Gall.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 courtTwenty fair English angels.[388]
Cypr.This is rare.
EnterLincoln.
Linc.My lords, prepare yourselves for revelling,’Tis the king’s pleasure that this day be spentIn royal pastimes, that this golden lord,For so all that behold him, christen him,May taste the pleasures of our English court.Here comes the gallant, shining like the sun.[Trumpets sound.
EnterAthelstane,Andelocia,Agripyne,Orleans,Ladies, and otherAttendants, alsoInsultado.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 isleHold any object welcome to your eyes,Do but make choice, and claim it as your prize.[TheKingandCyprusconfer aside.
Andel.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.[TheKingandAgripyneconfer aside.
Athelst.Hold him in talk: come hither, Agripyne.
Cypr.But what enticed young Andelocia’s soulTo wander hither?
Andel.That which did allureMy sovereign’s son, the wonder of the place.
Agrip.This curious heap of wonders, which an EmpressGave 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 circlesOf thy fair cheeks, be bold to try their 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 stranger’s cunning[389]in a dance.
Andel.My cunning is but small, yet who’ll not proveTo 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 bornTo be her beauty’s slave, and her love’s scorn.
Andel.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, and are glad to be sped, or your men very fond, and 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, and yet turns coward, let him be shot to death with the terrible arrows of fair ladies’ eyes.
Athelst.Nay, Insultado, you must not deny us.
Insultad.Mi corazon es muy pesado, mi anima muy atormentada. No por los Cielos: El pie de Español no hace musica en tierra ingles.[390]
Cypr.Sweet Insultado, let us see you dance.I have heard the Spanish dance is full of state.
Insultad.Verdad, señor: la danza española es muy alta,Majestica, y para monarcas: vuestra Inglesa,Baja, fantastica, y muy humilde.[391]
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 quiero contra deseo; vuestro ojo hace conquista á su prisionero: Oyerer la a pavan española; sea vuestra musica y gravidad, y majestad: Paje, daime tabacco, toma my capa, y my espada. Mas alta, mas alta: Desviaios, desviaios, compañeros, mas alta, mas alta.[392][He dances.
Athelst.Thanks, Insultado.
Cypr.’Tis most excellent.
Agrip.The Spaniard’s dance is as his deeds be, full of pride.
Athelst.The day grows old, and what remains unspent,Shall be consumed in banquets. Agripyne,Leave us a while, if Andelocia please,Go bear our beauteous daughter company.
And.Fortune, I thank thee: now thou smil’st on me.[ExeuntAgripyne,Andelocia,andLadies.
Athelst.This Cypriot 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 Agripyne:Our favours grace him to another end.Nor let the wings of your affection droop,Because she seems to shun love’s gentle lure.Believe it on our word, her beauty’s prizeOnly shall yield a conquest to your eyes.But tell me what’s this Fortunatus’ son?
Cypr.Of honourable blood, and more renownedIn foreign kingdoms, whither his proud spirit,Plumed with ambitious feathers, carries him,Than in his native country; but last dayThe father and the sons were, through their riots,Poor and disdained of all, but now they glisterMore bright than Midas: if some damnèd fiendFed not his bags, this golden pride would end.
Athelst.His pride we’ll somewhat tame, and curb the headOf his rebellious prodigality:He hath invited us, and all our peers,To feast with him to-morrow; his provision,I understand, may entertain three kings.But Lincoln, let our subjects secretlyBe charged on pain of life that not a manSell 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 awhile:[Exeunt all exceptAthelstane.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 glist’ring spangles of pure gold,As e’er the spring hath stuck the earth with flowers.Unless he melt himself to liquid gold,Or be some god, some devil, or can transportA mint about him, by enchanted power,He cannot rain such showers. With his own handsHe threw more wealth about in every street,Than 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 Agripyne’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 handsTo cast rich heaps into our treasury.[Exit.
Music sounding still; a curtain being drawn,Andelociais discovered sleeping inAgripyne’slap; she has his purse, and she and another lady tie another like it in its place, and then rise from him. EnterAthelstane.
