Part 25

_Fort._ I gave it to the Turkish Soliman, A second I bestowed on Prester John, A third the great Tartarian Cham received: For with these monarchs have I banqueted, And rid with them in triumph through their courts, In crystal chariots drawn by unicorns. England, France, Spain, and wealthy Belgia, And all the rest of Europe’s blessed daughters, Have made my covetous eye rich in th’ embrace Of their celestial beauties; now I come To see the glory of fair Babylon. Is Fortunatus welcome to the Soldan? For I am like the sun, if Jove once chide, My gilded brows from amorous Heaven I hide.

_Sold._ Most welcome, and most happy are mine arms In circling such an earthly deity; 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 virtuous spirit Into the heart thereof, all which is done By a most sacred inspiration.

_Sold._ Welcome, most welcome to the Soldan’s court; Stay here and be the King of Babylon: Stay here, I will more amaze thine eyes With wondrous sights, than can all Asia. Behold yon town, there stands mine armoury, In which are corselets forged of beaten gold, To arm ten hundred thousand fighting men, Whose glittering squadrons when the sun beholds, They seem like to ten hundred thousand Joves, When Jove on the proud back of thunder rides, Trapped all in lightning flames: there can I show thee The ball of gold that set all Troy on fire;[366] There shalt thou see the scarf of Cupid’s mother, Snatched from the soft moist ivory of her arm, To wrap about Adonis’ wounded thigh; There shalt thou see a wheel of Titan’s care, Which dropped from Heaven when Phaeton fired the world:[367] I’ll give thee, if thou wilt, two silver doves Composed by magic to divide the air, Who, as they fly, shall clap their silver wings, And give strange music to the elements; I’ll give thee else the fan of Proserpine, Which in reward for a sweet Thracian song, The black-browed Empress threw to Orpheus, Being come to fetch Eurydice from hell.

[366] The golden apple which Paris adjudged to Venus.

[367] Alluding to Phaeton’s flight, and the fiery disruption of his chariot.

_Fort._ Hath ever mortal eye beheld these wonders?

_Sold._ Thine shall behold them, and make choice of any, So thou wilt give the Soldan such a purse.

_Fort._ By Fortune’s blessèd hand, who christened me, The mighty Soldan shall have such a purse, Provided I may see these priceless wonders.

_Sold._ Leave us alone: [_Exeunt ~Nobles~._] never was mortal ear Acquainted with the virtue of a jewel, Which now I’ll show, out-valuing all the rest.

_Fort._ It is impossible.

_Sold._ Behold this casket, [_Draws a curtain._ Fettered in golden chains, the lock pure gold, The key of solid gold, which myself keep, And here’s the treasure that’s contained in it. [_Takes out the hat._

_Fort._ A coarse felt hat? is this the precious jewel?

_Sold._ I’ll not exchange this for ten diadems. On pain of death, none listen to our talk.

_Fort._ What needs this solemn conjuration!

_Sold._ O, yes, for none shall understand the worth Of this inestimable ornament, But you: and yet not you, but that you swear By her white hand, that lent you such a name, To leave a wondrous purse in Babylon.

_Fort._ What I have sworn, I will not violate, But now uncover the virtues of this hat.

_Sold._ I think none listen; if they do, they die.

_Fort._ None listen: tell, what needs this jealousy?

_Sold._ You see ’tis poor in show; did I want jewels, Gold could beget them, but the wide world’s wealth Buys not this hat: this clapped upon my head, I, only with a wish, am through the air Transported in a moment over seas And over lands to any secret place; By this I steal to every prince’s court, And hear their private counsels and prevent All dangers which to Babylon are meant; By help of this I oft see armies join, Though when the dreadful Alvarado[368] sounds, I am distant from the place a thousand leagues. Oh, had I such a purse and such a hat, The Soldan were, of all, most fortunate.

[368] A martial term, probably of Spanish derivation, for the summons to battle.

_Fort._ Oh, had I such a hat, then were I brave. Where’s he that made it?

_Sold._ Dead, and the whole world Yields not a workman that can frame the like.

_Fort._ No, does’t?[369] By what trick shall I make this mine? [_Aside._ Methinks, methinks, when you are borne o’er seas, And over lands, the heaviness thereof Should weigh you down, drown you, or break your neck.

[369] “No does?” simply in the original, which is not intelligible. In full it would seem to imply “No, does it not?”

