THE Pleasant Comedy of Old Fortunatus.  
As it was played before the queen's Majesty this Christmas, by the Right Honourable the Earl of Nottingham, Lord high Admiral of England his Servants.  
LONDON Printed by S. S. for William Aspley, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the tigers head. 1600.   

The Prologue at Court: Enter two old men.  1 
ARe you then traveling to the temple of Eliza?  2 
even to her temple are my feeble limbs traveling. Some call her Pandora: some Gloriana, some Cynthia: some Delphaebe, some Astraea: 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.  1 
I am one of her own country, and we adore her by the name of Eliza.  2 
Blessed name, happy country: Your Eliza makes your land Elysium: but what do you offer?  1 
That which all true Subjects should: when I was young, an Armed hand; now I am crooked, an upright heart: But what offer you?  2 
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?  1 
How long be't since you last beheld her?  2 
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 Candlesticks: See how gloriously the Moon shines upon us. Both kneel.  1 
Peace fool: tremble, and kneel: The Moon sayst 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.  2 
No, no, speak thou, I want words to begin. Weeps.  1 
Alack what shall I do? com'st thou with me,  
And weepst now thou beholdest this Majesty?  2 
Great landlady of hearts, pardon me.  1 
Blame not mine eyes, good father, in these tears.  2 
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 youths 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 Cipnots (my poor country men)  
To pay a whole years tribute: O vouchsafe,  
Dread Queen of Fairies, with your gracious eyes,  
T'accept theirs and our humble sacrifice.  1 
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.  2 
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.  
OF loves sweet war, our timorous Muse doth sing,  
And to the bosom of each gentle dear,  
Offence her Artless tunes, borne on the wing  
Of sacred Poesy. A benumbing fear,  
(That your nice souls, cloyed with dilicious sounds,  
Will loathe 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 scences,  
She begs your pardon, for she'll send me forth,  
Not when the laws of Poesy do call,  
But as the story needs, your gracious eye  
Gives life to Fortunatus history. Exit.   

THE comedy OF Old Fortunatus.  Enter Fortunatus meanly attired, he walks ere he speak once or twice about cracking Nuts. Fortunatus. 
SD, ho, ho, ho, ho.  Echo 
within, Ho, ho, ho, ho,  Fortun. 
There boy.  Echo. 
There boy.  Fort. 
And thou be'st a goodfellow, tell me how thou call'st this wood.  Echo. 
This wood.  Fort. 
I this wood, & 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, in stead of fasting i'll feed upon Nuts, and in stead of sighing will laugh and be lean, Sirrah, Echo.  Echo, 
Sirrah Echo.  Fortu. 
Here's a Nut.  Echo 
Here's a Nut.  Fort. 
Crack it.  Echo, 
Crack it.  Fort. 
Hang thyself.  Echo, 
Hang thyself.  Fort. 
thouart a knave, a knave.  Echo, 
A knave, a knave,  Fort. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Echo, 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Fortunat. 
Why so, two fools laugh at one another, I at my little 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 S. Michael's in Cyprus, that keeps most rumbling when men would most sleep.  Echo, 
a pox on thee for mocking me.  Echo, 
a pox on thee for mocking me.  Fortunat. 
Why so, Snipsnap, this war is at an end, but this wilderness is world without end, to see how travel can transform: my teeth are turned into Nut crackers, a thousand to one I break out shortly, for I am full of nothing, but waxing kernels, my tongue speaks no language but an Almond for 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 mean time 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 lean 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 err I wake again: down great heart, down. hay, ho, well, well.  He lies down and sleeps: Enter a Gardener, a Smith, a Monk, a Shepherd 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 Gives and led by her. The foremost come out singing. Fortune takes her Chair, the Kings lying at her feet, she treading on them as she goes up. 

The 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 holy day.  
Holiday with joy we cry  
And bend, and bend and merrily,  
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity,  
Sing Hymns to Fortune's deity.   All. 
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.  1. King. 
Accursed Queen of chance, what had we done,  
Who having sometimes like young Phaeton's,  
Rid in the burnished Chariot of the Sun,  
And sometimes been thy minions, when thy fingers  
Weaned wanton love-nets in our curled 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,  
Where in our Sun like Radiance did appear.  All the Kings. 
Accursed Queen of chance, damned sorceress.  The rest. 
Most powerful Queen of chance dread sovereigness.  Fort. 
No more: curse on: your cries to me are Music,  
And fill the sacred roundure of mine ears,  
With tunes more sweet than moving of the Spheres:  
Curse on: on our celestial brows do sit  
Un numbered smiles, which then leaps 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 Semigods 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 swollen 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 near durst view the face of wars.  
I set an idiot's cap on virtues head,  
Turn learning out of doors, clothe wit in rags,  
And paint ten thousand Images of Leame,  
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.  Monk. 
True centre of this wide circumference,  
Sacred commandress of the destinies,  
Our tongues shall only sound thy excellence.  The rest. 
Thy excellence our tongues shall only sound.  The second 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 then hell tumblest us down.  All Kings. 
Ever for ever will we ban thy name.  Fort. 
How sweet your howlings relish in mine ears?  
Stand by; now rise, behold, here lies a wretch, She comes down.  
To vex your souls, this beggar i'll advance  
Beyond the sway of thought, take instruments,  
And let the raptures of choice Harmony,  
Through the hollow windings of his ear, Music a while, and he waketh  
Carry their sacred sounds, & wake each sense,  
To stand amazed at our bright Eminence.  Fortunat. 
Oh, how am I transported? Is this earth?  
Or blessed 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,  
Lead by my fate, not folly; in this wood  
With weary sorrow have I wandered,  
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. 
I fevery 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 sorrows heir, and eldest son to shame.  The Kings. 
No, we are sons to shame, and sorrows 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 fift, who being first deposed,  
Was after thrust into a dungeon,  
And thus in silver chains shall rot to death.  
This Frederick Barbarossa Emperor  
Of Almain once: but by Pope Alexander  
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,  
(jews the meek) but through his children's pride,  
Thus have I caused him to be famished,  
Here stands the very soul of misery  
Poor Bajazet old Turkish Emperor,  
And once the greatest Monarch in the East;  
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 Tamberlaine:  
Yet must thou in a cage of Iron be drawn  
In triumph at his heels, and there in grief  
Dash out thy brains.  The third King. 
Oh miserable me.  Fortune. 
No tears can melt the heart of destiny:  
These have I reined and exalted those:  
These hands have conquered Spain, these brows fill up  
The golden circle of rich Portugal.  
Viriat a Monarch now, but borne a shepherd.  
This Primislaus (a Bohemian king)  
Last day a Carter: this Monk gregory  
Now lifted to the Papal dignity,  
Wretches, why gnaw you not your fingers off,  
And tear your tongues out, seeing yourselves trod down,  
And this Dutch-botcher wearing Munster's crown?  
john Leyden borne 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.  Fortunat. 
Oh most divine:  
Give me but leave to borrow wonders 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)  Fortunat. 
Daughters of jove and the unblemished night,  
Most righteous Parce, guide my Genius right,  
Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches.  Fortune. 
Stay, Fortunatus, once more hear me speak,  
If thou kiss wisdoms cheek and make her thine,  
she'll breathe into thy lips divinity,  
And thou (like Phoebus) shalt speak Oracle,  
Thy heaven-inspired soul, on wisdoms 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 reveling,  
Wish but for beauty, and within thine eyes,  
Two naked Cupids amorously shall swim,  
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  
shallbe stretched out, thou shalt behold the change  
Of Monarchies, and see those children die,  
Whose great great Grandsires now in cradles lie.  
If through Golds sacred hunger thou dost pine,  
Those gilded wantonness which in swarms do run,  
To warm their slender 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.  The Kings. 
Old man, take heed, her smiles will murder thee  Th'other. 
Old man, she'll crown thee with felicity.  Fort. 
Oh, whither am I wrapped beyond myself?  
More violent conflicts fight in every thought,  
Than his whose fatal choice Troy's downfall wrought.  
Shall I contract myself to wisdoms love?  
Then I lose riches: And a wiseman 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,  
Then of a thread bare Saint in wisdoms school.  
I will be strong: than 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 unroll:  
Therefore i'll beg for beauty; yet I will not,  
The fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul  
Leprous as sin itself; then 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, Kneel down.  
My choice is store of gold; the rich are wise.  
He that upon his bark 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 heavens 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 thrusts thy hand into the same,  
Thou shalt draw forth ten pieces of bright gold,  
Currant in any Realm where then thou breathest;  
If thou canst dribble out the Sea by drops,  
Then shalt thou want: but that can near be done.  
Nor this grow empty.  Fortunat. 
Thanks, great deity.  Fortune. 
The virtue ends when thou and thy sons end,  
This path leads thee to Cyprus, get thee hence;  
Farewell, vain covetous fool, thou wilt repent,  
That for the love of dross thou hast despised  
Wisdoms divine embrace, she would have borne thee  
On the rich wings of immortality;  
But now go dwell with cares and quickly die.  The Kings. 
We dwell with cares, yet cannot quickly die.  Exeunt all singing, manet Fortunatus. Fortunat. 
But now go dwell with cares and quickly die? How quickly? if I die tomorrow, i'll be merry today: if next day, i'll be merry tomorrow: go dwell with cares? Where dwells care? Hum ha, in what house dwells care, that I may choose an honester neighbour? In PRINCE's 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 guilt 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, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, good, just ten. Its gold sure, it's so heavy, try again, 1, 2, etc. 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, heigh old lad be merry. Here's riches, wisdom, strength, health, beauty, & long life. (If I die not quickly, sweet purse I kiss thee, Fortune, I adore thee, Care, I despise thee, death, I defy thee.  Enter Ampedo, Shadow after him, both sad: Andolocia after them. Andelo. 
S'hart, why how now: two knights of the post?  Shad. 
ay, master, and we are both forsworn, as all such wooden knights be, for we both took an oath (mary 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.  Sha. 
The next quarter, not this, when the sign is in Taurus.  Andel. 
Ho that's to say, when thou eatest bull beef. But Shadow, what day is today?  Shad. 
Fasting day.  Andel. 
What day was yesterday?  Shad. 
Fasting day too.  Andel. 
Will tomorrow 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 & wear a fat pair of cheeks.  Andel. 
Now am I 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: Sirrah 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 loggerheaded jade, and walk a foot, and talk with your poor friends.  Shad. 
Nay by my troth he is like me; if his belly be empty, his heart is full.  Andelo. 
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 left thee: come, come, leave this broad brim fashions, because the world frowns upon thee, wilt not thou smile upon us?  Ampe. 
Did but the bitterness of mine own fortunes  
Infect my taste, I could paint over my cheeks  
With ruddy-coloured smiles: 'tis not the want  
Of costly diet or desire of gold,  
Enforce this 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 falcons 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.  Amped. 
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 wanton 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 miles on her (as the Sun shines on fire)  
To kill that little heat, and with her frown  
Is proud, that she can tread poor virtue down:  
Therefore her wrinkled brow makes not mine sour,  
Her gifts are toys, and I deride her power.  Shad. 
'tis not the crabtree faced world neither that makes mine sour  Andelo. 
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 and trumpeters.  Andelo. 
Shadow, when thou provest a substance, than 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.  Andelo. 
'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 Conte taken napping in a Pursenet, and suffers his glistering yellow face deity to be leapt up in Lambskins, as if the innocency of those leather prisons, should dispense with the chevril consciences of the Iron hearted jailers.  Shad. 
Snudges may well be called jailers: for if a poor wretch steal but into a debt of ten pound, they lead him straight to execution.  Andel. 
Doth it not vex thee, Shadow, to stalk up and down Cyprus, and to meet the outside of a man, leapt 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, and such an Image to wear on his thumb, three men's livings in the shape of a seal King, whilst my brother virtue here,  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 burden 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 threadbare 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 wisemen 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 Mercers: I am mad, to see men that have no more fashion in them then 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.  Amped. 
The sons of Fortunatus had not wont,  
Thus to repine at other's 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,  
So see your beauteous mind in wisdom shine,  
As you at their rich poverty repine.  Enter Fortunatus gallant. And. 
Peace, good virtue, Shad 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.  And. 
My father Fortunatus, & thus brave?  Sha. 
'tis no wonder to see a man brave, but a wonder how he comes brave.  Fortunat. 
Dear Andelocia and son Ampedo,  
And my poor servant Shadow: plume your spirits  
With light-winged mirth: for Fortunatus' hand  
Can now power 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;  
We are 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, & a beggarly inside, and like Mules wear gay trappings, and good Velvet foot-cloths 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.  Fort. 
First will I wake your senses with the sound  
Of golds sweet music: tell me what you hear?  Amp. 
Believe me, Sir, I hear not any thing.  Andel. 
Ha, ha, ha. S heart, 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, and sold to the Butchers.  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' ones 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.  Ampe. 
Shadow, there's one for thee, provide thee food.  Fort. 
Stay, boy: hold, Shad. here are ten for thee.  Shad. 
Ten master? then defiance to Fortune, & 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: Saddow, 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 blessed 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 sour leathern bags trust 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 else where,  
I'll travel to the Turkish Emperor:  
And then i'll revel it with Prester john,  
Or banquet with great Cham of tartary,  
And try what frolic Court the soldan keeps;  
I'll leave you presently: tear off these rags.  
Glitter, my boys like Angels, that the world  
May (whilst our life in pleasure's circle comes)  
Wonder at Fortunatus and his sons.  Andel. 
Come, Shadow: now we'll feast it royalty.  Shad. 
