I cannot, seeing she’s woven of such bad stuff,
Set colours on a harlot base enough.
Nothing did make me, when I loved them best,
To loathe them more than this: when in the street
A fair young modest damsel I did meet,
She seemed to all a dove, when I passed by,
And I to all a raven: every eye
That followed her went with a bashful glance,
At me each bold and jeering countenance
Darted forth scorn; to her as if she had been
Some tower unvanquished, would they vail,
’Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail.
She, crowned with reverend praises, passed by them,
I, though with face masked, could not ’scape the hem,
For, as if Heaven had set strange marks on whores,
Because they should be pointing stocks to man,
Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan--
Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,
Yet she’s betrayed by some trick of her own.
Were harlots therefore wise, they’d be sold dear:
For men account them good but for one year,
And then like almanacs whose dates are gone,
They are thrown by, and no more looked upon.
Who’ll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth
In seas so foul, for ventures no more worth?
Lust’s voyage hath, if not this course, this cross,
Buy ne’er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss.
What, shall I sound retreat? the battle’s done:
Let the world judge which of us two have won.
_Hip._ I!
_Bell._ You? nay then as cowards do in fight,
What by blows cannot, shall be saved by flight. [_Exit._
_Hip._ Fly to earth’s fixèd centre: to the caves
Of everlasting horror, I’ll pursue thee,
Though loaden with sins, even to hell’s brazen doors.
Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE II.--_An Apartment in the_ DUKE’S _Palace_.
_Enter the_ DUKE, LODOVICO, _and_ ORLANDO, _disguised as a
~Serving-man~; after them_ INFELICE, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, BERALDO, _and_
FONTINELL.
_Orl._ I beseech your grace, though your eye be so piercing as
under a poor blue coat to cull out an honest father from an
old serving-man, yet, good my lord, discover not the plot to
any, but only this gentleman that is now to be an actor in our
ensuing comedy.
_Duke._ Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown,
Sforza shall only go along with thee,
To see that warrant served upon thy son.
_Lod._ To attach him upon felony, for two pedlars: is’t not so?
_Orl._ Right, my noble knight: those pedlars were two knaves of
mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he purposes to flay the
master. He will rob me; his teeth water to be nibbling at my
gold, but this shall hang him by th’ gills, till I pull him on
shore.
_Duke._ Away: ply you the business.
_Orl._ Thanks to your grace: but, my good lord, for my daughter--
_Duke._ You know what I have said.
_Orl._ And remember what I have sworn. She’s more honest, on
my soul, than one of the Turks’ wenches, watched by a hundred
eunuchs.
_Lod._ So she had need, for the Turks make them whores.
_Orl._ He’s a Turk that makes any woman a whore; he’s no true
Christian, I’m sure. I commit your grace.
_Duke._ Infelice.
_Inf._ Here, sir.
_Lod._ Signor Friscobaldo.
_Orl._ Frisking again? Pacheco.
_Lod._ Uds so, Pacheco? we’ll have some sport with this warrant:
’tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house. Besides,
there’s one Bots a pander, and one Madam Horseleech a bawd, that
have abused my friend; those two conies will we ferret into the
purse-net.[292]
[292] A net, the mouth of which was drawn together with a string.
_Orl._ Let me alone for dabbing them o’th’ neck: come, come.
_Lod._ Do ye hear, gallants? meet me anon at Matheo’s.
_Car._, _Ast._, _&c._ Enough. [_Exeunt_ LODOVICO _and_
ORLANDO.
_Duke._ Th’ old fellow sings that note thou didst before
Only his tunes are, that she is no whore,
But that she sent his letters and his gifts,
Out of a noble triumph o’er his lust,
To show she trampled his assaults in dust.
_Inf._ ’Tis a good honest servant, that old man.
_Duke._ I doubt no less.
_Inf._ And it may be my husband,
Because when once this woman was unmasked,
He levelled all her thoughts, and made them fit,
Now he’d mar all again, to try his wit.
_Duke._ It may be so too, for to turn a harlot
Honest, it must be by strong antidotes;
’Tis rare, as to see panthers change their spots.
And when she’s once a star fixed and shines bright,
Though ’twere impiety then to dim her light,
Because we see such tapers seldom burn,
Yet ’tis the pride and glory of some men,
To change her to a blazing star again,
And it may be, Hippolito does no more.
It cannot be but you’re acquainted all
With that same madness of our son-in law,
That dotes so on a courtesan.
_All._ Yes, my lord.
_Car._ All the city thinks he’s a whoremonger.
_Ast._ Yet I warrant he’ll swear no man marks him.
_Ber._ ’Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, it is as if
he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet
he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen
bear warders.
_Duke._ I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths, You
might be all smelt out.
_Car._ Troth, my lord, I think we are all as you ha’ been in
your youth when you went a-maying, we all love to hear the
cuckoo sing upon other men’s trees.
_Duke._ It’s well; yet you confess. But, girl, thy bed
Shall not be parted with a courtesan.
’Tis strange,
No frown of mine, no frown of the poor lady,
My abused child, his wife, no care of fame,
Of honour, heaven, or hell, no not that name
Of common strumpet, can affright, or woo him
To abandon her; the harlot does undo him;
She has bewitched him, robbed him of his shape,
Turned him into a beast, his reason’s lost;
You see he looks wild, does he not?
_Car._ I ha’ noted new moons
In’s face, my lord, all full of change.
_Duke._ He’s no more like unto Hippolito,
Than dead men are to living--never sleeps,
Or if he do, it’s dreams: and in those dreams
His arms work, and then cries, Sweet--what’s her name,
What’s the drab’s name?
_Ast._ In troth, my lord, I know not,
I know no drabs, not I.
_Duke._ Oh, Bellafront!--
And, catching her fast, cries, My Bellafront!
_Car._ A drench that’s able to kill a horse, cannot kill this
disease of smock smelling, my lord, if it have once eaten deep.
_Duke._ I’ll try all physic, and this medicine first:
I have directed warrants strong and peremptory
To purge our city Milan, and to cure
The outward parts, the suburbs, for the attaching
Of all those women, who like gold want weight,
Cities, like ships, should have no idle freight.
_Car._ No, my lord, and light wenches are no idle freight; but
what’s your grace’s reach in this?
_Duke._ This, Carolo. If she whom my son doats on,
Be in that muster-book enrolled, he’ll shame
Ever t’approach one of such noted name.
_Car._ But say she be not?
_Duke._ Yet on harlots’ heads
New laws shall fall so heavy, and such blows shall
Give to those that haunt them, that Hippolito
If not for fear of law, for love to her,
If he love truly, shall her bed forbear.
_Car._ Attach all the light heels i’th’ city, and clap ’em up?
why, my lord, you dive into a well unsearchable: all the whores
within the walls, and without the walls? I would not be he
should meddle with them for ten such dukedoms; the army that you
speak on is able to fill all the prisons within this city, and
to leave not a drinking room in any tavern besides.
_Duke._ Those only shall be caught that are of note;
Harlots in each street flow:
The fish being thus i’th net, ourself will sit,
And with eye most severe dispose of it.
Come, girl. [_Exeunt_ DUKE _and_ INFELICE.
_Car._ Arraign the poor whores!
_Ast._ I’ll not miss that sessions.
_Font._ Nor I.
_Ber._ Nor I, though I hold up my hand there myself. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_A Room in_ MATHEO’S _House_.
_Enter_ MATHEO, LODOVICO, _and_ ORLANDO _disguised as a ~Serving-man~_.
_Mat._ Let who will come, my noble chevalier, I can but play the
kind host, and bid ’em welcome.
_Lod._ We’ll trouble your house, Matheo, but as Dutchmen do in
taverns, drink, be merry, and be gone.
_Orl._ Indeed, if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to
drinking, you must be gone.
_Mat._ The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we’ll fly high,
my generous knight, for all that: there’s no music when a woman
is in the concert.
_Orl._ No; for she’s like a pair of virginals,
Always with jacks at her tail.
_Enter_ ASTOLFO, CAROLO, BERALDO
_and_ FONTINELL.
_Lod._ See, the covey is sprung.
_Ast._, _Car._, _&c._ Save you, gallants.
_Mat._ Happily encountered, sweet bloods.
_Lod._ Gentlemen, you all know Signor Candido, the linen-draper,
he that’s more patient than a brown baker, upon the day when he
heats his oven, and has forty scolds about him.
_Ast._, _Car._, _&c._ Yes, we know him all, what of him?
_Lod._ Would it not be a good fit of mirth, to make a piece of
English cloth of him, and to stretch him on the tenters, till
the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making him drink
healths, tobacco,[293] dance, sing bawdy songs, or to run any
bias according as we think good to cast him?
[293] To drink tobacco was a common phrase for smoking
it.--_Reed._
_Car._ ’Twere a morris-dance worth the seeing.
_Ast._ But the old fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt him
out of his den.
_Mat._ To that train I ha’ given fire already; and the hook to
draw him hither, is to see certain pieces of lawn, which I
told him I have to sell, and indeed have such; fetch them down,
Pacheco.
_Orl._ Yes, sir, I’m your water-spaniel, and will fetch any
thing--but I’ll fetch one dish of meat anon shall turn your
stomach, and that’s a constable. [_Aside and exit._
_Enter_ BOTS _ushering in ~Mistress~_
HORSELEECH.
_Ast._, _Ber._, _Fon._ How now? how now?
_Car._ What gally-foist[294] is this?
[294] A long barge with oars.
_Lod._ Peace, two dishes of stewed prunes,[295] a bawd and a
pander. My worthy lieutenant Bots; why, now I see thou’rt a
man of thy word, welcome.--Welcome Mistress Horseleech: pray,
gentlemen, salute this reverend matron.
[295] A common dish in the brothels of the time.
_Mis. H._ Thanks to all your worships.
_Lod._ I bade a drawer send in wine, too: did none come along
with thee, grannam, but the lieutenant?
_Mis. H._ None came along with me but Bots, if it like your
worship.
_Bots._ Who the pox should come along with you but Bots.
_Enter two ~Vintners~ with wine._
_Ast._, _Car._, _&c._ Oh brave! march fair.
_Lod._ Are you come? that’s well.
_Mat._ Here’s ordnance able to sack a city.
_Lod._ Come, repeat, read this inventory.
_1st Vint._ _Imprimis_, a pottle of Greek wine, a pottle of
Peter-sameene,[296] a pottle of Charnico,[297] and a pottle of
Leatica.[298]
[296] A corruption of Pedro Ximenes, a sweet Spanish wine, so
called from the grape of that name.
[297] A sweet Portuguese wine from the neighbourhood of Lisbon.
[298] _i.e._ Aleatico, a red Italian muscatel wine with a rich
aromatic flavour.
_Lod._ You’re paid?
_2nd Vint._ Yes, Sir. [_Exeunt ~Vintners~._
_Mat._ So shall some of us be anon, I fear.
_Bots._ Here’s a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the life
out of which a soldier sucks sweetness! when this artillery goes
off roundly, some must drop to the ground: cannon, demi-cannon,
saker, and basilisk.[299]
[299] The saker and basilisk were both pieces of ordnance.
_Lod._ Give fire, lieutenant.
_Bots._ So, so: Must I venture first upon the breach? to you
all, gallants: Bots sets upon you all. [_Drinks._
_Ast._, _Car._, _&c._ It’s hard, Bots, if we pepper not you, as
well as you pepper us.
_Enter_ CANDIDO.
_Lod._ My noble linen-draper!--some wine!--Welcome old lad!
_Mat._ You’re welcome, signor.
_Cand._ These lawns, sir?
_Mat._ Presently; my man is gone for them: we ha’ rigged a
fleet, you see here, to sail about the world.
_Cand._ A dangerous voyage, sailing in such ships.
_Bots._ There’s no casting over board yet.