Agrip.I have found the sacred spring that never ebbs.Leave us: [ExitLady.] But I’ll not show’t your majestyTill you have sworn by England’s royal crown,To let me keep it.
Athelst.By my crown I swear,None but fair Agripyne the gem shall wear.
Agrip.Then is this mine: see, father, here’s the fireWhose gilded beams still burn, this is the sunThat 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 drinkThat soporiferous juice which was composedTo make the queen,[393]my mother, relish sleep,When her last sickness summoned her to Heaven.He sleeps profoundly: when his amorous eyesHad 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 secretlyCommanded 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 Agripyne,If this strange purse his sacred virtues hold,We’ll circle England with a wall of gold.[Exeunt.
Music still: EnterShadowvery 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! Seignior, sir, monsieur, sweet seignior: 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 Agripyne.
Shad.One word, sir, for the billets, and I vanish.
Andel.There’s Heaven in these times: throw the musiciansA bounteous largesse of three hundred angels.[Andelociastarts up.
Shad.Why, sir, I have but ten pounds left.
Andel.Ha, Shadow? where’s the Princess Agripyne?
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 fares my horse?
Shad.Upon the best oats my under-steward can buy.
Andel.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 fagots and bavins?
Andel.’Sheart, what billets, what fagots? dost make me a woodmonger?
Shad.No, sweet seignior, 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 cozn you of your measure, but must tie up the mouth of their sacks, lest their coals kindle your choler.
Andel.Is’t possible? is’t true, or hast thou learnt of the English gallants to gull?
Shad.He’s a gull that would be taught by such gulls.
Andel.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, liquorice 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 spicèd flame.
Shad.This device, sir, will be somewhat akin to Lady Pride, ’twill ask cost.
Andel.Fetch twenty porters, I’ll lade all with gold.
Shad.First, master, fill these bags.
Andel.Come then, hold up. How now? tricks, new crotchets, Madame 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.
Shad.Not of a penny, I have been as true a steward—
Andel.Vengeance on thee and on thy stewardship!Yet wherefore curse I thee? thy leaden soulHad never power to mount up to the knowledgeOf 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 Agripyne,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 ceases.
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 gazedOn the frail colour of a painted cheek,None had betrayed me: henceforth I’ll defyAll 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 born 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, bear this to beauteous Agripyne,With it this message, tell her, I’ll reproveHer covetous sin the less, because for gold,I see that most men’s souls too cheap are sold.
Shad.Shall I buy these spices to-day or to-morrow?
Andel.To-morrow? ay, to-morrow thou shalt buy them.To-morrow tell the princess I will love her,To-morrow tell the king I’ll banquet him,To-morrow, Shadow, will I give thee gold;To-morrow pride goes bare and lust acold.To-morrow will the rich man feed the poor,And vice to-morrow virtue will adore.To-morrow beggars shall be crownèd kings,This no-time, morrow’s-time, no sweetness sings:I pray thee hence; bear that to Agripyne.
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,Ay, steal from hence to Cyprus, for black shameHere, 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 villany,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 e’er you have beheld the passions,The combats of his soul, who being a king,By some usurping hand hath been deposedFrom all his royalties: even such a soul,Such eyes, such heart swol’n big with sighs and tears,The star-crossed son of Fortunatus wears.His thoughts crowned him a monarch in the morn,Yet now he’s bandied by the seas in scornFrom wave to wave: his golden treasure’s spoilMakes him in desperate language to entreatThe winds to spend their fury on his life:But they, being mild in tyranny, or scorningTo triumph in a wretch’s funeral,Toss him to Cyprus. Oh, what treacheryCannot 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 Genoa 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 bargainingFor jewels with the beauteous Agripyne,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 airTo be transported to some wilderness:Imagine this the place; see, here they come!Since they themselves have tongues, mine shall be dumb.[Exit.
EnterAndelociawith the wishing hat on, and draggingAgripyneby the hand.
Agrip.What devil art thou that affright’st me thus,Haling a princess from her father’s court,To spoil her in this savage wilderness?