Do, master, but take heed of beggary. Exeunt.  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: in the midst of them in Capital letters this written: CRESCITEUNDO: her garment painted behind with fools faces & devils heads: and underneath it in the midst this written, Ha, Ha, He: she and others wearing gilded vizards, and attire like devils, bring out a fair tree of Gold with apples on it: after her comes Virtue, a coxcomb on her head, all in white before, and this written about the middle: Sibi sapit: her attire behind painted with Crowns, & Laurel garlands, stuck full of stars, held out by hands, thrust out of bright clouds, and among them thus written, Dominabitur astris: She and other nymphs all in white with coxecombs on their heads, bring a tree with green and withered leaves mingled together, and little fruit on it: after her Fortune, 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 they foe: if there thou plant,  
Here opposite to thine, my tree shall flourish,  
And (as the running woodbine) spread 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 honoured.  Fort. 
servants of this bright devil & that poor Saint.  
Apply your talk whilst you are labouring:  
To make your pains seem short our priest shall sing.  The song: whilst he sings, the rest set the trees into the earth. Priest. 
virtues branches wither, virtue pines,  
O pity, pity, and alack the time,  
Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines,  
Her gilded boughs above the Cedar clime.  
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,  
virtues branches wither, Virtue pines.  Fort. 
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.  Vert. 
How few will come and kneel at virtues shrine?  Vice. 
This contents virtue, that she is called divine.  Fort. 
Poor Virtue, Fortune grieves to see thy looks  
Want cunning to entice: Why hang these leaves,  
As loose as autumns hair (which every wind,  
In mockery blows from his rotten brows?)  
Why like a drunkard art thou pointed at?  
Why is this Motley-scorn 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.  Vert. 
Virtue is fairest in a poor array.  Fort. 
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 his first point of creation.  
On Crutches went this world but yesterday,  
Now it lies bedrid; 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 pearled Sphere,  
So wealth and pleasures them to heaven shall rear.  Vert. 
Virtue abhors to wear a borrowed face.  Vice. 
Why hast thou borrowed then that idiot's hood?  Vert. 
fools placed it on my head that knew me not,  
And I am proud to wear the scorn of fools.  Fort. 
Mourn in that pride & die; all the world hates thee.  Vert. 
Not all, i'll wander once more through the world:  
Wisdom I know hath with her blessed wings  
Fled to some bosom: if I meet that breast,  
There i'll erect my temple, and there rest.  
Fortune nor Vice, shall then ere 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.  Fort. 
Virtue begins to quarrel: Vice, farewell.  Vice. 
Stay, Fortune, whilst within this Grove we dwell,  
If my Angelical and Saintlike form  
Can win some amorous fool to wanton here,  
And taste the fruit of this alluring tree,  
Thus shall his saucy brows adorned be, Makes horns.  
To make us laugh.  Fort. 
It will be rare: adieu.  Ver. 
Foul hellbred 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 remetamorphosed.  Vice. 
I dare thee do thy worst.  Vert. 
My best i'll try.  Fort. 
Fortune shall judge who wins the sovereignty.  Enter Chorus. Exeunt. 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 Tartars palace,  
And all the Courts of each Barbarian kings:  
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 a slight quarrel, by a covetous Earl,  
Fortune's dear minion is imprisoned:  
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 unconstancy),  
From prison bails him; (liberty is wild)  
For being set free, he like a lusty eagle,  
Cuts with his venturous feathers through the sky,  
And lights not till he finds the Turkish court.  
Thither transport your eyes, and there behold him,  
reveling 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.  Enter the Soldan, his Noblemen, and Fortunatus. Sould. 
Art thou that Fortunatus, whose great name,  
Being carried in the Chariot of the winds,  
Has 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  
Appearedst before the Turkish Emperor?  Fort. 
I am that Fortunatus, mighty soldan.  Sould. 
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 Europa'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.  Sould. 
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 breath that virtuous spirit  
Into the heart thereof, all which is done  
By a most sacred inspiration.  Sould. 
Welcome, most welcome, to the sultan's court;  
Stay here, and be the King of Babylon,  
Stay here, and I will more amaze thine eyes  
With wondrous sights, then can all Asia.  
Behold you tower, 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;  
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:  
I'll give thee (if thou wilt) two silver Doves  
Composed by Magic to divide the air,  
Who (as they fly) shall play 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 Morpheus,  
Being come to fetch Eurydice from hell.  Fort. 
Hath ever mortal eye beheld these wonders?  Sould. 
Thine shall behold them, and make choice of any,  
So thou wilt give the soldan such a purse.  Fort. 
By Fortune's blessed hand (who christened me,)  
The mighty soldan shall have such a purse,  
Provided I may see these priceless wonders. Exeunt Nobles.  Sould. 
Leave us alone: never was mortal ear  
Acquainted with the virtue of a jewel,  
Which now i'll show, (outvaluing all the rest.)  Fort. 
It is impossible.  Sould. 
Behold this Casket,— Draw 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 course felt Hat? is this the precious jewel?  Sould. 
I'll not exchange this, for ten Diadems.  
On pain of death, none listen to our talk.  Fort. 
What needs this solemn conjuration?  Sould. 
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. 
〈…〉 I will not violate,  
But now uncover the virtues of this Hat.  Sould. 
I think none listen; if they do, they die.  Fort. 
None listen: tell: what needs this jealousy?  Sould. 
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 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.  Fort. 
Oh, had I such a Hat, then were I brave.  
Where's he that made it?  Sould. 
Dead, and the whole world  
Yields not a workman that can frame the like.  For. 
No does? 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.  Sould. 
No, 'tis more light than any Hat beside:  
Your hand shall poise it.  For. 
Oh, 'tis wondrous heavy.  Sould. 
Fie, you're deceived: try it upon your head,  Fort. 
Would I were now in Cyprus with my sons. Exit.  Sould. 
Stay, Fortunatus, stay, I am undone.  
Treason, Lords, treason, get me wings, i'll fly  
After this damned Traitor through the air.  Enter Nobles. Nob. 
Who wrongs the mighty king of Babylon?  Sould. 
This Fortunatus, this fend wrongs your king.  Nobl. 
Lock the Court gates, where is the devil hid?  Sould. 
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 winds wings,  
he'll ride through all the Courts of earthly kings.  Nobl. 
What is the jewel that your grace hath lost?  Sould. 
He dies that troubles me: call me not king;  
For i'll consume my life in sorrowing. Exeunt.  Enter Andelocia very gallant, and Shadow. Andel. 
Shadow? what have I lost today 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.  Andelo. 
And what thing is that, you Ass?  Sha. 
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. 
Its happy I have a lean wit: but master, you have none; for when your money slipped away, that went after it, and ever since you have been mad, here comes your brother; borrow a dram of him. Enter Ampedo .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, and you will come off, so: if you will bar me from square play, do: come come, when the old traveler 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 loath, master, to see that day: for he leads the world in a string that goes to hanging.  And. 
Take heed I turn not that head into the world, and lead you so?  
Brother wilt be? Hay any ends of Gold or Silver?  Amp. 
Thus wanton reveling breeds beggary.  
Brother, 'twere better that you still lived poor.  
Want would make wisdom rich: but when your Coffers  
Swell to the brim, than riot sets up sails,  
And like a desperate unskilled Mariner  
Drives your steady fortunes on the point  
Of wrack 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.  
Thanks for my crowns.  Andel. 
Shadow, I am villainous hungry, to hear one of the seven wise Masters talk thus emptily.  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.  And. 
In despite of sway-bellies, gluttons, & sweet mouthed Epicures, I'll have thee maintain a Paradox in commendations of hunger.  Shad. 
I shall never have the stomach to do't.  And. 
Seest thou this Crusado? do it, & turn this into a feast  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 oh l 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 then Cupid, for it makes a man eat himself; hunger was the first that ever opened a cook's 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 anybody: hunger is one of the seven liberal sciences.  Andel. 
O 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 in Cyprus had never stabbed out such six penny pipes, but for hunger.  And. 
Why, you dolt, these pies are but in their minority.  Shad. 
My belly and my purse have been twenty times at daggers drawing, with parting the little urchins.  Enter Fortunatus. Ampe. 
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. 
Now speak your mind.  Amp. 
Villain, why hast thou chalked my Father's back?  Shad. 
Only to mark him, & 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?  And. 
I thought travel would turn my father, mad man or fool.  Amp. 
How should you be transformed I see no change.  Shad. 
If your wits be not planet strucken, if your brains lie in their right place, you are well enough; for your body is little mended by you fetching fegaries.  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 afire, or like a fool, or like a young no vice 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.  And. 
How? in a minute, father? Ha, ha, I see travelers 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 & true: desire to see you, brought me to Cyprus; i'll leave you more Gold, and go visit more Countries.  Sha. 
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 give you warning that within few years,  
Death needs must marry you: those short lines 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.  And. 
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 fantasticoes, 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 Phoenix 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.  Ande. 
Sweeten mine ears, good father, with some more.  Fort, 
When in the warmth of mine own countries arms  
We yawned like sluggards, when this small Horizon  
Imprisoned up my body, than mine eyes  
Worshipped these clouds as brightest; but, my boys,  
The glistering 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.  For. 
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 condensed Fogs do choke that beauty,  
Which else would dwell in every kingdoms cheek.  
No, I still boldly stepped 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 Councillors and jovial spirits,  
Standing like fiery Cherubins to guard  
The Monarch, who in Godlike 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.  And. 
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 blemished?  Fort. 
In some Courts shall you see ambition  
Sit piecing 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 heavens strong arms teach kings to stand,  
Angels are placed about their glorious throne,  
To guard it from the strokes of Traitorous hands.  
By travel, boys, I have seen all these things,  
Fantastic complement stalks up and down,  
Tricked in outlandish Feathers, all his words,  
His looks, his oaths, are all ridiculous,  
All apish, childish, and Italianate.  Enter Fortune: after her three destinies working. 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 & kings.  Shad. 
Yes, and for Christen creatures, if they be not blind.  Fort. 
In these two hands do I gripe 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. 
Now, fool, thou liest; where thy proud feet do tread  
These shall throw down thy cold & breathless head.  Fort. 
O sacred deity, what sin is done All kneel.  
That death's Iron fist should wrestle with thy son?  Fortune. 
Thou art no son of Fortune, but her slave:  
Thy Cedar hath aspired to his full height.  
Thy Sun like glory hath advanced herself  
Into the top of pride's Meridian,  
And down amain it comes. From beggary  
I plumed thee like an Ostrich, like that Ostrich  
Thou hast eaten Metals, and abused my gifts,  
Hast played the Ruffian, wasted that in riots,  
Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee.  Fort. 
Forgive me, I will be more provident.  Fortune. 
No, endless follies follow endless wealth.  
Thou hadst thy fancy, I must have thy fate,  
Which is, to die when th' art most fortunate.  
This inky thread thy ugly sins have spun,  
Black life, black death: faster that it were done.  Fort. 
Oh, let me live, but till I can redeem.  Fortune. 
The destinies deny thee longer life.  Fort. 
I am but now lifted to happiness.  Fortune. 
And now take I must pride to cast thee down.  
Hadst thou chosen wisdom, this black had been white,  
And deaths stern brow could not thy soul affright.  Fort. 
Take this again; give wisdom to my sons.  Fortune. 
No, fool, 'tis now too late; as death strikes thee,  
So shall their ends sudden and wretched be.  
joves daughters (righteous destinies) make haste,  
His life hath wasteful been, and let it waste. Exeunt.  Andel. 
Why the pox dost thou sweat so?  Shad. 
For anger to see any of God's Creatures have such filthy faces as these sempsters had that went hence.  Andel. 
sempsters? why, you ass, they are destinies.  Shad. 
Indeed, if it be ones destiny to have a filthy face, I know no remedy but to go masked and cry, Woe worth the Fates.  Amp. 
Why droops my father? these are only shadows,  
Razed by the malice of some enemy,  
To fright your life, o'er which they have no power.  Shad. 
Shadows? I defy their kindred.  Fort. 
O Ampedo, I faint; help me, my sons.  Andel. 
Shadow, I pray thee run and call more help.  Shad. 
If that desperate Don Dego death hath ta'en up the Cudgels once, here's never a Fencer in Cyprus dare take my old master's part.  Andel. 
Run, villain, call more help.  Shad. 
Bid him thank the destinies for this. Exit  Fort. 
Let him shrink down, & die between your arms,  
Help comes in vain. No hand can conquer Fate,  
This instant is the last of my life's date.  
This Goddess (if at least she be a goddess)  
Names herself Fortune: wandering in a wood,  
Half famished, her I met. I have, quoth she,  
six gifts to spend upon mortality,  
Wisdom, strength health, beauty, long life and riches,  
Out of my bounty one of these is thine.  Amp. 
What benefit did from your choice arise?  Fort. 
Listen, my sons: In this small compass lies,  
Infinite treasure: this she gave to me,  
And gave to this, this virtue, Take (quoth she)  
So often as from hence thou drawst thy hand,  
Ten golden pieces of that kingdoms coin,  
Where ere thou liv'st, which plenteous sure shall last,  
After thy death, till thy sons lives do waste.  Andel. 
Father, your choice was care, the gift divine.  Fort. 
It had been so, if riches had been mine.  Amp. 
But hath this golden virtue never failed?  Fort. 
Never.  Andelo. 
O admirable; hear's a fire  
Hath power to thaw the very heart of death,  
And give stones life, by this most sacred death,  
See brother, here's all India in my hand.  Fort. 
Inherit you (my Sons) that golden land.  
This Hat I brought away from Babylon,  
I robbed the soldan of it, 'tis a prize  
Worth twenty Empires. In this jewel lies.  Andel. 
