heauen.
He sleepes profoundly: when his amorous eyes
Had singde their wings in Cupids wanton flames,
I set him all on fire, and promist loue:
In pride whereof, he drew me forth this purse,
And swore, by this he multiplyed his gold.
I tride and found it true: and secretly
Commaunded Musicke with her siluer tongue,
To chime soft lullabies into his soule,
And whilst my fingers wantond with his hayre,
(T'intice the sleepie Iuice to charme his eyes)
In all points was there made a purse, like his,
Which counterfet is hung in place of this.
Athelst.
More then a second kingdome hast thou won.
Leaue him, that when he wakes he may suspect,
Some els has robd him, come deere Agripyne,
If this strange purse his sacred vertues hold,
Weele circle England with a wast of Gold.
Exeunt.
Musicke still: Enter Saddow very gallant, reading a Bill, with emptie bags in his hand singing.
Shad.
These English occupiers are mad Troians: let a
man pay them neuer so much, theile giue him nothing but
the bag. Since my master created me steward ouer his fiftie
yet neuer was gald, I thanke the destinies: Musicke?
O delicate warble: O these Courtiers are most sweete triumphant
creatures. Seignior, Sir: Monsieur: sweete Seignior;
this is the language of y
e accomplishment: O delicious strings: these heauenly wyre-drawers haue stretcht my master euen
out at length: yet at length he must wake: master?
Andel.
Wake me not yet, my gentle Agripyne.
Shad.
One word Sir, for the billets, and I vanish.
And.
Theres heauen in these times: throw the musicians
A bounteous largesse of three hundred Angels.
Andelocia starts vp.
Shad.
Why sir, I haue but ten pound left.
And.
Ha, Shaddow? where's the Princesse Agripyne?
Shad.
I am not Apollo, I cannot reueale.
Andel.
Was not the princesse here, when thou cam'st in?
Shad.
Here was no Princesse but my princely selfe.
Andel.
In faith?
Shad.
No in faith, Sir.
Andel.
Where are you hid? where stand you wantoning?
Not here? gone ifaith? haue you giuen me the slip? well, tis but
an amorous tricke and so I embrace it: my horse, Shaddow,
how fare my horse?
Shad.
Upon the best Oates my vndersteward can buy.
An.
I meane, are they lusty, sprightly, gallant, wantō, fiery?
Shad.
They are as all horses are, Caterpillers to the Commonwelth,
they are euer munching: but Sir, for these billets,
and these fagots and bauins?
Andel.
S'hart what billets, what fagots? doest make mee
a Woodmonger?
Shad.
No sweete Seignior, but you haue bid the King and
his Peeres to dinner, and he has commaunded that no Woodmonger
sell you a sticke of wood, and that no Collyer shall cosen
you of your measure, but must tie vp the mouth of their
Sackes, least their Coales kindle your choler.
Andel.
Ist possible? ist true, or hast thou learnt of the English
gallants to gull?
Hees a gul that would be taught by such guls.
Ande.
Not a sticke of wood? Some child of enuie has buzd
this stratagem into the kings eare, of purpose to disgrace me:
I haue inuited his maiestie, and though it cost me a Million, ile
feast him: Shadow, thou shalt hyre a hundred or two of Carts,
with them post to all the Grocers in London, buy vp all the
Cynamon, Cloues, Nutmegs, Licorish and all other spices,
that haue any strong heart, and with them make fires to prepare
our Cookerie:
Heele dresse a Kings feast in a spiced flame.
Shad.
This diuice, Sir, will bee some what a kin to Lady
Pride, twill aske cost.
And.
Fetch twentie Porters, ile laid all with gold.
Shad.
First, master, fil these bags.
And.
Come then, hold vp, how now? trickes, new crochets,
Madam Fortune? Drie as an Eele-skin? Shaddow, take thou
my Gold out.
Shad.
Why Sir, here's none in.
Andel.
Ha, let me see: O heres a bastard cheeke,
I see now tis not mine: tis counterfet,
Tis so: slaue thou hast robd thy master.
Sha.
Not of a peny, I haue beene as true a steward.
And.
Uengeance on thee and on thy stewardship.
Yet wherefore curse I thee? thy leaden soule
Had neuer power to mount vp to the knowledge
Of the rich misterie closde in my purse.
Oh no, ile curse my selfe, mine eyes ile curse,
They haue betrayd me, I will curse my tongue,
That hath betraid me: Ile curse Agripyne,
Shee hath betraid me: Sirens cease to sing,
Your charmes haue tane effect, for now I see,
All your inchantments were, to cosen me.
Musicke ceaseth.
Shad.
What shall I doe with this ten pound, Sir?
Andel.
Goe buy with it a Chaine and hang thy selfe.
Now thinke I on my Fathers prophecie.
Much shame, much griefe, much danger follows you.
With teares I credit his diuinitie.
O fingers, were you vpright Iustices,
You would teare out mine eyes: had not they gazde
On the fraile colour of a painted cheeke,
None had betraid me: henceforth ile defie
All beautie, and will call a louely eye,
A Sun whose scorching beames burne vp our ioyes,
Or turne them blacke like Ethiopians.
O women, wherefore are you borne mens woe,
Why are your faces fram'd Angelicall?
Your hearts of spunges, soft and smooth in shew,
But toucht, with poyson they doe ouer-flow.
Had sacred wisedome beene my Fathers Fate,
He had died happie, I liu'd fortunate.
Shaddow, beare this to beautious Agripyne,
With it this message, tell her, ile reprooue
Her couetous sinne the lesse, because for gold,
I see that most mens soules too cheape are sold.
Sha.
Shal I buy these spices to day or to morrow?
And.
To morrow? I, to morrow thou shalt buy them,
To morrow tell the Princesse I wil loue her,
To morrow tell the king, ile banquet him,
To morrow, Shaddow, will I giue thee gold,
To morrow pride goes bare and lust acold.
To morrow will the rich man feede the poore.
And vice to morrow vertue will adore,
To morrow beggers shall be crowned kings,
This No-time, morrowes-time, no sweetnes sings:
I pray thee hence: beare that to Agripyne.
Shad.
Ile goe hence, because you send me: but ile goe weeping
hence, for griefe that I must turne villaine as many doe,
and leaue you when you are vp to the eares in aduersitie.
Exit.
Andel.
Shee hath robd me, and now ile play the thiefe,
Ile steale from hence to Cyprus, for blacke shame.
Ile sell this pride for helpe to beare me thither,
So pride and beggerie shall walke together:
This world is but a Schoole of villanie,
Therefore ile rob my brother, (not of gold,
Nor of his vertues, vertue none will steale:)
But (if I can,) ile steale his wishing Hat.
And with that, wandring round about the world,
Ile search all corners to find miserie,
And where shee dwels, ile dwell, languish and die.
Exit.
Chorus.