_Lod._ Because you are an old lady, I will have you be
acquainted with this grave citizen, pray bestow your lips upon
him, and bid him welcome.
_Mis. H._ Any citizen shall be most welcome to me:--I have used
to buy ware at your shop.
_Cand._ It may be so, good madam.
_Mis. H._ Your prentices know my dealings well; I trust your
good wife be in good case: if it please you, bear her a token
from my lips, by word of mouth. [_Kisses him._
_Cand._ I pray no more; forsooth, ’tis very well,
Indeed I love no sweetmeats:--Sh’as a breath
Stinks worse than fifty polecats. [_Aside._] Sir, a word,
Is she a lady?
_Lod._ A woman of a good house, and an ancient, she’s a bawd.
_Cand._ A bawd? Sir, I’ll steal hence, and see your lawns
Some other time.
_Mat._ Steal out of such company? Pacheco, my man is but gone
for ’em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and
teach him to fly high.
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Swagger: and make him do’t on his knees.
_Cand._ How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots?
No wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots.
_Bots._ Gray-beard, goat’s pizzle: ’tis a health, have this in
your guts, or this, there [_Touching his sword._] I will sing a
bawdy song, sir, because your verjuice face is melancholy, to
make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrowbones, and
pledge this health? ’Tis to my mistress, a whore.
_Cand._ Here’s ratsbane upon ratsbane, Master Bots;
I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a soldier,
Press me not to this service, I am old,
And shoot not in such pot-guns.[300]
[300] A play upon “pop-guns.”
_Bots._ Cap. I’ll teach you.
_Cand._ To drink healths, is to drink sickness--gentlemen.
Pray rescue me.
_Bots._ Zounds, who dare?
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ We shall ha’ stabbing then?
_Cand._ I ha’ reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots.
_Bots._ This will make you cast ’em up better.
_Lod._ Why does your hand shake so?
_Cand._ The palsy, signor, danceth in my blood.
_Bots._ Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I’ll make your blood
dance--
_Cand._ Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink. [_Kneels._[301]
[301] It was a common custom to kneel when drinking a health,
especially the health of a superior.
_Ast._, _Lod._, _&c._ To whom?
_Cand._ To the old countess there. [_Drinks._
_Mis. H._ To me, old boy? this is he that never drunk wine!
Once again to’t.
_Cand._ With much ado the poison is got down,
Though I can scarce get up; never before
Drank I a whore’s health, nor will never more.
_Re-enter_ ORLANDO _with lawns_.
_Mat._ Hast been at gallows?
_Orl._ Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to day.
_Mat._ Look, signor; here’s the commodity.
_Cand._ Your price?
_Mat._ Thus.[302]
[302] The price was here probably indicated by displaying the
fingers.
_Cand._ No: too dear: thus.
_Mat._ No: O fie, you must fly higher: yet take ’em home,
trifles shall not make us quarrel, we’ll agree, you shall have
them, and a pennyworth; I’ll fetch money at your shop.
_Cand._ Be it so, good signor, send me going.
_Mat._ Going? a deep bowl of wine for Signor Candido.
_Orl._ He would be going.
_Cand._ I’ll rather stay than go so: stop your bowl.
_Enter ~Constable~ and ~Billmen~._
_Lod._ How now?
_Bots._ Is’t Shrove-Tuesday, that these ghosts walk?[303]
[303] On Shrove Tuesday the authorities made a search for
brothel-keepers, and on the same day the London apprentices went
about wrecking houses of ill-fame.
_Mat._ What’s your business, sir?
_Const._ From the duke: you are the man we look for, signor. I
have warrant here from the duke, to apprehend you upon felony
for robbing two pedlars: I charge you i’th’ duke’s name go
quickly.
_Mat._ Is the wind turned? Well: this is that old wolf, my
father-in-law:--seek out your mistress, sirrah.
_Orl._ Yes, Sir,--as shafts by piecing are made strong,
So shall thy life be straightened by this wrong. [_Aside and exit._
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ In troth, we are sorry.
_Mat._ Brave men must be crossed; pish, it’s but fortune’s dice
roving against me. Come, sir, pray use me like a gentleman; let
me not be carried through the streets like a pageant.
_Const._ If these gentlemen please, you shall go along with them.
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Be’t so: come.
_Const._ What are you, sir?
_Bots._ I, sir? sometimes a figure, sometimes a cipher, as the
State has occasion to cast up her accounts: I’m a soldier.
_Const._ Your name is Bots, is’t not?
_Bots._ Bots is my name; Bots is known to this company.
_Const._ I know you are, sir: what’s she?
_Bots._ A gentlewoman, my mother.
_Const._ Take ’em both along.
_Bots._ Me, sir?
_Billmen._ Ay, sir!
_Const._ If he swagger, raise the street.
_Bots._ Gentlemen, gentlemen, whither will you drag us?
_Lod._ To the garden house. Bots, are we even with you?
_Const._ To Bridewell with ’em.
_Bots._ You will answer this.
_Const._ Better than a challenge. I’ve warrant for my work, sir.
_Lod._ We’ll go before.
_Const._ Pray do.--
[_Exeunt_ MATHEO _with_ LODOVICO,
ASTOLFO, CAROLO, BERALDO,
_and_ FONTINELL; BOTS _and ~Mistress~_
HORSELEECH, _with_ BILLMEN.
Who, Signor Candido? a citizen
Of your degree consorted thus, and revelling
In such a house?
_Cand._ Why, sir? what house, I pray?
_Const._ Lewd, and defamed.
_Cand._ Is’t so? thanks, sir: I’m gone.
_Const._ What have you there?
_Cand._ Lawns which I bought, sir, of the gentleman that keeps
the house.
_Const._ And I have warrant here,
To search for such stol’n ware: these lawns are stol’n.
_Cand._ Indeed!
_Const._ So he’s the thief, you the receiver:
I’m sorry for this chance, I must commit you.
_Cand._ Me, sir, for what?
_Const._ These goods are found upon you,
And you must answer’t.
_Cand._ Must I so?
_Const._ Most certain.
_Cand._ I’ll send for bail.
_Const._ I dare not: yet because
You are a citizen of worth, you shall not
Be made a pointing stock, but without guard,
Pass only with myself.
_Cand._ To Bridewell too?
_Const._ No remedy.
_Cand._ Yes, patience: being not mad,
They had me once to Bedlam, now I’m drawn
To Bridewell, loving no whores.
_Const._ You will buy lawn! [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.--_A Street._
_Enter at one side_ HIPPOLITO; _at the other_, LODOVICO, ASTOLFO,
CAROLO, BERALDO _and_ FONTINELL.
LOD. Yonder’s the Lord Hippolito; by any means leave him and me
together; now will I turn him to a madman.
_Ast._, _Car._, _&c._ Save you my lord.
[_Exeunt all except_ HIPPOLITO _and_ LODOVICO.
_Lod._ I ha’ strange news to tell you.
_Hip._ What are they?
_Lod._ Your mare’s i’th’ pound.
_Hip._ How’s this?
_Lod._ Your nightingale is in a limebush.
_Hip._ Ha?
_Lod._ Your puritanical honest whore sits in a blue gown.[304]
[304] It was in a blue gown that strumpets had to do penance.
_Hip._ Blue gown!
_Lod._ She’ll chalk out your way to her now: she beats chalk.
_Hip._ Where? who dares?--
_Lod._ Do you know the brick-house of castigation, by the river
side[305] that runs by Milan,--the school where they pronounce
no letter well but O?
[305] Meaning Bridewell, where loose women were whipped.
_Hip._ I know it not.
_Lod._ Any man that has borne office of constable, or any woman
that has fallen from a horse-load to a cart-load,[306] or like
an old hen that has had none but rotten eggs in her nest, can
direct you to her: there you shall see your punk amongst her
back-friends.
[306] An allusion to the carting of prostitutes, who were at the
same time pelted by the populace with rotten eggs.
There you may have her at your will,
For there she beats chalk, or grinds in the mill[307]
With a whip deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle;
Ah little monkey.
[307] Breaking chalk, grinding in mills, raising sand and gravel
and making of lime were among the employments assigned to
vagrants and others committed to Bridewell.--_Reed._
_Hip._ What rogue durst serve that warrant, knowing I loved her?
_Lod._ Some worshipful rascal, I lay my life.
_Hip._ I’ll beat the lodgings down about their ears
That are her keepers.
_Lod._ So you may bring an old house over her head.
_Hip_. I’ll to her--
I’ll to her, stood armed fiends to guard the doors. [_Exit._
_Lod._ Oh me! what monsters are men made by whores!
If this false fire do kindle him, there’s one faggot
More to the bonfire. Now to my Bridewell birds;
What song will they sing? [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE II.--_An Apartment in Bridewell._
_Enter_ DUKE, INFELICE, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, BERALDO, FONTINELL, _and
several ~Masters of Bridewell~_.
_Duke._ Your Bridewell? that the name? for beauty, strength,
Capacity and form of ancient building,
Besides the river’s neighbourhood, few houses
Wherein we keep our court can better it.
_1st Mast._ Hither from foreign courts have princes come,
And with our duke did acts of State commence,
Here that great cardinal had first audience,
The grave Campayne; that duke dead, his son
That famous prince gave free possession
Of this, his palace, to the citizens,
To be the poor man’s ware-house; and endowed it
With lands to the value of seven hundred marks,[308]
With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper,
As the lands then were, to an hospital
Belonging to a Duke of Savoy. Thus
Fortune can toss the world; a prince’s court
Is thus a prison now.
[308] This and the subsequent allusions to the Bridewell of
Milan, of course, really have reference to the London Bridewell.
In the reign of Henry VIII. princes were lodged there, and it
was there that Cardinal Campeius had his first audience of the
king. After Henry’s death, Edward VI. gave the palace to the
citizens. It was moreover endowed with land belonging to the
Savoy to the amount of 700 marks a year and the bedding and
furniture of this hospital were bestowed upon it.
_Duke._ ’Tis Fortune’s sport:
These changes common are: the wheel of fate
Turns kingdoms up, till they fall desolate.
But how are these seven hundred marks by th’ year
Employed in this your work-house?
_1st Mast._ War and peace
Feed both upon those lands: when the iron doors
Of war burst open, from this house are sent
Men furnished in all martial complement.
The moon hath thorough her bow scarce drawn to th’ head,
Like to twelve silver arrows, all the months,
Since sixteen hundred soldiers went abroad.
Here providence and charity play such parts,
The house is like a very school of arts,
For when our soldiers, like ships driven from sea,
With ribs all broken, and with tattered sides,
Cast anchor here again, their ragged backs
How often do we cover! that, like men,
They may be sent to their own homes again.
All here are but one swarm of bees, and strive
To bring with wearied thighs honey to the hive.
The sturdy beggar, and the lazy loon,
Gets here hard hands, or laced correction.
The vagabond grows staid, and learns t’obey,
The drone is beaten well, and sent away.
As other prisons are, some for the thief,
Some, by which undone credit gets relief
From bridled debtors; others for the poor,
So this is for the bawd, the rogue, the whore.
_Car._ An excellent team of horse!
_1st Mast._ Nor is it seen
That the whip draws blood here, to cool the spleen
Of any rugged bencher; nor does offence
Feel smart on spiteful, or rash evidence:
But pregnant testimony forth must stand,
Ere justice leave them in the beadle’s hand,
As iron, on the anvil are they laid,
Not to take blows alone, but to be made
And fashioned to some charitable use.
_Duke._ Thus wholsom’st laws spring from the worst abuse.
_Enter_ ORLANDO, _disguised as a ~Serving-man~, and_
BELLAFRONT.
_Bell._ Let mercy touch your heart-strings, gracious lord,
That it may sound like music in the ear
Of a man desperate, being i’th’ hands of law.
_Duke._ His name?
