THE FORTUNATE ISLES and THEIR uNION. celebrated in a masque designed for the Court, on the Twelfth night. 1624.  Hie choreae, cantus que vigent.  

THE FORTUNATE ISLES.  
His Maty being set,  
ENtreth in, running, JOHPHIEL, an aery spirit, and (according to the Magi) the Intelligence of Jupiter's sphere: Attired in light silks of several colours, with wings of the same, a bright yellow hair, a chaplet of flowers, blue silk stockings, and pumps, and gloves, with a silver fan in his hand.  IOHPHIEL. 
Like a lightning from the sky,  
or an arrow shot by Love,  
Or a Bird of his let fly;  
Be't a Sparrow, or a Dove:  
With that winged haste, come I,  
loosed from the Sphere of jove,  
To wish goodnight  
to your delight.  
To him enters a Melancholic Student, in bare and worn clothes, shrouded under an obscure cloak, and the eaves of an old hat, fetching a deep sigh, his name, Mr.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Oh, oh!  IOHPHIEL. 
In Saturn's name, the Father of my Lord!  
What overcharged piece of Melancholy  
Is this, breaks in between my wishes thus,  
With bombing sighs?  MERE-FOOLE. 
No! no Intelligence!  
Not yet! and all my vows now nine days old!  
Blindness of fate! Puppies had seen by this time:  
But I see nothing! that I should! or would see!  
What mean the Brethren of the Rosie-Crosse  
So to desert their votary!  IOHPHIEL. 
O! 'tis one  
Hath vowed himself unto that airy order,  
And now is gaping for the fly they promised him.  
I'll mix a little with him for my sport.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Have I both in my lodging, and my diet,  
My clothes, and every other solemn charge  
Observed 'em! made the naked boards my bed!  
A faggot for my pillow! hungered sore!  IOHPHIEL. 
And thirsted after'em!  MERE-FOOLE. 
To look gaunt, and lean!  IOHPHIEL. 
Which will not be.  MERE-FOOLE. 
(Who's that?) yes, and outwatched,  
Yea, and outwalked any Ghost alive  
In solitary circle, worn my boots,  
Knees, arms, and elbows out!  IOHPHIEL. 
Ran on the score!  MERE-FOOLE. 
That have I (who suggests that?) and for more  
Than I will speak of, to abate this flesh,  
And have not gained the sight;  IOHPHIEL. 
Nay scarce the sense,  MERE-FOOLE. 
(Voice, thou art right) of any thing but a cold  
Wind in my stomach.  IOHPHIEL. 
And a kind of whimsy.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Here in my head, that puts me to the staggers,  
Whether there be that Brotherhood, or no.  IOHPHIEL. 
Believe frail man, they be: And thou shalt see.  MERE-FOOLE. 
What shall I see?  IOHPHIEL. 
Me.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Thee? Where?  IOHPHIEL. 
Here. If you  
Be Mr. Mere-fool.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Sir, our name is merry-fool.  
But by contraction Mere-fool.  IOHPHIEL. 
Then are you  
The wight I seek: and Sr. my name is jophiel,  
Intelligence to the Sphere of jupiter,  
An aery jocular spirit, employed to you  
From Father OUTIS.  MERE-FOOLE. 
OUTIS? who is he?  IOHPHIEL. 
Know ye not OUTIS? Then know Nobody:  
The good old Hermit, that was said to dwell  
Here in the forest without trees, that built  
The Castle in the air, where all the Brethren  
Rhodostaurotic live. It flies with wings,  
And runs on wheels: where julian de Campis  
Holds out the brandished blade.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Is't possible  
They think on me?  IOHPHIEL. 
Rise, be not lost in wonder,  
But hear me, and be faithful. All the Brethren  
Have heard your vows, salute you, and expect you,  
By me, this next return. But the good Father  
Has been content to die for you.  MERE-FOOLE. 
For me?  IOHPHIEL. 
For you. Last new-year's day, which some give out  
Because it was his Birthday, and began  
The year of jubilee, he would rest upon it,  
Being his hundred five and twentieth year:  
But the truth is, having observed your Genesis,  
He would not live, because he might leave all  
He had to you.  MERE-FOOLE. 
What had he?  IOHPHIEL. 
Had? An office,  
Two, three, or four.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Where?  IOHPHIEL. 