Gentels, if ere you haue beheld the passions,
The combats of his soule who being a king,
By some vsurping hand hath beene deposde
From all his royalties: euen such a soule,
Such eyes, such heart swolne big with sighes and teares,
The star-crost sonne of Fortunatus weares.
The thoughts crownd him a Monarch in the morne,
Yet now hees bandyed by the Seas in scorne,
From waue to waue: his golden treasures spoyle
Makes him in desperate language to intreate,
The winds to spend their furie on his life:
But they (being milde in tyrannie) or scorning
To triumph in a wretches funerall,
Tosse him to Cyprus. O what treacherie
Cannot this Serpent gold intice vs to?
He robs his brother of the Souldans prize,
And hauing got his wish (the wishing Hat)
He does not (as he voud) seeke miserie,
But hopes by that to win his purse againe,
And in that Hope from Cyprus is he fled.
If your swift thoughts clap on their wonted wings,
In Genoway may you take this fugitiue,
Where hauing cozened many Iewellers,
To England backe he comes, step but to court,
And there (disguizde) you find him bargoning
For Iewels with the beautious Agripyne,
Who wearing at her side the vertuous purse,
Griping the tender-hearted Nightingale,
So flies he with her, (wishing) in the ayre,
To be transported to some wildernesse:
Enter Andelocia and Agripyne.
Imagine this the place: see here they come.
Since they themselues haue tongues, mine shall be dumbe.
Exit.
Enter Andelocia with the wishing Hat on: Agripyna in his hand.
Agrip.
What diuell art thou that affrightst me thus,
Haling a Princesse from her fathers court,
To spoyle her in this sauage wildernesse?
Andel.
Indeed the diuel and the pick-purse should alwaies
flie together, (for they are sworne brothers:) but Madam
Couetousnes, I am neither a diuel as you cal me, nor a Ieweller
as I call my selfe, no, nor a Iugler, yet ere you and I part,
weele haue some legerdimain together: do you know me?
Agrip.
I am betrayd: this is the Cypriot.
Forgiue mee, twas not I that changde thy purse,
But Athelstane my father, send me home,
And heres thy purse againe: here are thy Iewels,
And I in satisfaction of all wrongs.
Andel.
Talke not you of satisfaction, this is some recompence
that I haue you, tis not the purse I regard: put it off, and
ile mince it as small as pie meate: the purse? hang the purse:
were that gon, I can make another, and another, & another,
I and another: tis not the purse I care for, but the purser: you,
I you. Ist not a shame that a kings daughter, a faire Lady,
a Lady not for Lords, but for Monarches, should for gold sell
her loue, and when shee has her owne asking, and that there
stands nothing betweene, then to cheate your sweete heart? O
fie, fie, a shee cony-catcher? You must be dealt soundly with.
Agrip.
Inioyne what paines thou wilt, & ile endure them,
so thou wilt send me to my fathers court.
Ande.
Nay gods lid, y'are not gon so: set your heart at rest,
for I haue set vp my rest, that except you can runne swifter
then a Hart, home you goe not: what paines shall I lay vpon
I could get a young King or two, or three of you, and then
send you home, and bid their grand-sire king nurse them: I
could pepper you, but I will not.
Agrip.
O, doe not violate my chastitie.
Andel.
No, why I tell you I am not giuen to the flesh,
though I sauor (in your nose) a little of the diuell, I could run
away else, and starue you here.
Agrip.
If I must die, doome me some easier death.
Andel.
Or transforme you (because you loue picking) into
a Squirell, and make you picke out a poore liuing here among
the Nut trees: but I will not neither.
Agrip.
What will my gentle Andelocia doe?
Andel.
Oh, now you come to your old byas of cogging.
Agrip.
I pray the Andelocia, let me goe:
Send me to England, and by heauen I sweare,
Thou from all kings on earth my loue shalt beare.
And.
Shal I in faith?
Agrip.
In faith, in faith thou shalt.
Andel.
Here, god a mercie: now thou shalt not goe.
Agrip.
Oh God.
Andel.
Nay doe you heare Lady? crie not y'are best: no nor
curse me not: if you thinke but a crabbed thought of me, the
spirit that caried you in mine armes through the ayre, will
tell me all: therefore set your Sunday face vpont. Since you'le
loue me, ile loue you, ile marrie you, and lie with you, and beget
little Iuglers: marie home you get not: England you'le
say is yours: but Agripyne, loue me, and I will make the
whole world thine.
Agrip.
I care not for the world, thou murdrest me,
Betweene my sorrow, and the scalding Sunne
I faint, and quickly will my life be done,
My mouth is like a Furnace, and drie heate
Drinks vp my bloud. Oh God, my heart will burst,
I die, vnlesse some moysture quench my thirst.
Andel.
S'hart now I am worse then ere I was before:
For halfe the world I would not haue her die.
Heres neither spring nor ditch, nor raine, nor dew,
Be comforted, see here are Apple trees.
Agrip.
Clime vp for Gods sake, reach me some of them.
Andel.
Looke vp, which of these Apples likes thee best?
Agrip.
This hath a withered face, tis some sweete fruit.
Not that, my sorrowes are too sowre already.
Andel.
Come hither, here are Apples like gold.
Agrip.
O, I for Gods sake, gather some of these.
Ay me, would God I were at home againe.
Climes vp.
Andel.
Stand farder, least I chance to fall on thee.
Oh here be rare Apples, rare red-cheekt Apples, that cry come
kisse me: Apples, hold your peace, ile teach you to cry.
Eates one.
Agrip.
O England, shal I ne're behold thee more?
Andel.
Agripyna, tis a most Sugred delicious tast in ones
mouth, but when tis downe, tis as bitter as gall.
Agrip.
Yet gather some of them. Oh, that a Princesse
Should pine for foode: were I at home againe,
I should disdaine to stand thus and complaine.
And.
Heres one Apple that growes highest, Agripyna, & I
could reach that, ile come downe.
Hee stands fishing with his girdle for it.
Agrip.
Make hast, for the hot Sun doth scald my cheekes.
Andel.
The sunne kisse thee? hold, catch, put on my Hat, I
will haue yonder highest Apple, though I die for't.
Agrip.
I had not wont be Sun-burnt, wretched mee.
O England, would I were againe in thee.
Exit. He leapes downe.
And.
Swounds Agripyna, stay, O I am vndone,
Sweete Agripyna, if thou hearst my voice,
Take pittie of me, and returne againe.
Shee flies like lightning: O she heares me not,
I wish my selfe into a wildernesse,
And now I shall turne wilde: here I shall famish,
Here die, here cursing dye, here rauing die,
And thus will wound my brest, and rent mine hayre.
What hils of Flint are growne vpon my browes?
O me, two forked hornes, I am turn'd beast,
I haue abuzde two blessings, welth and knowledge,
By which being borne into the Courts of kings,
I might haue seene the wondrous workes of Ioue,
Acquirde Experience, Learning, Wisedome, Truth,
But I in wildernesse tottred out my youth,
And therefore must turne wild: must be a beast,
An vgly beast: my body hornes must beare,
Because my soule deformitie doth weare.