How, father? jewel? call you this a jewel? It's course Wool, a bald fashion, and greasy to the brim; I have bought a better Felt for a French crown forty times: Of what virtuous block is this Hat, I pray?  Fort. 
Set it upon thy head, and with a wish,  
Thou in the moment on the winds swift wings,  
Shalt be transported into any place.  Andel. 
A wishing Hat, and a golden mine?  For. 
O Andelocia, Ampedo, now death  
Sounds his third summons: I must hence: these jewels  
To both I do bequeath; divide them not,  
But use them equally; never bewray  
What virtues are in them; for if you do,  
Much shame, much grief, much danger follows you.  
Peruse this book: farewell: behold in me  
The rotten strength of proud mortality. dies.  Ampe. 
His soul is wandering to the Elysium shades.  Andel. 
The flower that's fresh at noon, at Sunset fades. Brother, close you down his eyes, because you were his eldest; and with them close up your tears, whilst I (as all younger brothers do) shift for myself: let us mourn, because he's dead, but mourn the less, because he cannot revive: the honour we can do him, is to bury him royally, let's about it then, for i'll not melt myself to death with scalding sighs, nor drop my soul out at mine eyes, were my father an Emperor.  Amp. 
Hence, hence, thou stoppest the tide of my true tears. True grief is dumb, though it hath open ears.  Andel. 
Yet God send my grief a tongue, that I may have good utterance for it: Sob on, brother mine, whilst you sigh there, i'll sit & read what story my father has written here.  They both fall asleep: Fortune and a company of satires enter with Music, and playing about Fortunatus' body, take them away; They gone, Saddow enters running. Shad. 
I can get none, I can find none: where are you, master? Have I ta'en you napping? and you too? I see sorrows eyelids are made of a Dormouse skin, they seldom open, or of a miser's purse, that's always shut: So ho, master.  Andel. 
Shadow, why how now? what's the matter?  Shad. 
I can get none Sir, 'tis impossible.  Amp. 
What is impossible? what canst not get?  Shad. 
No help for my old master.  Andel. 
Hast thou been all this while calling for help?  Sha. 
Yes sir: he scorned all Famagosta when he was in his huffing, and now he lies puffing for wind, they say they scorn him.  Amp. 
The poison of their scorn infects not him;  
He wants no help. See where he breathless lies:  
Brother, to what place have you borne his body?  Andel. 
I bear it? I touched it not.  Amp. 
Nor I: a leaden slumber priest mine eyes.  Shad. 
Whether it were lead or lattin that hasped down those winking casements, I know not, but I found you both snorting.  Amp. 
And in that sleep( methought) I heard the tunes  
Of sullen passions apt for Funerals,  
And saw my Father's lifeless body borne  
By satires: O I fear that deity  
Hath stolen him hence, that Snudge his destiny.  And. 
I fear he's risen again, didst not thou meet him?  Shad. 
ay sir? do you think this white and red durst have kissed my sweet cheeks, if they had seen a ghost? But, master, if the destinies, or Fortune, or the Fates, or the Fairies have stolen him, never indite them for the Felony: for by this means the charges of a Tomb is saved, and you being his heirs, may do as many rich Executors do, put that money in your purses, and give out he died a beggar.  Andel. 
Away, you Rogue, my Father die a beggar?  
I'll build a Tomb for him of massy Gold.  Shad. 
methinks, master, it were better to let the memory of him shine in his own virtues (if he had any) than in Alabaster.  Andel. 
I shall mangle that Alabaster face, you whore son virtuous vice.  Shad. 
He has a Marble heart, that can mangle a face of Alabaster.  Andel. 
Brother, come, come, mourn not, our Father is but slept to agree with Charon for his boat hire to Elysium. See, here's a story of all his travels; this book shall come out with a new Addition: I'll tread after my Father's steps; i'll go measure the world, therefore let's share these jewels, take this or this.  Amp. 
Will you then violate our Fathers Will?  Andel. 
A Puritan? keep a dead man's Will? Indeed in the old time, when men were buried in soft Churchyards, that their Ghosts might rise, it was good but, brother, now they are imprisoned in strong Brick and Marble, they are fast: fear not: away, these are fooleries, gulleries, trumperies; here's this or this, or I am gone with both.  Amp. 
Do as you please, the sin shall not be mine.  
fools call those things profane, that are divine.  Andel. 
Are you content to wear the jewels by turns? I'll have the purse for a year, you the Hat, and as much gold, as you'll ask; & when my pursership ends, i'll resign, and cap you.  Amp. 
I am content to bear all discontents. Exit.  Andel. 
I should serve this bearing Ass rarely now, if I should load him, but I will not, though conscience be (like Physic) seldom used, (for so it does least hurt) yet i'll take a dram of it: this for him, and some gold: this for me: for having this mint about me, I shall want no wishing Cap: gold is an Eagle, that can fly to any place, and like death, that dares enter all places.  
Shadow, wilt thou travel with me?  Sha 
I shall never fadge with the humour because I cannot lie.  And. 
Thou dolt, we'll visit all the kings courts in the world.  Shad. 
So we may, and return dolts home, but what shall we learn by travail?  Andel. 
Fashions.  Shad. 
That's a beastly disease: methinks it's better staying in your own country.  Andel. 
How? In mine own country? like a Cage-bird and see nothing?  Shad. 
Nothing? yes you may see things enough, for what can you see abroad that is not at home? The same Sun calls you up in the morning, and the same man in the Moon lights you to bed at night, our fields are as green as theirs in summer, and their frosts will nip us more in winter: Our birds sing as sweetly & our women are as fair: In other countries you shall have one drink to you, whilst you kiss your hand, and duck, he'll poison you: I confess you shall meet more fools, and asses, and knaves abroad then at home (yet God be thanked we have pretty store of all) but for Punks, we put them down.  And. 
Prepare thy spirits, for thou shalt go with me,  
To England shall our stars direct our course,  
Thither the prince of Cyprus (our king's son)  
Is gone to see the lovely Agrippine,  
Shadow, we'll gaze upon that English dame,  
And try what virtue gold has to inflame.  
First to my brother, then away let's fly,  
Shadow must be a Courtier ere he die. Exit.  Shad. 
If I must, the Fates shall be served: I have seen many clowns Courtiers, then why not Shadow? Fortune, I am for thee. Exit.  Enter Orleans melancholic, Galloway with him, a boy after them with a Lute. Orle. 
Be gone: leave that with me, and leave me to myself, if the king ask for me, swear to him I am sick, and thou shalt not lie, pray thee leave me.  Boy. 
I am gone, Sir. Exit.  Orle. 
This music makes me but more out of tune O, Agrippina.  Gall. 
Gentle friend, no more.  
Thou sayest love is a madness, hate it then,  
Even for the name's sake.  Orle. 
O, I love that madness,  
Even for the name's sake.  Gall. 
Let me tame this frenzy,  
By telling thee thou art a prisoner here,  
By telling thee she's daughter to a king,  
By telling thee the king of Cyprus' son  
Shines like a Sun between her looks and thine,  
Whilst thou seem'st but a star to Agrippine:  
He loves her.  Orle. 
If he do: why so do I.  Gall. 
Love is ambitious and loves majesty.  Orle. 
Dear friend, thou art deceived, loves voice doth sing As sweetly in a beggar as a king.  Gall. 
Dear friend, thou art deceived: O bid thy soul  
Lift up her intellectual eyes to heaven,  
And (in this ample book of wonders) read,  
Of what celestial mould, what sacred essence,  
herself is formed, the search whereof will drive  
Sounds musical among the jarring spirits,  
And in sweet tune set that which none inherits.  Orle. 
I'll gaze on heaven if Agrippine be there:  
If not: Fa, La, la, Sol, la, etc.  Gall. 
O, call this madness in, see from the windows  
Of every eye Derision thrusts out cheeks,  
Wrinkled with Idiot laughter; every finger  
Is like a Dart shot from the hand of scorn,  
By which thy name is hurt, thine honour torn.  Orle. 
Laugh they at me, sweet Galloway?  Gall. 
even at thee.  Orle. 
Ha, ha, I laugh at them, are not they mad,  
That let my true true sorrow make them glad?  
I dance and sing only to anger grief,  
That in that anger, he might smite life down  
With his Iron fist: good heart, it seemeth then,  
They laugh to see grief kill me: O, fond men,  
You laugh at others' tears, when others smile,  
You tear yourselves in pieces: vile, vile, vile,  
Ha, ha, when I behold a swarm of fools,  
Crowding together to be counted wise,  
I laugh because sweet Agripine's not there,  
But weep because she is not anywhere,  
And weep because whether she be or not,  
My love was ever and is still forgot: forgot, forgot, forgot.  Gall. 
Draw back this stream, why should my Orleans mourn?  Orle. 
Look yonder, Galloway, dost thou see that Sun?  
Nay good friend, stare upon it, mark it well,  
Ere he be two hours elder, all that glory  
Is banished heaven, and then (for grief) this sky,  
That's now so jocund, will mourn all in black,  
And shall not Orleans mourn? Alack, alack,  
O, what a Savage tyranny it were,  
T'enforce care, laugh and woe: not shed a tear?  
Dead is my love, I am buried in her scorn,  
That is my Sunset, and shall I not mourn?  
Yes by my troth I will.  Gall. 
Dear friend forbear,  
Beauty (like sorrow) dwelleth everywhere.  
Race out this strong Idea of her face,  
As fair as hers shineth in any place.  Orle. 
Thou art a Traitor to that white and red,  
Which sitting on hex cheeks (being Cupid's throne)  
Is my heart's sovereign: O when she is dead,  
This wonder (Beauty) shall be found in none.  
Now agrippina's not mine, I vow to be  
In love with nothing but deformity.  
O fair Deformity, I muse all eyes  
Are not enamoured of thee: thou didst never  
Murder men's hearts, or let them pine like wax,  
Melting against the Sun of thy destiny,  
Thou art a faithful nurse to Chastity,  
Thy beauty is not like to Agrippina's,  
For cares, and age, and sickness hers deface,  
But thine's eternal: O Deformity,  
Thy fairness is not like to Agrippina's,  
For (dread) her beauty will no beauty have,  
But thy face looks most lovely in the grave.  Enter Prince of Cyprus and Agripyne. Gall. 
See where they come together hand in hand.  Orle. 
O, watch sweet Galloway, when their hands do part, Between them, shalt thou find my murdered heart.  Cypr. 
By this then it seems a thing impossible, to know when an English Lady loves truly.  Agrip. 
Not so, for when her soul steals into her heart, and her heart leaps up to her eyes, and her eyes drop into her hands, then if she say, Here's my hand, she's your own, else never.  Cyp. 
Here's a pair of your prisoners, let's try their opinion.  Agrip. 
My kind prisoners well encountered, the Prince of Cyprus here and myself have been wrangling about a question of love: My Lord of Orleans, you look lean, and likest a lover; Whether is it more torment to love a Lady and never enjoy her, or always to enjoy a Lady, whom you cannot choose but hate?  Orle. 
To hold her ever in mine arms whom I loathe in my heart, were some plague, yet the punishment were no more than to be enjoined to keep poison in my hand, yet never to taste it.  Agri. 
But say you should be compelled to swallow the poison.  Orle. 
Then a speedy death would end a speeding misery: But to love a Lady and never enjoy her, oh it is not death, but worse than damnation; 'tis hell, 'tis.  Agrip. 
No more, no more, good Orleans, nay then I see my prisoner is in love too.  Cypr. 
methinks, soldiers cannot fall into the fashion of love.  Agrip. 
methinks, a Soldier is the most faithful lover of all men else: for his affection stands not upon complement: his wooing is plain homespun stuff: there's no outlandish thread in it, no Rhetoric: a Soldier casts no figures to get his mistress heart, his love is like his valour in the field, when he pays downright blows.  Gall. 
True, Madam, but would you receive such payment?  Agrip. 
No, but I mean, I love a Soldier best, for his plain dealing.  Cypr. 
That's as good as the first.  Agrip. 
Be it so, that goodness I like: for what Lady can abide to love a Spruce silken face Courtier, that stands every morning two or three hours learning how to look by his Glass, how to speak by his Glass, how to sigh by his glass, how to court his Mistress by his Glass. I would wish him no other plague, but to have a Mistress as brittle as glass.  Gall. 
And that were as bad as the horn plague.  Cypr. 
Are any lovers possessed with this madness?  Agrip. 
What madmen are not possessed with this love? yet by my troth, we poor women do but smile in our sleeves to see all this foppery: yet we all desire to see our lovers attired gallantly, to hear them sing sweetly, to behold them dance comely and such like; but this apish monkey fashion of effeminate niceness, out upon it: Oh, I hate it worse than to be counted a scold.  Cypr. 
Indeed men are most regarded, when they least regard themselves.  Gall. 
And women most honoured, when they show most mercy to their lovers.  Orle. 
But be't not a miserable tyranny, to see a Lady triumph in the passions of a soul languishing through her cruelty?  Cypr. 
methinks it is.  Gall. 
methinks 'tis more than tyranny.  Agrip. 
So think not I: for as there is no reason to hate any that love us, so it were madness to love all that do not hate us: women are created beautiful, only because men should woo them: for 'twere miserable tyranny to enjoin poor women to woo men: I would not hear of a woman in love for my father's kingdom.  Cyp. 
I never heard of any woman that hated love.  Agrip. 
Nor I: but we had all rather die than confess we love; our glory is to hear men sigh whilst we smile, to kill them with a frown, to strike them dead with a sharp eye, to make you this day wear a feather, and tomorrow a sick nightcap: Oh, why this is rare, there's a certain deity in this, when a Lady by the Magic of her looks, can turn a man into twenty shapes.  Orle. 
Sweet friend, she speaks this but to torture me.  Gall. 
