Is like a sacred book that's never read;

To himself he lives and to all else seems dead.
This age thinks better of a gilded fool,

Than of a threadbare saint in Wisdom's school.

I will be Strong: then I refuse Long Life;

And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors:

The greatest Strength expires with loss of breath,
The mightiest (in one minute) stoop to death.
Then take Long Life, or Health; should I do so, 10
I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll

Of months and years, much misery might enroll:
Therefore I'll beg for Beauty; yet I will not:
The fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul
Leprous as sin itself, than hell more foul.
The Wisdom of this world is idiotism;

Strength a weak reed; Health Sickness' enemy,
And it at length will have the victory.
Beauty is but a painting; and Long Life
Is a long journey in December gone,
Tedious and full of tribulation.

Therefore dread sacred Empress, make me rich;
My choice is Store of Gold; the Rich are Wise.
He that upon his back rich garments wears
Is wise, though on his head grow Midas' ears.
Gold is the Strength, the Sinews of the world,
The Health, the Soul, the Beauty most divine;
A mask of gold hides all deformities;
Gold is heaven's physic, life's restorative;
Oh therefore make me Rich.

20

30

FORTUNE gives to FORTUNATUS a purse that is inexhaustible. With this he puts on costly attire, and visits all the Asian Courts, where he is caressed and made much of for his infinite wealth. At Babylon he is shown by the Soldan a wondrous hat, which in a wish transports the wearer whithersoever he pleases, over land and sea. FORTUNATUS puts it on, wishes himself at home in Cyprus ; where he arrives in a minute, as his sons AMPEDO and ANDELOCIA are talking of him: and tells his Travels. FORTUNATUS. AMPEDO. ANDELOCIA.

Fort. Touch me not, boys, I am nothing but air; Let none speak to me till you have marked me well.Am I as you are, or am I transformed?

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

Fort. 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? I see travellers must lie. 8

Fort. I have cut through the air like a falcon. I would have it seem strange to you. But 'tis true. I would not have you believe it neither. But 'tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you brought me to Cyprus. I'll leave you more gold, and go visit more countries.

Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your blood,
And strews her snowy flowers upon your head,
And gives you warning that within few years
Death needs must marry you: those short lives,
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 reapt thereby.

20

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 banquetting.

31

And. O rare: this was heavenly. 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.

And. Sweeten mine ears, good father, with some

more.

40 Fort. When in the warmth of mine own country's

arms

We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small horizon
Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes

Worshipp'd these clouds as brightest: but, my boys,
The glist'ring beams which do abroad appear,
In other heavens, fire is not half so clear.
For still in all the regions I have seen,

I scorn'd to crowd among the muddy throng

Of the rank multitude, whose thicken'd breath (Like to condensed fogs) do choke that beauty,

Which else would dwell in every kingdom's cheek.10 No; I still boldly stept into their courts:

For there to live 'tis rare, O 'tis divine;

There shall you see faces angelical;

There shall you see troops of chaste goddesses,

Whose star-like eyes have power (might they still shine)

To make night day, and day more crystalline.
Near these you shall behold great heroes,
White-headed councillors, and jovial spirits,
Standing like fiery cherubim to guard
The monarch, who in god-like glory sits
In midst of these, as if this deity

Had with a look created a new world,

The standers by being the fair workmanship.

And. Oh how my soul is rapt to a third heaven! I'll travel sure, and live with none but kings.

20

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 Dædalus's old waxen wings;

But being clapt 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.

By travel, boys, I have seen all these things.
Fantastic Compliment stalks up and down,
Tricked in outlandish feathers; all his words,
His looks, his oaths, are all ridiculous,
All apish, childish, and Italianate.

30

ORLEANS to his friend GALLOWAY defends the passion with which (being a prisoner in the English king's

court) he is enamoured to frenzy of the king's daughter AGRIPYNA.

ORLEANS. GALLOWAY.

Orl. This music makes me but more out of tune.

O Agripyna.

Gall. Gentle friend, no more.

Thou say'st Love is a madness: hate it then,
Even for the name's sake.

Orl. 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 Agripyne.
He loves her.

Orl. If he do, why so do I.

Gall. Love is ambitious and loves Majesty.

10

Orl. Dear friend, thou art deceiv'd: Love's voice doth sing

As sweetly in a beggar as a king.

Gall. Dear friend, thou art deceiv'd: 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 form'd: the search whereof will drive
Sounds musical among the jarring spirits,
And in sweet tune set that which none inherits.
Orl. I'll gaze on heaven if Agripyne be there.
If not fa, la, la, Sol, la, &c.

20

Gall. O call this madness in': see, from the window 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, thy honour torn.
Orl. Laugh they at me, sweet Galloway?
Gall. Even at thee.

30

Orl. Ha, ha, I laugh at them are they not mad,
That let my true true sorrow make them glad?
I dance and sing only to anger Grief,

That in his 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 Agripyne's not there,
But weep because she is not any where;
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?

10

Orl. 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 banish'd 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

To 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.

Rase out this strong idea of her face:

As fair as hers shineth in any place.

20

Orl. Thou art a Traitor to that White and Red, Which sitting on her cheeks (being Cupid's throne) Is my heart's Sovereign: O when she is dead, This wonder (beauty) shall be found in none. Now Agripyne 's not mine, I vow to be In love with nothing but deformity.

O fair Deformity, I muse all eyes

Are not enamour'd 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 Agripyne's,

For cares, and age, and sickness hers deface,
But thine's eternal: O Deformity,

30

Thy fairness is not like to Agripyne's,
For (dead) her beauty will no beauty have,

40

But thy face looks most lovely in the grave.