_Bell._ Matheo.
_Duke._ For a robbery? where is he?
_Bell._ In this house. [_Exeunt_ BELLAFRONT _and ~2nd
Master~_.
_Duke._ Fetch you him hither--Is
this the party?
_Orl._ This is the hen, my lord, that the cock with the lordly
comb, your son-in-law, would crow over, and tread.
_Duke._ Are your two servants ready?
_Orl._ My two pedlars are packed together, my good lord.
_Duke._ ’Tis well: this day in judgment shall be spent:
Vice, like a wound lanced, mends by punishment.
_Inf._ Let me be gone, my lord, or stand unseen;
’Tis rare when a judge strikes, and that none die,
And ’tis unfit then women should be by.
_1st Mast._ We’ll place you, lady, in some private room.
_Inf._ Pray do so. [_Exit with ~1st Master~, who returns alone._
_Orl._ Thus nice dames swear, it is unfit their eyes
Should view men carved up for anatomies,[309]
Yet they’ll see all, so they may stand unseen;
Many women sure will sin behind a screen.
[309] _i.e._ Skeletons.
_Enter_ LODOVICO.
_Lod._ Your son, the Lord Hippolito, is entered.
_Duke._ Tell him we wish his presence. A word, Sforza;
On what wings flew he hither?
_Lod._ These--I told him his lark whom he loved, was a
Bridewell-bird; he’s mad that this cage should hold her, and is
come to let her out.
_Duke._ ’Tis excellent: away, go call him hither. [_Exit_
LODOVICO.
_Re-enter on one side ~2nd Master~ and_ BELLAFRONT
_with_ MATHEO, _and ~Constable~_; _on the other_,
LODOVICO _with_ HIPPOLITO. ORLANDO
_goes out, and returns with two of his ~Servants~ disguised as
~Pedlars~_.
_Duke._ You are to us a stranger, worthy lord,
’Tis strange to see you here.
_Hip._ It is most fit,
That where the sun goes, atomies[310] follow it.
[310] Atoms.
_Duke._ Atomies neither shape, nor honour bear:
Be you yourself, a sunbeam to shine clear.--
Is this the gentleman? Stand forth and hear
Your accusation.
_Mat._ I’ll hear none: I fly high in that: rather than kites
shall seize upon me, and pick out mine eyes to my face, I’ll
strike my talons through mine own heart first, and spit my blood
in theirs. I am here for shriving those two fools of their
sinful pack: when those jackdaws have cawed over me, then must I
cry guilty, or not guilty; the law has work enough already and
therefore I’ll put no work of mine into his hands; the hangman
shall ha’t first; I did pluck those ganders, did rob them.
_Duke._ ’Tis well done to confess.
_Mat._ Confess and be hanged, and then I fly high, is’t not so?
That for that; a gallows is the worst rub that a good bowler
can meet with; I stumbled against such a post, else this night
I had played the part of a true son in these days, undone my
father-in-law; with him would I ha’ run at leap-frog, and come
over his gold, though I had broke his neck for’t: but the poor
salmon-trout is now in the net.
_Hip._ And now the law must teach you to fly high.
_Mat._ Right, my lord, and then may you fly low; no more
words:--a mouse, mum, you are stopped.
_Bell._ Be good to my poor husband, dear my lords.
_Mat._ Ass!
Why shouldst thou pray them to be good to me,
When no man here is good to one another?
_Duke._ Did any hand work in this theft but yours?
_Mat._ O, yes, my lord, yes:--the hangman has never one son at a
birth, his children always come by couples: though I cannot give
the old dog, my father, a bone to gnaw, the daughter shall be
sure of a choke-pear.[311] Yes, my lord, there was one more that
fiddled my fine pedlars, and that was my wife.
[311] Slang term for a small copper coin.
_Bell._ Alas, I?
_Orl._ O everlasting, supernatural superlative villain! [_Aside._
_Duke_, _Lod._, _&c._ Your wife, Matheo?
_Hip._ Sure it cannot be.
_Mat._ Oh, sir, you love no quarters of mutton that hang up, you
love none but whole mutton. She set the robbery, I performed it;
she spurred me on, I galloped away.
_Orl._ My lords,--
_Bell._ My lords,--fellow, give me speech,--if my poor life
May ransom thine, I yield it to the law,
Thou hurt’st thy soul, yet wip’st off no offence,
By casting blots upon my innocence:
Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see
Who slips his neck out of the misery,
Though not out of the mischief: let thy servant
That shared in this base act, accuse me here,
Why should my husband perish, he go clear?
_Orl._ A good child, hang thine own father! [_Aside._
_Duke._ Old fellow, was thy hand in too?
_Orl._ My hand was in the pie, my lord, I confess it: my
mistress, I see, will bring me to the gallows, and so leave
me; but I’ll not leave her so: I had rather hang in a woman’s
company, than in a man’s; because if we should go to hell
together, I should scarce be letten in, for all the devils are
afraid to have any women come amongst them. As I am true thief,
she neither consented to this felony, nor knew of it.
_Duke._ What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?
_Mat._ It is my humour, sir, ’tis a foolish bag-pipe that I make
myself merry with: why should I eat hemp-seed at the hangman’s
thirteen-pence halfpenny[312] ordinary, and have this whore
laugh at me, as I swing, as I totter?
[312] The amount of the hangman’s fee.
_Duke._ Is she a whore?
_Mat._ A six-penny mutton pasty, for any to cut up.
_Orl._ Ah, toad, toad, toad.
_Mat._ A barber’s cittern[313] for every serving-man to play
upon; that lord, your son, knows it.
[313] A cittern or lute was part of the appointments of a
barber’s shop of the period.
_Hip._ I, sir? Am I her bawd then?
_Mat._ No, sir, but she’s your whore then.
_Orl._ Yea, spider; dost catch at great flies? [_Aside._
_Hip._ My whore?
_Mat._ I cannot talk, sir, and tell of your rems and your rees
and your whirligigs and devices: but, my lord, I found ’em like
sparrows in one nest, billing together, and bulling of me. I
took ’em in bed, was ready to kill him, was up to stab her--
_Hip._ Close thy rank jaws:--pardon me, I am vexed;
Thou art a villain, a malicious devil,
Deep as the place where thou art lost, thou liest,
Since I am thus far got into this storm,
I’ll through, and thou shall see I’ll through untouched,
When thou shalt perish in it.
_Re-enter_ INFELICE.
_Inf._ ’Tis my cue,
To enter now.--Room! let my prize[314] be played;
I ha’ lurked in clouds, yet heard what all have said;
What jury more can prove sh’as wronged my bed,
Than her own husband; she must be punishèd.
I challenge law, my lord; letters and gold,
And jewels from my lord that woman took.
[314] A term in fencing. See note _ante_, p. 160.
_Hip._ Against that black-mouthed devil, against letters and gold,
And against a jealous wife, I do uphold
Thus far her reputation; I could sooner
Shake th’ Appenine, and crumble rocks to dust,
Than, though Jove’s shower rained down, tempt her to lust.
_Bel._ What shall I say?
_Orl._ [_Throwing off his disguise._] Say thou art not a whore,
and that’s more than fifteen women amongst five hundred dare
swear without lying: this shalt thou say--no, let me say’t for
thee--thy husband’s a knave, this lord’s an honest man; thou art
no punk, this lady’s a right lady. Pacheco is a thief as his
master is, but old Orlando is as true a man as thy father is.
I ha’ seen you fly high, sir, and I ha’ seen you fly low, sir,
and to keep you from the gallows, sir, a blue coat have I worn,
and a thief did I turn. Mine own men are the pedlars, my twenty
pounds did fly high, sir, your wife’s gown did fly low, sir:
whither fly you now, sir? you ha’ scaped the gallows, to the
devil you fly next, sir. Am I right, my liege?
_Duke._ Your father has the true physician played.
_Mat._ And I am now his patient.
_Hip._ And be so still;
’Tis a good sign when our cheeks blush at ill.
_Const._ The linen-draper, Signor Candido,
He whom the city terms the patient man,
Is likewise here for buying of those lawns
The pedlars lost.
_Inf._ Alas, good Candido!
_Duke._ Fetch him [_Exit ~Constable~_] and when these payments
up are cast,
Weigh out your light gold, but let’s have them last.
_Enter_ CANDIDO _and ~Constable~, who presently goes
out_.
_Duke._ In Bridewell, Candido?
_Cand._ Yes, my good lord.
_Duke._ What make you here?
_Cand._ My lord, what make you here?
_Duke._ I’m here to save right, and to drive wrong hence.
_Cand._ And I to bear wrong here with patience.
_Duke._ You ha’ bought stol’n goods.
_Cand._ So they do say, my lord,
Yet bought I them upon a gentleman’s word,
And I imagine now, as I thought then,
That there be thieves, but no thieves, gentlemen.
_Hip._ Your credit’s cracked, being here.
_Cand._ No more than gold
Being cracked, which does his estimation hold.
I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad?
They made me pledge whores’ healths, but am I bad
Because I’m with bad people?
_Duke._ Well, stand by;
If you take wrong, we’ll cure the injury.
_Re-enter ~Constable~, after him_ BOTS, _then two
~Beadles~, one with hemp, the other with a beetle_.[315]
[315] A heavy mallet.
_Duke._ Stay, stay, what’s he? a prisoner?
_Const._ Yes, my lord.
_Hip._ He seems a soldier?
_Bots._ I am what I seem, sir, one of fortune’s bastards, a
soldier and a gentleman, and am brought in here with master
constable’s band of billmen, because they face me down that I
live, like those that keep bowling alleys, by the sins of the
people, in being a squire of the body.
_Hip._ Oh, an apple-squire.[316]
[316] The term was applied both to a kept gallant and to a
pander.
_Bots._ Yes, sir, that degree of scurvy squires; and that I am
maintained by the best part that is commonly in a woman, by the
worst players of those parts; but I am known to all this company.
_Lod._ My lord, ’tis true, we all know him, ’tis Lieutenant Bots.
_Duke._ Bots, and where ha’ you served, Bots?
_Bots._ In most of your hottest services in the Low-countries:
at the Groyne I was wounded in this thigh, and halted upon’t,
but ’tis now sound. In Cleveland I missed but little, having
the bridge of my nose broken down with two great stones, as I
was scaling a fort. I ha’ been tried, sir, too, in Gelderland,
and ’scaped hardly there from being blown up at a breach: I was
fired, and lay i’ th’ surgeon’s hands for’t, till the fall of
the leaf following.
_Hip._ All this may be, and yet you no soldier.
_Bots._ No soldier, sir? I hope these are services that your
proudest commanders do venture upon, and never come off
sometimes.
_Duke._ Well, sir, because you say you are a soldier,
I’ll use you like a gentleman.--Make room there,
Plant him amongst you; we shall have anon
Strange hawks fly here before us: if none light
On you, you shall with freedom take your flight:
But if you prove a bird of baser wing,
We’ll use you like such birds, here you shall sing.
_Bots._ I wish to be tried at no other weapon.
_Duke._ Why, is he furnished with those implements?
_1st Master._ The pander is more dangerous to a State,
Than is the common thief; and though our laws
Lie heavier on the thief, yet that the pander
May know the hangman’s ruff should fit him too,
Therefore he’s set to beat hemp.
_Duke._ This does savour
Of justice; basest slaves to basest labour.
Now pray, set open hell, and let us see
The she-devils that are here.
_Inf._ Methinks this place
Should make e’en Lais honest.
_1st Mast._ Some it turns good,
But as some men, whose hands are once in blood,
Do in a pride spill more, so, some going hence,
Are, by being here, lost in more impudence.
Let it not to them, when they come, appear
That any one does as their judge sit here:
But that as gentlemen you come to see,
And then perhaps their tongues will walk more free.