_Sold._ No, ’tis more light than any hat beside: Your hand shall peise[370] it.

[370] Poise, weigh. “Peise” is still in use in some parts of the north of England.

_Fort._ Oh, ’tis wondrous heavy.

_Sold._ Fie, y’are deceived: try it upon your head.

_Fort._ Would I were now in Cyprus with my sons. [_Exit._

_Sold._ Stay! Fortunatus, stay! I am undone. Treason, lords, treason, get me wings, I’ll fly After this damnèd traitor through the air.

_Re-enter ~Nobles~._

_Nobles._ Who wrongs the mighty King of Babylon?

_Sold._ This Fortunatus, this fiend, wrongs your king.

_Nobles._ Lock the court gates, where is the devil hid?

_Sold._ No gates, no grates of iron imprison him, Like a magician breaks he through the clouds, Bearing my soul with him, for that jewel gone, I am dead, and all is dross in Babylon. Fly after him!--’tis vain: on the wind’s wings, He’ll ride through all the courts of earthly kings.

_Nobles._ What is the jewel that your grace hath lost?

_Sold._ He dies that troubles me: call me not king; For I’ll consume my life in sorrowing. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

## SCENE II.--_Outside the House of_ FORTUNATUS.

_Enter_ ANDELOCIA, _very gallant,[371] and_ SHADOW.

[371] _i.e._ Gallantly attired.

_Andel._ Shadow? what have I lost to-day at dice?

_Shad._ More than you will win again in a month.

_Andel._ Why, sir, how much comes it to?

_Shad._ It comes to nothing, sir, for you have lost your wits; and when a man’s wits are lost, the man is like twenty pounds’ worth of tobacco, which mounts into th’ air, and proves nothing but one thing.

_Andel._ And what thing is that, you ass?

_Shad._ Marry, sir, that he is an ass that melts so much money in smoke.

_Andel._ ’Twere a charitable deed to hang thee a smoking.

_Shad._ I should never make good bacon, because I am not fat.

_Andel._ I’ll be sworn thy wit is lean.

_Shad._ It’s happy I have a lean wit: but, master, you have none; for when your money tripped away, that went after it, and ever since you have been mad. Here comes your brother.

_Enter_ AMPEDO.

Borrow a dram of him, if his be not mouldy: for men’s wits in these days are like the cuckoo, bald once a year, and that makes motley so dear, and fools so good cheap.

_Andel._ Brother, all hail.

_Shad._ There’s a rattling salutation.

_Andel._ You must lend me some more money. Nay, never look so strange, an you will come off, so; if you will bar me from square play, do. Come, come, when the old traveller my father comes home, like a young ape, full of fantastic tricks, or a painted parrot stuck full of outlandish feathers, he’ll lead the world in a string, and then like a hot shot I’ll charge and discharge all.

_Shad._ I would be loth, master, to see that day: for he leads the world in a string that goes to hanging.

_Andel._ Take heed I turn not that head into the world, and lead you so. Brother wilt be? Ha’ ye any ends of gold or silver?

_Amp._ Thus wanton revelling breeds beggary. Brother, ’twere better that you still lived poor. Want would make wisdom rich: but when your coffers Swell to the brim, then riot sets up sails, And like a desperate unskilled mariner Drives your unsteady fortunes on the point Of wreck inevitable. Of all the wealth Left by our father, when he left us last, This little is unspent, and this being wasted, Your riot ends; therefore consume it all. I’ll live; or dying, find some burial.

_Andel._ Thanks for my crowns.[372] Shadow, I am villainous hungry, to hear one of the seven wise masters talk thus emptily.

[372] In the original these words ate assigned to Ampedo, an evident error.

_Shad._ I am a villain, master, if I am not hungry.

_Andel._ Because I’ll save this gold, sirrah Shadow, we’ll feed ourselves with paradoxes.

_Shad._ Oh rare: what meat’s that?

_Andel._ Meat, you gull: ’tis no meat: a dish of paradoxes is a feast of strange opinion, ’tis an ordinary that our greatest gallants haunt nowadays, because they would be held for statesmen.

_Shad._ I shall never fill my belly with opinions.

_Andel._ In despite of sway-bellies, gluttons, and sweet mouthed epicures, I’ll have thee maintain a paradox in commendations of hunger.

_Shad._ I shall never have the stomach to do’t.

_Andel._ See’st thou this crusado?[373] do it, and turn this into a feast.

