Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Is such a bait it covers any hook. Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold: good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Mos. Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give 'em words: Pour oil into their ears: and send them hence. Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is avarice to itself! Mos. I, with our help, sir. Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, Can be more frequent with 'em; their limbs faint, And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate And all turns air! Who's that there, now? a It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. Corvino, a Merchant, enters. Mos. Signior Corvino! come most wisht for! 0, How happy were you, if you knew it now! Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good; Corv. How shall I do then? Mos. Why, sir? Corv. I have brought him here a pearl. So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir: Mos. Hark. Volp. Signior Corvino. Mos. He calls you, step and give it him. He's here, sir? And he has brought you a ich pearl. Corv. How do you, sir? Tell him it doubles the twelfth caract. He cannot understand, his hearing's gone; Corv. Say, I have a diamond for him too. Mos. Best shew't, sir, Put it into his hand; 'tis only there Corv. 'Las, good gentleman! Mos. Tut forget, sir. The weeping of an heir should still be laughter, Under a visor. Corv. Why, am I his heir? Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the will, Till he be dead: but, here has been Corbaccio, All gaping here for legacies; but I, I still interpreted the nods, he made Nothing bequeath'd them, but Mos. No more than a blind harper. He knows no man. No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Corv. Has he children? Mos. Bastards, Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars., Gypsies, and Jews, and black - moors, when he was drunk: Knew you not that, sir? 'Tis the common fable, In all, save me: but he has given 'em nothing. | Art sure he does not hear us? Mos. Sure, sir? why look you, credit your Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out; Mos. 'Tis good; and what his mouth? Mos. O, stop it up Mos. Pray you let me. Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, It is your presence makes him last so long. Why should you be thus scrupulous? Pray you, Thomas Decker. Die Lebensverhältnisse dieses dramatischen Dichters, der bald allein, bald in Verbindung mit Anderen für die Bühne arbeitete, sind unermittelt geblieben. Man weiss nur, dass er 1597 zuerst ein Drama lieferte und seit 1603 sich als Prosaist, vorzüglich durch scharfe und treffende Sittenschilderungen bekannt machte, welche ihm wahrscheinlich eine dreijährige Gefangenschaft zuzogen. Ben Jonson griff ihn in seinem Poetaster als Crispinus heftig an, was Decker in seinem Satyromastix erwiderte, in welchem er seinen Gegner siegreich geisselte. Er muss um 1639 gestorben sein. Decker war sehr fruchtbar und hinterliess u. A. zwei und dreissig Dramen, die er zum Theil allein, zum Theil mit Anderen gemeinschaftlich verfasst hatte, die aber nicht alle im Druck erschienen sind. Sein Talent war nicht gering und offenbart sich besonders durch kräftige und consequente Characterzeichnung und gute Erfindung. Fortunat, von dem wir hier einige Scenen mittheilen, wird als sein gelungenstes Werk betrachtet. Scenes rom the Comedy of old Fortunatus. By Thomas Decker. That Jove shall turn away young Ganimede, The Goddess Fortune appears to Fortunatus, and Shall be stretch'd out, thou shalt behold the offers him the choice of six things. He chuses Riches. Fortune. Fortunatus. Draw forth her prize, ordain'd by destiny, change Of monarchies, and see those children die Fortunat. O whither am I rapt beyond Fortune. Stay Fortunatus; once more hear Shall I contract myself to Wisdom's love? me speak. If thou kiss Wisdom's cheek and make her thine, Is like a sacred book that's never read; She'll breathe into thy lips divinity, And thou (like Phoebus) shall speak oracle; And see what's past and learn what is to come. To himself he lives and to all else seems dead. There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors: Make Health thine object, thou shalt be strong Then take Long Life, or Health; should I do so, proof 'Gainst the deep searching darts of surfeiting, Be ever merry, ever revelling. Wish but for Beauty, and within thine eyes I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll And on thy cheeks I'll mix such white and red, The Wisdom of this world is idiotism; Strength a weak reed; Health Sickness' enemy, Ladies; worn strange attires; seen Fantasticoes; And it at length will have the victory. Therefore, dread sacred Empress, make me rich: conversed with Humourists; been ravished with divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian harmonies; I have spent the day in triumphs and the night in banquetting. He that And. O rare: this was heavenly. 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. Fort. When in the warmth of mine own country's arms 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 We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small hois shewn by the Soldan a wondrous Hat, which in a wish transports the wearer whithersoever he pleases, rizon over land and sea. Fortunatus puts it on, wishes Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes himself at home in Cyprus; where he arrives in a Worship'd these clouds as brightest: but my 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, formed? boys, The glist'ring beams which do abroad appear I scorn'd to croud among the muddy throng or am I trans-Of the rank multitude, whose thicken'd breath (Like to condensed fogs) do choke that beauty, And. Methinks, father, you look as you did, Which else would dwell in every Kingdom's only your face is more withered. cheek. 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 Fama-There shall you see troops of chaste Goddesses, Whose star-like eyes have power (might they still shine) gosta. And. How! in a minute, father? I see travellers must lie. To make night day, and day more chrystaline. Fort. I have cut through the air like a Near these you shall behold great Heroes, falcon. I would have it seem strange to you. But White-headed Counsellors, and Jovial Spirits, 'tis true. I would not have you believe it neither. Standing like fiery Cherubins to guard But 'tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you The monarch, who in godlike glory sits brought me to Cyprus. I'll leave you more gold, In midst of these, as if this deity and go to visit more countries. Had with a look created a new world, Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your The standers by being the fair workmanship. blood, And strews her snowy flowers upon your head, That dribble out your life, must needs be spent Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with Kings, danced with Queens, dallied with And. Oh how my soul is rapt to a Third I'll travel sure, and live with none but Kings. Beheld such glory, so majestical, Fort. In some Courts shall you see Ambition By travel, boys, I have seen all these things. ... Orleans to his friend Galloway defends the passion That let my true true sorrow make them glad? Orl. This music makes me but more out of But weep because she is not any where; O Agripyna. tune. Gall. Gentle friend, no more. Thou sayst Love is a madness: hate it then, 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, Orl. If he do, why so do I. Gall. Love is ambitious and loves Majesty. Orl. Dear friend, thou art deceiv'd: Love's voice doth sing As sweetly in a beggar as a king. And weep because (whether she be or not) Orleans mourn? Orl. Look yonder, Galloway, dost thou see Nay, good friend, stare upon it, mark it well: To enforce Care laugh, and Woe not shed a tear! Gall. Dear friend forbear; Beauty (like Sorrow) dwelleth every where. Gall. Dear friend thou art deceiv'd: O bid Rase out this strong idea of her face: thy soul Lift up her intellectual eyes to heaven, If not: fa, la, la, sol, la, etc. As fair as her's shineth in any place. Orl. Thou art a Traitor to that White and Red, Gall. O call this madness in: see, from the Are not enamour'd of thee: thou didst never windows Of every eye Derision thrusts out cheeks 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 her's deface, Thy fairness is not like to Agripyne's Orl. Ha, ha, I laugh at them: are they not For (dead) her beauty will no beauty have, mad, But thy face looks most lovely in the grave. |