Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  Echo. A pox on thee for mocking me.

  Fort. Why so, Snip snap, this war is at an end, but this wilderness is world without end. To see how travel can transform: my teeth are turned into nutcrackers, a thousand to one I break out shortly, for I am full of nothing but waxen kernels, my tongue speaks no language but an almond for a parrot, and crack me this nut. If I hop three days more up and down this cage of cuckoos’ nests, I shall turn wild man sure, and be hired to throw squibs among the commonalty upon some terrible day. In the meantime, to tell truth, here will I lie. Farewell, fool!

  Echo. Farewell, fool.

  Fort. Are not these comfortable words to a wise man? All hail, signor tree, by your leave I’ll sleep under your leaves. I pray bow to me, and I’ll bend to you, for your back and my brows must, I doubt, have a game or two at noddy ere I wake again: down, great heart, down. Hey, ho, well, well. [He lies down and sleeps.

  Enter a Shepherd, a Carter, a Tailor, and a Monk, all crowned; a Nymph with a globe, another with Fortune’s wheel; then Fortune. After her, four Kings with broken crowns and sceptres, chained in silver gyves and led by her. The foremost enter singing. Fortune takes her chair, the Kings lying at her feet so that she treads on them as she ascends to her seat.

  Song.

  Fortune smiles, cry holiday,

  Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,

  Fortune frowns, cry welladay,

  Her love is Heaven, her hate is Hell:

  Since Heaven and Hell obey her power.

  Tremble when her eyes do lower,

  Since Heaven and Hell her power obey,

  When she smiles, cry holiday.

  Holiday with joy we cry

  And bend, and bend, and merrily

  Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity,

  Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity.

  Chorus. Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,

  With our song let Heaven resound,

  Fortune’s hands our heads have crowned;

  Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.

  1st King. Accursed Queen of chance, what had we done,

  Who having sometimes like young Phaeton,

  Rid in the burnished chariot of the sun,

  And sometimes been thy minions, when thy fingers

  Weaved wanton love-nets in our curlèd hair,

  And with sweet juggling kisses warmed our cheeks:

  Oh how have we offended thy proud eyes,

  That thus we should be spurned and trod upon,

  Whilst those infected limbs of the sick world,

  Are fixed by thee for stars in that bright sphere,

  Wherein our sun-like radiance did appear.

  The Kings. Accursèd Queen of chance, damned sorceress.

  The Others. Most powerful Queen of chance, dread sovereigness.

  Fortune. No more: curse on! your cries to me are music,

  And fill the sacred rondure of mine ears

  With tunes more sweet than moving of the spheres:

  Curse on: on our celestial brows do sit

  Unnumbered smiles, which then leap from their throne,

  When they see peasants dance and monarchs groan.

  Behold you not this globe, this golden bowl,

  This toy called world, at our imperial feet?

  This world is Fortune’s ball, wherewith she sports.

  Sometimes I strike it up into the air,

  And then create I emperors and kings:

  Sometimes I spurn it, at which spurn crawls out

  That wild beast Multitude. Curse on, you fools, —

  ’Tis I that tumble princes from their thrones,

  And gild false brows with glittering diadems.

  ’Tis I that tread on necks of conquerors,

  And when, like demi-gods, they have been drawn

  In ivory chariots to the capitol,

  Circled about with wonder of all eyes,

  The shouts of every tongue, love of all hearts,

  Being swoll’n with their own greatness, I have pricked

  The bladder of their pride, and made them die,

  As water-bubbles, without memory.

  I thrust base cowards into Honour’s chair,

  Whilst the true-spirited soldier stands by

  Bare-headed, and all bare, whilst at his scars

  They scoff, that ne’er durst view the face of wars.

  I set an idiot’s cap on Virtue’s head,

  Turn Learning out of doors, clothe Wit in rags,

  And paint ten thousand images of loam

  In gaudy silken colours. On the backs

  Of mules and asses I make asses ride,

  Only for sport, to see the apish world

  Worship such beasts with sound idolatry.

  This Fortune does, and when this is done,

  She sits and smiles to hear some curse her name,

  And some with adoration crown her fame.

  Monk. True centre of this wide circumference,

  Sacred commandress of the destinies,

  Our tongues shall only sound thy excellence.

  The Others. Thy excellence our tongues shall only sound.

  2nd King. Thou painted strumpet, that with honeyed smiles,

  Openest the gates of Heaven and criest, “Come in;”

  Whose glories being seen, thou with one frown,

  In pride, lower than hell tumblest us down.

  The Kings. Ever, for ever, will we ban thy name.

  Fortune. How sweet your howlings relish in mine ears! [She comes down.

  Stand by! now rise, — behold, here lies a wretch,

  To vex your souls, this beggar I’ll advance

  Beyond the sway of thought; take instruments,

  And let the raptures of choice harmony,

  Thorough the hollow windings of his ear,

  Carry their sacred sounds, and wake each sense,

  To stand amazed at our bright eminence. [Music. Fortunatus wakes.

  Fort. Oh, how am I transported? Is this earth?

  Or blest Elysium?