_Duke._ Let them be marshalled in.--[_Exeunt ~1st~ and ~2nd
Masters~, ~Constable~, and ~Beadles~._]--Be covered all,
Fellows, now to make the scene more comical.
_Car._ Will not you be smelt out, Bots?
_Bots._ No, your bravest whores have the worse noses.
_Re-enter ~1st~ and ~2nd Masters~ and ~Constable~, then_
DOROTHEA TARGET, _brave_[317]; _after her two
~Beadles~, the one with a wheel, the other with a blue gown_.
[317] Smartly attired.
_Lod._ Are not you a bride, forsooth?
_Dor._ Say ye?
_Car._ He would know if these be not your bridemen.
_Dor._ Vuh! yes, sir: and look ye, do you see? the bride-laces
that I give at my wedding, will serve to tie rosemary to both
your coffins when you come from hanging--Scab!
_Orl._ Fie, punk, fie, fie, fie!
_Dor._ Out, you stale, stinking head of garlic, foh, at my heels.
_Orl._ My head’s cloven.
_Hip._ O, let the gentlewoman alone, she’s going to shrift.
_Ast._ Nay, to do penance.
_Car._ Ay, ay, go, punk, go to the cross and be whipt.
_Dor._ Marry mew, marry muff,[318] marry, hang you, goodman
dog: whipt? do ye take me for a base spittle-whore? In troth,
gentlemen, you wear the clothes of gentlemen, but you carry not
the minds of gentlemen, to abuse a gentlewoman of my fashion.
[318] A term of contempt.
_Lod._ Fashion? pox a’ your fashions! art not a whore?
_Dor._ Goodman slave.
_Duke._ O fie, abuse her not, let us two talk,
What might I call your name, pray?
_Dor._ I’m not ashamed of my name, sir; my name is Mistress Doll
Target, a Western gentlewoman.
_Lod._ Her target against any pike in Milan.
_Duke._ Why is this wheel borne after her?
_1st Mast._ She must spin.
_Dor._ A coarse thread it shall be, as all threads are.
_Ast._ If you spin, then you’ll earn money here too?
_Dor._ I had rather get half-a-crown abroad, than ten crowns
here.
_Orl._ Abroad? I think so.
_Inf._ Dost thou not weep now thou art here?
_Dor._ Say ye? weep? yes, forsooth, as you did when you lost
your maidenhead: do you not hear how I weep? [_Sings._
_Lod._ Farewell, Doll.
_Dor._ Farewell, dog. [_Exit._
_Duke._ Past shame: past penitence! Why is that blue gown?
_1st Mast._ Being stript out of her wanton loose attire,
That garment she puts on, base to the eye,
Only to clothe her in humility.
_Duke._ Are all the rest like this?
_1st Mast._ No, my good lord.
You see, this drab swells with a wanton rein,
The next that enters has a different strain.
_Duke._ Variety is good, let’s see the rest. [_Exeunt ~1st~ and
~2nd Masters~ and ~Constable~._
_Bots._ Your grace sees I’m sound yet, and no bullets hit me.
_Duke._ Come off so, and ’tis well.
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Here’s the second mess.
_Re-enter ~1st~ and ~2nd Masters~ and ~Constable~, then_
PENELOPE WHOREHOUND, _dressed like a ~Citizen’s Wife~;
her two ~Beadles~, one with a blue gown, another with chalk and
a mallet_.
_Pen._ I ha’ worn many a costly gown, but I was never thus
guarded[319] with blue coats, and beadles, and constables, and--
[319] A play upon the word, which also signifies “trimmed.”
_Car._ Alas, fair mistress, spoil not thus your eyes.
_Pen._ Oh, sweet sir, I fear the spoiling of other places about
me that are dearer than my eyes; if you be gentlemen, if you be
men, or ever came of a woman, pity my case! stand to me, stick
to me, good sir, you are an old man.
_Orl._ Hang not on me, I prithee, old trees bear no such fruit.
_Pen._ Will you bail me, gentlemen?
_Lod._ Bail thee? art in for debt?
_Pen._ No; God is my judge, sir, I am in for no debts; I paid my
tailor for this gown, the last five shillings a-week that was
behind, yesterday.
_Duke._ What is your name, I pray?
_Pen._ Penelope Whorehound, I come of the Whorehounds. How does
Lieutenant Bots?
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Aha, Bots!
_Bots._ A very honest woman, as I’m a soldier--a pox Bots ye.
_Pen._ I was never in this pickle before; and yet if I go
amongst citizens’ wives, they jeer at me; if I go among the
loose-bodied gowns,[320] they cry a pox on me, because I go
civilly attired, and swear their trade was a good trade, till
such as I am took it out of their hands. Good Lieutenant Bots,
speak to these captains to bail me.
[320] Prostitutes.
_1st Mast._ Begging for bail still? you are a trim gossip;
Go give her the blue gown, set her to her chare.[321]
Work huswife, for your bread, away.
[321] Task work.
_Pen._ Out, you dog!--a pox on you all!--women are born to curse
thee--but I shall live to see twenty such flat-caps shaking dice
for a penny-worth of pippins--out, you blue-eyed rogue. [_Exit._
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Ha, ha, ha.
_Duke._ Even now she wept, and prayed; now does she curse?
_1st Mast._ Seeing me; if still sh’ had stayed, this had been
worse.
_Hip._ Was she ever here before?
_1st Mast._ Five times at least,
And thus if men come to her, have her eyes
Wrung, and wept out her bail.
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Bots, you know her?
_Bots._ Is there any gentleman here, that knows not a whore, and
is he a hair the worse for that?
_Duke._ Is she a city-dame, she’s so attired?
_1st Mast._ No, my good lord, that’s only but the veil
To her loose body, I have seen her here
In gayer masking suits, as several sauces
Give one dish several tastes, so change of habits
In whores is a bewitching art: to day
She’s all in colours to besot gallants, then
In modest black, to catch the citizen,
And this from their examination’s drawn.
Now shall you see a monster both in shape
And nature quite from these, that sheds no tear,
Nor yet is nice, ’tis a plain ramping bear;
Many such whales are cast upon this shore.
_Duke_, _Lod._, _&c._ Let’s see her.
_1st Mast._ Then behold a swaggering whore. [_Exeunt ~1st~ and
~2nd Masters~ and ~Constable~._
_Orl._ Keep your ground, Bots.
_Bots._ I do but traverse to spy advantage how to arm myself.
_Re-enter ~1st~ and ~2nd Masters~ and ~Constable~; after
them a ~Beadle~ beating a basin,[322] then_ CATHERINA
BOUNTINALL, _with ~Mistress~_ HORSELEECH; _after
them another ~Beadle~ with a blue head guarded[323] with yellow_.
[322] At the carting of bawds and prostitutes they were preceded
by a mob beating basins and performing other rough music.
[323] Trimmed.
_Cat._ Sirrah, when I cry hold your hands, hold, you
rogue-catcher, hold:--Bawd, are the French chilblains in your
heels, that you can come no faster? Are not you, bawd, a whore’s
ancient,[324] and must not I follow my colours?
[324] Ensign.
_Mis. H._ O Mistress Catherine, you do me wrong to accuse me
here as you do, before the right worshipful. I am known for a
motherly, honest woman, and no bawd.
_Cat._ Marry foh, honest? burnt[325] at fourteen, seven times
whipt, five times carted, nine times ducked, searched by some
hundred and fifty constables, and yet you are honest? Honest
Mistress Horseleech, is this world a world to keep bawds and
whores honest? How many times hast thou given gentlemen a quart
of wine in a gallon pot? how many twelve-penny fees, nay two
shillings fees, nay, when any ambassadors ha’ been here, how
many half-crown fees hast thou taken? How many carriers hast
thou bribed for country wenches? how often have I rinsed your
lungs in _aqua vitæ_, and yet you are honest?
[325] Branded.
_Duke._ And what were you the whilst?
_Cat._ Marry hang you, master slave, who made you an examiner?
_Lod._ Well said! belike this devil spares no man.
_Cat._ What art thou, prithee? [_To_ BOTS.
_Bots._ Nay, what art thou, prithee?
_Cat._ A whore, art thou a thief?
_Bots._ A thief, no, I defy[326] the calling; I am a soldier,
have borne arms in the field, been in many a hot skirmish, yet
come off sound.
[326] Disdain.
_Cat._ Sound, with a pox to ye, ye abominable rogue! you a
soldier? you in skirmishes? where? amongst pottle pots in a
bawdy-house? Look, look here, you Madam Wormeaten, do you not
know him?
_Mis. H._ Lieutenant Bots, where have ye been this many a day?
_Bots._ Old bawd, do not discredit me, seem not to know me.
_Mis. H._ Not to know ye, Master Bots? as long as I have breath,
I cannot forget thy sweet face.
_Duke._ Why, do you know him? he says he is a soldier.
_Cat._ He a soldier? a pander, a dog that will lick up sixpence:
do ye hear, you master swines’-snout, how long is’t since you
held the door for me, and cried to’t again, No body comes! ye
rogue, you?
_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Ha, ha, ha! you’re smelt out again, Bots.
_Bots._ Pox ruin her nose for’t! an I be not revenged for
this--um, ye bitch!
_Lod._ D’ye hear ye, madam? why does your ladyship swagger thus?
you’re very brave,[327] methinks.
[327] Finely dressed.
_Cat._ Not at your cost, master cod’s-head;
Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave?
_Ast._ Yes, I am,
Because good clothes upon a whore’s back
Is like fair painting upon a rotten wall.
_Cat._ Marry muff master whoremaster, you come upon me with
sentences.
_Ber._ By this light, has small sense for’t.
_Lod._ O fie, fie, do not vex her! And yet methinks a creature
of more scurvy conditions should not know what a good petticoat
were.
_Cat._ Marry come out, you’re so busy about my petticoat, you’ll
creep up to my placket, an ye could but attain the honour: but
an the outsides offend your rogueships, look o’the lining, ’tis
silk.
_Duke._ Is’t silk ’tis lined with, then?
_Cat._ Silk? Ay, silk, master slave, you would be glad to wipe
your nose with the skirt on’t. This ’tis to come among a company
of cod’s-heads[328] that know not how to use a gentlewoman.
[328] Fools.
_Duke._ Tell her the duke is here.
_1st Mast._ Be modest, Kate, the duke is here.
_Cat._ If the devil were here, I care not: set forward, ye
rogues, and give attendance according to your places! Let bawds
and whores be sad, for I’ll sing an the devil were a-dying.
[_Exit with ~Mistress~_ HORSELEECH _and ~Beadles~_.
_Duke._ Why before her does the basin ring?
_1st Mast._ It is an emblem of their revelling,
The whips we use let forth their wanton blood,
Making them calm; and more to calm their pride,
Instead of coaches they in carts do ride.
Will your grace see more of this bad ware?
_Duke._ No, shut up shop, we’ll now break up the fair,
Yet ere we part--you, sir, that take upon ye
The name of soldier, that true name of worth,
Which, action, not vain boasting, best sets forth,
To let you know how far a soldier’s name
Stands from your title, and to let you see,
Soldiers must not be wronged where princes be:
This be your sentence.
_All._ Defend yourself, Bots.
_Duke._ First, all the private sufferance that the house
Inflicts upon offenders, you, as the basest,
Shall undergo it double, after which
You shall be whipt, sir, round about the city,
Then banished from the land.
_Bots._ Beseech, your grace!
_Duke._ Away with him, see it done, panders and whores
Are city-plagues which being kept alive,
Nothing that looks like goodness ere can thrive.
Now good Orlando, what say you to your bad son-in-law?
_Orl._ Marry this, my lord, he is my son-in-law, and in law
will I be his father: for if law can pepper him, he shall be
so parboiled, that he shall stink no more i’ th’ nose of the
common-wealth.
_Bell._ Be yet more kind and merciful, good father.