[373] A Portuguese coin having a cross on one side and worth about 2_s._ 3_d._, but varying in value at different times.

_Shad._ Covetousness and lechery are two devils, they’ll tempt a man to wade through deep matters: I’ll do’t though good cheer conspire 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 invocation.

_Andel._ Silence!

_Shad._ There’s no man but loves one of these three beasts, a horse, a hound, or a whore; the horse by his goodwill has his head ever in the manger; the whore with your ill will has her hand ever in your purse; and a hungry dog eats dirty puddings.

_Andel._ This is profound, forward: the conclusion of this now.

_Shad._ The conclusion is plain: for since all men love one of these three monsters, being such terrible eaters, therefore all men love hunger.

_Amp._ A very lean argument.

_Shad._ I can make it no fatter.

_Andel._ Proceed, good Shadow; this fats me.

_Shad._ Hunger is made of gunpowder.

_Andel._ Give fire to that opinion.

_Shad._ Stand by, lest it blow you up. Hunger is made of gunpowder, or gunpowder of hunger, for they both eat through stone walls; hunger is a grindstone, it sharpens wit; hunger is fuller of love than Cupid, for it makes a man eat himself; hunger was the first that ever opened a cook shop, cooks the first that ever made sauce, sauce being liquorish, licks up good meat; good meat preserves life: hunger therefore preserves life.

_Amp._ By my consent thou shouldst still live by hunger.

_Shad._ Not so, hunger makes no man mortal: hunger is an excellent physician, for he dares kill any body. Hunger is one of the seven liberal sciences.

_Andel._ Oh learned! Which of the seven?

_Shad._ Music, for she’ll make a man leap at a crust; but as few care for her six sisters, so none love to dance after her pipe. Hunger, master, is hungry and covetous; therefore the crusado.

_Andel._ But hast thou no sharper reasons than this?

_Shad._ Yes, one: the dagger of Cyprus had never stabbed out such six penny pipes, but for hunger.

_Andel._ Why, you dolt, these pipes[374] are but in their minority.

[374] “Pies” in the original, an evident misprint.

_Shad._ My belly and my purse have been twenty times at dagger’s drawing, with parting the little urchins.

_Enter_ FORTUNATUS.

_Amp._ Peace, idiot, peace, my father is returned.

_Fort._ Touch me not, boys, I am nothing but air; let none speak to me, till you have marked me well.

_Shad._ (_Chalking_ FORTUNATUS’ _back_.) Now speak your mind.

_Amp._ Villain, why hast thou chalked my father’s back?

_Shad._ Only to mark him, and to try what colour air is of.

_Fort._ Regard him not, Ampedo: Andelocia, Shadow, view me, am I as you are, or am I transformed?

_Andel._ I thought travel would turn my father madman or fool.

_Amp._ How should you be transformed? I see no change.

_Shad._ If your wits be not planet stricken, if your brains lie in their right place, you are well enough; for your body is little mended by your fetching vagaries.

_Andel._ Methinks, father, you look as you did, only your face is more withered.

_Fort._ That’s not my fault; age is like love, it cannot be hid.

_Shad._ Or like gunpowder a-fire, or like a fool, or like a young novice new come to his lands: for all these will show of what house they come. Now, sir, you may amplify.

_Fort._ Shadow, turn thy tongue to a shadow, be silent! Boys, be proud, your father hath the whole world in this compass, I am all felicity, up to the brims. In a minute am I come from Babylon, I have been this half-hour in Famagosta.

_Andel._ How? in a minute, father? Ha, ha, I see travellers must lie.

_Shad._ ’Tis their destiny: the Fates do so conspire.

_Fort._ I have cut through the air like a falcon; I would have it seem strange to you.

_Shad._ So it does, sir.

_Fort._ But ’tis true: I would not have you believe it neither.

_Shad._ No more we do not, sir.

_Fort._ But ’tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you, brought me to Cyprus. I’ll leave you more gold, and go visit more countries.

_Shad._ Leave us gold enough, and we’ll make all countries come visit us.

_Amp._ The frosty hand of age now nips your blood, And strews her snowy flowers upon your head, And gives you warning that within few years, Death needs must marry you: those short-lived minutes, That dribble out your life, must needs be spent In peace, not travel: rest in Cyprus then. Could you survey ten worlds, yet you must die; And bitter is the sweet that’s reaped thereby.

_Andel._ Faith, father, what pleasure have you met by walking your stations?