Liues none within this wood? If none but I
Liue here (thankes heauen) for here none els shal die.
He lies downe and sleepes vnder the tree: Enter Fortune, Vice, Vertue, the Priest: Satyres with Musicke, playing as they come in before Fortune. They play awhile.
Fortune.
See where my new-turnd diuel has built his hel.
Vice.
Uertue, who conquers now? the foole is tane.
Vert.
O sleepie sinne.
Musicke awhile, and then cease.
Vice.
Sweete tunes wake him againe.
Fort.
Uice sets too heauie on his drowzy soule,
Musicks sweete concord cannot pierce his eare.
Sing and amongst your Songs, mix bitter scorne.
Vert.
Those that teare Uertue, must by Uice be torne.
The Song.
Follies nets are wide, and neately wrought,
Mocke his hornes, and laugh to see Uice take him.
Error gaue him sucke, now sorrowes rocke him,
Send the riotous beast to madnes schoole.
Who's the foole: the foole, he weares a horne.
Hees in, and a newe nurse (Despaire) must rocke him.
Foole, foole, foole, foole, foole, weare still the horne.
When they haue done singing, Vice and Vertue hold Apples out to him, Vice laughing, Vertue grieuing.
Andel.
O me, what hell is this? fiends, tempt me not.
Thou glorious diuell hence. Oh now I see,
This fruit is thine, thou hast deformed mee:
Ideot auoide, thy gifts I loath to tast.
Away: since I am entred madnes Schoole,
As good to be a beast, as be a foole.
Away, why tempt you me? some powrefull grace
Come and redeeme me from this hideous place.
Fort.
To her hath Andelocia (all his life)
Sworne fealtie, wouldst thou forsake her now?
Andel.
Whose blessed tongue names Andelocia?
Fort.
Hers, who (attended on by destinies)
Shortned thy Fathers life, and lengthens thine.
Kneeles.
Andel.
O sacred Queene of chance, now shorten mine,
Else let thy deitie take off this shame.
Fort.
Wooe her, t'was shee that set it on thy head.
Andel.
Shee laughes to see me metamorphosed.
Vert.
Wooe me, and ile take off this vgly scorne.
Rises.
Vice.
Wooe me, and ile clap on another horne.
Andel.
I am beset with anguish, shame and death.
O bid the Fates worke fast, and stop my breath.
Fort.
No Andelocia, thou must liue to see
Worse torments (for thy follies) light on thee.
This golden tree, which did thine eyes intice,
Was planted here by Uice: loe, here stands Uice:
How often hast thou sued to win her grace?
Andel.
Till now, I neuer did behold her face.
Fort.
Thou didst behold her at thy fathers death,
When thou in scorne didst violate his will,
Thou didst behold her, when thy strecht-out arme
The fairest Apple, but the fowlest price.
Thou didst behold her, when thy lickerish eye
Fed on the beautie of faire Agripyne,
Because th'adst gold, thou thoughtst al women thine,
When look'st thou off from her? for they whose soules
Still reuell in the nights of vanitie,
On the faire cheekes of Uice still fixe their eye.
Because her face doth shine, and all her bosome
Beares siluer Moones, thou wast enamord of her.
But hadst thou vpward lookt, and seene these shames,
Or viewd her round about, and in this glasse
Seene Idiots faces, heads of diuels and hell,
And read this ha, ha, he, this merrie storie,
Thou wouldst haue loathd her: where, by louing her,
Thou bearst this face, and wearst this vgly head,
And if shee once can bring thee to this place,
Lowd sounds these ha, ha he, sheele laugh apace.
Andel.
O, re-transforme me to a glorious shape,
And I will learne how I may loue to hate her.
Fort.
I cannot re-transforme thee, wooe this woman.
Andel.
This woman? wretched is my state, when I,
To find out wisedome, to a foole must flie.
Fort.
Foole, cleere thine eyes, this is bright Arete,
This is poore Uertue, care not how the world
Doth crowne her head, the world laughes her to scorne,
Yet Sibi sapit, Uertue knowes her worth.
Runne after her, sheele giue thee these and these
Crownes and Bay-garlands: (honours victories:)
Serue her, and shee will fetch thee pay from heauen,
Or giue thee some bright office in the starres.
Ande.
Immortall Arete, Uertue diuine,
Kneeles.
O smile on me, and I will still be thine.
Vert.
Smile thou on me, and I will still be thine:
Though I am iealous of thy Apostasie,
Ile entertaine thee: here, come tast this tree,
Here's Phisicke for thy sicke deformitie.
Tis bitter: this fruit I shall ne're disgest.
Vert.
Trie once againe, the bitternes soone dies.
Vice.
Mines sweete, tast mine.
Vert.
But being downe tis sowre,
And mine being downe has a delicious taste.
The path that leades to Uertues court is narrow,
Thornie and vp a hill, a bitter iorney,
But being gon through, you find all heau'nly sweetes,
The entrance is all flintie, but at th'end,
To towres of pearle and christall you ascend.
Ande.
O delicate, O sweete Ambrosian rellish,
And see, my vglinesse drops from my browes,
Thankes beautious Arete: O had I now
My Hat and purse againe, how I would shine,
And gild my soule with none but thoughts diuine.
Fort.
That shall be tride, take fruit from both these trees,
By helpe of them, winne both thy purse and Hat,
I will instruct thee how, for on my wings
To England shalt thou ride; thy vertuous brother
Is (with that Shadow who attends on thee,)
In London, there ile set thee presently.
But if thou lose our fauours once againe,
To taste her sweetes, those sweetes must prooue thy bane.
Vert.
Uice, who shall now be crownd with victorie?
Vice.
Shee that triumphes at last, and that must I.
Exeunt.
Enter Athelstane, Lincolne with Agripyne, Cyprus, Galloway, Cornewall, Chester, Longauile and Montrosse.
Athelst.
Lincolne, how set'st thou her at libertie?
Lincol.
No other prison held her but your court,
There (in her chamber) hath shee hid her selfe
These two daies, onely to shake off that feare,
Which her late violent rapture cast vpon her.
Cypr.
Where hath the beautious Agripyna been?
Agrip.
In heauen or hel, in or without the world,
I know not which, for as I oft haue seene
A whirle-wind come, and from her frizeld browes,
Snatch vp a handful of those sweatie pearles,
That stoode vpon her forhead, which awhile,
Being by the boystrous wind hung in the ayre,
At length hath flung them downe and raizd a storme.
Euen with such furie was I wherryed vp,
And by such force held prisoner in the cloudes,
And throwne by such a tempest downe againe.
Cornw.
Some soule is dam'd in hell for this black deede.
Agrip.
I haue the purse safe, and anon your grace
Shall heare this wondrous historie at full.
Cypr.
Tel me, tormenter, shall faire Agripyne,
Without more difference be now christend mine?
Agrip.