_Orl._ Dost thou beg for him, thou precious man’s meat, thou?
has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee, and dost thou
fawn on him like his spaniel? has he not pawned thee to thy
petticoat, sold thee to thy smock, made ye leap at a crust, yet
wouldst have me save him?
_Bell._ Oh yes, good sir, women shall learn of me,
To love their husbands in greatest misery;
Then show him pity, or you wreck myself.
_Orl._ Have ye eaten pigeons, that you’re so kind-hearted to
your mate? Nay, you’re a couple of wild bears, I’ll have ye
both baited at one stake: but as for this knave, the gallows
is thy due, and the gallows thou shall have, I’ll have justice
of the duke, the law shall have thy life--What, dost thou hold
him? let go, his hand. If thou dost not forsake him, a father’s
everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads! Away, go, kiss
out of my sight, play thou the whore no more, nor thou the thief
again; my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so
shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die,
so thou dost not fly high, take all;
Yet, good Matheo, mend.
Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and doth end.
_Duke._ Then hear, Matheo: all your woes are stayed
By your good father-in-law: all your ills
Are clear purged from you by his working pills.--
Come, Signor Candido, these green young wits,
We see by circumstance, this plot have laid,
Still to provoke thy patience, which they find
A wall of brass; no armour’s like the mind.
Thou hast taught the city patience, now our court
Shall be thy sphere, where from thy good report,
Rumours this truth unto the world shall sing,
A patient man’s a pattern for a king. [_Exeunt omnes._
[Illustration]
_THE PLEASANT COMEDY OF
OLD FORTUNATUS._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_THE Pleasant Comedy of Old Fortunatus_ was first published in
1600, having been produced at Court on the Christmas before.
The play as it stands is an amplification and a recast of an
earlier play, _The First Part of Fortunatus_, which had been
performed at Henslowe’s Theatre about four years previously.
This had long been laid aside, when the idea seems to have
occurred to Henslowe to revive it in fuller form, and Dekker
was commissioned to write a second part, with the result that
he recast the whole in one play instead, adding the episode of
the sons of Fortunatus to the original version. So far, the
whole play was taken from the same source, the old _Volksbuch_
of “Fortunatus,” which, first published at Augsburg in 1509,
was popular in various languages in the sixteenth century.
An interesting account of this legend and of its connection
with the play, is given in Professor Herford’s “Studies in the
Literary Relations of England and Germany in the Sixteenth
Century,” from which the present note on the play is largely
drawn. When Dekker had completed his recast of the play, it
was immediately ordered for performance at Court, and further
scenes, in this case altogether extraneous to the original
story--those, namely, in which Virtue and Vice are introduced as
rivals to Fortune--were added with a special view to this end.
Otherwise the play is pretty faithful to the story, even in its
absurdities. It is worth mention that Hans Sachs had already
dramatized the subject in 1553, which may have had something to
do indirectly with the production of the first English version.
In the original quarto of 1600, _Old Fortunatus_ is not divided
into acts and scenes, and the division is here attempted for
the first time. It has been necessary also in some instances to
supply stage directions.
THE PROLOGUE AT COURT.[329]
[329] This Prologue and the Epilogue are specially devised for
the performance of the play before the queen, hence “At Court.”
[Illustration]
_Enter ~Two Old Men~._
_1st O. Man._ Are you then travelling to the temple of
Eliza?[330]
[330] _i.e._ Queen Elizabeth, at this time in her sixty-eighth
year.
Pandora is the only one of these poetic terms for Elizabeth
peculiar to Dekker. The rest of them are used by others of the
Elizabethan poets. He evidently here conceives Pandora on the
side of her good fortune only, as receiving the gifts of the
gods, and not in her more familiar association with the story of
Pandora’s Box and its evils.
_2nd O. Man._ Even to her temple are my feeble limbs travelling.
Some call her Pandora: some Gloriana, some Cynthia: some
Delphœbe, some Astræa: all by several names to express several
loves: yet all those names make but one celestial body, as all
those loves meet to create but one soul.
_1st O. Man._ I am one of her own country, and we adore her by
the name of Eliza.
_2nd O. Man._ Blessed name, happy country: your Eliza makes your
land Elysium: but what do you offer?
_1st O. Man._ That which all true subjects should: when I was
young, an armed hand; now I am crooked, an upright heart: but
what offer you?
_2nd O. Man._ That which all strangers do: two eyes struck blind
with admiration: two lips proud to sound her glory: two hands
held up full of prayers and praises: what not, that may express
love? what not, that may make her beloved?
_1st O. Man._ How long is’t since you last beheld her?
_2nd O. Man._ A just year: yet that year hath seemed to me but
one day, because her glory hath been my hourly contemplation,
and yet that year hath seemed to me more than twice seven years,
because so long I have been absent from her. Come therefore,
good father, let’s go faster, lest we come too late: for see,
the tapers of the night are already lighted, and stand brightly
burning in their starry candle-sticks: see how gloriously the
moon shines upon us. [_Both kneel._
_1st O. Man._ Peace, fool: tremble, and kneel: the moon say’st thou?
Our eyes are dazzled by Eliza’s beams,
See (if at least thou dare see) where she sits:
This is the great Pantheon of our goddess,
And all those faces which thine eyes thought stars,
Are nymphs attending on her deity.
Prithee begin, for I want power to speak.
_2nd O. Man._ No, no, speak thou, I want words to begin. [_Weeps._
_1st O. Man._ Alack, what shall I do? com’st thou with me,
And weep’st now thou behold’st this majesty?
_2nd O. Man._ Great landlady of hearts, pardon me.
_1st O. Man._ Blame not mine eyes, good father, in these tears.
_2nd O. Man._ My pure love shines, as thine doth in thy fears:
I weep for joy to see so many heads
Of prudent ladies, clothed in the livery
Of silver-handed age, for serving you,
Whilst in your eyes youth’s glory doth renew:
I weep for joy to see the sun look old,
To see the moon mad at her often change,
To see the stars only by night to shine,
Whilst you are still bright, still one, still divine:
I weep for joy to see the world decay,
Yet see Eliza flourishing like May:
O pardon me your pilgrim, I have measured
Many a mile to find you: and have brought
Old Fortunatus and his family,
With other Cypriots, my poor countrymen,
To pay a whole year’s tribute: O vouchsafe,
Dread Queen of Fairies, with your gracious eyes,
T’accept theirs and our humble sacrifice.
_1st O. Man._ Now I’ll beg for thee too: and yet I need not:
Her sacred hand hath evermore been known,
As soon held out to strangers as her own.
_2nd O. Man._ Thou dost encourage me: I’ll fetch them in,
They have no princely gifts, we are all poor,
Our offerings are true hearts, who can wish more? [_Exeunt._
[Illustration: PROLOGUE.]
Of Love’s sweet war our timorous Muse doth sing,
And to the bosom of each gentle dear,
Offers her artless tunes, borne on the wing
Of sacred poesy. A benumbing fear,
That your nice souls, cloyed with delicious sounds,
Will loath her lowly notes, makes her pull in
Her fainting pinions, and her spirit confounds,
Before the weak voice of her song begin.
Yet since within the circle of each eye,
Being like so many suns in his round sphere,
No wrinkle yet is seen, she’ll dare to fly,
Borne up with hopes, that as you oft do rear
With your fair hands, those who would else sink down,
So some will deign to smile, where all might frown:
And for this small circumference must stand,
For the imagined surface of much land,
Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile
Should here be measured out, our Muse entreats
Your thoughts to help poor art, and to allow
That I may serve as Chorus to her senses;
She begs your pardon, for she’ll send one forth,
Not when the laws of poesy do call,
But as the story needs; your gracious eye
Gives life to Fortunatus’ history. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._]
ATHELSTANE, King of England.
The Soldan of Egypt.
The Prince of Cyprus.
CORNWALL, }
CHESTER, } English Nobles.
LINCOLN, }
MONTROSE, } Scotch Nobles.
GALLOWAY, }
ORLEANS, } French Nobles.
LONGAVILLE, }
INSULTADO, a Spanish Lord.
FORTUNATUS.
AMPEDO, } Sons of FORTUNATUS.
ANDELOCIA, }
SHADOW, Servant to AMPEDO and ANDELOCIA.
Kings, Nobles, Soldiers, Satyrs, a Carter, a Tailor, a Monk, a Shepherd,
Chorus, Boys and other Attendants.
AGRIPYNE, Daughter of ATHELSTANE.
FORTUNE, }
VIRTUE, } Goddesses.
VICE, }
The Three Destinies.
Nymphs, Ladies, &c.
SCENE--CYPRUS, BABYLON, and ENGLAND.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_OLD FORTUNATUS._
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.--_A Wood in Cyprus._
_Enter_ FORTUNATUS _meanly attired; he walks about cracking nuts
ere he speaks_.
FORT. So, ho, ho, ho, ho.
_Echo_ [_Within._]. Ho, ho, ho, ho.
_Fort._ There, boy.
_Echo._ There, boy.
_Fort._ An thou bee’st a good fellow, tell me how call’st this
wood.
_Echo._ This wood.
_Fort._ Ay, this wood, and which is my best way out.
_Echo._ Best way out.
_Fort._ Ha, ha, ha, that’s 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 worms’ meat. Well, I am very poor and
very patient; Patience is a virtue: would I were not virtuous,
that’s to say, not poor, but full of vice, that’s to say, full
of chinks. Ha, ha, so I am, for I am so full of chinks, that
a horse with one eye may look through and through me. I have
sighed long, and that makes me windy; I have fasted long, and
that makes me chaste; marry, I have prayed little, and that
makes me I still dance in this conjuring circle; I have wandered
long, and that makes me weary. But for my weariness, anon I’ll
lie down, instead of fasting I’ll feed upon nuts, and instead of
sighing will laugh and be lean, Sirrah Echo.
_Echo._ Sirrah Echo.
_Fort._ Here’s a nut.
_Echo._ Here’s a nut.
_Fort._ Crack it.
_Echo._ Crack it.
_Fort._ Hang thyself.
_Echo._ Hang thyself.
_Fort._ Th’art a knave, a knave.
_Echo._ A knave, a knave.
_Fort._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!
_Echo._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!
_Fort._ Why so, two fools laugh at one another, I at my tittle
tattle gammer Echo, and she at me. Shortly there will creep out
in print some filthy book of the old hoary wandering knight,
meaning me: would I were that book, for then I should be sure to
creep out from hence. I should be a good soldier, for I traverse
my ground rarely; marry I see neither enemy nor friends, but
popinjays, and squirrels, and apes, and owls, and daws, and
wagtails, and the spite is that none of these grass-eaters can
speak my language, but this fool that mocks me, and swears to
have the last word, in spite of my teeth, ay, and she shall
have it because she is a woman, which kind of cattle are indeed
all echo, nothing but tongue, and are like the great bell of
St. Michael’s[331] in Cyprus, that keeps most rumbling when men
would most sleep. Echo, a pox on thee for mocking me.
[331] Probably a church in Famagosta, which tradition makes
Fortunatus’s native place, and which was at one time the chief
port and fortress in Cyprus.
_Echo._ A pox on thee for mocking me.
_Fort._ Why so, Snip snap, this war is at an end, but this
wilderness is world without end. To see how travel can
transform: my teeth are turned into nutcrackers, a thousand to
one I break out shortly, for I am full of nothing but waxen
kernels, my tongue speaks no language but an almond for a
parrot, and crack me this nut. If I hop three days more up and
down this cage of cuckoos’ nests, I shall turn wild man sure,
and be hired to throw squibs among the commonalty upon some
terrible day. In the meantime, to tell truth, here will I lie.
Farewell, fool!
_Echo._ Farewell, fool.