_Fort._ What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with kings, danced with queens, dallied with ladies, worn strange attires, seen fantasticos, conversed with humorists, been ravished with divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian harmonies. I have spent the day in triumphs, and the night in banqueting.

_Andel._ Oh rare: this was heavenly.

_Shad._ Methinks ’twas horrible.

_Andel._ He that would not be an Arabian phœnix to burn in these sweet fires, let him live like an owl for the world to wonder at.

_Amp._ Why, brother, are not all these vanities?

_Fort._ Vanities? Ampedo, thy soul is made of lead, too dull, too ponderous to mount up to the incomprehensible glory that travel lifts men to.

_Shad._ My old master’s soul is cork and feathers, and being so light doth easily mount up.

_Andel._ Sweeten mine ears, good father, with some more.

_Fort._ When in the warmth of mine own country’s arms We yawned like sluggards, when this small horizon Imprisoned up my body, then mine eyes Worshipped these clouds as brightest; but, my boys, The glist’ring beams which do abroad appear In other heavens,--fire is not half so clear.

_Shad._ Why, sir, are there other heavens in other countries?

_Andel._ Peace; interrupt him not upon thy life.

_Fort._ For still in all the regions I have seen, I scorned to crowd among the muddy throng Of the rank multitude, whose thickened breath, Like to condensèd fogs, do choke that beauty, Which else would dwell in every kingdom’s cheek. No, I still boldly stept into their courts, For there to live ’tis rare, O ’tis divine; There shall you see faces angelical, There shall you see troops of chaste goddesses, Whose star-like eyes have power, might they still shine, To make night day, and day more crystalline. Near these you shall behold great heroes, White-headed counsellors and jovial spirits, Standing like fiery cherubims to guard The monarch, who in god-like glory sits In midst of these, as if this deity Had with a look created a new world, The standers by being the fair workmanship.

_Andel._ Oh how my soul is rapt to a third heaven. I’ll travel sure, and live with none but kings.

_Shad._ Then Shadow must die among knaves; and yet why so? In a bunch of cards, knaves wait upon the kings.

_Andel._ When I turn king, then shalt thou wait on me.

_Shad._ Well, there’s nothing impossible: a dog has his day, and so have you.

_Amp._ But tell me, father, have you in all courts Beheld such glory, so majestical In all perfection, no way blemishèd?

_Fort._ In some courts shall you see ambition Sit piercing Dedalus’ old waxen wings, But being clapped on, and they about to fly, Even when their hopes are busied in the clouds, They melt against the sun of majesty, And down they tumble to destruction: For since the Heaven’s strong arms teach kings to stand, Angels are placed about their glorious throne, To guard it from the strokes of trait’rous hands. By travel, boys, I have seen all these things. Fantastic compliment stalks up and down, Tricked in outlandish feathers, all his words, His looks, his oaths, are all ridiculous, All apish, childish, and Italianate.[375]

[375] A common reproach for the affectation of the courtiers in Elizabeth’s reign.

_Enter_ FORTUNE _in the background: after her ~The Three Destinies~,[376] working_.

[376] See note _ante._ p. 301. “The Parcae were generally represented as three old women with chaplets made with wool, and interwoven with the flowers of the narcissus. They were covered with a white robe, and fillet of the same colour, bound with chaplets. One of them held a distaff, another the spindle, and the third was armed with scissors with which she cut the thread which her sisters had spun.”--_Lempriere._

_Shad._ I know a medicine for that malady.

_Fort._ By travel, boys, I have seen all these things.

_Andel._ And these are sights for none but gods and kings.

_Shad._ Yes, and for Christian creatures, if they be not blind.

_Fort._ In these two hands do I grip all the world. This leather purse, and this bald woollen hat Make me a monarch. Here’s my crown and sceptre! In progress will I now go through the world. I’ll crack your shoulders, boys, with bags of gold Ere I depart; on Fortune’s wings I ride, And now sit in the height of human pride.

_Fortune._ (_Coming forward._) Now, fool, thou liest; where thy proud feet do tread, These shall throw down thy cold and breathless head.

_Fort._ O sacred deity, what sin is done, That Death’s iron fist should wrestle with thy son? [_All kneel._

_Fortune._ Thou art no son of Fortune, but her slave: Thy cedar hath aspired to his full height. Thy sun-like glory hath advanced herself Into the top of pride’s meridian, And down amain it comes. From beggary I plumed thee like an ostrich, like that ostrich Thou hast eaten metals, and abused my gifts, Hast played the ruffian, wasted that in riots Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee.