My choice must be my Fathers faire consent.
Athelst.
Then shall thy choyce end in this Cyprus prince.
Before the Sunne shall sixe times more arise,
His royall marriage will we solemnise.
Proclaime this honord match, come Agripyne,
I am glad th'art here, more glad the purse is mine.
As they are all going in: Enter Andelocia and Shaddowe, like Irish Coster-mongers, Agripyna, Longauyle, and Montrosse stay listening to them, the rest Exeunt.
Both.
Buy any Apples, feene Apples of Tamasco, feene
Tamasio peepins: peeps feene, buy Tamasco peepins.
Agrip.
Damasco apples? good my Lord Montrosse,
Call yonder fellowes.
Montr.
Sirra Coster-monger.
Shad.
Who cals? peeps of Tamasco, feene peeps: I fat tis
de sweetest apple in de world, tis better den de Pome water,
or apple Iohn.
Andel.
By my trat Madam, tis reet Tamasco peepins,
looke here els.
Shad.
I dare not say, as de Irishman my countrieman say,
tast de goodnesse of de fruit: No fayt tis farie teere mistris, by
Saint Patrickes hand tis teere Tamasco apple.
The fairest fruit that euer I beheld,
Damasco apples, wherefore are they good?
Longa.
What is your price of halfe a score of these?
Both.
Halfe a score, halfe a score? dat is doos many mester.
Longa.
I, I, ten, halfe a score, thats fiue and fiue.
Andel.
Feeue and feeue? By my trat and as Creeze saue
me la, I cannot tell, wat be de price of feeue and feeue, but tis
tree crowne for one Peepin, dat is the preez if you take em.
Shad.
I fat, tis no lesse for Tamasco.
Agrip.
Three crownes for one? what wondrous vertues
haue they?
Shad.
O, tis feene Tamasco apple, and shall make you a
great teale wise, and make you no foole, and make feene memorie.
Andel.
And make dis fash be more faire and amiable, and
make dis eyes looke alwaies louely, and make all de court
& countrie burne in desire to kisse di none sweete countenance.
Montr.
Apples to make a Lady beautifull?
Madam thats excellent.
Agrip.
These Irishmen,
Some say, are great dissemblers, and I feare,
These two the badge of their owne countrie weare.
Andel.
By my trat, and by Saint Patrickes hand, and
as Creez saue me la, tis no dissembler: de Irish man now and
den cut di countrie-mans throate, but yet in fayt hee loue di
countrie-man, tis no dissembler: dis feene Tamasco apple can
make di sweete countenance, but I can take no lesse but three
crownes for one, I weare out my naked legs and my footes,
and my tods, and run hidder and didder to Tamasco for dem.
Shad.
As Creez saue me la, hee speakes true: Peeps feene,
Agrip.
Ile trie what power lies in Damasco fruit.
Here are ten crownes for three, So fare you well.
Montr.
Lord Longauyle, buy some.
Longa.
I buy? not I:
Hang them, they are toyes, come Madam, let vs goe.
Exeunt.
Both.
Saint Patricke and Saint Peter, and all de holy
Angels looke vpon dat fash and make it faire.
Ha, ha, ha, shees sped, I warrant.
Andel.
Peace, Shaddow, buy any peepins, buy.
Both.
Peeps feene, feene Tamasco apples.
Montr.
Came not Lord Longauyle to buy some fruit?
Andel.
No fat, master, here came no Lords nor Ladies,
but di none sweete selfe.
Montr.
Tis well, say nothing, heres six crownes for two:
You say the vertues are to make one strong.
Both.
Yes fat and make sweete countenance, & strong too.
Montr.
Tis excellent, here: farwell, if these proue,
Ile conquer men by strength, women by loue.
Exit.
Enter Longauyle.
Both.
Ha, ha, ha, why this is rare.
Shad.
Peace, master, here comes another foole.
Both.
Peeps feene, buy any peepes of Tamasco?
Longa.
Did not the Lord Montrosse returne to you?
Both.
No fat, sweete master, no Lord did turne to vs:
Peepes feene.
Longa.
I am glad of it: here are nine crownes for thee:
What are the vertues besides making faire?
Andel.
O, twill make thee wondrous wise.
Shad.
And dow shall bee no more a foole, but sweete face
and wise.
Longa.
Tis rare, farwell, I neuer yet durst wooe.
None loues me: now ile trie what these can doe.
Exit.
Andel.
Ha, ha, ha, So, this is admirable, Shaddow, here
end my torments in Saint Patrickes Purgatorie, but thine
shall continue longer.
Shad.
Did I not clap on a good false Irish face?
Andel.
It became thee rarely.
Shad.
Yet thats lamentable, that a false face should become
any man.
Andel.
Thou art a gull, tis all the fashion now, which
fashion because weele keepe, step thou abroad, let not the world
want fooles: whilst thou art commensing thy knauerie there,
ile proceede Doctor Dodipoll here: that done, thou Shaddow
fooles: goe flie.
Shad.
I feare nothing, but that whilst wee striue to make
others fooles, we shall weare the Coxcombes our selues, Pips
fine &c.
Exit Shaddow.
Enter Ampedo.
Andel.
S'hart, here's my brother whome I haue abuzde:
His presence makes me blush, it strikes me dead,
To thinke how I am metamorphosed.
Feene peepins of Tamasco &c.
Amp.
For shame cast off this Maske.
Andel.
Wilt thou buy any pips?
Amp.
Mocke me no longer
With idle apparitions: many a land
Haue I with wearie feete and a sicke soule
Measurd, to find thee; and when thou art found,
My greatest griefe is, that thou art not lost:
Yet lost thou art, thy fame, thy welth are lost,
Thy wits are lost, and thou hast in their stead,
With shame and cares, and misery crownd thy head.
That Shaddow that pursues thee, fild mine eares
With sad relation of thy wretchednesse,
Where is the purse, and where my wishing Hat?
Andel.
Where? and where? are you created Constable, you
stand so much vpon Intergatories? the purse is gone, let that
fret you, and the Hat is gone, let that mad you: I runne thus
through all trades to ouer-take them, if youle bee quiet, follow
me, and helpe, if not, flie from me, and hang your selfe: wilt
thou buy any pippins?
Exit.
Amp.
O, how I grieue, to see him thus transformd?
Yet from the circles of my iealous eyes,
He shall not start, till he haue re-possest
Those vertuous Iewels, which found once againe,
More cause they ne're shall giue me to complaine.
Their worth shall be consum'd in murdring flames,
And end my griefe, his ryot, and our shames.
Exit.
Athelst.
In spite of sorcerie trie once againe,
Trie once more in contempt of all dam'd spels.
Agrip.
Your maiestie fights with no mortall power.
Shame and not conquest, hangs vpon his strife.
O, touch me not, you adde but paine to paine,
The more you cut, the more they grow againe.
Lincol.
Is there no art to coniure downe this scorne?
I ne're knew Phisicke yet against the horne.