_Fort._ Are not these comfortable words to a wise man? All hail,
signor tree, by your leave I’ll sleep under your leaves. I pray
bow to me, and I’ll bend to you, for your back and my brows
must, I doubt, have a game or two at noddy ere I wake again:
down, great heart, down. Hey, ho, well, well. [_He lies down and
sleeps._
_Enter a ~Shepherd~, a ~Carter~,[332] a ~Tailor~,[333] and a
~Monk~, all crowned; a ~Nymph~ with a globe, another with_
FORTUNE’S _wheel; then_ FORTUNE. _After
her, four ~Kings~ with broken crowns and sceptres, chained
in silver gyves and led by her. The foremost enter singing._
FORTUNE _takes her chair, the ~Kings~ lying at her feet
so that she treads on them as she ascends to her seat._
[332] “A gardener” in the original, which does not tally with
the description given by Fortune on p. 300. _q.v._
[333] “A smith” in the original, which is again a confusion with
the description in the text.
SONG.
Fortune smiles, cry holiday,
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Fortune frowns, cry welladay,
Her love is Heaven, her hate is Hell:
Since Heaven and Hell obey her power.
Tremble when her eyes do lower,
Since Heaven and Hell her power obey,
When she smiles, cry holiday.
Holiday with joy we cry
And bend, and bend, and merrily
Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity,
Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity.
_Chorus._ Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,
With our song let Heaven resound,
Fortune’s hands our heads have crowned;
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.
_1st King._ Accursed Queen of chance, what had we done,
Who having sometimes like young Phaeton,
Rid in the burnished chariot of the sun,
And sometimes been thy minions, when thy fingers
Weaved wanton love-nets in our curlèd hair,
And with sweet juggling kisses warmed our cheeks:
Oh how have we offended thy proud eyes,
That thus we should be spurned and trod upon,
Whilst those infected limbs of the sick world,
Are fixed by thee for stars in that bright sphere,
Wherein our sun-like radiance did appear.
_The Kings._ Accursèd Queen of chance, damned sorceress.
_The Others._ Most powerful Queen of chance, dread sovereigness.
_Fortune._ No more: curse on! your cries to me are music,
And fill the sacred rondure of mine ears
With tunes more sweet than moving of the spheres:
Curse on: on our celestial brows do sit
Unnumbered smiles, which then leap from their throne,
When they see peasants dance and monarchs groan.
Behold you not this globe, this golden bowl,
This toy called world, at our imperial feet?
This world is Fortune’s ball, wherewith she sports.
Sometimes I strike it up into the air,
And then create I emperors and kings:
Sometimes I spurn it, at which spurn crawls out
That wild beast Multitude. Curse on, you fools,--
’Tis I that tumble princes from their thrones,
And gild false brows with glittering diadems.
’Tis I that tread on necks of conquerors,
And when, like demi-gods, they have been drawn
In ivory chariots to the capitol,
Circled about with wonder of all eyes,
The shouts of every tongue, love of all hearts,
Being swoll’n with their own greatness, I have pricked
The bladder of their pride, and made them die,
As water-bubbles, without memory.
I thrust base cowards into Honour’s chair,
Whilst the true-spirited soldier stands by
Bare-headed, and all bare, whilst at his scars
They scoff, that ne’er durst view the face of wars.
I set an idiot’s cap on Virtue’s head,[334]
Turn Learning out of doors, clothe Wit in rags,
And paint ten thousand images of loam
In gaudy silken colours. On the backs
Of mules and asses I make asses ride,
Only for sport, to see the apish world
Worship such beasts with sound idolatry.
This Fortune does, and when this is done,
She sits and smiles to hear some curse her name,
And some with adoration crown her fame.
[334] An allusion to the coxcomb, the invariable ornament to the
fool’s cap, which Virtue wears on her head. See description,
Scene III.
_Monk._ True centre of this wide circumference,
Sacred commandress of the destinies,
Our tongues shall only sound thy excellence.
_The Others._ Thy excellence our tongues shall only sound.
_2nd King._ Thou painted strumpet, that with honeyed smiles,
Openest the gates of Heaven and criest, “Come in;”
Whose glories being seen, thou with one frown,
In pride, lower than hell tumblest us down.
_The Kings._ Ever, for ever, will we ban thy name.
_Fortune._ How sweet your howlings relish in mine ears! [_She comes down._
Stand by! now rise,--behold, here lies a wretch,
To vex your souls, this beggar I’ll advance
Beyond the sway of thought; take instruments,
And let the raptures of choice harmony,
Thorough the hollow windings of his ear,
Carry their sacred sounds, and wake each sense,
To stand amazed at our bright eminence. [_Music._ FORTUNATUS _wakes_.
_Fort._ Oh, how am I transported? Is this earth?
Or blest Elysium?
_Fortune._ Fortunatus, rise.
_Fort._ Dread goddess, how should such a wretch as I
Be known to such a glorious deity?
Oh pardon me: for to this place I come,
Led by my fate, not folly; in this wood
With weary sorrow have I wanderèd,
And three times seen the sweating sun take rest,
And three times frantic Cynthia naked ride
About the rusty highways of the skies
Stuck full of burning stars, which lent her light
To court her negro paramour grim Night.
_Fortune._ This travel now expires: yet from this circle,
Where I and these with fairy troops abide,
Thou canst not stir, unless I be thy guide.
I the world’s empress am, Fortune my name,
This hand hath written in thick leaves of steel
An everlasting book of changeless fate,
Showing who’s happy, who unfortunate.
_Fort._ If every name, dread queen, be there writ down
I am sure mine stands in characters of black;
Though happiness herself lie in my name,
I am Sorrow’s heir, and eldest son to Shame.
_The Kings._ No, we are sons to Shame, and Sorrow’s heirs.
_Fortune._ Thou shalt be one of Fortune’s minions:
Behold these four chained like Tartarian slaves,
These I created emperors and kings,
And these are now my basest underlings:
This sometimes was a German emperor,
Henry the Fifth,[335] who being first deposed,
Was after thrust into a dungeon,
And thus in silver chains shall rot to death.
This Frederick Barbarossa, Emperor
Of Almaine[336] once: but by Pope Alexander[337]
Now spurned and trod on when he takes his horse,
And in these fetters shall he die his slave.
This wretch once wore the diadem of France,
Lewis the meek,[338] but through his children’s pride,
Thus have I caused him to be famishèd.
Here stands the very soul of misery,
Poor Bajazet, old Turkish Emperor,
And once the greatest monarch in the East;[339]
Fortune herself is said to view thy fall,
And grieves to see thee glad to lick up crumbs
At the proud feet of that great Scythian swain,
Fortune’s best minion, warlike Tamburlaine:
Yet must thou in a cage of iron be drawn
In triumph at his heels, and there in grief
Dash out thy brains.
[335] The description corresponds rather to Henry IV. of
Germany, who died in 1106.
[336] Frederick I. called Barbarossa, Emperor of Germany, _i.e._
Allemagne (Almaine), the grandson of Henry IV.
[337] Alexander III.
[338] Louis I. called Le Débonnaire, son of Charlemagne, d. 840.
[339] Bajazet I. called Yilderim, _i.e._ Lightning, because
of the rapidity of his movement in the field of war, first
Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, who was humiliated by Timur
(Tamburlaine). Compare Marlowe’s _Tamburlaine the Great_.
_4th King._ Oh miserable me!
_Fortune._ No tears can melt the heart of destiny:
These have I ruined and exalted those.
These hands have conquered Spain, these brows fill up
The golden circle of rich Portugal,--
Viriat a monarch now, but born a shepherd;[340]
This Primislaus, a Bohemian king,
Last day a carter;[341] this monk, Gregory,[342]
Now lifted to the Papal dignity;--
Wretches,[343] why gnaw you not your fingers off,
And tear your tongues out, seeing yourselves trod down,
And this Dutch botcher[344] wearing Munster’s crown,
John Leyden,[345] born in Holland poor and base,
Now rich in empery and Fortune’s grace?
As these I have advanced, so will I thee.
Six gifts I spend upon mortality,
Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches,
Out of my bounty: one of these is thine,--
Choose then which likes thee best.
[340] Viriathus, a shepherd who became a famous Lusitanian chief
in the 2nd century B.C., and long warred successfully
against the Romans in Spain.
[341] Primislaus, a country labourer, who became first Duke of
Bohemia, having married the daughter of Croc who founded the
city of Prague.
[342] Gregory VII. (1013-1085).
[343] Fortune here turns and addresses the four deposed kings
again.
[344] Tailor. See _The Devil’s Answer to Pierce Pennylesse_
(Dekker’s non-dramatic works, The Huth Library, edited by the
Rev. A. B. Grosart, vol. ii. p. 147), “That botcher I preferred
to be Lucifer’s tailor, because he works with a hot needle and
burnt thread.”
[345] John of Leyden (John Beccold), b. 1510, d. 1536, a tailor,
who became a leader of the Anabaptists and at their head took
extraordinary possession of the city of Munster, and ruled for a
brief space as king there, before constitutional authority was
restored and he was seized and put to death.
_Fort._ Oh most divine!
Give me but leave to borrow wonder’s eye,
To look amazed at thy bright majesty,
Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches.
_Fortune._ Before thy soul at this deep lottery
Draw forth her prize, ordained by destiny,
Know that here’s no recanting a first choice.
Choose then discreetly for the laws of Fate,
Being graven in steel, must stand inviolate.
_Fort._ Daughters of Jove and the unblemished Night,
Most righteous Parcae,[346] guide my genius right,
Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches.
[346] The Three Destinies, to whom Fortune herself was sometimes
added as a fourth. Fortunatus here seems to be addressing
Fortune and her two attendant nymphs, for no stage direction is
specially given for the entrance of the Three Destinies, as in
Act II. sc. ii., _q.v._
_Fortune._ Stay, Fortunatus, once more hear me speak;
If thou kiss Wisdom’s cheek and make her thine,
She’ll breathe into thy lips divinity,
And thou like Phœbus shalt speak oracle,
Thy Heaven-inspired soul, on Wisdom’s wings,
Shall fly up to the Parliament of Jove,
And read the statutes of eternity,
And see what’s past and learn what is to come.
If thou lay claim to strength, armies shall quake
To see thee frown: as kings at mine do lie,
So shall thy feet trample on empery.
Make health thine object, thou shalt be strong proof
’Gainst the deep searching darts of surfeiting,
Be ever merry, ever revelling.
Wish but for beauty, and within thine eyes
Two naked Cupids amorously shall swim,[347]
And on thy cheeks I’ll mix such white and red,
That Jove shall turn away young Ganymede,
And with immortal arms shall circle thee.
Are thy desires long life?--thy vital thread
Shall be stretched out, thou shalt behold the change
Of monarchies and see those children die,
Whose great great grandsires now in cradles lie.
If through gold’s sacred hunger thou dost pine,
Those gilded wantons which in swarms do run,
To warm their tender bodies in the sun,
Shall stand for number of those golden piles,
Which in rich pride shall swell before thy feet;
As those are, so shall these be infinite.
Awaken then thy soul’s best faculties,
And gladly kiss this bounteous hand of Fate,
Which strives to bless thy name of Fortunate.
[347] See an anonymous poem in _Tottel’s Miscellany_, 1557,
called “A praise of his Lady,” from which Dekker may have
borrowed the fancy:--
“In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy.”
_The Kings._ Old man, take heed, her smiles will murder thee.
_The Others._ Old man, she’ll crown thee with felicity.
_Fort._ Oh, whither am I rapt beyond myself?
More violent conflicts fight in every thought,
Than his whose fatal choice Troy’s downfall wrought.
Shall I contract myself to wisdom’s love?
Then I lose riches: and a wise man poor,
Is like a sacred book that’s never read,--
To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead.
This age thinks better of a gilded fool,
Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school.