I'll teach thee how to plague her: love her not.  Agrip. 
Poor Orleans, how lamentably he looks: if he stay, he'll make me surely love him for pure pity. I must send him hence, for of all sorts of love. I hate the French: I pray thee, sweet prisoner, entreat Lord Longavile to come to me presently.  Orle. 
I will: and esteem myself more than happy, that you will employ me. Exit.  Agrip. 
Watch him, watch him for God's sake, if he sigh not or look not back.  Cyp. 
He does both: but what mystery lies in this?  Agrip. 
Nay, no mystery, 'tis as plain as Cupid's forehead: why this is as it should be: And esteem myself more than happy, that you will employ me: my French prisoner is in love over head and ears.  Cypr. 
Its wonder how he scapes drowning.  Gall. 
With whom think you?  Agrip. 
With his keeper, for a good wager: Ah, how glad is he to obey? And how proud am I to command in this Empire of affection? Over him and such spongy-livered youths, (that lie soaking in love) I triumph more with mine eye, than ever he did over a Soldier with his sword. be't not a gallant victory for me to subdue my Father's enemy with a look? Prince of Cyprus, you were best take heed, how you encounter an English Lady.  Cypr. 
God bless me from loving any of you, if all be so cruel.  Agrip. 
God bless me from suffering you to love me, if you be not so formable.  Cyp. 
will you command me any service, as you have done Orleans:  Agrip. 
No other service but this, that (as Orleans) you love me, for no other reason, but that I may torment you.  Cypr. 
I will: conditionally, that in all company I may call you my tormenter.  Agr. 
You shall: conditionally, that you never beg for mercy. Come, my Lord of Galloway.  Gall. 
Come, sweet Madam. Exeunt.  Manet Cyprus. Cypr. 
The Ruby-coloured portals of her speech  
Were closed by mercy: but upon her eye,  
(Attired in frowns) sat murdering cruelty. Enter Agrip. and listens.  
she's angry, that I durst so high aspire.  
O, she disdains that any strangers breast  
Should be a Temple for her deity:  
she's full of beauty, full of bitterness.  
Till now, I did not dally with loves fire:  
And when I thought to try his flames indeed,  
I burned me even to cinders: O, my stars,  
Why from my native shore did your beams guide me,  
To make me dote on her that doth deride me?  She kneels: he walks musing. Agri. 
Hold him in this mind, sweet Cupid, I conjure thee. O, what music these hey-hoes make? I was about to cast my little little self into a great love trance for him, fearing his heart had been flint: but since I see 'tis pure virgin wax, he shall melt his belly full: for now I know how to temper him. Exit.  Cypr. 
Never beg mercy? yet be my tormenter. I'll spies her.  
I hope she heard me not: doubtless she did:  
And now will she insult upon my passions,  
And vex my constant love with mockeries.  
Nay, then i'll be mine own Physician,  
And our face love, and make her think that I  
Mourned thus, because I saw her standing by.  
What news, my Lord of Cornwall?  Enter Cornwall. Cornew. 
This fair Prince,  
One of your Countrymen, is come to Court,  
A lusty gallant brave in Cyprus I'll,  
With fifty bard Horses prancing at his heels,  
Backed by as many strong limbed Cypriots.  
All whom he keeps in pay: whose offered service,  
Our king with Arms of gladness hath embraced.  Cypr. 
Born in the I'll of Cyprus? what's his name?  Cornw. 
His servants call him Fortunatus' son.  Cypr. 
Rich Fortunatus' son? Is he arrived?  Enter Longavile, Galloway, and Chester with jewels. Longa. 
This he bestowed on me.  Chest. 
And this on me.  Gallow. 
And this bounteous hand enforced me take.  Longa. 
I prize this jewel at a hundred Marks,  
Yet would he needs bestow this gift on me.  Cypr. 
My Lords, whose hand hath been thus prodigal?  Gallow. 
Your countryman my Lord, a Cypriot.  Longa. 
The gallant sure is all compact of gold,  
To every Lady hath he given rich jewels,  
And sent to every servant in the Court  
twenty fair English Angels.  Cypr. 
This is rare.  Enter Lincoln. Lincol. 
My Lords, prepare yourselves for reveling,  
'tis the king's pleasure that this day he spent  
In royal pastimes, that this golden Lord,  
(For so all that behold him, christian him)  
May taste the pleasures of our English court.  
Here comes the gallant, shining like the Sun.  Trumpets sound: Enter Athelstane, Andelocia, Agripyne, Orleans, Ladies, and other attendants, Insultado a Spanish Lord: Music sounds within. Andel. 
For these your royal favours done to me,  
(Being a poor stranger) my best powers shall prove,  
By Acts of worth, the soundness of my love.  Athelst. 
Herein your love shall best set out itself,  
By staying with us: if our English I'll  
Hold any object welcome to your eyes,  
Do but make choice, and claim it as your prize.  The King and Cyprus confer aside. Ande. 
I thank your grace: would he durst keep his word,  
I know what I would claim: Tush, man, be bold,  
Were she a Saint, she may be won with gold.  Cypr. 
'tis strange I must confess, but in this pride,  
His Father Fortunatus (if he live)  
Consumes his life in Cyprus: still he spends,  
And still his Coffers with abundance swell,  
But how he gets these riches none can tell.  The King and Agripyne confer aside. Athelst. 
Hold him in talk: come hither, Agrippine.  Cypr. 
But what enticed young Andelocia's soul  
To wander hither?  Andel. 
That which did allure,  
My sovereign's son, the wonder of the place.  Agr. 
This curious heap of wonders, (which an Empress  
Gave him) he gave me, and by Venus' hand,  
The warlike Amorato needs would swear,  
He left his country Cyprus for my love.  Athelst. 
If by the sovereign Magic of thine eye,  
Thou canst enchant his looks to keep the circles  
Of thy fair cheeks, be bold to try thy charms,  
Feed him with hopes, and find the royal vein,  
That leads this Cypriot to his golden mine.  
Here's Music spent in vain, Lords, fall to dancing.  Cypr. 
My fair tormentor, will you lend a hand?  Agrip. 
I'll try this strangers cunning in a dance.  Andel. 
My cunning is but small, yet who'll not prove  
To shame himself for such a lady's love?  Orle. 
These Cypriots are the devils that torture me.  
He courts her, and she smiles, but I am borne,  
To be her beauty's slave, and her loves scorn.  And. 
I shall never have the face to ask the question twice.  Agrip. 
What's the reason? Cowardliness or pride?  Andel. 
Neither: but 'tis the fashion of us Cypriots, both men and women, to yield at first assault, and we expect others should do the like.  Agrip. 
It's a sign, that either your women are very black, & are glad to be sped, or your men very fond, & will take no denial.  Andel. 
Indeed our Ladies are not so fair as you.  Agrip. 
But your men more venturous at a breach than you, or else they are all dastardly soldiers.  Andel. 
He that fights under these sweet colours, & yet turns coward, let him be shot to death with the terrible arrows of fair lady's eyes.  Athelst. 
Nay Insultado, you must not deny us.  Insultad. 
My Corocon es muy pesada, my Anima muy atormentada, No per los Cielos: La piede de Espagnoll, no haze musica in Tierra Inglesa.  Cypr. 
Sweet Insultado let us see you dance.  
I have heard the Spanish dance is full of state.  Insultad. 
Verdad signior: la danza spagnola, es muy alta,  
Maiestica, y para Monarcas: vuestra Inglesa,  
Baxa, Fantastica, y muy humilde.  Agrip. 
Doth my Spanish prisoner deny to dance? He has sworn to me by the cross of his pure Toledo, to be my servant: by that oath (my Castilian prisoner) I conjure you to show your cunning, though all your body be not free, I am sure your heels are at liberty.  Insultad. 
Nolo quire contra dezir: vuestra oio haze conquesto a su prisionero: Oyes, la pavyne Hispanola, sea vuestra musica y, y: Pay, dadime tobacco, Ton●a my capa, e my espada. Mas alta, Mas alta: Desuiaios, Desuiaios, Companieros, Mas alta, Mas alta.  He dances. Athelst. 
Thanks, Insultado.  Cypr. 
'tis most excellent.  Agrip. 
The Spaniards dance, is as his deeds be, full of pride.  Athelst. 
The day grows old, & what remains unspent,  
Shall be consumed in banquets, Agrippine,  
Leave us a while, if Andelocia please,  
Go bear our beauteous daughter company. Exeunt Agrip. and Andel. and Ladies.  And. 
Fortune I thank thee: now thou smil'st on me.  Athe. 
This Cipriot bears a gallant princely mind.  
My Lord, of what birth is your countryman?  
Think not, sweet Prince, that I propound this question,  
To wrong you in your love to Agrippine:  
Our favours grace him to another end.  
Nor let the wings of your affection droop,  
Because she seems to shun loves gentle lure.  
Believe it on our word, her beauty's prize  
Only shall yield a conquest to your eyes.  
But tell me what's this Fortunatus' son?  Cypr. 
Of honourable blood, and more renowned  
In foreign kingdoms (whither his proud spirit,  
Plumed with ambitious feathers, carries him)  
Then in his native Country. but last day,  
The father and the sons were through their riots,  
Poor and disdained of all, but now they glister,  
More bright than Midas: if some damned fiend  
Fed not his bags, this golden pride would end.  Athelst. 
His pride we'll somewhat tame, & curb the head  
Of his rebellious prodigality:  
He hath invited us, and all our Peers,  
To feast with him tomorrow, his provision,  
I understand may entertain three kings.  
But Lincoln, let our Subjects secretly  
Be charged on pain of life that not a man  
Sell any kind of Fuel to his servants.  Cypr. 
This policy shall clip his golden wings,  
And teach his pride what 'tis to strive with kings.  Athelst. 
Withdraw a while: Exeunt. Manet Athelstane.  
None filled his hands with Gold, for we set spies,  
To watch who fed his prodigality:  
He hung the Marble bosom of our Court,  
As thick with glistering Spangles of pure gold,  
As ere the spring hath stuck the earth with flowers.  
Unless he melt himself to liquid gold,  
Or be some God, some devil, or can transport  
A mint about him, (by enchanted power)  
He cannot rain such showers: with his own hands  
He threw more wealth abroad in every street,  
Then could be thrust into a Chariot:  
he's a Magician sure, and to some fiend,  
His soul (by infernal covenants) has he sold,  
Always to swim up to the chin in gold.  
Be what he can be, if those doting fires,  
Wherein he burns for Agrippina's love,  
Want power to melt from him this endless Mine,  
Then (like a slave) we'll chain him in our Tower,  
Where tortures shall compel his sweating hands  
To cast rich heaps into our treasury.  Music sounding still: A curtain being drawn, where Andelocia lies sleeping in Agrippine's lap, she has his purse, and herself and another Lady tie another (like it) in the place, and then rise from him. Agrip. 
I have found the sacred spring that never ebbs.  
Leave us: Exit Lady .But i'll not show't your majesty,  
Till you have sworn by England's royal crown,  
To let me keep it.  Athelst. 
By my Crown I swear,  
None but fair Agrippine the gem shall wear.  Agrip. 
Then is this mine: see, Father, here's the fire,  
Whose gilded beams still burn, this is the Sun,  
That ever shines, the tree that never dies,  
Here grows the Garden of Hesperides,  
The outside mocks you, makes you think 'tis poor,  
But entering it, you find eternal store.  Athelst. 
Art sure of this? How didst thou drive it out?  Agrip. 
Fear not his waking yet, I made him drink  
That soporiferous juice which was composed,  
To make the Queen (my Mother) relish sleep,  
When her last sickness summoned her to heaven.  
He sleeps profoundly: when his amorous eyes  
Had singed their wings in Cupid's wanton flames,  
I set him all on fire, and promised love:  
In pride whereof, he drew me forth this purse,  
And swore, by this he multiplied his gold.  
I tried and found it true: and secretly  
Commanded Music with her silver tongue,  
To chime soft lullabies into his soul,  
And whilst my fingers wantoned with his hair,  
(T'entice the sleepy juice to charm his eyes)  
In all points was there made a purse, like his,  
Which counterfeit is hung in place of this.  Athelst. 
More than a second kingdom hast thou won.  
Leave him, that when he wakes he may suspect,  
Some else has robbed him, come dear Agrippine,  
If this strange purse his sacred virtues hold,  
we'll circle England with a waist of Gold. Exeunt.  Music still: Enter Saddow very gallant, reading a Bill, with empty bags in his hand singing. Shad. 
These English occupiers are mad Trojans: let a man pay them never so much, they'll give him nothing but the bag. Since my master created me steward over his fifty men, and his one and fifty horse, I have rid over much business, yet never was galled, I thank the destinies: Music? O delicate warble: O these Courtiers are most sweet triumphant creatures. signior, Sir: Monsieur: sweet signior; this is the language of the accomplishment: O delicious strings: these heavenly wire-drawers have stretched my master even out at length: yet at length he must wake: master?  Andel. 
Wake me not yet, my gentle Agrippine.  Shad. 
One word Sir, for the billets, and I vanish.  And. 
There's heaven in these times: throw the musicians A bounteous largesse of three hundred Angels. Andelocia starts up.  Shad. 
Why sir, I have but ten pound left.  And. 
Ha, Shadow? where's the Princess Agrippine?  Shad. 
I am not Apollo, I cannot reveal.  Andel. 
Was not the princess here, when thou cam'st in?  Shad. 
Here was no Princess but my princely self.  Andel. 
In faith?  Shad. 
No in faith, Sir.  Andel. 
Where are you hid? where stand you wantoning? Not here? gone i'faith? have you given me the slip? well, 'tis but an amorous trick and so I embrace it: my horse, Shadow, how fare my horse?  Shad. 