In the upper Region:  
And that you'll find. The Farm of the great Customs,  
Through all the Ports of the Airs Intelligences;  
Then Constable of the Castle Rosy-Crosse:  
Which you must be, and Keeper of the Keys  
Of the whole cabal, with the Seals; you shall be  
Principal Secretary to the Stars;  
Know all their signatures, and combinations,  
The divine rods, and consecrated roots.  
What not? Would you turn trees up like the wind,  
To show your strength? march over heads of armies,  
Or points of pikes, to show your lightness? force  
All doors of arts, with the petard, of your wit?  
read at one view all books? speak all the languages  
Of several creatures? master all the learnings  
Were, are, or shallbe? or, to show your wealth,  
Open all treasures, hid by nature, from  
The rock of Diamond, to the mine of Seacoal?  
Sir, you shall do it.  MERE-FOOLE. 
But how?  IOHPHIEL. 
Why, by his skill,  
Of which he has left you the inheritance,  
Here in a pot: this little galley pot,  
Of tincture, high rose tincture. there's your 
a He gives him a Rose.  Order,  
You will ha' your Collar sent you, ere't be long.  MERE-FOOLE. 
I looked Sr. for a halter, I was desperate.  IOHPHIEL. 
Reach forth your hand:  MERE-FOOLE. 
O Sr. a broken sleeve  
Keeps the arm back as 'tis i'the proverb.  IOHPHIEL. 
Nay,  
For that I do commend you: you must be poor  
With all your wealth, & learning. When you ha' made  
Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter,  
Where you will walk invisible to Mankind,  
Talked with all birds & beasts in their own language,  
When you have penetrated hills like air,  
Dived to the bottom of the Sea, like lead,  
And risen again like cork, walked in the fire  
An 'twere a Salamander, passed through all  
The winding orbs, like an Intelligence,  
Up to the Empyreum, when you have made  
The World your gallery, can dispatch a business  
In some three minutes, with the Antipodes,  
And in five more, negotiate the Globe over;  
You must be poor still.  MERE-FOOLE. 
By my place, I know it.  JOPHIEL. 
Where would you wish to be now? or what to see?  
Without the fortunate purse to bear your charges,  
Or wishing hat? I will but touch your temples,  
The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip,  
The very tip o' your nose, with this Collyrium  
And you shall see i' the air all the Ideas,  
Spirits, and atoms, Flies, that buzz about  
This way, and that way, and are rather admirable,  
Than any way intelligible.  MERE-FOOLE. 
O, come, tinct me,  
Tinct me: I long, save this great belly, I long.  
But shall I only see?  IOHPHIEL. 
See, and command  
As they were all your valets, or your footboys:  
But first you must declare, (your Greatness must,  
For that is now your style) what you would see,  
Or whom.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Is that my style? My Greatness, then,  
Would see King Zoroastres.  IOHPHIEL. 
Why you shall:  
Or any one beside. Think whom you please?  
Your thousand, Your ten thousand, to a million:  
All's one to me, if you could name a myriad.  MERE-FOOLE. 
I have named him.  IOHPHIEL. 
youhave reason.  MERE-FOOLE. 
ay, I have reason.  
Because he's said to be the Father of conjurers,  
And a cunning man i'the stars.  IOHPHIEL. 
ay, that's it troubles us.  
A little for the present: For, at this time  
He is confuting a French Almanac,  
But he will straight have done, Ha' you but patience;  
Or think but any other in mean time,  
Any hard name.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Then, Hermes Trismegistus.  IOHPHIEL. 
O, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Why, you shall see him,  
A fine hard name. Or him, or whom you will,  
As I said to you afore. Or what do you think  
Of Howl-glass, in stead of him?  MERE-FOOLE. 
No, him  
I have a mind to.  IOHPHIEL. 
O', but Ulenspiegel  
Were such a name! but you shall have your longing.  
What luck is this, he should be busy to?  
He is weighing water, but to fill three hourglasses,  
And mark the day in pennyworths like a cheese,  
And he has done. 'tis strange you should name him  
Of all the rest! there being jamblicus,  
Or porphyry, or Proclus, any name  
That is not busy.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Let me see Pythagoras.  IOHPHIEL. 
Good.  MERE-FOOLE. 
or Plato,  IOHPHIEL. 
Plato, is framing some ideas,  
Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen,  
Three gross at least: And, for Pythagoras,  
He has rashly run himself on an employment,  
Of keeping Asses from a field of beans;  
And cannot be staved off.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Then, Archimedes.  IOHPHIEL. 