I will be strong: then I refuse long life,
And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There’s a lean fellow beats all conquerors:
The greatest strength expires with loss of breath;
The mightiest in one minute stoop to death.
Then take long life, or health: should I do so
I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll
Of months and years, much misery may enroll
Therefore I’ll beg for beauty; yet I will not,
That fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul
Leprous as sin itself; than hell more foul.
The wisdom of this world is idiotism,
Strength a weak reed: health sickness’ enemy,
And it at length will have the victory.
Beauty is but a painting, and long life
Is a long journey in December gone,
Tedious and full of tribulation.
Therefore, dread sacred Empress, make me rich, [_Kneels down._
My choice is store of gold; the rich are wise.
He that upon his back rich garments wears,
Is wise, though on his head grow Midas’ ears.
Gold is the strength, the sinews of the world,
The health, the soul, the beauty most divine,
A mask of gold hides all deformities;
Gold is Heaven’s physic, life’s restorative,
Oh therefore make me rich: not as the wretch,
That only serves lean banquets to his eye,
Has gold, yet starves: is famished in his store:
No, let me ever spend, be never poor.
_Fortune._ Thy latest words confine thy destiny,
Thou shalt spend ever, and be never poor:
For proof receive this purse: with it this virtue
Still when thou thrust thy hand into the same,
Thou shalt draw forth ten pieces of bright gold,
Current in any realm where then thou breathest;
If thou canst dribble out the sea by drops,
Then shalt thou want: but that can ne’er be done,
Nor this grow empty.
_Fort._ Thanks, great deity.
_Fortune._ The virtue ends when thou and thy sons end.
This path leads thee to Cyprus,[348] get thee hence;
Farewell, vain covetous fool, thou wilt repent,
That for the love of dross thou hast despised
Wisdom’s divine embrace, she would have borne thee
On the rich wings of immortality;
But now go dwell with cares and quickly die.
[348] Dekker is not careful even to remember here that Cyprus
is an island.
_The Kings._ We dwell with cares, yet cannot quickly die.
[_Exeunt all singing, except_ FORTUNATUS.
_Fort._ But now go dwell with cares and quickly die? How
quickly? if I die to-morrow, I’ll be merry to-day: if next day,
I’ll be merry to-morrow. Go dwell with cares? Where dwells
Care? Hum ha, in what house dwells Care, that I may choose an
honester neighbour? In princes’ courts? No. Among fair ladies?
Neither: there’s no care dwells with them, but care how to be
most gallant. Among gallants then? Fie, fie, no! Care is afraid
sure of a gilt rapier, the scent of musk is her prison, tobacco
chokes her, rich attire presseth her to death. Princes, fair
ladies and gallants, have amongst you then, for this wet-eyed
wench Care dwells with wretches: they are wretches that feel
want, I shall feel none if I be never poor; therefore, Care, I
cashier you my company. I wonder what blind gossip this minx
is that is so prodigal; she should be a good one by her open
dealing: her name’s Fortune: it’s no matter what she is, so she
does as she says. “Thou shalt spend ever, and be never poor.”
Mass, yet I feel nothing here to make me rich:--here’s no sweet
music with her silver sound. Try deeper: ho God be here: ha, ha,
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten,
good, just ten. It’s gold sure, it’s so heavy, try again, one,
two, &c. Good again, just ten, and just ten. Ha, ha, ha, this
is rare: a leather mint, admirable: an Indian mine in a lamb’s
skin, miraculous! I’ll fill three or four bags full for my sons,
but keep this for myself. If that lean tawny face tobacconist
Death, that turns all into smoke, must turn me so quickly into
ashes, yet I will not mourn in ashes, but in music, hey, old
lad, be merry. Here’s riches, wisdom, strength, health, beauty,
and long life (if I die not quickly). Sweet purse, I kiss thee;
Fortune, I adore thee; Care, I despise thee; Death, I defy
thee.[349] [_Exit._
[349] Compare Shakespeare’s “Crabbed Age and Youth.”
SCENE II.--_Outside the House of_ FORTUNATUS.
_Enter_ AMPEDO, SHADOW _after him, both sad: then_ ANDELOCIA.
_Andel._ ’Sheart,[350] why how now: two knights of the post?[351]
[350] A corruption of “God’s heart.”
[351] Hired witnesses.
_Shad._ Ay, master, and we are both forsworn, as all such wooden
knights be, for we both took an oath--marry it was not corporal,
you may see by our cheeks, that we would not fast twenty-four
hours to amend, and we have tasted no meat since the clock told
two dozen.
_Andel._ That lacks not much of twenty-four, but I wonder when
that half-faced moon of thine will be at the full.
_Shad._ The next quarter, not this, when the sign is in Taurus.
_Andel._ Ho, that’s to say, when thou eat’st bull beef.
But, Shadow, what day is to-day?
_Shad._ Fasting day.
_Andel._ What day was yesterday?
_Shad._ Fasting day too.
_Andel._ Will to-morrow be so too?
_Shad._ Ay, and next day too.
_Andel._ That will be rare, you slave:
For a lean diet makes a fat wit.
_Shad._ I had rather be a fool and wear a fat pair of cheeks.
_Andel._ Now I am prouder of this poverty, which I know is mine
own, than a waiting gentlewoman is of a frizzled groatsworth of
hair, that never grew on her head. Sir Shadow, now we can all
three swear like Puritans at one bare word: this want makes us
like good bowlers, we are able to rub out and shift in every
place.
_Shad._ That’s not so, we have shifted ourselves in no place
this three months: marry, we rub out in every corner, but here
follows no amendment either of life or of livery.
_Andel._ Why, brother Ampedo, art thou not yet tired with riding
post? Come, come, ’light from this logger-headed jade, and walk
afoot, and talk with your poor friends.
_Shad._ Nay, by my troth, he is like me: if his belly be empty,
his heart is full.
_Andel._ The famine of gold gnaws his covetous stomach, more
than the want of good victuals: thou hast looked very devilishly
ever since the good angel[352] left thee: come, come, leave this
broad-brim fashions; because the world frowns upon thee, wilt
not thou smile upon us?
[352] One of the usual puns on the coin of that name.
_Amp._ Did but the bitterness of mine own fortunes
Infect my taste, I could paint o’er my cheeks
With ruddy-coloured smiles: ’tis not the want
Of costly diet or desire of gold
Enforces rupture in my wounded breast.
Oh no, our father--if he live--doth lie
Under the iron foot of misery,
And, as a dove gripped in a falcon’s claw,
There pant’th for life being most assured of death.
Brother, for him my soul thus languisheth.
_Shad._ ’Tis not for my old master that I languish.
_Amp._ I am not enamoured of this painted idol,
This strumpet World; for her most beauteous looks
Are poisoned baits, hung upon golden hooks:
When fools do swim in wealth, her Cynthian beams
Will wantonly dance on the silver streams;
But when this squint-eyed age sees Virtue poor,
And by a little spark sits shivering,
Begging at all, relieved at no man’s door,
She smiles on her, as the sun shines on fire,
To kill that little heat, and, with her little frown,
Is proud that she can tread poor Virtue down:
Therefore her wrinkled brow makes not mine sour,
Her gifts are toys, and I desire her power.
_Shad._ ’Tis not the crab-tree faced World neither that makes
mine sour.
_Andel._ Her gifts toys! Well, brother Virtue, we have let slip
the ripe plucking of those toys so long, that we flourish like
apple-trees in September, which, having the falling sickness,
bear neither fruit nor leaves.
_Shad._ Nay, by my troth, master, none flourish in these
withering times, but ancient bearers[353] and trumpeters.
[353] Ensign-bearers.
_Andel._ Shadow, when thou provest a substance, then the tree
of virtue and honesty, and such fruit of Heaven, shall flourish
upon earth.
_Shad._ True; or when the sun shines at midnight, or women fly,
and yet they are light enough.
_Andel._ ’Twas never merry world with us, since purses and bags
were invented, for now men set lime-twigs to catch wealth: and
gold, which riseth like the sun out of the East Indies, to shine
upon every one, is like a cony taken napping in a pursenet,[354]
and suffers his glistering yellow-face deity to be lapped up in
lambskins, as if the innocency of those leather prisons should
dispense with the cheveril[355] consciences of the iron-hearted
gaolers.
[354] A net the ends of which are drawn together with a string
like a purse.
[355] Kid leather (Fr. _chevreau_). Hence a very flexible
conscience was often called a cheveril conscience.--_Halliwell._
_Shad._ Snudges[356] may well be called gaolers: for if a
poor wretch steal but into a debt of ten pound, they lead him
straight to execution.
[356] Mean or miserly persons.--_Halliwell._
_Andel._ Doth it not vex thee, Shadow, to stalk up and down
Cyprus, and to meet the outside of a man, lapped all in damask,
his head and beard as white as milk, only with conjuring in
the snowy circles of the field argent, and his nose as red as
scarlet, only with kissing the ruddy lips of angels,[357] and
such an image to wear on his thumb, three men’s livings in the
shape of a seal ring, whilst my brother Virtue here,--
[357] See note _ante_, p. 306.
_Shad._ And you his brother Vice!
_Andel._ Most true, my little lean Iniquity--whilst we three, if
we should starve, cannot borrow five shillings of him neither in
word nor deed: does not this vex thee, Shadow?
_Shad._ Not me; it vexes me no more to see such a picture, than
to see an ass laden with riches, because I know when he can bear
no longer, he must leave his burthen to some other beast.
_Andel._ Art not thou mad, to see money on goldsmiths’ stalls,
and none in our purses?
_Shad._ It mads not me, I thank the destinies.
_Andel._ By my poverty, and that’s but a thread-bare oath, I am
more than mad to see silks and velvets lie crowding together in
mercers’ shops, as in prisons, only for fear of the smell of
wax--they cannot abide to see a man made out of wax, for these
satin commodities have such smooth consciences that they’ll have
no man give his word for them or stand bound for their coming
forth, but vow to lie till they rot in those shop counters,
except Monsieur Money bail them. Shadow, I am out of my little
wits to see this.
_Shad._ So is not Shadow: I am out of my wits, to see fat
gluttons feed all day long, whilst I that am lean fast every
day: I am out of my wits, to see our Famagosta fools turn half
a shop of wares into a suit of gay apparel, only to make other
idiots laugh, and wise men to cry, who’s the fool now? I am
mad, to see soldiers beg, and cowards brave: I am mad, to see
scholars in the broker’s shop, and dunces in the mercer’s:
I am mad, to see men that have no more fashion in them than
poor Shadow, yet must leap thrice a day into three orders of
fashions: I am mad, to see many things, but horn-mad, that my
mouth feels nothing.
_Andel._ Why now, Shadow, I see thou hast a substance:
I am glad to see thee thus mad.
_Amp._ The sons of Fortunatus had not wont
Thus to repine at others’ happiness:
But fools have always this loose garment wore,
Being poor themselves, they wish all others poor.
Fie, brother Andelocia, hate this madness,
Turn your eyes inward, and behold your soul,
That wants more than your body; burnish that
With glittering virtue, and make idiots grieve
To see your beauteous mind in wisdom shine,
As you at their rich poverty repine.
_Enter_ FORTUNATUS, _gallant_.[358]
[358] _i.e._ Gallantly attired.
_Andel._ Peace, good Virtue; Shadow, here comes another shadow.
_Shad._ It should be a chameleon: for he is all in colours.
_Amp._ Oh, ’tis my father. With these tears of joy,
My love and duty greet your fair return!
A double gladness hath refreshed my soul;
One, that you live, and one, to see your fate
Looks freshly howsoever poor in state.
_Andel._ My father Fortunatus, and thus brave?
_Shad._ ’Tis no wonder to see a man brave, but a wonder how he
comes brave.