Upon the best Oats my underiteward can buy.  An. 
I mean, are they lusty, sprightly, gallant, wanton, fiery?  Shad. 
They are as all horses are, Caterpillars to the Commonwealth, they are ever munching: but Sir, for these billets, and these faggots and bavins?  Andel. 
S'hart what billets, what faggots? dost make me a Woodmonger?  Shad. 
No sweet signior, but you have bid the King and his Peers to dinner, and he has commanded that no Woodmonger sell you a stick of wood, and that no collier shall cozen you of your measure, but must tie up the mouth of their Sacks, lest their Coals kindle your choler.  Andel. 
be't possible? be't true, or hast thou learned of the English gallants to gull?  Shad. 
he's a gull that would be taught by such gulls.  Ande. 
Not a stick of wood? Some child of envy has buzzed this stratagem into the king's ear, of purpose to disgrace me: I have invited his majesty, and though it cost me a Million, i'll feast him: Shadow, thou shalt hire a hundred or two of Carts, with them post to all the Grocers in London, buy up all the cinnamon, Cloves, Nutmegs, irish and all other spices, that have any strong heart, and with them make fires to prepare our Cookery: 
Ere Fortunatus' son look red with shame,  
he'll dress a king's feast in a spiced flame.   Shad. 
This device, Sir, will be somewhat a kin to Lady Pride, 'twill ask cost.  And. 
Fetch twenty Porters, i'll laid all with gold.  Shad. 
First, master, fill these bags.  And. 
Come then, hold up, how now? tricks, new crotchets, Madam Fortune? Dry as an eel-skin? Shadow, take thou my Gold out.  Shad. 
Why Sir, here's none in.  Andel. 
Ha, let me see: O here's a bastard cheek,  
I see now 'tis not mine: 'tis counterfeit,  
'tis so: slave thou hast robbed thy master.  Sha. 
Not of a penny, I have been as true a steward.  And. 
Vengeance on thee and on thy stewardship.  
Yet wherefore curse I thee? thy leaden soul  
Had never power to mount up to the knowledge  
Of the rich mystery closed in my purse.  
Oh no, i'll curse myself, mine eyes i'll curse,  
They have betrayed me, I will curse my tongue,  
That hath betrayed me: I'll curse Agrippine,  
She hath betrayed me: Sirens cease to sing,  
Your charms have ta'en effect, for now I see,  
All your enchantments were, to cozen me. Music ceaseth.  Shad. 
What shall I do with this ten pound, Sir?  Andel. 
Go buy with it a Chain and hang thyself.  
Now think I on my Father's prophecy.  
Tell none (quoth he) the virtue, if you do,  
Much shame, much grief, much danger follows you.  
With tears I credit his divinity.  
O fingers, were you upright justices,  
You would tear out mine eyes: had not they gazed  
On the frail colour of a painted cheek,  
None had betrayed me: henceforth i'll defy  
All beauty, and will call a lovely eye,  
A Sun whose scorching beams burn up our joys,  
Or turn them black like Ethiopians.  
O women, wherefore are you borne men's woe,  
Why are your faces framed Angelical?  
Your hearts of sponges, soft and smooth in show,  
But touched, with poison they do overflow.  
Had sacred wisdom been my Father's Fate,  
He had died happy, I lived fortunate.  
Shadow, be are this to beauteous Agrippine,  
With it this message, tell her, i'll reprove  
Her covetous sin the less, because for gold,  
I see that most men's souls too cheap are sold.  Sha. 
Shall I buy these spices today or tomorrow?  And. 
Tomorrow? ay, tomorrow thou shalt buy them,  
Tomorrow tell the Princess I will love her,  
Tomorrow tell the king, i'll banquet him,  
Tomorrow, Shadow, will I give thee gold,  
Tomorrow pride goes bare and lust acold.  
Tomorrow will the rich man feed the poor.  
And vice tomorrow virtue will adore,  
Tomorrow beggars shall be crowned kings,  
This No-time, morrows-time, no sweetness sings:  
I pray thee hence: bear that to Agrippine.  Shad. 
I'll go hence, because you send me: but i'll go weeping hence, for grief that I must turn villain as many do, and leave you when you are up to the ears in adversity. Exit.  Andel. 
She hath robbed me, and now i'll play the thief,  
I'll steal from hence to Cyprus, for black shame.  
Here (through my riots) brands my lofty name.  
I'll sell this pride for help to bear me thither,  
So pride and beggary shall walk together:  
This world is but a School of villainy,  
Therefore i'll rob my brother, (not of gold,  
Nor of his virtues, virtue none will steal:)  
But (if I can,) i'll steal his wishing Hat.  
And with that, wandering round about the world,  
I'll search all corners to find misery,  
And where she dwells, i'll dwell, languish and die. Exit.  Chorus. 
Gentles, if ere you have beheld the passions,  
The combats of his soul who being a king,  
By some usurping hand hath been deposed  
From all his royalties: even such a soul,  
Such eyes, such heart swollen big with sighs and tears,  
The star-crossed son of Fortunatus wears.  
The thoughts crowned him a Monarch in the morn,  
Yet now he's bandied by the Seas in scorn,  
From wave to wave: his golden treasure's spoil  
Makes him in desperate language to entreat,  
The winds to spend their fury on his life:  
But they (being mild in tyranny) or scorning  
To triumph in a wretch's funeral,  
Toss him to Cyprus. O what treachery  
Cannot this Serpent gold entice us to?  
He robs his brother of the soldan's prize,  
And having got his wish (the wishing Hat)  
He does not (as he vowed) seek misery,  
But hopes by that to win his purse again,  
And in that Hope from Cyprus is he fled.  
If your swift thoughts clap on their wonted wings,  
In Genua may you take this fugitive,  
Where having cozened many jewellers,  
To England back he comes, step but to court,  
And there (disguised) you find him bargaining  
For jewels with the beauteous Agrippine,  
Who wearing at her side the virtuous purse,  
He clasps her in his arms, and as a Raven,  
Griping the tender-hearted Nightingale,  
So flies he with her, (wishing) in the air,  
To be transported to some wilderness: Enter Andelocia and Agripyne.  
Imagine this the place: see here they come.  
Since they themselves have tongues, mine shall be dumb.  Exit. Enter Andelocia with the wishing Hat on: Agrippina in his hand. Agrip. 
What devil art thou that affrightesst me thus,  
Haling a Princess from her father's court,  
To spoil her in this savage wilderness?  Andel. 
Indeed the devil and the pickpurse should always fly together, (for they are sworn brothers:) but Madam Covetousness, I am neither a devil as you call me, nor a jewellers as I call myself, no, nor a juggler, yet ere you and I part, we'll have some legerdemain together: do you know me?  Agrip. 
I am betrayed: this is the Cypriot.  
Forgive me, 'twas not I that changed thy purse,  
But Athelstane my Father, send me home,  
And here's thy purse again: here are thy jewels,  
And I in satisfaction of all wrongs.  Andel. 
Talk not you of satisfaction, this is some recompense that I have you, 'tis not the purse I regard: put if off, and i'll mince it as small as pie meat: the purse? hang the purse: were that gone, I can make another, and another, & another, I and another: 'tis not the purse I care for, but the purser: you, I you. be't not a shame that a king's daughter, a fair Lady, a Lady not for Lords, but for Monarchs, should for gold sell her love, and when she has her own asking, and that there stands nothing between, than to cheat your sweet heart? O fie, fie, a she coney-catcher? You must be dealt soundly with.  Agrip. 
Enjoin what pains thou wilt, & i'll endure them, so thou wilt send me to my father's court.  Ande. 
Nay God's lid, you're not gone so: set your heart at rest, for I have set up my rest, that except you can run swifter than a Hart, home you go not: what pains shall I lay upon you? Let me see: I could serve you now but a slippery touch: I could get a young King or two, or three of you, and then send you home, and bid their grandsire king nurse them: I could pepper you, but I will not.  Agrip. 
O, do not violate my chastity.  Andel. 
No, why I tell you I am not given to the flesh, though I savour (in your nose) a little of the devil, I could run away else, and starve you here.  Agrip. 
If I must die, doom me some easier death.  Andel. 
Or transform you (because you love picking) into a Squirrel, and make you pick out a poor living here among the Nut trees: but I will not neither.  Agrip. 
What will my gentle Andelocia do?  Andel. 
Oh, now you come to your old bias of cogging.  Agrip. 
I pray thee Andelocia, let me go:  
Send me to England, and by heaven I swear,  
Thou from all kings on earth my love shalt bear.  And. 
Shall I in faith?  Agrip. 
In faith, in faith thou shalt.  Andel. 
Here, god a mercy: now thou shalt not go.  Agrip. 
Oh God.  Andel. 
Nay do you hear Lady? cry not you're best: no nor curse me not: if you think but a crabbed thought of me, the spirit that carried you in mine arms through the air, will tell me all: therefore set your Sunday face upon't. Since you'll love me, i'll love you, i'll marry you, and lie with you, and beget little jugglers: marry home you get not: England you'll say is yours: but Agrippine, love me, and I will make the whole world thine.  Agrip. 
I care not for the world, thou murder'st me,  
Between my sorrow, and the scalding Sun  
I faint, and quickly will my life be done,  
My mouth is like a Furnace, and dry heat  
Drinks up my blood. Oh God, my heart will burst,  
I die, unless some moisture quench my thirst.  Andel. 
S'hart now I am worse than ere I was before:  
For half the world I would not have her die.  
Here's neither spring nor ditch, nor rain, nor dew,  
Nor bread, nor drink: my lovely Agrippine,  
Be comforted, see here are Apple trees.  Agrip. 
climb up for God's sake, reach me some of them.  Andel. 
Look up, which of these Apples likes thee best?  Agrip. 
This hath a withered face, 'tis some sweet fruit.  
Not that, my sorrows are too sour already.  Andel. 
Come hither, here are Apples like gold.  Agrip. 
O, I for God's sake, gather some of these.  
Ay me, would God I were at home again. Climes up.  Andel. 
Stand farther, lest I chance to fall on thee.  
Oh here be rare Apples, rare red-cheeked Apples, that cry come  
kiss me: Apples, hold your peace, i'll teach you to cry. Eats one.  Agrip. 
O England, shall I ne'er behold thee more?  Andel. 
Agrippina, 'tis a most Sugared delicious taste in ones mouth, but when 'tis down, 'tis as bitter as gall.  Agrip. 
Yet gather some of them. Oh, that a Princess  
Should pine for food: were I at home again,  
I should disdain to stand thus and complain.  And. 
Here's one Apple that grows highest, Agrippina, & I could reach that, i'll come down.  He stands fishing with his girdle for it, Agrip. 
Make haste, for the hot Sun doth scald my cheeks.  Andel. 
The sun kiss thee? hold, catch, put on my Hat, I will have yonder highest Apple, though I die for't.  Agrip. 
I had not wont be Sunburnt, wretched me.  
O England, would I were again in thee. Exit. He leaps down.  And. 
'swounds Agrippina, stay, O I am undone,  
Sweet Agrippina, if thou hearst my voice,  
Take pity of me, and return again.  
She flies like lightning: O she hears me not,  
I wish myself into a wilderness,  
And now I shall turn wild: here I shall famish,  
Here die, here cursing die, here raving die,  
And thus will wound my breast, and rent mine hair.  
What hills of Flint are grown upon my brows?  
O me, two forked horns, I am turned beast,  
I have abused two blessings, wealth and knowledge,  
Wealth in my purse, and knowledge in my Hat,  
By which being borne into the Courts of kings,  
I might have seen the wondrous works of jove,  
Acquired Experience, Learning, Wisdom, Truth,  
But I in wilderness tottered out my youth,  
And therefore must turn wild: must be a beast,  
An ugly beast: my body horns must bear,  
Because my foul deformity doth wear.  
Lives none within this wood? If none but I  
Live here (thanks heaven) for here none else shall die.  He lies down and sleeps under the tree: Enter Fortune, Vice, Virtue, the Priest: satires with Music, playing as they come in before Fortune. They play awhile. Fortune. 
See where my new-turned devil has built his hell.  Vice. 
Virtue, who conquers now? the fool is ta'en.  Vert. 
O sleepy sin. Music awhile, and then cease.  Vice. 
Sweet tunes wake him again.  Fort. 
Vice sets too heavy on his drowsy soul,  
Music sweet concord cannot pierce his ear.  
Sing and amongst your Songs, mix bitter scorn.  Vert. 
Those that tear Virtue, must by Vice be torn.  The Song. 
Virtue stand aside: the fool is caught,  1. Verse. 
Laugh to see him, laugh aloud to wake him,  
Follies nets are wide, and neatly wrought,  
Mock his horns, and laugh to see Vice take him.  Quire. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn, Andel. wakens & stands up.  
Who's that fool? the fool, he wears a horn.  
Virtue stand aside, mock him, mock him, mock him  2. Verse. 
Laugh aloud to see him, call him fool.  
Error gave him suck, now sorrows rock him,  
Send the riotous beast to madness school.  Quire. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn,  
Who's the fool? the fool, he wears a horn.  
Virtue stand aside: your school he hates.  3. Verse. 
Laugh aloud to see him, mock, mock, mock him.  
Vanity and hell keep open gates,  
he's in, and a new nurse (Despair) must rock him.  Quire. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn,  
Fool, fool, fool, fool, fool, wear still the horn.  When they have done singing, Vice and Virtue hold Apples out to him, Vice laughing, Virtue grieving. Andel. 
O me, what hell is this? fiends, tempt me not.  