Enter Cyprus.
Athelst.
See, prince of Cyprus, thy faire Agripyne
Hath turnd her beautie to deformitie.
Cypr.
Then I defie thee, Loue, vaine hopes, adew,
You haue mockt me long; in scorne ile now mocke you.
I came to see how the Lord Longauyle
Was turnd into a monster, and I find
An obiect, which both strikes me dumbe and blind.
To morrow should haue beene our marriage morne,
But now my bride is shame, thy bridegrome scorne.
O tell mee yet, is there no Art, no charmes,
No desperate Physicke for this desperate wound?
Athelst.
Al meanes are tride, but no meanes can be found.
Cypr.
Then England, farwell: haplesse maide, thy stars,
Through spitefull influence set our hearts at warres.
I am infor'st to leaue thee, and resigne
My loue to griefe.
Enter Orleans and Galloway.
Agrip.
All griefe to Agripyne.
Cypr.
Adew, I would say more, had I a tongue
Able to helpe his master: mightie king,
I humbly take my leaue, to Cyprus I,
My fathers Sonne, must all such shame defie.
Exit.
Orle.
So doth not Orleans, I defie all those,
That loue not Agripyne, and him defie,
That dares but loue her halfe so well as I.
O pardon me, I haue in sorrowes Iayle,
Hath bled, and neuer durst expose her wounds,
Till now, till now, when at thy beautious feete,
I offer loue and life, O cast an eye
Of mercy on me, this deformed face
Cannot affright my soule from louing thee.
Agri.
Talk not of loue, good Orleans, but of hate.
Orle.
What sentence will my loue pronounce on me?
Gall.
Will Orleans then be mad? O gentle friend.
Orle.
O gentle, gentle friend, I am not mad:
Hees mad, whose eyes on painted cheekes doe doate,
O Galloway; such read beauties booke by roate.
Hees mad, that pines for want of a gay flowre,
Which fades when grief doth blast, or sicknes lowre,
Which heate doth wither, and white ages frost
Nips dead: such fairenes, when tis found, tis lost,
I am not mad, for louing Agripyne,
My loue lookes on her eyes, with eyes diuine,
I doate on the rich brightnes of her mind,
That sacred beautie strikes all other blind,
O make me happie then, since my desires
Are set a burning by loues purest fires.
Athelst.
So thou wilt beare her far from England sight,
Inioy thy wishes.
Agrip.
Locke me in some caue,
Where staring wonders eye shall not be guiltie
To my abhorred lookes, and I will die
To thee, as ful of loue as miserie.
Athelst.
I am amazde and mad, some speckled soule
Lies pawnd for this in Hell, without redemption,
Some fiend deludes vs all.
Cornw.
O vniust Fates,
Why doe you hide from vs this misterie?
Lincol.
My Lord Montrosse, how long haue your browes worne
This fashion? these two feather-springs of horne?
Montr.
An Irish kerne sold me Damasco apples,
Some two howres since, and (like a credulous foole)
To make me strong in body, rich in mind,
I did beleeue his words, tasted his fruit,
And since haue beene attirde in this disguize.
Longa.
I feare that villaine hath beguild me too.
Cornw.
Nay before God he has not cozend you,
You haue it soundly.
Longa.
Me he made beleeue,
One apple of Damasco would inspire
My thoughts with wisedome, and vpon my cheekes
Would cast such beautie, that each Ladies eye,
Which lookt on me, should loue me presently.
Agrip.
Desire to looke more faire, makes me more fowle,
Those apples did intice my wandring eye,
To be enamord of deformitie.
Athelst.
This prooues that true, which oft I haue heard in schooles,
Those that would seeme most wise, doe turne most fooles.
Lincol.
Here's your best hope, none needes to hide his face,
For horned foreheads swarme in euery place.
Enter Chester bringing Andelocia like a French Doctor.
Athelst.
Now Chester, what Physitions hast thou found?
Chest.
Many, my leige, but none that haue true skill
To tame such wilde diseases: yet here's one,
A Doctor and a Frenchman, whome report
Of Agripynes griefe hath drawne to court.
Athelst.
Cure her, and Englands treasorie shall stand,
As free for thee to vse, as rayne from heauen.
Montr.
Cure me, and to thy Coffers I will send,
More gold from Scotland then thy life can spend.
Longa.
Cure Longauile, and all his wealth is thine.
Andel.
He Monsieur Long-villaine gra tanck you: Gra
tanck your mashestie a great teale artely by my trat: where be
dis Madam Princeza dat be so mush tormenta? O Ieshu: one,
2: an tree, 4 & 5, seez horne? Ha, ha, ha, pardona moy prea wid
al mine art, for by my trat, me can no point shose but laugh,
Oh, by my trat and fat, di diuela be whoreson, scuruie, paltry,
ill fauore knaue to mocke de Madam, and gentill-home so:
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Lincol.
This Doctor comes to mocke your maiestie.
Ande.
No by my trat la, but me loua musha musha merymant:
Come Madam, prea-artely stand still, and letta mee
feele you: dis horne, O tis prettie horne, dis be facile, easie for
pull de vey, but Madame dis O be grand, grand horne, difficill,
and very deepe, tis perilous, a grand Laroone. But Madam,
prea be patient, we shall take it off vell.
Athe.
Thrice haue we parde them off, but with fresh paine,
In compasse of a thought they rise againe.
Andel.
Its true, tis no easie mattra, to pull horne off, tis
easie for pull on, but hard for pull off, some horne bee so good
fellow, hee will still inhabit in de mans pate, but tis all one
for tat, I shall snap away all dis: Madam trust dis downe
into your little belly.
Agrip.
Father, I am in feare to taste his physicke.
First let him worke experiments on those.
Andel.
Ile sawce you for your infidelitie.
Aside.
In no place can I spie my wishing Hat.
Longa.
Thou learned Frenchman, trie thy skill on me,
More vgly then I am, I cannot be.
Montr.
Cure me, and Montrosse welth shall all be thine.
Andel.
Tis all one for dat: shall doe presently; Madam,
prea marke me: Monseiur, shamp dis in your two shaps, so,
now Monsieur Long-villaine; dis so: nowe dis, feare noting,
tis eshelent medicyne: so, now cram dis into your guts, and
belly: So, now snap away dis whoreson fowre diuela; Ha,
ha, Is no point good?
Puts Gallowayes hornes off.
Athelst.
This is most strange.
Wast painefull Longauyle?
Longa.
Ease tooke them off, and there remaines no paine.
Agrip.
O trie thy sacred Physicke on me.
Andel.
No by my trat, tis no possibla, tis no possibla, al de
mattra, all de ting, all de substance, all de medicyne, be among
Athelst.
Prepare it then, and thou shalt haue more gold
From Englands Coffers, then thy life can wast.
Andel.
I mush buy many costily tings dat grow in Arabia,
in Asia, and America, by my trat tis no possibla, till anoder
time, no point.