Yes, Archimedes!  MERE-FOOLE. 
ay, or Aesop.  IOHPHIEL. 
Nay,  
Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes,  
And worthy to be seen; but he is now  
Inventing a rare Mousetrap with Owls wings  
And a Cats-foot, to catch the Mice alone:  
And Aesop, he is filing a Fox tongue,  
For a new fable he has made of Court;  
But you shall see 'em all, stay but your time  
And ask in season; Things asked out of season  
A man denies himself. At such a time  
As Christmas, when disguising is o' foot,  
To ask of the inventions, and the men,  
The wits, and the engines that move those Orbs!  
methinks, you should inquire now, after Skelton,  
Or Mr. Scogan.  MERE-FOOLE. 
Scogan? what was he?  IOHPHIEL. 
O' a fine gentleman, and a Master of Arts,  
Of Henry the fourth's times, that made disguises  
For the king's sons, and writ in ballad-royal  
Daintily well.  MERE-FOOLE. 
But, wrote he like a Gentleman?  IOHPHIEL. 
In rhyme! fine tinkling rhyme! and flowand verse!  
With now & then some sense! & he was paid for't,  
Regarded, and rewarded: which few Poets  
Are now adays.  MERE-FOOLE. 
And why.  IOHPHIEL. 
'Cause every Dabbler  
In rhyme is thought the same. But you shall see him.  
Hold up your nose.  MERE-FOOLE. 
I had rather see a Brathman,  
Or a Gymnosophist yet.  IOHPHIEL. 
You shall see him, Sir.  
Is worth them both. And with him Domine Skelton,  
The worshipful Poet Laureate to K. Harry  
And Tytire tu of those times. Advance quick Scogan,  
And quicker Skelton, show your crafty heads,  
Before this Heir of arts, this Lord of learning,  
This Master of all knowledge in reversion.  Enter SKOGAN, and SKELTON in like habits, as they lived. SCOGAN. 
Seemeth we are called of a moral intent  
If the words, that are spoken, as well now be meant.  IOHPHIEL. 
That Mr. Scogan I dare you ensure.  SCOGAN. 
Then, Son, our acquaintance is like to endure.  MERE-FOOLE. 
A pretty game! like Crambe Mr. Scogan,  
Give me thy hand. thouart very lean, methinks.  
Is't living by thy wits?  SCOGAN. 
If it had been that,  
My worshipful Son, thou hadst ne'er been so fat.  IOHPHIEL. 
He tells you true Sr. Here's a gentleman  
(My pair of crafty Clerks) of that high carat,  
As hardly hath the age produced his like.  
Who not content with the wit of his own times,  
Is curious to know yours, and what hath been,  MERE-FOOLE. 
Or is, or shall be.  IOHPHIEL. 
Note his Latitude!  SKELTON. 
O, vir amplissimus!  
(Vt scholis dicimus)  
Et gentilissimus!  IOHPHIEL. 
The question-issimus  
Is, should he ask a sight now, for his life;  
I mean, a person, he would have restored,  
To memory of these times, for a Playfellow,  
Whether you would present him, with an Hermes,  
Or, with an Howl-glass?  SKELTON. 
An owlglass  
To come, to pass  
On his Father's Ass;  
There never was,  
By day, nor night,  
A finer sight.  
With feathers upright  
In his horned cap,  
And crooked shape,  
Much like an Ape.  
With Owl on fist,  
And Glass at his wrist.  SKOGAN. 
Except the sour Knaves entertained for the guards,  
Of the Kings, & the Queens that triumph in the cards.  IOHPHIEL. 
ay, that were a sight and a half, I confess,  
To see 'em come skipping in, all at a mess!  SKELTON. 
With Elinor Rumming.  
To make up the mumming;  
That comely Gill,  
That dwelled on a hill,  
But she is not grill:  
Her face all bouzy,  
Droopy, and drowsy,  
Scurvy, and lousy,  
Comely crinkled,  
Wondrously wrinkled,  
Like a roast pig's ear,  
Bristled with hair.  SCOGAN. 
Or, what do you say to Ruffian Fitz-Ale?  IOHPHIEL. 
An excellent sight, if he be not too stale.  
But then, we can mix him with modern Vapours,  
The Child of Tobacco, his pipes, and his papers.  MERE-FOOLE. 