Thou glorious devil hence. Oh now I see,  
This fruit is thine, thou hast deformed me:  
Idiot avoid, thy gifts I loathe to taste.  
Away: since I am entered madness School,  
As good to be a beast, as be a fool.  
Away, why tempt you me? some powerful grace  
Come and redeem me from this hideous place.  Fort. 
To her hath Andelocia (all his life)  
Sworn fealty, wouldst thou forsake her now?  Andel. 
Whose blessed tongue names Andelocia?  Fort. 
Hers, who (attended on by destinies)  
Shortened thy Father's life, and lengthens thine. Kneels.  Andel. 
O sacred Queen of chance, now shorten mine,  
Else let thy deity take off this shame.  Fort. 
Woo her, 'twas she that set it on thy head.  Andel. 
She laughs to see me metamorphosed.  Vert. 
Woo me and i'll take off this ugly scorn. Rises.  Vice. 
Woo me, and i'll clap on another horn.  Andel. 
I am beset with anguish, shame and death.  
O bid the Fates work fast, and stop my breath.  Fort. 
No Andelecia, thou must live to see  
Worse torments (for thy follies) light on thee.  
This golden tree, which did thine eyes entice,  
Was planted here by Vice: lo, here stands Vice:  
How often hast thou sued to win her grace?  Andel. 
Till now, I never did behold her face.  Fort. 
Thou didst behold her at thy father's death,  
When thou in scorn didst violate his will,  
Thou didst behold her, when thy stretched-out arm  
Catched at the highest bough, the loftiest vice,  
The fairest Apple, but the foulest price.  
Thou didst behold her, when thy liquorish eye  
Fed on the beauty of fair Agrippine,  
Because thou'dst gold, thou thoughtst all women thine,  
When look'st thou off from her? for they whose souls  
Still revel in the nights of vanity,  
On the fair cheeks of Vice still fix their eye.  
Because her face doth shine, and all her bosom  
Bears silver Moons, thou wast enamoured of her.  
But hadst thou upward looked, and seen these shames,  
Or viewed her round about, and in this glass  
Seen idiot's faces, heads of devils and hell,  
And read this ha, ha, he, this merry story,  
Thou wouldst have loathed her: where, by loving her,  
Thou bear'st this face, and wear'st this ugly head,  
And if she once can bring thee to this place,  
Loud sounds these ha, ha, he, she'll laugh apace.  Andel. 
O, retransform me to a glorious shape,  
And I will learn how I may love to hate her.  Fort. 
I cannot retransform thee, woo this woman.  Andel. 
This woman? wretched is my state, when I,  
To find out wisdom, to a fool must fly.  Fort. 
Fool, clear thine eyes, this is bright Arete,  
This is poor Virtue, care not how the world  
Doth crown her head, the world laughs her to scorn,  
Yet Sibi sapit, Virtue knows her worth.  
Run after her, she'll give thee these and these  
Crowns and Bay-garlands: (honours victories:)  
Serve her, and she will fetch thee pay from heaven,  
Or give thee some bright office in the stars.  Ande. 
Immortal Arete, Virtue divine, Kneels.  
O smile on me, and I will still be thine.  Vert. 
Smile thou on me, and I will still be thine:  
Though I am jealous of thy Apostasy,  
I'll entertain thee: here, come taste this tree,  
Here's Physic for thy sick deformity.  Andel. 
'tis bitter: this fruit I shall ne'er digest.  Vert. 
Try once again, the bitterness soon dies.  Vice. 
Mines sweet, taste mine.  Vert. 
But being down 'tis sour,  
And mine being down has a delicious taste.  
The path that leads to virtues court is narrow,  
Thorny and up a hill, a bitter journey  
But being gone through, you find all heavenly sweets,  
The entrance is all flinty, but at th'end,  
To towers of pearl and crystal you ascend.  Ande. 
O delicate, O sweet Ambrosian relish,  
And see, my ugliness drops from my brows,  
Thanks beauteous Arete: O had I now  
My Hat and purse again, how I would shine,  
And gild my soul with none but thoughts divine.  Fort. 
That shall be tried, take fruit from both these trees,  
By help of them, win both thy purse and Hat,  
I will instruct thee how, for on my wings  
To England shalt thou ride; thy virtuous brother  
Is (with that Shadow who attends on thee,)  
In London, there i'll set thee presently.  
But if thou lose our favours once again,  
To taste her sweets, those sweets must prove thy bane.  Vert. 
Vice, who shall now be crowned with victory?  Vice. 
She that triumphs at last, and that must I.  Exeunt. Enter Athelstane, Lincoln with Agripyne, Cyprus, Galloway, Cornwall, Chester, Longavile and Montrosse. Athelst. 
Lincoln, how settest thou her at liberty?  Lincol. 
No other prison held her but your court,  
There (in her chamber) hath she hid herself  
These two days, only to shake off that fear,  
Which her late violent rapture cast upon her.  Cypr. 
Where hath the beauteous Agrippina been?  Agrip. 
In heaven or hell, in or without the world,  
I know not which, for as I oft have seen  
(When angry Thamesis hath curled her locks,)  
A whirlwind come, and from her frizzled brows,  
Snatch up a handful of those sweaty pearls,  
That stood upon her forehead, which awhile,  
Being by the boisterous wind hung in the air,  
At length hath flung them down and raised a storm.  
even with such fury was I wherried up,  
And by such force held prisoner in the clouds,  
And thrown by such a tempest down again.  Cornw. 
Some soul is damned in hell for this black deed.  Agrip. 
I have the purse safe, and anon your grace  
Shall hear this wondrous history at full.  Cypr. 
Tell me, tormenter, shall fair Agrippine,  
Without more difference be now christened mine?  Agrip. 
My choice must be my Father's fair consent.  Athelst. 
Then shall thy choice end in this Cyprus prince.  
Before the Sun shall six times more arise,  
His royal marriage will we solemnize.  
Proclaim this honoured match, come Agrippine,  
I am glad thouart here, more glad the purse is mine.  As they are all going in: Enter Andelocia and shadow, like Irish Costermongers, Agrippina, Longavyle, and Montrosse stay listening to them, the rest Exeunt. Both. 
Buy any Apples, féene Apples of Tamasco, féene Tamasio peepeins: peeps feene, buy Tamasco pippins.  Agrip. 
Damasco apples? good my Lord Montrosse,  
Call yonder fellows.  Montr. 
Sirrah Costermonger.  Shad. 
Who calls: peeps of Tamasco, féene peeps: I sat 'tis de sweetest apple in de world, 'tis better den de Pomewater, or apple john.  Andel. 
By my trat Madam, 'tis réet Tamasco pippins, look here else.  Shad. 
I dare not say, as de Irishman my countryman say, taste de goodness of de fruit: No faith 'tis fairy téere mistress, by Saint Patrick's hand 'tis téere Tamasco apple.  Agrip. 
The fairest fruit that ever I beheld,  
Damasco apples, wherefore are they good?  Longa. 
What is your price of half a score of these?  Both. 
Half a score, half a score? dat is doos many mester.  Longa. 
ay, ay, ten, half a score, that's five and five.  Andel. 
Féeue and feeve? By my trat and as Créeze save me la, I cannot tell, what be de price of feeve and feeve, but 'tis tree crown for one pippin, dat is the préez if you take 'em.  Shad. 
I fat, 'tis no less for Tamasco.  Agrip. 
three crowns for one? what wondrous virtues have they?  Shad. 
O, 'tis féene Tamasco apple, and shall make you a great teal wise, and make you no fool, and make feene memory.  Andel. 
And make dis fash be more fair and amiable, and make dis eyes look always lovely, and make all de court & country burn in desire to kiss di none sweet countenance.  Montr. 
Apples to make a Lady beautiful?  
Madam that's excellent.  Agrip. 
These Irishmen,  
Some say, are great dissemblers, and I fear,  
These two the badge of their own country wear.  Andel. 
By my trat, and by Saint Patrick's hand, and as Créez save me la, 'tis no dissembler: de Irish man now and den cut di countryman's throat, but yet in faith he love di countryman, 'tis no dissembler: dis féene Tamasco apple can make di sweet countenance, but I can take no less but three crowns for one, I wear out my naked legs and my foots, and my toes, and run hidder and didder to Tamasco for dem.  Shad. 
As Créez save me la, he speaks true: Peeps feene,  Agrip. 
I'll try what power lies in Damasco fruit.  
Here are ten crowns for three, So fare you well.  Montr. 
Lord Longavile, buy some.  Longa. 
I buy? not I:  
Hang them, they are toys, come Madam, let us go. Exeunt.  Both. 
Saint Patrick and Saint Peter, and all de holy Angels look upon dat fash and make it fair.  Enter Montrosse softly. Shad. 
Ha, ha, ha, she's sped, I warrant.  Andel. 
Peace, Shadow, buy any pippins, buy.  Both. 
Peeps féene, féene Tamasco apples.  Montr. 
Came not Lord Longavile to buy some fruit?  Andel. 
No fat, master, here came no Lords nor Ladies, but di none sweet self.  Montr. 
'tis well, say nothing, here's six crowns for two: You say the virtues are to make one strong.  Both. 
Yes fat and make sweet countenance & strong too.  Montr. 
'tis excellent, here: farewell, if these prove,  
I'll conquer men by strength, women by love. Exit.  Enter Longavyle. Both. 
Ha, ha, ha, why this is rare.  Shad. 
Peace, master, here comes another fool.  Both. 
Peeps féene, buy any peeps of Tamasco?  Longa. 
Did not the Lord Montrosse return to you?  Both. 
No fat, sweet master, no Lord did turn to us: Peeps féene.  Longa. 
I am glad of it: here are nine crowns for thee: What are the virtues besides making fair?  Andel. 
O, 'twill make thee wondrous wise.  Shad. 
And dow shall be no more a fool, but sweet face and wise.  Longa. 
'tis rare, farewell, I never yet durst woo.  
None loves me: now i'll try what these can do. Exit.  Andel. 
Ha, ha, ha. So, this is admirable, Shadow, here end my torments in Saint Patrick's Purgatory, but thine shall continue longer.  Shad. 
Did I not clap on a good false Irish face?  Andel. 
It became thee rarely.  Shad. 
Yet that's lamentable, that a false face should become any man.  Andel. 
Thou art a gull, 'tis all the fashion now, which fashion because we'll keep, step thou abroad, let not the world want fools: whilst thou art commencing thy knavery there, i'll proceed Doctor Dodipoll here: that done, thou Shadow and I will fat ourselves to behold the transformation of these fools: go fly.  Shad. 
I fear nothing, but that whilst we strive to make others fools, we shall wear the Coxcombs ourselves, Pips fine etc. Exit Shadow.  Enter Ampedo. Andel. 
S'hart, here's my brother whom I have abused:  
His presence makes me blush, it strikes me dead,  
To think how I am metamorphosed.  
Féene paepins of Tamasco etc.  Amp. 
For shame cast off this Mask.  Andel. 
wilt thou buy any pips?  Amp. 
Mock me no longer  
With idle apparitions: many a land  
Have I with weary feet and a sick soul  
Measured, to find thee; and when thou art found,  
My greatest grief is, that thou art not lost:  
Yet lost thou art, thy fame, thy wealth are lost,  
Thy wits are lost, and thou hast in their stead,  
With shame and cares, and misery crowned thy head.  
That Shadow that pursues thee, filled mine ears  
With sad relation of thy wretchedness,  
Where is the purse, and where my wishing Hat?  Andel. 
Where? and where? are you created Constable, you stand so much upon Intergatories? the purse is gone, let that fret you, and the Hat is gone, let that mad you: I run thus through all trades to overtake them, if you'll be quiet, follow me, and help, if not, fly from me, and hang yourself: wilt thou buy any pippins? Exit.  Amp. 
O, how I grieve, to see him thus transformed?  
Yet from the circles of my jealous eyes,  
He shall not start, till he have repossessed  
Those virtuous jewels, which found once again,  
More cause they ne'er shall give me to complain.  
Their worth shall be consumed in murdering flames,  
And end my grief, his riot, and our shames. Exit.  Enter Athelstane, Agripyne, Montrosse and Longavyle with horns, Lincoln and Cornwall. Athelst. 
In spite of sorcery try once again,  
Try once more in contempt of all damned spells.  Agrip. 
Your majesty fights with no mortal power.  
Shame and not conquest, hangs upon his strife.  
O, touch me not, you add but pain to pain,  
The more you cut, the more they grow again.  Lincol. 
Is there no art to conjure down this scorn?  
ay, ne'er knew Physic yet against the horn.  Enter Cyprus. Athelst. 
See, prince of Cyprus, thy fair Agrippine  
Hath turn her beauty to deformity.  Cypr. 
Then I defy thee, Love, vain hopes, adieu,  
You have mocked me long; in scorn i'll now mock you.  
I came to see how the Lord Longavile  
Was turned into a monster, and I find  
And object, which both strikes me dumb and blind.  
Tomorrow should have been our marriage morn,  
But now my bride is shame, thy bridegroom scorn.  
O tell me yet, is there no Art, no charms,  
No desperate Physic for this desperate wound?  Athelst. 
All means are tried, but no means can be found.  Cypr. 
Then England, farewell: hapless maid, thy stars,  
Through spiteful influence set our hearts at wars.  
I am enforced to leave thee, and resign  
My love to grief.  Enter Orleans and Galloway. Agrip. 
All grief to Agrippine.  Cypr. 
Adieu I would say more, had I a tongue  
Able to help his master: mighty king,  
I humbly take my leave, to Cyprus I,  
My father's Son, must all such shame defy. Exit.  Orle. 
So doth not Orleans, I defy all those,  
That love not Agrippine, and him defy,  
That dares but love her half so well as I.  