  Fortune. Fortunatus, rise.

  Fort. Dread goddess, how should such a wretch as I

  Be known to such a glorious deity?

  Oh pardon me: for to this place I come,

  Led by my fate, not folly; in this wood

  With weary sorrow have I wanderèd,

  And three times seen the sweating sun take rest,

  And three times frantic Cynthia naked ride

  About the rusty highways of the skies

  Stuck full of burning stars, which lent her light

  To court her negro paramour grim Night.

  Fortune. This travel now expires: yet from this circle,

  Where I and these with fairy troops abide,

  Thou canst not stir, unless I be thy guide.

  I the world’s empress am, Fortune my name,

  This hand hath written in thick leaves of steel

  An everlasting book of changeless fate,

  Showing who’s happy, who unfortunate.

  Fort. If every name, dread queen, be there writ down

  I am sure mine stands in characters of black;

  Though happiness herself lie in my name,

  I am Sorrow’s heir, and eldest son to Shame.

  The Kings. No, we are sons to Shame, and Sorrow’s heirs.

  Fortune. Thou shalt be one of Fortune’s minions:

  Behold these four chained like Tartarian slaves,

  These I created emperors and kings,

  And these are now my basest underlings:

  This sometimes was a German emperor,

  Henry the Fifth, who being first deposed,

  Was after thrust into a dungeon,

  And thus in silver chains shall rot to death.

  This Frederick Barbarossa, Emperor

  Of Almaine 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,

  Lewis the meek, but through his children’s pride,

  Thus have I caused him to be famishèd.

  Here stands the very soul of misery,

  Poor Bajazet, old Turkish Emperor,

  And once the greatest monarch in the East;

  Fortune herself is said to view thy fall,

  And grieves to see thee glad to lick up crumbs

  At the proud feet of that great Scythian swain,

  Fortune’s best minion, warlike Tamburlaine:

  Yet must thou in a cage of iron be drawn

  In triumph at his heels, and there in grief

  Dash out thy brains.

  4th King. Oh miserable me!

  Fortune. No tears can melt the heart of destiny:

  These have I ruined and exalted those.

  These hands have conquered Spain, these brows fill up

  The golden circle of rich Portugal, —

  Viriat a monarch now, but born a shepherd;

  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, born in Holland poor and base,

  Now rich in empery and Fortune’s grace?

  As these I have advanced, so will I thee.

  Six gifts I spend upon mortality,

  Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches,

  Out of my bounty: one of these is thine, —

  Choose then which likes thee best.

  Fort. Oh most divine!

  Give me but leave to borrow wonder’s eye,

  To look amazed at thy bright majesty,

  Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches.

  Fortune. Before thy soul at this deep lottery

  Draw forth her prize, ordained by destiny,

  Know that here’s no recanting a first choice.

  Choose then discreetly for the laws of Fate,

  Being graven in steel, must stand inviolate.

  Fort. Daughters of Jove and the unblemished Night,

  Most righteous Parcae, guide my genius right,

  Wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches.

  Fortune. Stay, Fortunatus, once more hear me speak;

  If thou kiss Wisdom’s cheek and make her thine,

  She’ll breathe into thy lips divinity,

  And thou like Phœbus shalt speak oracle,

  Thy Heaven-inspired soul, on Wisdom’s wings,

  Shall fly up to the Parliament of Jove,

  And read the statutes of eternity,

  And see what’s past and learn what is to come.

  If thou lay claim to strength, armies shall quake

  To see thee frown: as kings at mine do lie,

  So shall thy feet trample on empery.

  Make health thine object, thou shalt be strong proof

  ‘Gainst the deep searching darts of surfeiting,

  Be ever merry, ever revelling.

  Wish but for beauty, and within thine eyes

  Two naked Cupids amorously shall swim,

  And on thy cheeks I’ll mix such white and red,

  That Jove shall turn away young Ganymede,

  And with immortal arms shall circle thee.

  Are thy desires long life? — thy vital thread

  Shall be stretched out, thou shalt behold the change

  Of monarchies and see those children die,

  Whose great great grandsires now in cradles lie.

  If through gold’s sacred hunger thou dost pine,

  Those gilded wantons which in swarms do run,

  To warm their tender bodies in the sun,

  Shall stand for number of those golden piles,

  Which in rich pride shall swell before thy feet;

  As those are, so shall these be infinite.

  Awaken then thy soul’s best faculties,

  And gladly kiss this bounteous hand of Fate,

  Which strives to bless thy name of Fortunate.

  The Kings. Old man, take heed, her smiles will murder thee.

  The Others. Old man, she’ll crown thee with felicity.

  Fort. Oh, whither am I rapt beyond myself?

  More violent conflicts fight in every thought,

  Than his whose fatal choice Troy’s downfall wrought.

  Shall I contract myself to wisdom’s love?

  Then I lose riches: and a wise man poor,

  Is like a sacred book that’s never read, —

  To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead.

  This age thinks better of a gilded fool,

  Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school.

  I will be strong: then I refuse long life,

  And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,

  There’s a lean fellow beats all conquerors:

  The greatest strength expires with loss of breath;

  The mightiest in one minute stoop to death.