Agrip.
There's nothing in the world, but may for gold
Be bought in England, hold your lap ile rayne
A shower of Angels.
Andel.
Fie, fie, fie, fie, you no credit le dockature? Ha, but
vel, tis all one for tat: tis no mattera for gold: Uel, vel, vel, vel,
vel, me haue some more, prea say noting, shall bee presently
prepara for your hornes.
Worke braines, and once more make me fortunat.
Uel, vel, vel, vel, be patient Madam, presently, presently,
be patient, mee haue two, tree, fowre and fiue medicines for
de horne: presently Madam, stand you der, prea wid all mine
art, stand you all der: and say noting, so: nor looke noting dis
vey: so, presently, ppesently Madam, snip dis horne off wid
de rushes & anoder ting by and by, by and by, by and by, prea
looke none dis vey, and say noting.
Gets his Hat vp.
Athelst.
Let no man speake, or looke, vpon his life.
Doctor, none here shall rob thee of thy skill.
Andel.
So, taka dis hand: winck now prea artely wid
your two nyes: why so.
Exit with her.
Agrip.
Helpe, Father, helpe, I am hurried hence perforce.
Athelst.
Draw weapons, wheres the princesse, follow him,
Stay the French Doctor, stay the Doctor there.
Cornwall and some other run out, and enter presently.
Cornw.
Stay him, sh'art who dare stay him? tis the diuell
In likenesse of a Frenchman, of a Doctor.
Looke how a rascall Kyte hauing swept vp
A Chicken in his clawes, so flies this hell-hound
In th'ayre with Agripyne in his armes.
Orle.
Mount euery man vpon his swiftest horse.
Gall.
These paths weele beate.
Exeunt Gall. & Orleans.
Lincol.
And this way shall be mine.
Cornw.
This way, my Leige, ile ride.
Athelst.
And this way I:
No matter which way, to seeke miserie.
Exit Athelst.
Longa.
I can ride no way, to out-runne my shame.
Montr.
Yes, Longauile, lets gallop after too,
Doubtlesse this Doctor was that Irish diuell,
That cozend vs, the medicine which he gaue vs,
Tasted like his Damasco villanie.
To horse, to horse, if we can catch this fiend,
Our forked shame shall in his heart bloud end.
Longa.
O how this mads me, that all tongues in scorne,
Which way so ere I ryde, cry, Ware the horne.
Exeunt.
Enter Andelocia, with Agripyne, Ampedo and Shaddow.
Agrip.
O gentle Andelocia pittie me,
Take off this infamie, or take my life.
Andel.
Your life? you thinke then that I am a true Doctor
indeede, that tie vp my liuing in the knots of winding
sheetes: your life? no, keepe your life, but deliuer your purse:
you know the theifes salutation, Stand & deliuer. So, this is
mine, and these yours: Ile teach you to liue by the sweate of
other mens browes.
Shad.
And to striue to be fairer then God made her.
Andel.
Right, Shaddow: therefore vanish, you haue made
me turne Iugler, and crie hey-passe, but your hornes shall not
repasse.
Agrip.
O gentle Andelocia.
And.
Andelocia is a Nettle: if you touch him gently, heele sting you.
Shad.
Or a rose, if you pul his sweete stalke, heele prick you.
Andel.
Therefore not a word, goe, trudge to your Father:
sigh not for your purse, money may be got by you, as well as
by the little Welshwoman in Cyprus, that had but one horne
in her head, you haue two; and perhaps you shall cast both: as
y'are best flie, ile not endure one word more. Yet stay too, because
you intreate me so gently, and that ile make some amends
to your Father, although I care not for any King in
Christendome, yet hold you, take this Apple, eate it as you
goe to court, and your hornes shall play the cowards and fall
from you.
Agrip.
O gentle Andelocia.
And.
Nay away, not a word.
Shad.
Ha, ha, ha, &c. Ware hornes.
Exit Agrip. weeping.
Andel.
Why doest thou laugh, Shaddow?
Shad.
To see what a horne plague followes coueteousnesse and pride.
Amp.
Brother, what misteries lie in all this?
Andel.
Trickes, Ampedo, trickes, deuises, and mad Herogliphickes,
mirth, mirth, and melody. O, there's more musicke
in this, then all the Gammoth ares, and Sol fa Res, in
the world; here's the purse, and here's the Hat: because you
shal be sure ile not start, weare you this, you know his vertue;
if danger beset you, flie & away: A sort of broken-shind
limping legd Iades runne hobling to seeke vs: Shaddow,
weele for all this haue one fit of mirth more, to make vs laugh
and be fat.
Shad.
And when we are fat, master, weele doe as all gluttons
doe, laugh and lie downe.
Andel.
Hie thee to my chamber, make ready my richest
attire, ile to Court presently.
Shad.
Ile goe to Court in this attire, for apparell is but
the shaddow of a man, but shaddow is the substance of his apparell.
Exit Shaddow.
Andel.
Away, away, and meete me presently.
Amp.
I had more neede to crie, away to thee.
Away, away with this wilde lunacie,
Away with ryots.
Andel.
Away with your puritie, brother, y'are an Asse,
why doth this purse spit out gold but to be spent? why liues a
man in this world, to dwell in the Suburbs of it, as you doe?
Away forren simplicitie, away: are not eyes made to see faire
to feele them? Out you Stocke, you stone, you logs end: Are
not legs made to daunce, and shall mine limp vp and downe
the world after your cloth-stockin-heeles? you haue the Hat,
keepe it, anon ile visit your vertuous countenance againe, adew,
pleasure is my sweete mistris, I weare her loue in my
Hat, and her soule in my heart: I haue sworne to bee merry,
and in spite of Fortune and the blacke-browd destinies, ile
neuer be sad.
Exit.
Amped.
Goe, foole, in spite of mirth, thou shalt be sad.
Ile burie halfe thy pleasures in a graue
Of hungrie flames, this fire I did ordaine
To burne both purse and Hat: as this doth perish,
So shall the other: count what good and bad
They both haue wrought, the good is to the ill,
As a small Pible to a mightie hill.
Thy glorie and thy mischiefes here shall burne,
Good gifts abuzde to mans confusion turne.
Enter Longauile, and Montrosse with Souldiers.
Longa.
This is his brother; Souldiers, bind his armes.
Montr.
Bind armes and legs, and hale the fiend a way.
Amp.
Unciuill: wherefore must I taste your spite?
Longa.
Art thou not one of Fortunatus sonnes?
Amped.
I am, but he did neuer doe you wrong.
Longa.
The diuell thy brother has, villaine, looke here.
Montr.
Where is the beautious purse and wishing Hat?
Amped.
My brother Andelocia has the purse,
This way heele come anon to passe to court,
Alas, that sinne should make mens hearts so bold,
To kill their soules for the base thirst of gold.
The wishing Hat is burnt.
Montr.
Burnt? Souldiers bind him.
Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you,
Uillaine, ile be reueng'd for that base scorne,
Thy hell-hound brother clapt vpon my head.
And so will Longauyle.
Away with him.
Montr.
Drag him to yonder towre, there shackle him,
And in a paire of Stockes, locke vp his heeles,
And bid your wishing Cap deliuer you.
Giue vs the purse and Hat, weele set thee free,
Els rot to death and starue.
Amp.
Oh tyranny, you need not scorne the badge which you did beare:
Beasts would you be, though hornes you did not weare.
Montr.
Drag hence the cur: come noble Longauyle,
One's sure, and were the other fiend as fast,
Their pride should cost their liues: their purse and Hat
Shall be both ours, weele share them equally.
Longa.
That will be some amends for arming me.
Enter Andelocia and Shaddow after him.
Montr.
Peace, Longauyle, yonder the gallant comes.
Longa.
Y'are well encountred.
Andel.
Thankes, Lord Longauyle.
Longa.
The king expects your presence at the court.
Andel.
And thither am I going.
Shad.
Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, ha, ha, ha.
Montr.
Wert thou that Irishman that cozend vs?
Shad.
Pips fine, ha, ha, ha, no not I: not Shaddow.
Andel.
Were not your Apples delicate and rare?
Longa.
The worst that ere you sold; Sirs, bind him fast.
Andel.
What, wil you murder me? helpe, help, some helpe.
Shad.
Helpe, helpe, helpe.
Exit Shaddow.
Montr.
Follow that Dog, and stop his balling throate.
Andel.
Uillaines, what meanes this barbarous trechery?
Longa.
We meane to be reueng'd for our disgrace.
Montr.
And stop the golden current of thy wast.
Andel.
Murder, they murder me, O call for helpe.
Long.
Thy voice is spent in vaine, come, come, this purse,
This wel-spring of your prodigalitie.
Andel.
Are you appointed by the king to this?
Montr.
No, no, rise, spurne him vp: know you who's this?
My brother Ampedo? Alas, what fate
Hath made thy vertues so infortunate?
Amp.
Thy ryot and the wrong of these two Lords,
Who (causelesse) thus do starue me in this prison.
Longa.
Striue not y'are best, villaines, lift in his legs.
Andel.
Traitors to honor, what doe you intend?
Longa.
That ryot shall in wretchednesse haue end.
Question thy brother with what cost hees fed,
And so assure thou shalt be banquetted.
Exeunt they two.
Amp.
In want, in miserie, in woe and care,
Poore Ampedo his fill hath surfeted:
My want is famine, bolts my miserie,
My care and woe should be thy portion.
Andel.
Giue me that portion, for I haue a heart
Shall spend it freely, and make bankrowt
The proudest woe that euer wet mans eye.
Care with a mischiefe? wherefore should I care?
Haue I rid side by side by mightie kings,
Yet be thus bridled now? Ile teare these fetters.
Murder, crie murder, Ampedo, alowd.
To beare this scorne our Fortunes are too proud.
Amp.
O folly, thou hast powre to make flesh glad,
When the rich soule in wretchednesse is clad.
Ande.
Peace, foole, am not I Fortunes minion?
These bands are but one wrincle of her frowne,
This is her Euening maske, her next mornes eye
Shall ouer-shine the Sunne in maiestie.
Amp.
But this sad night will make an end of me.
Brother, farwell, griefe, famine, sorrow, want,
Haue made an end of wretched Ampedo.
Andel.
Where is the wishing Hat?
Amp.
Consum'd in fire.
Ande.
Accursed be those hands that did destroy it,
That would redeeme vs, did we now enioy it.
Amp.
Wanton farwel, I faint, deaths frozen hand
Congeales lifes little Riuer in my brest.
Dyes.
Andel.
O miserable, miserable soule.
Thus a foule life makes death to looke more foule.
Enter Longauyle and Montrosse with a halter.
Longa.
Thus shall this golden purse diuided be,
One day for you, another day for me.
Montr.
Of daies anon, say, what determine you,
Shall they haue libertie, or shall they die?
Long.
Die sure: and see, I thinke the elder's dead.
And.
I, murderers, he is dead. O sacred wisdome,
Had Fortunatus beene enamored
Of thy celestiall beautie, his two sonnes
Had shind like two bright Sunnes.
Longa.
Pul hard, Montrosse.
Andel.
Come you to strangle me? are you the hangman?
Hell-hounds y'are dam'd for this impietie.
Fortune, forgiue me, I deserue thy hate,
My selfe haue made my selfe a reprobate:
Uertue, forgiue me, for I haue transgrest
Against thy lawes, my vowes are quite forgot,
And therefore shame is falne to my sinnes lot.
Riches and knowledge are two gifts diuine.
They that abuse them both as I haue done,
To shame, to beggerie, to hell must runne.
O conscience hold thy sting, cease to afflict me.
Be quicke, tormentors, I desire to die.
No death is equall to my miserie.
Cyprus, vaine world, and Uanitie farwell.
Who builds his heauen on earth, is sure of hell.
Lon.
He's dead: in some deepe vault lets throw their bodies.
Montr.
First let vs see the purse, Lord Longauyle.
Longa.
Here tis, by this weele fill this towre with gold.
Montr.
Frenchman, this purse is counterfeit.
Longa.
Thou lyest.
Scot, thou hast cozend me, giue me the right,
Montr.
Uillaine, thou shalt not rob me of my due.
They fight: Enter Athelstane, Agripyna, Orleans, Galloway, Cornewall, Chester, Lincolne, and Shaddow with weapons at one dore: Fortune, Vice, and their attendants at another dore.
All.
Lay hands vpon the murderers, strike them downe.
Fortune.
Surrender vp this purse, for this is mine.
All.
Are these two diuels, or some powers diuine?
Shad.
O see, see, O my two masters, poore Shaddowes
substances; what shall I doe? whose body shall Shaddow now
follow?
Fort.
Peace, Ideot, thou shalt find rich heapes of fooles,
That will be proud to entertaine a Shaddow.
I charme thy babling lips from troubling me.
You need not hold them, see, I smite them downe
Lower then hell: base soules, sincke to your heauen.
Vice.
I doe arrest you both my prisoners.
Fort.
Stand not amazde, you gods of earth, at this,
Shee that arresteth these two fooles is Uice,
They haue broke Uertues laws, Uice is her serieant,
Her Iayler and her executioner.
Looke on those Cypriots, Fortunatus sonnes,
They and their Father were my minions,
My name is Fortune.
All.
O dread deitie.
Fort.
Kneele not to me: if Fortune list to frowne,
You need not fal downe, for sheele spurne you downe.
Arise, but fooles, on you ile triumph thus.
What haue you gaind by being couetous?
This prodigall purse did Fortunes bounteous hand
Bestow on them, their ryots made them poore,
And set these markes of miserable death,
On all their pride, the famine of base gold
Hath made your soules to murders hands be sold,
The vertues to be fled, Fortune hath causd it so,
Those that will all deuowre, must all forgoe.