O pardon me, I have in sorrows jail,  
Been long tormented, long this mangled bosom  
Hath bled, and never durst expose her wounds,  
Till now, till now, when at thy beauteous feet,  
I offer love and life, O cast an eye  
Of mercy on me, this deformed face  
Cannot affright my soul from loving thee.  Agri. 
Talk not of love, good Orleans, but of hate.  Orle. 
What sentence will my love pronounce on me?  Gall. 
Will Orleans then be mad? O gentle friend.  Orle. 
O gentle, gentle friend I am not mad:  
he's mad, whose eyes on painted cheeks do dote,  
O Galloway; such read beauty's book by rote.  
he's mad, that pines for want of a gay flower,  
Which saves when grief doth blast, or sickness lower,  
Which heat doth wither, and white ages frost  
Nips dead: such fairness, when 'tis found, 'tis lost,  
I am not mad, for loving Agrippine,  
My love looks on her eyes, with eyes divine,  
I dote on the rich brightness of her mind,  
That sacred beauty strikes all other blind,  
O make me happy then, since my desires  
Are set a burning by loves purest fires.  Athelst. 
So thou wilt bear her far from England sight,  
Enjoy thy wishes.  Agrip. 
Lock me in some cave,  
Where staring wonders eye shall not be guilty  
To my abhorred looks, and I will die  
To thee, as full of love as misery.  Athelst. 
I am amazed and mad, some speckled soul  
Lies pawned for this in Hell, without redemption,  
Some fiend deludes us all.  Cornw. 
O unjust Fates,  
Why do you hide from us this mystery?  Lincol. 
My Lord Montrosse, how long have your brows worn  
This fashion? these two feather-springs of horn?  Montr. 
An Irish kern sold me Damasco apples,  
Some two hours since, and (like credulous fool)  
He swearing to me that they had this power,  
To make me strong in body, rich in mind,  
I did believe his words, tasted his fruit,  
And since have been attired in this disguise.  Longa. 
I fear that villain hath beguiled me too.  Cornw. 
Nay before God he has not cozened you,  
You have it soundly.  Longa. 
Me he made believe,  
One apple of Damasco would inspire  
By thoughts with wisdom, and upon my cheeks  
Would cast such beauty, that each lady's eye,  
Which looked on me, should love me presently.  Agrip. 
Desire to look more fair, makes me more soul,  
Those apples did entice my wandering eye,  
To be enamoured of deformity.  Athelst. 
This proves that true, which oft I have heard in schools,  
Those that would seem most wise do turn most fools.  Lincol. 
Here's your best hope, nene needs to hide his face,  
For horned foreheads swarm in every place.  Enter Chester bringing Andelocia like a French Doctor. Athelst. 
Now Chester, what Physicians hast thou found?  Chest. 
Many, my liege, but none that have true skill  
To tame such wild diseases: yet here's one,  
A Doctor and a Frenchman, whom report  
Of Agrippina's grief hath drawn to court.  Athelst. 
Cure her, and England's treasury shall stand,  
As free for thee to use, as rain from heaven.  Montr. 
Cure me and to thy Coffers I will send,  
More gold from Scotland than thy life can spend.  Longa. 
Cure Longavile, and all his wealth is thine.  Andel. 
He Monsieur Long-villain gra tank you: Gra tanck your mashestie a great teal artely by my trat: where be dis Madam Princeza dat be so much tormenta? O Ieshu: one, 2: an tree, 4 & 5, seez horn Ha, ha, ha, pardona moy prea wid all mine art, for by my trat, me can no point shose but laugh, Ha, ha, ha, to mark how like tree bul-beggera, day stand. Oh, by my trat and fat, di diuela be whoreson, scurvy, paltry, ill savour knave to mock de Madam, and gentill-home so: Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Lincol. 
This Doctor comes to mock your majesty.  Ande. 
No by my trat la, but me lova musha musha merriment: Come Madam, prea-artely stand still, and letta me seel your dis horn, O 'tis pretty horn, dis be facile, easy for pull de vey but Madame dis O he grand, grand horn, difficile, and very deep, 'tis perilous, a grand Laroone. But Madam, pray be patient, we shall take it off vell.  Athe. 
Thrice have we pared them off, but with fresh pain, In compass of a thought they rise again.  Andel. 
Its true, 'tis no easy mattra, to pull horn off, 'tis easy for pull on, but hard for pull off, some horn be so good fellow, he will still inhabit in de man's pate, but 'tis all one for that, I shall snap away all dis: Madam trust dis down into your little belly.  Agrip. 
Father, I am in fear to taste his physic.  
First let him work experiments on those.  Andel. 
I'll sauce you for your infidelity. Aside.  
In no place can I spy my wishing Hat.  Longa. 
Thou learned Frenchman, try thy skill on me,  
More ugly than I am, I cannot be.  Montr. 
Cure me, and Montrosse wealth shall all be thine.  Andel. 
'tis all one for dat: shall do presently; Madam, prea mark me: monsieur, shamp dis in your two shaps, so, now Monsieur Long-villain, dis so: now dis, fear noting, 'tis eshelent medicine: so, now cram dis into your guts, and belly: So, now snap away dis whoreson four Divela; Ha, ha, Is no point good? Puts Galloways horns off.  Athelst. 
This is most strange.  
Wast painful Longavile?  Longa. 
Ease took them off, and there remains no pain.  Agrip. 
O try thy sacred Physic on me.  Andel. 
No by my trat, 'tis no possibla, 'tis no possibla, all de mattra, all de ting, all de substance, all de medicine, be among his and his belly: 'tis no possibla, till me prepare more.  Athelst. 
Prepare it then, and thou shalt have more gold From England's Coffers, than thy life can waste.  Andel. 
I much buy many costily tings dat grow in Arabia, in Asia, and America, by my trat 'tis no possibla, till another time, no point.  Agrip. 
There's nothing in the world, but may for gold  
Be bought in England, hold your lap i'll rain  
A shower of Angels.  Andel. 
Fie, fie, fie, fie, you no credit le dockature? Ha, but vel, 'tis all one for that: 'tis no mattera for gold: Vel, vel, vel, vel, vel, me have some more, prea say noting, shall be presently prepara for your horns.  

She has my purse, and yonder lies my Hat,  
Work brains, and once more make me fortunate.   
Vel, vel, vel, vel, be patient Madam, presently, presently, be patient, me have two, tree, four and five medicines for de horn: presently Madam, stand you der, prea wid all mine art, stand you all der: and say noting, so: nor look noting dis vey: so, presently, presently Madam, snip dis horn off wid de rushes & another ting by and by, by and by, by and by, prea look none dis vey, and say noting. Gets his Hat up.  Athelst. 
Let no man speak, or look, upon his life.  
Doctor, none here shall rob thee of thy skill.  Andel. 
So, taka dis hand: wink now prea artely wid your two nyes: why so.  
Would I were with my brother Ampedo. Exit with her.  Agrip. 
Help, Father, help, I am hurried hence perforce.  Andel. 
Draw weapons, where's the princess, follow him,  
Stay the French Doctor, stay the Doctor there.  
Cornwall and some other run out, and enter presently.  Cornw. 
Stay him, sh'art who dare stay him? 'tis the devil  
In likeness of a Frenchman, of a Doctor.  
Look how a rascal kite having swept up  
A Chicken in his claws, so flies this hellhound  
In th'air with Agrippine in his arms.  Orle. 
Count every man upon his swiftest horse.  
Fly several ways, he cannot bear her far.  Gall. 
These paths we'll beat. Exeunt Gall. & Orleans.  Lincol. 
And this way shall be mine.  Cornw. 
This way, my Liege, i'll ride.  Athelst. 
And this way I:  
No matter which way, to seek misery. Exit Athelst.  Longa. 
I can ride no way, to outrun my shame.  Montr. 
Yes, Longavile, let's gallop after too,  
Doubtless this Doctor was that Irish devil,  
That cozened us, the medicine which he gave us,  
Tasted like his Damasco villainy.  
To horse, to horse, if we can catch this fiend,  
Our forked shame shall in his heart blood end.  Longa. 
O how this mads me, that all tongues in scorn,  
Which way soe'er I ride, cry, Ware the horn. Exeunt.  Enter Andelocia, with Agripyne, Ampedo and Shadow. Agrip. 
O gentle Andelocia pity me,  
Take off this infamy, or take my life.  Andel. 
Your life? you think then that I am a true Doctor indeed, that tie up my lining in the knots of winding sheeets: your life? no, keep your life, but deliver your purse: you know the thief's salutation, Stand & deliver. So, this is mine, and these yours: I'll teach you to live by the sweat of other men's brows.  Shad. 
And to strive to be fairer than God made her.  Andel. 
Right, Shadow: therefore vanish, you have made me turn juggler, and cry hey-pass, but your horns shall not repass.  Agrip. 
O gentle Andelocia.  And. 
Andelocia is a Nettle: if you touch him gently, he'll sting you.  Shad. 
Or a rose, if you pull his sweet stalk, he'll prick you.  Andel. 
Therefore not a word, go, trudge to your Father: sigh not for your purse, money may be got by you, as well as by the little Welsh woman in Cyprus, that had but one horn in her head, you have two; and perhaps you shall cast both: as you use me, mark those words well, as you use me, nay, you're best fly, i'll not endure one word more. Yet stay too, because you entreat me so gently, and that i'll make some amends to your Father, although I care not for any King in Christendom, yet hold you, take this Apple, eat it as you go to court, and your horns shall play the cowards and fall from you.  Agrip. 
O gentle Andelocia.  And. 
Nay away, not a word.  Shad. 
Ha, ha, ha, etc. Ware horns. Exit Agrip. weeping.  Andel. 
Why dost thou laugh, Shadow?  Shad. 
To see what a horn plague follows covetousness and pride.  Amp. 
Brother, what mysteries lie in all this?  Andel. 
Tricks, Ampedo, tricks, devices, and mad hieroglyphics, mirth, mirth, and melody. O, there's more music in this, than all the gamut ears, and Sol fa Res, in the world; here's the purse, and here's the Hat: because you shall be sure i'll not start, wear you this, you know his virtue; if danger beset you, fly & away: A sort of broken-shinned limping legged jades run hobbling to seek us: Shadow, we'll for all this have one fit of mirth more, to make us laugh and be fat.  Shad. 
And when we are fat, master, we'll do as all gluttons do, laugh and lie down.  Andel. 
Hie thee to my chamber, make ready my richest attire, i'll to Court presently.  Shad. 
I'll go to Court in this attire, for apparel is but the shadow of a man, but shadow is the substance of his apparel. Exit Shadow.  Andel. 
Away, away, and meet me presently.  Amp. 
I had more need to cry, away to thee.  
Away, away with this wild lunacy,  
Away with riots.  Andel. 
Away with your purity, brother, you're an Ass, why doth this purse spit out gold but to be spent? why lives a man in this world, to dwell in the Suburbs of it, as you do? Away foreign simplicity, away: are not eyes made to see fair Ladies: hearts to love them? tongues to court them, & hands to feel them? Out you Stock, you stone, you logs end: Are not legs made to dance, and shall mine limp up and down the world after your cloth-stocking-heels? you have the Hat, keep it, anon i'll visit your virtuous countenance again, adieu, pleasure is my sweet mistress, I wear her love in my Hat, and her soul in my heart: I have sworn to be merry, and in spite of Fortune and the black-browed destinies, i'll never be sad. Exit.  Amped. 
Go, fool, in spite of mirth, thou shalt be sad.  
I'll bury half thy pleasures in a grave  
Of hungry flames, this fire I did ordain  
To burn both purse and Hat: as this doth perish,  
So shall the other: count what good and bad  
They both have wrought, the good is to the ill,  
As a small pibble to a mighty hill.  
Thy glory and thy mischiefs here shall burn,  
Good gifts abused to man's confusion turn.  Enter Longavile, and Montrosse with Soldiers. Longa. 
This is his brother; Soldiers, bind his arms.  Montr. 
Bind arms and legs, and hale the fiend a way.  Amp. 
Uncivil: wherefore must I taste your spite?  Longa. 
Art thou not one of Fortunatus sons?  Amped. 
I am, but he did never do you wrong.  Longa. 
The devil thy brother has, villain, look here.  Montr. 
Where is the beauteous purse and wishing Hat?  Amped. 
My brother Andelocia has the purse,  
This way he'll come anon to pass to court,  
Alas, that sin should make men's hearts so bold,  
To kill their souls for the base thirst of gold.  
The wishing Hat is burnt.  Montr. 
Burnt? soldiers bind him.  
Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you,  
Villain, i'll be revenged for that base scorn,  
Thy hellhound brother clapped upon my head.  Longa. 
And so will Longavile.  
Away with him.  Montr. 
Drag him to yonder tower, there shackle him,  
And in a pair of Stocks, lock up his heels,  
And bid your wishing Cap deliver you.  
Give us the purse and Hat, we'll set thee free,  
Else rot to death and starve.  Amp. 
Oh tyranny, you need not scorn the badge which you did bear:  
Beasts would you be, though horns you did not wear.  Montr. 
Drag hence the cur: come noble Longavile,  
One's sure, and were the other fiend as fast,  
Their pride should cost their lives: their purse and Hat  
Shall be both ours, we'll share them equally.  Longa. 
That will be some amends for arming me.  Enter Andelocia and Shadow after him. Montr. 
Peace, Longavile, yonder the gallant comes.  Longa. 
You're well encountered.  Andel. 
Thanks, Lord Longavile.  Longa. 
The king expects your presence at the court.  Andel. 
And thither am I going.  Shad. 
Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, ha, ha, ha.  Montr. 