_Fort._ Dear Andelocia and son Ampedo,
And my poor servant Shadow, plume your spirits
With light-winged mirth; for Fortunatus’ hand
Can now pour golden showers into their laps
That sometimes scorned him for his want of gold.
Boys, I am rich, and you shall ne’er be poor;
Wear gold, spend gold, we all in gold will feed,
Now is your father Fortunate indeed.
_Andel._ Father, be not angry, if I set open the windows of
my mind: I doubt for all your bragging, you’ll prove like most
of our gallants in Famagosta, that have a rich outside and a
beggarly inside, and like mules wear gay trappings, and good
velvet foot-cloths[359] on their backs, yet champ on the iron
bit of penury--I mean, want coin. You gild our ears with a talk
of gold, but I pray dazzle our eyes with the majesty of it.
[359] Housings hung on horses and mules, and considered a mark
of dignity.--_Halliwell._
_Fort._ First will I wake your senses with the sound
Of gold’s sweet music: tell me what you hear?
_Amp._ Believe me, sir, I hear not any thing.
_Andel._ Ha, ha, ha. ’Sheart, I thought as much; if I hear any
jingling, but of the purse strings that go flip flap, flip flap,
flip flap, would I were turned into a flip-flap,[360] and sold
to the butchers!
[360] A stick with leather flap for killing flies.
_Fort._ Shadow, I’ll try thine ears; hark, dost rattle?
_Shad._ Yes, like three blue beans in a blue bladder, rattle
bladder, rattle: your purse is like my belly, th’ one’s without
money, th’ other without meat.
_Fort._ Bid your eyes blame the error of your ears:
You misbelieving pagans, see, here’s gold--
Ten golden pieces: take them, Ampedo.
Hold, Andelocia, here are ten for thee.
_Amp._ Shadow, there’s one for thee, provide thee food.
_Fort._ Stay, boy: hold, Shadow, here are ten for thee.
_Shad._ Ten, master? then defiance to fortune, and a fig for
famine.
_Fort._ Now tell me, wags, hath my purse gold or no?
_Andel._ We the wags have gold, father; but I think there’s not
one angel more wagging in this sacred temple. Why, this is rare:
Shadow, five will serve thy turn, give me th’ other five.
_Shad._ Nay, soft, master, liberality died long ago. I see some
rich beggars are never well, but when they be craving: my ten
ducats are like my ten fingers, they will not jeopard a joint
for you. I am yours, and these are mine; if I part from them, I
shall never have part of them.
_Amp._ Father, if Heaven have blest you once again,
Let not an open hand disperse that store,
Which gone, life’s gone; for all tread down the poor.
_Fort._ Peace, Ampedo, talk not of poverty.
Disdain, my boys, to kiss the tawny cheeks
Of lean necessity: make not inquiry
How I came rich; I am rich, let that suffice.
There are four leathern bags trussed full of gold:
Those spent, I’ll fill you more. Go, lads, be gallant:
Shine in the streets of Cyprus like two stars,
And make them bow their knees that once did spurn you;
For, to effect such wonders, gold can turn you.
Brave it in Famagosta, or elsewhere;
I’ll travel to the Turkish Emperor,
And then I’ll revel it with Prester John,[361]
Or banquet with great Cham[362] of Tartary,
And try what frolic court the Soldan keeps.
I’ll leave you presently. Tear off these rags;
Glitter, my boys, like angels,[363] that the world
May, whilst our life in pleasure’s circle roams,
Wonder at Fortunatus and his sons.
[361] One of the followers of Ogier the Dane into India,
according to Mandeville, who was given sovereignty there, and is
said by tradition to have had seventy tributary kings.
[362] _i.e._ Khan.
[363] Another reference to the gold coins so called.
_Andel._ Come, Shadow, now we’ll feast it royally.
_Shad._ Do, master, but take heed of beggary. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_A Wood in Cyprus._
_Music sounds. Enter_ VICE _with a gilded face, and
horns on her head; her garments long, painted before with silver
half-moons, increasing by little and little till they come to
the full; while in the midst of them is written in capital
letters, “~Crescit Eundo~.” Behind her garments are painted with
fools’ faces and heads; and in the midst is written, “~Ha, Ha,
He~.” She, and others wearing gilded vizards and attired like
devils, bring out a fair tree of gold with apples on it._
_After her comes_ VIRTUE, _with a coxcomb on her head,
and her attire all in white before; about the middle is written
“~Sibi sapit~.” Her attire behind is painted with crowns and
laurel garlands, stuck full of stars held by hands thrust out
of bright clouds, and among them is written, “~Dominabitur
astris~.” She and other nymphs, all in white with coxcombs on
their heads, bring a tree with green and withered leaves mingled
together, and with little fruit on it._
_After her comes_ FORTUNE, _with two ~Nymphs~, one
bearing her wheel, another her globe_.
_And last, the ~Priest~._
_Fortune._ You ministers of Virtue, Vice, and Fortune,
Tear off this upper garment of the earth,
And in her naked bosom stick these trees.
_Virtue._ How many kingdoms have I measured,
Only to find a climate, apt to cherish
These withering branches? But no ground can prove
So happy; ay me, none do Virtue love.
I’ll try this soil; if here I likewise fade,
To Heaven I’ll fly, from whence I took my birth,
And tell the Gods, I am banished from the earth.
_Vice._ Virtue, I am sworn thy foe: if there thou plant,
Here, opposite to thine, my tree shall flourish,
And as the running wood-bine spreads her arms,
To choke thy withering boughs in their embrace,
I’ll drive thee from this world: were Virtue fled,
Vice as an angel should be honourèd.
_Fortune._ Servants of this bright devil and that poor saint,
Apply your task whilst you are labouring:
To make your pains seem short our priest shall sing.
[_Whilst the ~Priest~ sings, the rest set the trees into the
earth._
SONG.
Virtue’s branches wither, Virtue pines,
O pity, pity, and alack the time,
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines,
Her gilded boughs above the cedar climb.
Vice hath golden cheeks, O pity, pity,
She in every land doth monarchize.
Virtue is exiled from every city,
Virtue is a fool, Vice only wise.
O pity, pity, Virtue weeping dies.
Vice laughs to see her faint,--alack the time.
This sinks; with painted wings the other flies:
Alack that best should fall, and bad should climb.
O pity, pity, pity, mourn, not sing,
Vice is a saint, Virtue an underling.
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines,
Virtue’s branches wither, Virtue pines.
_Fortune._ Flourish or wither, Fortune cares not which,
In either’s fall or height our eminence
Shines equal to the sun: the Queen of chance
Both virtuous souls and vicious doth advance.
These shadows of yourselves shall, like yourselves,
Strive to make men enamoured of their beauties;
This grove shall be our temple, and henceforth
Be consecrated to our deities.
_Virtue._ How few will come and kneel at Virtue’s shrine?
_Vice._ This contents Virtue, that she is called divine.
_Fortune._ Poor Virtue, Fortune grieves to see thy looks
Want cunning to entice: why hang these leaves,
As loose as autumn’s hair which every wind
In mockery blows from his rotten brows?
Why like a drunkard art thou pointed at?
Why is this motley-scorn[364] set on thy head?
Why stands thy court wide open, but none in it?
Why are the crystal pavements of thy temple,
Not worn, not trod upon? All is for this,
Because thy pride is to wear base attire,
Because thine eyes flame not with amorous fire.
[364] _i.e._ The fool’s cap.
_Virtue._ Virtue is fairest in a poor array.
_Fortune._ Poor fool, ’tis not this badge of purity,
Nor _Sibi sapit_, painted on thy breast,
Allures mortality to seek thy love.
No: now the great wheel of thy globe hath run,
And met this first point of creation.
On crutches went this world but yesterday,
Now it lies bed-rid, and is grown so old,
That it’s grown young; for ’tis a child again,
A childish soul it hath, ’tis a mere fool:
And fools and children are well pleased with toys.
So must this world, with shows it must be pleased,
Then, Virtue, buy a golden face like Vice,
And hang thy bosom full of silver moons,
To tell the credulous world, As those increase,
As the bright moon swells in her pearlèd sphere,
So wealth and pleasures them to Heaven shall rear.
_Virtue._ Virtue abhors to wear a borrowed face.
_Vice._ Why hast thou borrowed, then, that idiot’s hood?
_Virtue._ Fools placed it on my head that knew me not,
And I am proud to wear the scorn of fools.
_Fortune._ Mourn in that pride and die, all the world hates thee.
_Virtue._ Not all, I’ll wander once more through the world:
Wisdom I know hath with her blessèd wings
Fled to some bosom: if I meet that breast,
There I’ll erect my temple, and there rest.
Fortune nor Vice shall then e’er have the power
By their loose eyes to entice my paramour.
Then will I cast off this deformity,
And shine in glory, and triumph to see
You conquered at my feet, that tread on me.
_Fortune._ Virtue begins to quarrel: Vice, farewell.
_Vice._ Stay, Fortune, whilst within this grove we dwell,
If my angelical and saint-like form
Can win some amorous fool to wanton here,
And taste the fruit of this alluring tree,
Thus shall his saucy brows adornèd be,
To make us laugh. [_Makes horns._
_Fortune._ It will be rare: adieu.
_Virtue._ Foul, hell-bred fiend, Virtue shall strive with you,
If any be enamoured of thine eyes,
Their love must needs beget deformities.
Men are transformed to beasts, feasting with sin;
But if in spite of thee their souls I win,
To taste this fruit, though thou disguise their head,
Their shapes shall be re-metamorphosèd.
_Vice._ I dare thee do thy worst.
_Virtue._ My best I’ll try.
_Fort._ Fortune shall judge who wins the sovereignty. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE SECOND
_Enter ~Chorus~._
Chorus. The world to the circumference of Heaven
Is as a small point in geometry,
Whose greatness is so little, that a less
Cannot be made: into that narrow room,
Your quick imaginations we must charm,
To turn that world: and turned, again to part it
Into large kingdoms, and within one moment
To carry Fortunatus on the wings
Of active thought, many a thousand miles.
Suppose then, since you last beheld him here,
That you have sailed with him upon the seas,
And leapt with him upon the Asian shores,
Been feasted with him in the Tartar’s palace,
And all the courts of each barbarian king:
From whence being called by some unlucky star,--
For happiness never continues long,
Help me to bring him back to Arragon,
Where for his pride--riches make all men proud--
On slight quarrel, by a covetous Earl,
Fortune’s dear minion is imprisonèd.
There think you see him sit with folded arms,
Tears dropping down his cheeks, his white hairs torn,
His legs in rusty fetters, and his tongue
Bitterly cursing that his squint-eyed soul
Did not make choice of wisdom’s sacred love.
Fortune, to triumph in inconstancy,
From prison bails him: liberty is wild,
For being set free, he like a lusty eagle
Cut with his vent’rous feathers through the sky,
And ’lights not till he find the Turkish court.
Thither transport your eyes, and there behold him,
Revelling with the Emperor of the East,
From whence through fear, for safeguard of his life,
Flying into the arms of ugly Night,
Suppose you see him brought to Babylon;
And that the sun 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 meet, but what they say,
Listen you--the talk of kings none dare bewray. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE I.--_The Court at Babylon._[365]
[365] In the original story Fortunatus goes to Cairo, and Dekker
is evidently here confusing Egypt with Assyria. Hence the
Soldan’s court at Babylon.
_Enter the_ SOLDAN, _~Noblemen~, and_ FORTUNATUS.
Sold. Art thou that Fortunatus, whose great name,
Being carried in the chariot of the winds,
Hast filled the courts of all our Asian kings
With love and envy, whose dear presence ties
The eyes of admiration to thine eyes?
Art thou that Jove that in a shower of gold
Appeared’st before the Turkish Emperor?
_Fort._ I am that Fortunatus, mighty Soldan.
_Sold._ Where is that purse which threw abroad such treasure?
_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.