  Then take long life, or health: should I do so

  I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll

  Of months and years, much misery may enroll

  Therefore I’ll beg for beauty; yet I will not,

  That fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul

  Leprous as sin itself; than hell more foul.

  The wisdom of this world is idiotism,

  Strength a weak reed: health sickness’ enemy,

  And it at length will have the victory.

  Beauty is but a painting, and long life

  Is a long journey in December gone,

  Tedious and full of tribulation.

  Therefore, dread sacred Empress, make me rich, [Kneels down.

  My choice is store of gold; the rich are wise.

  He that upon his back rich garments wears,

  Is wise, though on his head grow Midas’ ears.

  Gold is the strength, the sinews of the world,

  The health, the soul, the beauty most divine,

  A mask of gold hides all deformities;

  Gold is Heaven’s physic, life’s restorative,

  Oh therefore make me rich: not as the wretch,

  That only serves lean banquets to his eye,

  Has gold, yet starves: is famished in his store:

  No, let me ever spend, be never poor.

  Fortune. Thy latest words confine thy destiny,

  Thou shalt spend ever, and be never poor:

  For proof receive this purse: with it this virtue

  Still when thou thrust thy hand into the same,

  Thou shalt draw forth ten pieces of bright gold,

  Current in any realm where then thou breathest;

  If thou canst dribble out the sea by drops,

  Then shalt thou want: but that can ne’er be done,

  Nor this grow empty.

  Fort. Thanks, great deity.

  Fortune. The virtue ends when thou and thy sons end.

  This path leads thee to Cyprus, get thee hence;

  Farewell, vain covetous fool, thou wilt repent,

  That for the love of dross thou hast despised

  Wisdom’s divine embrace, she would have borne thee

  On the rich wings of immortality;

  But now go dwell with cares and quickly die.

  The Kings. We dwell with cares, yet cannot quickly die. [Exeunt all singing, except Fortunatus.

  Fort. But now go dwell with cares and quickly die? How quickly? if I die to-morrow, I’ll be merry to-day: if next day, I’ll be merry to-morrow. Go dwell with cares? Where dwells Care? Hum ha, in what house dwells Care, that I may choose an honester neighbour? In princes’ courts? No. Among fair ladies? Neither: there’s no care dwells with them, but care how to be most gallant. Among gallants then? Fie, fie, no! Care is afraid sure of a gilt rapier, the s
cent of musk is her prison, tobacco chokes her, rich attire presseth her to death. Princes, fair ladies and gallants, have amongst you then, for this wet-eyed wench Care dwells with wretches: they are wretches that feel want, I shall feel none if I be never poor; therefore, Care, I cashier you my company. I wonder what blind gossip this minx is that is so prodigal; she should be a good one by her open dealing: her name’s Fortune: it’s no matter what she is, so she does as she says. “Thou shalt spend ever, and be never poor.” Mass, yet I feel nothing here to make me rich: — here’s no sweet music with her silver sound. Try deeper: ho God be here: ha, ha, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten, good, just ten. It’s gold sure, it’s so heavy, try again, one, two, &c. Good again, just ten, and just ten. Ha, ha, ha, this is rare: a leather mint, admirable: an Indian mine in a lamb’s skin, miraculous! I’ll fill three or four bags full for my sons, but keep this for myself. If that lean tawny face tobacconist Death, that turns all into smoke, must turn me so quickly into ashes, yet I will not mourn in ashes, but in music, hey, old lad, be merry. Here’s riches, wisdom, strength, health, beauty, and long life (if I die not quickly). Sweet purse, I kiss thee; Fortune, I adore thee; Care, I despise thee; Death, I defy thee. [Exit.

  SCENE II. — Outside the House of Fortunatus.

  ENTER AMPEDO, SHADOW after him, both sad: then Andelocia.

  Andel. ‘Sheart, 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 — marry it was not corporal, you may see by our cheeks, that we would not fast twenty-four hours to amend, and we have tasted no meat since the clock told two dozen.

  Andel. That lacks not much of twenty-four, but I wonder when that half-faced moon of thine will be at the full.

  Shad. The next quarter, not this, when the sign is in Taurus.

  Andel. Ho, that’s to say, when thou eat’st bull beef.

  But, Shadow, what day is to-day?

  Shad. Fasting day.

  Andel. What day was yesterday?

  Shad. Fasting day too.

  Andel. Will to-morrow be so too?

  Shad. Ay, and next day too.

  Andel. That will be rare, you slave:

  For a lean diet makes a fat wit.

  Shad. I had rather be a fool and wear a fat pair of cheeks.

  Andel. Now I am prouder of this poverty, which I know is mine own, than a waiting gentlewoman is of a frizzled groatsworth of hair, that never grew on her head. Sir Shadow, now we can all three swear like Puritans at one bare word: this want makes us like good bowlers, we are able to rub out and shift in every place.

  Shad. That’s not so, we have shifted ourselves in no place this three months: marry, we rub out in every corner, but here follows no amendment either of life or of livery.