You talked of Elinor Rumming, I had rather  
See Ellen of Troy.  IOHPHIEL. 
Her you shall see.  
But credit me,  
That mary Ambree  
(Who marched so free.  
To the siege of Gaunt,  
And death could not daunt,  
As the Ballad doth vaunt)  
Were a braver wight,  
And a better sight.  SKELTON. 
Or Westmister Meg,  
With her long leg,  
As long as a Crane;  
And feet like a plane:  
With a pair of heels,  
As broad as two wheels;  
To drive down the dew,  
As she goes to the stew:  
And turns home metry,  
By Lambeth ferry.  
Or you may have come  
In, Thomas Thumb,  
In a pudding fat  
With Doctor Rat.  IOHPHIEL. 
ay, that! that! that!  
we'll have'em all,  
To fill the Hall.  

The Antimasque follows.  
Consisting of these twelve persons, Owlglass, the four Knaves, two Ruffians Fitz-Ale, and Vapours; Elnor Rumming, Mary Ambree, Long= Meg of Westminster, Tom Thumb, and Doctor Rat.  
Which done,  MERE-FOOLE. 
What! are they vanished! where is skipping Skelton?  
Or moral Scogan? I do like their show  
And would have thank 'em, being the first grace  
The Company of the Rosie-Crosse hath done me.  IOHPHIEL. 
The company o'the Rosie-crosse! you widgeon,  
The company of Players. Go, you are,  
And willbe still yourself, a mere-fool, In;  
And take your pot of honey here, and hog's grease,  
See, who has gulled you, and make one. Great King,  
Your pardon, if desire to please have trespassed.  
This fool should have been sent to Antycira,  
(The I'll of Ellebore,) there to have purged,  
Not hoped a happy seat within your waters.  
Hear now the message of the Fates, and jove,  
On whom those Fates depend, to you, as Neptune  
The great Commander of the Seas, and Isles.  
That point of Revolution being come  
When all the Fortunate Islands should be joined,  
MACARIA, one, and thought a Principal,  
That hitherto hath floated, as uncertain  
Where she would fix her blessings, is tonight  
Instructed to adhere to your BRITANNIA:  
That where the happy spirits live, hereafter  
Might be no question made, by the most curious,  
Since the Macarij come to do you homage,  
And join their cradle to your continent.  
Here the Scene opens, and the Masquers are discovered sitting in their several sieges. The air opens above, and APOLLO with Harmony, and the spirits of Music sing, the while the Island moves forward, Proteus sitting below, and harkening.  Song. 

Look forth the Shepherd of the Seas,  
And of the Ports that keep the keys,  
And to your Neptune tell,   

MACARIA, Prince of all the Isles,  
Wherein there nothing grows, but smiles,  
Doth here put in, to dwell.   

The winds are sweet, and gently blow,  
But Zephirus, no breath they know,  
The Father of the flowers:   

By him the virgin violets live,  
And every plant doth odours give,  
As new, as are the hours.   CHORUS. 
Then, think it not a common cause,  
That to it so much wonder draws,  
And all the heaven's consent,  
With Harmony to tune their notes,  
In answer to the public votes,  
That for it up were sent.  
By this time, the Island having joined itself to the shore; PROTEUS, PORTUNUS, and SARON come forth, and go up singing to the State, while the Masquers take time to rank themselves.  Song. PROTEUS. 
ay, now, the heights of Neptune's honours shine,  
And all the glories of his greater style  
Are read, reflected in this happiest I'll.  PORTUNUS. 
How both the air, the soil, the seat combine  
To speak it blessed!  SARON. 
These are the true groves,  
Where joys are borne,  PROTEUS. 
Where longings,  PORTUNUS. 
and where loves!  SARON. 
That live!  PROTEUS. 
That last!  PORTUNUS. 
No intermitted wind  
Blows here, but what leaves flowers, or fruit behind  CHORUS. 
'tis odour all, that comes!  
And every tree doth give his gums.  PROTEUS. 
There is no sickness, nor no old age known  
To man, nor any grief that he dares own.  
There is no hunger there, nor envy of state.  
Nor least ambition in the Magistrate.  
But all are even-hearted, open, free,  
And what one is, another strives to be.  PORTUNUS. 
Here all the day, they feast, they sport, and spring;  
Now dance the grace's Hay, now Venus' Ring:  
To which the old musician's play, and sing.  SARON. 