_Fort._ Forgive me, I will be more provident.

_Fortune._ No, endless follies follow endless wealth. Thou hadst thy fancy, I must have thy fate, Which is, to die when th’art most fortunate. This inky thread, thy ugly sins have spun, Black life, black death; faster! that it were done.

_Fort._ Oh, let me live, but till I can redeem.

_Fortune._ The Destinies deny thee longer life.

_Fort._ I am but now lifted to happiness.

_Fortune._ And now I take most pride to cast thee down. Hadst thou chosen wisdom, this black had been white, And Death’s stern brow could not thy soul affright.

_Fort._ Take this again! (_Offering the purse._) Give wisdom to my sons.

_Fortune._ No, fool, ’tis now too late: as death strikes thee, So shall their ends sudden and wretched be. Jove’s daughters--righteous Destinies--make haste! His life hath wasteful been, and let it waste.

[_Exeunt_ FORTUNE _and ~The Three Destinies~_.

_Andel._ Why the pox dost thou sweat so?

_Shad._ For anger to see any of God’s creatures have such filthy faces as these sempsters[377] had that went hence.

[377] Sempstresses, alluding to their spinning.

_Andel._ Sempsters? why, you ass, they are Destinies.

_Shad._ Indeed, if it be one’s destiny to have a filthy face, I know no remedy but to go masked and cry “Woe worth the Fates.”

_Amp._ Why droops my father? these are only shadows, Raised by the malice of some enemy, To fright your life, o’er which they have no power.

_Shad._ Shadows? I defy their kindred.

_Fort._ O Ampedo, I faint; help me, my sons.

_Andel._ Shadow, I pray thee run and call more help.

_Shad._ If that desperate Don Dego[378] Death hath ta’en up the cudgels once, here’s never a fencer in Cyprus dare take my old master’s part.

[378] See _The Devil’s Answer to Pierce Pennylesse_, p. 100, “that great Dego of Devils.”--_Dekker’s Non-Dramatic Works._

_Andel._ Run, villain, call more help.

_Shad._ Bid him thank the Destinies for this. [_Exit._

_Fort._ Let me shrink down, and die between your arms, Help comes in vain. No hand can conquer fate, This instant is the last of my life’s date. This goddess, if at least she be a goddess, Names herself Fortune: wand’ring in a wood, Half famished, her I met. I have, quoth she, Six gifts to spend upon mortality, Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life and riches. Out of my bounty one of these is thine.

_Amp._ What benefit did from your choice arise?

_Fort._ Listen, my sons! in this small compass lies Infinite treasure: this she gave to me, And gave to this, this virtue, Take, quoth she, So often as from hence thou draw’st thy hand, Ten golden pieces of that kingdom’s coin, Where’er thou liv’st; which plenteous sure shall last, After thy death, till thy sons’ lives do waste.

_Andel._ Father, your choice was rare, the gift divine.

_Fort._ It had been so, if riches had been mine.

_Amp._ But hath this golden virtue never failed?

_Fort._ Never.

_Andel._ O admirable: here’s a fire Hath power to thaw the very heart of death, And give stones life; by this most sacred breath,[379] See brother, here’s all India in my hand.

[379] Death, in original,--an evident misprint.

_Fort._ Inherit you, my sons, that golden land. This hat I brought away from Babylon, I robbed the Soldan of it, ’tis a prize Worth twenty empires in this jewel lies.

_Andel._ How, father? jewel? call you this a jewel? it’s coarse wool, a bald fashion, and greasy to the brim; I have bought a better felt for a French crown forty times: of what virtuous block is this hat, I pray?

_Fort._ Set it upon thy head, and wish a wish, Thou in the moment, on the wind’s swift wings, Shalt be transported into any place.

_Andel._ A wishing hat, and a golden mine?

_Fort._ O Andelocia, Ampedo, now Death Sounds his third summons, I must hence! These jewels To both I do bequeath; divide them not, But use them equally: never bewray What virtues are in them; for if you do, Much shame, much grief, much danger follows you. Peruse this book; farewell! behold in me The rotten strength of proud mortality. [_Dies._

_Amp._ His soul is wandering to the Elysian shades.

_Andel._ The flower that’s fresh at noon, at sunset fades.