Wert thou that Irishman that cozened us?  Shad. 
Pips fine, ha, ha, ha, no not I: not Shadow.  Andel. 
Were not your Apples delicate and rare?  Longa. 
The worst that ere you sold; Sirs, bind him fast.  Andel. 
What, will you murder me? help, help, some help.  Shad. 
Help, help, help. Exit Shadow.  Montr. 
Follow that Dog, and stop his balling throat.  Andel. 
Villains, what means this barbarous treachery?  Longa. 
We mean to be revenged for our disgrace.  Montr. 
And stop the golden current of thy waist.  Andel. 
Murder, they murder me, O call for help.  Long. 
Thy voice is spent in vain, come, come, this purse,  
This wellspring of your prodigality.  Andel. 
Are you appointed by the king to this?  Montr. 
No, no, rise, spurn him up: know you who's this?  Andel. 
My brother Ampedo? Alas, what fate  
Hath made thy virtues so infortunate?  Amp. 
Thy riot and the wrong of these two Lords,  
Who (causeless) thus do starve me in this prison.  Longa. 
Strive not you're best, villains, lift in his legs.  Andel. 
Traitors to honour, what do you intend?  Longa. 
That riot shall in wretchedness have end.  
Question thy brother with what cost he's fed,  
And so assure thou shalt be banqueted. Exeunt they two.  Amp. 
In want, in misery, in woe and care,  
Poor Ampedo his fill hath surfeited:  
My want is famine, bolts my misery,  
My care and woe should be thy portion.  Andel. 
Give me that portion, for I have a heart  
Shall spend it freely, and make bankrupt  
The proudest woe that ever wet man's eye.  
Care with a mischief? wherefore should I care?  
Have I rid side by side by mighty kings,  
Yet be thus bridled now? I'll tear these fetters.  
Murder, cry murder, Ampedo, aloud.  
To bear this scorn our Fortunes are too proud.  Amp. 
O folly, thou hast power to make flesh glad,  
When the rich soul in wretchedness is clad.  Ande. 
Peace, fool, am not I Fortune's minion?  
These bands are but one wrinkle of her frown,  
This is her Evening mask, her next morn's eye  
Shall overshine the Sun in majesty.  Amp. 
But this sad night will make an end of me.  
Brother, farewell, grief, famine, sorrow, want,  
Have made an end of wretched Ampedo.  Andel. 
Where is the wishing Hat?  Amp. 
Consumed in fire.  Ande. 
Accursed be those hands that did destroy it,  
That would redeem us, did we now enjoy it.  Amp. 
Wanton farewell, I faint, death's frozen hand  
Congeals life's little River in my breast.  
No man before his end is truly blessed. dies.  Andel. 
O miserable, miserable soul.  
Thus a foul life makes death to look more foul.  Enter Longavyle and Montrosse with a halter. Longa. 
Thus shall this golden purse divided be,  
One day for you, another day for me.  Montr. 
Of days anon, say, what determine you,  
Shall they have liberty, or shall they die?  Long. 
Die sure: and see, I think the elder's dead.  And. 
ay, murderers, he is dead. O sacred wisdom,  
Had Fortunatus been enamoured  
Of thy celestial beauty, his two sons  
Had shined like two bright Suns.  Longa. 
Pull hard, Montrosse.  Andel. 
Come you to strangle me? are you the hangman?  
Hellhounds you're damned for this impiety.  
Fortune, forgive me, I deserve thy hate,  
myself have made myself a reprobate:  
Virtue, forgive me, for I have transgressed  
Against thy laws, my vows are quite forgot,  
And therefore shame is fallen to my sins lot.  
Riches and knowledge are two gifts divine.  
They that abuse them both as I have done,  
To shame, to beggary, to hell must run.  
O conscience hold thy sting, cease to afflict me.  
Be quick, tormentors, I desire to die.  
No death is equal to my misery.  
Cyprus, vain world, and Vanity farewell.  
Who builds his heaven on earth, is sure of hell.  Lon. 
He's dead: in some deep vault let's throw their bodies.  Montr. 
First let us see the purse, Lord Longavile.  Longa. 
Here 'tis, by this we'll fill this tower with gold.  Montr. 
Frenchman, this purse is counterfeit.  Longa. 
Thou liest.  
Scot, thou hast cozened me, give me the right,  
Else shall thy bosom be my weapon's grave.  Montr. 
Villain, thou shalt not rob me of my due.  They fight: Enter Athelstane, Agrippina, Orleans, Galloway, Cornwall, Chester, Lincoln, and Shadow with weapons at one door: Fortune, Vice, and their attendants at another door. All. 
Lay hands upon the murderers, strike them down.  Fortune. 
Surrender up this purse, for this is mine.  All. 
I'll these two devils, of some powers divine?  Shad. 
O, see, see, O my two masters, poor Shadows substances; what shall I do? whose body shall Shadow now follow?  Fort. 
Peace, Idiot, thou shalt find rich heaps of fools,  
That will be proud to entertain a Shadow.  
I charm thy babbling lips from troubling me.  
You need not hold them, see, I smite them down  
Lower than hell: base souls, sink to your heaven.  Vice. 
I do arrest you both my prisoners.  Fort. 
Stand not amazed, you gods of earth, at this,  
She that arresteth these two fools is Vice,  
They have broke Virtues laws, Vice is her sergeant,  
Her jailer and her executioner.  
Look on those Cypriots, Fortunatus sons,  
They and their Father were my minions,  
My name is Fortune.  All. 
O dread deity.  Fort. 
Kneel not to me: if Fortune list to frown,  
You need not fall down, for she'll spurn you down.  
Arise, but fools, on you i'll triumph thus.  
What have gained by being covetous?  
This prodigal purse did Fortune's bounteous hand  
Bestow on them, their riots made them poor,  
And set those marks of miserable death,  
On all their pride, the famine of base gold  
Hath made your souls to murders hands be sold,  
Only to be called rich But Idiots see  
The virtues to be fled, Fortune hath caused it so,  
Those that will all devour, must all forego.  Athelst. 
Most sacred Goddess.  Fortune. 
Peace, you flatterer.  
Thy tongue but heaps more vengeance on thy head.  
Fortune is angry with thee, in thee burns  
A greedy covetous fire; in Agrippine  
Pride like a Monarch revels, and those sins  
Have led you blindfold to your former shames,  
But Virtue pardoned you, and so doth Fortune.  Athelst. & Agrip. 
All thanks to both your sacred deities,  Fort. 
As for these Metal-eaters, these base thieves,  
Who rather than they would be counted poor,  
Will dig through hell for gold, you were forgiven  
By virtues general pardon; her broad seal  
Gave you your lives, when she took off your horns.  
Yet having scarce one foot out of the jail,  
You tempt damnation by more desperate means,  
You both are mortal, and your pains shall ring  
Through both your ears, to terrify your souls,  
As please the judgement of this mortal king.  Athelst. 
Fair Empress of the world, since you resign  
Your power to me, this sentence shall be mine,  
Thou shalt be tortured on a wheel to death,  
Thou with wild horses shalt be quartered.  Vice. 
Ha, ha, weak judge, weak judgement, I reverse  
That sentence, for they are my prisoners,  
Embalm the bodies of those Cypriots,  
And honour them with princely burial,  
For those do as you please, but for these two,  
I kiss you both, I love you, you're my minions,  
Untie their hands, Vice doth reprieve you both,  
I set you free.  Both. 
Thanks, gracious deity.  Vice. 
Be gone, but you in liberty shall find  
More bondage than in chains, fools, get you hence,  
Both wander with tormented conscience.  Longa. 
O horrid judgement, that's the hell in deed.  Mon. 
Come, come, our death ne'er ends if conscience bleed.  Both. 
O miserable, miserable men. Exeunt.  Fortune. 
Fortune triumphs at this, yet to appear,  
All like myself, that which from those I took,  
King Athelstane I will bestow on thee,  
And in it the old virtue I infuse:  
But, king, take heed how thou my gifts dost use.  
England shall ne'er be poor, it England strive,  
Rather by virtue, then by wealth to thrive.  Enter Virtue, crowned: Nymphs and king's attending on her, crowned with Olive branches and laurels, music sounding. Vice. 
Virtue? alas good soul, she hides her head.  Vert. 
What envious tongue said, Virtue hides her head?  Vice. 
She that will drive thee into banishment.  Fort. 
She that hath conquers thee; how dar'st thou come,  
Thus tricked in gaudy Feathers, and thus guarded,  
Which crowned kings and Muses, when thy foe  
Hath trod thus on thee, and now triumphs so?  
Where's virtuous Ampedo? See, he's her slave,  
For following thee this recompense they have.  Vert. 
Is Ampedo her stane? Why that's my glory.  
The idiot's cap I once wore on my head,  
Did figure him, those that (like him) do muffle  
Virtue in clouds, and care not how she shine,  
I'll make their glory like to his decline:  
He made no use of me, but like a miser,  
Locked up his wealth in rusty bars of sloth:  
His face was beautiful, but wore a mask,  
And in the world's eyes seemed a Blackamoor.  
So perish they that so keep virtue poor.  Vice. 
Thou art a fool to strive, I am more strong,  
And greater than thyself, than Virtue fly,  
And hide thy face, yield me the victory.  Vert. 
Is Vice higher than Virtue: that's my glory,  
The higher that thou art, thou art more horrid,  
The world will love me for my comeliness.  Fortu. 
Thine own self loves thyself: why on the heads  
Of Agrippine, Montresse and Longavile,  
(English, Scot, French) did Vice clap ugly horns,  
But to approve that English, French and Scot,  
And all the world else, kneel and honour Vice,  
But in no Country, Virtue is of price?  Vert. 
Yes, in all country's Virtue is of price.  
In every kingdom some diviner breast  
Is more enamoured of me then the rest.  
Have English, Scot, and French bowed knees to thee?  
Why that's my glory too, for by their shame,  
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.  
Fortune, thou art too weak, Vice thouart a fool,  
To fight with me, I suffered you awhile,  
T'eclipse my brightness, but I now will shine,  
And make you swear your beauty's base to mine.  Fort. 
Thou art too insolent, see here's a court  
Of mortal judges, let's by them be tried,  
Which of us three shall most be deified.  Vice. 
I am content.  Fort. 
And I.  Vert. 
So am not I.  
My judge shall be your sacred deity.  Vice. 
O miserable me, I am undone. Exit Vice and her train.  All. 
O stop the horrid monster.  Vert. 
Let her run.  
Fortune, who conquers now?  Fort. 
Virtue, I see,  
Thou wilt triumph both over her and me.  All. 
Empress of heaven and earth.  Fort. 
Why do you mock me?  
Kneel not to me, to her transfer your eyes,  
There sits the Queen of Chance, I bend my knees,  
Lower than yours: dread goddess, 'tis most meet,  
That Fortune fall down at thy conquering feet.  
Thou sacred Empress that commandest the Fates,  
Forgive what I have to thy handmaid done,  
And at thy Chariot wheels Fortune shall run,  
And be thy captive and to thee resign  
All powers which heavens large Patent have made mine.  Vert. 
Fortune thouart vanquished: sacred deity,  
O now pronounce who wins the victory,  
And yet that sentence needs not, since alone,  
Your virtuous presence Vice hath overthrown,  
Yet to confirm the conquest on your side,  
Look but on Fortunatus and his sons  
Of all the wealth those gallants did possess,  
Only poor Shadow is left comfortless,  
Their glory's faded and their golden pride.  Sha. 
Only poor Shadow tells how poor they died.  Vert. 
All that they had, or mortal men can have,  
Sends only but a Shadow from the grave.  
Virtue alone lives still, and lives in you,  
I am a counterfeit. you are the true,  
I am a Shadow, at your feet I fall,  
Begging for these, and these, myself and all.  
All these that thus do kneel before your eyes,  
Are shadows like myself, dread Nymph it lies  
In you to make us substances. O do it,  
Virtue I am sure you love, she woes you to it.  
I read a verdict in your Sunlike eyes,  
And this it is: Virtue the victory.  All. 
All loudly cry, Virtue the victory.  Vert. 
Virtue the victory: for joy of this,  
Those self same hymns which you to Fortune sung  
Let them be now in virtues honour rung.  

The Song.  
Virtue smiles: cry holiday,  
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,  
Virtue 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,  
Where she smiles, cry holiday,  
Holiday with joy we cry,  
And bend, and bend, and merrily,  
Sing hymns to virtues deity:  
Sing hymns to virtues deity.   As they all offer to go in, Enter the two old men.  

The Epilogue at Court.  1. 
NAy stay, poor pilgrims, when I entered first  
The circle of this bright celestial Sphere,  
I wept for joy, now I could weep for fear.  2 
I fear we all like mortal men shall prove  
Weak (not in love) but in expressing love.  1 
Let every one beg once more on his knee,  
One pardon for himself, and one for me,  
For I enticed you hither: O dear Goddess,  
breath life in our numbed spirits with one smile,  
And from this cold earth, we with lively souls  
Shall rise like men (new-born) & make heaven sound  
With Hymns sung to thy name, and prayers that we  
May once a year so oft enjoy this sight,  
Till these young boys change their curled locks to white,  
And when gray-winged Age sits on their heads,  
That so their children may supply their Steads,  
And that heavens great Arithmetician,  
(Who in the Scales of Number ways the world)  
May still to forty two, and one year more,  
And still add one to one, that went before,  
And multiply four tens by many a ten:  
To this I cry Amen.  All. 
Amen, Amen.  1 
Good night (dear mistress) those that wish thee harm,  
Thus let them stoop under destruction's arm.  All. 
Amen, Amen, Amen. Exeunt.  
FINIS.  
Tho. Dekker.