There is ARION, tuning his bold Harp,  
from flat to sharp.  PORTUNUS. 
And light Anacreon,  
He still is one!  PROTEUS. 
Stesichorus there, too,  
That Linus, and old Orpheus doth outdo  
To wonder.  SARON. 
And Amphion! he is there.  PORTUNUS. 
Nor is Apollo dainty to appear  
In such a choir, although the trees be thick,  PROTEUS. 
He will look in, and see the airs be quick,  
And that the times be true.  PORTUNUS. 
Then, chanting,  PROTEUS. 
Then,  
Up, with their notes, they raise the Prince of Men.  SARON. 
And sing the present Prophecy that goes  
Of joining the bright lily, and the ROSE.  CHORUS. 
See! all the flowers  PROTEUS. 
That spring the banks along,  
Do move their heads unto that undersong.  CHORUS. 
SARON, PORTUNUS, PROTEUS, help to bring  
Our Primrose in, the glory of the spring!  
And tell the Daffodil, against that day,  
That we prepare new garlands fresh as May.  
And interweave the Myrtle, and the Bay.  
This sung, the Island goes back, whilst the upper Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers prepare for their figure.  CHORUS. 
Spring all the Graces of the age,  
And all the Loves of time;  
Bring all the pleasures of the stage,  
And relishes of rhyme:  
Add all the softnesses of Courts,  
The looks, the laughters, and the sports.  
And mingle all their sweets, and salts,  
That none may say, the Triumph halts.  
The Masquers dance their Entry or first dance.  
Which done, the first Prospective, a Maritime Palace, or the house of Oceanus is discovered to loud Music.  
The other above is no more seen.  IOHPHIEL. 
Behold the Palace of Oceanus!  
Hail Reverend structure! Boast no more to us  
Thy being able, all the Gods to feast;  
We saw enough: when ALBION was thy guest.  
The measures.  
After which, the second Prospective, a Sea is shown, to the former Music.  IOHPHIEL. 
Now turn; and view the wonders of the deep,  
Where Proteus herds, & Neptune's orks do keep,  
Where all is ploughed, yet still the pastures green  
New ways are found, and yet no paths are seen.  Here Proteus, Portunus, Saron go up to the Ladies with this Song. PROTEUS. 
Come noble Nymphs, and do not hide  
The joys, for which you so provide:  SARON. 
If not to mingle with the Men,  
What do you here? Go home again.  PORTUNUS. 
Your dressings do confess,  
By what we see, so curious parts  
Of Pallas, and Arachne's arts,  
That you could mean no less.  PROTEUS. 
Why do you wear the silkworms toils.  
Or glory in the shellfish spoils;  
Or strive to show the grains of Ore  
That you have gathered on the shore,  
whereof to make a stock  
To graft the greener Emerald on,  
Or any better watered stone,  SARON. 
Or Ruby of the rock?  PROTEUS. 
Why do you smell of Ambergris,  
Of which was formed Neptune's Niece,  
The Queen of Love: unless you can  
Like Seaborn Venus love a Man?  SARON. 
Try, put yourselves unto't.  CHORUS. 
Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet.  
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet,  
Do promise you will do't.  
The Revels follow.  
Which ended, the Fleet is discovered, while the three Corners play.  IOHPHIEL. 
'tis time, your eyes should be refreshed at length  
With something new, a part of NEPTUNES strength,  
See, yond, his Fleet, ready to go or come,  
Or fetch the riches of the Ocean home,  
So to secure him, both in peace, and wars,  
Till not one ship alone, but all be stars.  Then the last Song. PROTEUS. 
Although we wish the glory still might last  
Of such a night, and for the causes past:  
Yet now, great Lord of waters, and of Isles,  
Give Proteus leave to turn unto his wiles.  PORTUNUS. 
And, whilst young ALBION doth thy labours ease,  
Dispatch Portunus to thy Ports,  SARON. 
And Saron to thy Seas:  
To meet old Nereus, with his fifty girls,  
From aged Indus laden home with pearls,  
And Orient gums, to burn unto thy name.  CHORUS. 
And may thy subject's hearts be all one flame.  
Whilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate,  
And 'mongst the winds, dost suffer no debate,  
But both at Sea, and Land, our powers increase,  
With health, and all the golden gifts of Peace.  After which, their last Dance. 
The END