Athelst.
Most sacred Goddesse.
Fortune.
Peace, you flatterer.
Thy tongue but heapes more vengeance on thy head.
Fortune is angrie with thee, in thee burnes
A greedie couetous fire; in Agripyne
Pride like a Monarch reuels, and those sinnes
Haue lead you blind-fold to your former shames,
But Uertue pardond you, and so doth Fortune.
Athelst. & Agrip.
All thankes to both your sacred deities.
Fort.
As for these Mettall-eaters, these base thieues,
Who rather then they would be counted poore,
Will dig through hell for gold, you were forgiuen
By Uertues generall pardon; her broad seale
Gaue you your liues, when shee tooke off your hornes.
Yet hauing scarce one foote out of the Iayle,
You tempt damnation by more desperate meanes,
You both are mortall, and your paines shall ring
Through both your eares, to terrifie your soules,
As please the Iudgement of this mortall king.
Athelst.
Faire Empresse of the world, since you resigne
Your power to me, this sentence shall be mine,
Thou shalt be torturd on a wheele to death,
Thou with wild horses shalt be quartered.
Vice.
Ha, ha, weake Iudge, weake iudgement, I reuerse
That sentence, for they are my prisoners,
Embalme the bodies of those Cypriots,
And honour them with princely buriall,
For those doe as you please, but for these two,
I kisse you both, I loue you, y'are my minions.
Untie their bands, Uice doth repriue you both,
I set you free.
Both.
Thankes, gracious deitie.
Vice.
Be gon, but you in libertie shall find
Both wander with tormented conscience.
Longa.
O horrid Iudgement, thats the hell indeede.
Mon.
Come, come, our death ne're ends if conscience bleede.
Both.
O miserable, miserable men.
Exeunt.
Fortune.
Fortune triumphes at this, yet to appeare,
All like my selfe, that which from those I tooke,
King Athelstane I will bestow on thee,
And in it the old vertue I infuse:
But, king, take heede how thou my gifts doest vse.
England shall ne're be poore, if England striue,
Rather by vertue, then by wealth to thriue.
Enter Vertue, crownd: Nymphes and kings attendin on her, crownd with Oliue branches and lawrels, musicke sounding.
Vice.
Uertue? alas good soule, shee hides her head.
Vert.
What enuious tongue said, Uertue hides her head?
Vice.
Shee that will driue thee into banishment.
Fort.
Shee that hath conquerd thee; how dar'st thou come,
Thus trickt in gawdy Feathers, and thus garded,
Which crowned kings and Muses, when thy foe
Hath trod thus on thee, and now triumphes so?
Where's vertuous Ampedo? See, hees her slaue,
For following thee this recompence they haue.
Vert.
Is Ampedo her slaue? why thats my glorie.
The Idiots cap I once wore on my head,
Did figure him, those that (like him) doe muffle
Uertue in clouds, and care not how shee shine,
Ile make their glorie like to his decline:
He made no vse of me, but like a miser,
Lockt vp his wealth in rustie barres of sloth:
His face was beautifull, but wore a maske,
And in the worlds eyes seemd a Blackamore.
So perish they that so keepe vertue poore.
Thou art a foole to striue, I am more strong,
And greater then thy selfe, then Uertue flie,
And hide thy face, yeeld me the victorie.
Vert.
Is Uice higher then Uertue? thats my glorie,
The higher that thou art, thou art more horrid,
The world will loue me for my comlynesse.
Fortu.
Thine owne selfe loues thy selfe: why on the heads
Of Agripyne, Montrosse and Longauyle,
(English, Scot, French) did Uice clap vgly hornes,
But to approue that English, French and Scot,
And all the world els, kneele and honour Uice,
But in no Countrie, Uertue is of price?
Vert.
Yes, in all Countries Uertue is of price,
In euery kingdome some diuiner brest
Is more enamord of me then the rest.
Haue English, Scot, and French bowd knees to thee?
Why thats my glorie too, for by their shame,
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.
Fortune, thou art too weake, Uice th'art a foole,
To fight with me, I suffred you awhile,
T'ecclips my brightnes, but I now will shine,
And make you sweare your beautie's base to mine.
Fort.
Thou art too insolent, see here's a court
Of mortall Iudges, lets by them be tride,
Which of vs three shall most be deifide.
Vice.
I am content.
Fort.
And I.
Vert.
So am not I.
My Iudge shall be your sacred deitie.
Vice.
O miserable me, I am vndon.
Exit Vice and her traine.
All.
O stop the horrid monster.
Vert.
Let her runne.
Fortune, who conquers now?
Fort.
Uertue, I see,
Thou wilt triumph both ouer her and me.
All.
Empresse of heauen and earth.
Why doe you mocke me?
Kneele not to me, to her transfer your eyes,
There sits the Queene of Chance, I bend my knees,
Lower then yours: dread goddesse, tis most meete,
That Fortune fall downe at thy conqu'ring feete.
Thou sacred Empresse that commandst the Fates,
Forgiue what I haue to thy handmaid don,
And at thy Chariot wheeles Fortune shall run,
And be thy captiue and to thee resigne
All powers which heau'ns large Patent haue made mine.
Vert.
Fortune th'art vanquisht: sacred deitie,
O now pronounce who winnes the victorie,
And yet that sentence needes not, since alone,
Your vertuous presence Uice hath ouer-throwne,
Yet to confirme the conquest on your side,
Looke but on Fortunatus and his sonnes
Of all the welth those gallants did possesse,
Onely poore Shaddow is left comfortlesse,
Their glorye's faded and their golden pride.
Sha.
Only poore Shadow tels how poore they died.
Vert.
All that they had, or mortall men can haue,
Sends onely but a Shaddow from the graue.
Uertue alone liues still, and liues in you,
I am a counterfeit. you are the true,
I am a Shaddow, at your feete I fall,
Begging for these, and these, my selfe and all.
All these that thus doe kneele before your eyes,
Are shaddowes like my selfe, dred Nymph it lyes
In you to make vs substances. O doe it,
Uertue I am sure you loue, shee woes you to it.
I read a verdict in your Sun-like eyes,
And this it is: Uertue the victorie.
All.
All loudly cry, Uertue the victorie,
Vert.
Uertue the victorie: for ioy of this,
Those selfe same himnes which you to Fortune sung
Let them be now in Uertues honour rung.
The Song.
Uertue smiles: crie hollyday,
Dimples on her cheekes doe dwell,
Uertue frownes, crie wellada,
Her loue is Heauen, her hate is Hell.
Since heau'n and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes doe lowre.
Since heau'n and hell her power obay,
Where shee smiles, crie hollyday,
Hollyday with ioy we crie,
And bend, and bend, and merily,
Sing hymnes to vertues deitie:
Sing hymnes to Uertues deitie.
As they all offer to goe in, Enter the two old men.
| The Pleasant Comedie of Old Fortunatus | |