Andel.Indeed the devil and the pick-purse should always fly together, for they are sworn brothers: but Madam Covetousness, I am neither a devil as you call me, nor a jeweller 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 it 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, and another, ay, and another: ’tis not the purse I care for, but the purser, you, ay you. Is’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, then to cheat your sweetheart? O fie, fie, a she cony-catcher? You must be dealt fondly with.
Agrip.Enjoin what pains thou wilt, and I’ll endure them,So thou wilt send me to my father’s court.
Andel.Nay God’s lid, y’are 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.[394]
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.
Andel.Shall I in faith?
Agrip.In faith, in faith thou shalt.
Andel.Hear, God a mercy: now thou shalt not go.
Agrip.Oh God.
Andel.Nay, do you hear, lady? Cry not, y’are best; nonor 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, Agripyne, love me, and I will make the whole world thine.
Agrip.I care not for the world, thou murd’rest me;Between my sorrow, and the scalding sunI faint, and quickly will my life be done,My mouth is like a furnace, and dry heatDrinks up my blood. O God, my heart will burst,I die, unless some moisture quench my thirst.
Andel.’Sheart, 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 Agripyne,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, ay, for God’s sake, gather some of these.Ay me, would God I were at home again!
Andel.Stand farther, lest I chance to fall on thee.[Climbs up.
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.Agripyne, ’tis a most sugared delicious taste in one’s mouth, but when ’tis down, ’tis as bitter as gall.
Agrip.Yet gather some of them. Oh, that a princessShould pine for food: were I at home again,I should disdain to stand thus and complain.
Andel.Here’s one apple that grows highest, Agripyne; an’ I could reach that, I’ll come down.[Fishes 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 sun-burnt, wretched me.O England, would I were again in thee![Exit.
Andelocialeaps down.
Andel.’Swounds, Agripyne, stay, Oh I am undone!Sweet Agripyne, if thou hear’st my voice,Take pity of me, and return again.She flies like lightning: Oh 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 rend mine hair.What hills of flint are grown upon my brows?O me, two forkèd 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 wildness tottered out my youth,And therefore must turn wild, must be a beast,An ugly beast: my body horns must bear,Because my soul deformity doth wear.Lives none within this wood? If none but ILive here,—thanks Heaven! for here none else shall die.[Lies down and sleeps under the tree.
EnterFortune,Vice,Virtue,thePriest: andSatyrswith music, playing beforeFortune.
Fortune.See where my new-turned devil has built his hell.
Vice.Virtue, who conquers now? the fool is ta’en.
Virtue.O sleepy sin.
Vice.Sweet tunes, wake him again.[Music sounds awhile, and then ceases.
Fortune.Vice sits too heavy on his drowsy soul,Music’s sweet concord cannot pierce his ear.Sing, and amongst your songs mix bitter scorn.
Virtue.Those that tear Virtue, must by Vice be torn.
Song.
Virtue, stand aside: the fool is caught.Laugh to see him, laugh aloud to wake him;Folly’s nets are wide, and neatly wrought,Mock his horns, and laugh to see Vice take him.
Chorus.Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn,Who’s the fool? the fool, he wears a horn.[Andelociawakens and stands up.
Virtue, stand aside, mock him, mock him, mock him,Laugh aloud to see him, call him fool.Error gave him suck, now sorrows rock him,Send the riotous beast to madness’ school.
Chorus.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.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.
Chorus.Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn,Fool, fool, fool, fool, fool, wear still the horn.
[ViceandVirtuehold apples out toAndelocia,Vicelaughing,Virtuegrieving.
Andel.O me, what hell is this? fiends, tempt me not.Thou glorious devil, hence. O now I see,This fruit is thine, thou hast deformèd 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 graceCome and redeem me from this hideous place.
Fortune.To her hath Andelocia all his lifeSworn fealty; would’st thou forsake her now?
Andel.Whose blessed tongue names Andelocia?
Fortune.Hers, who, attended on by destinies,Shortened thy father’s life, and lengthens thine.
Andel.O sacred Queen of chance, now shorten mine,Else let thy deity take off this shame.
Fortune.Woo her, ’twas she that set it on thy head.
Andel.She laughs to see me metamorphosèd.[Rises.
Virtue.Woo me, and I’ll take off this ugly scorn.
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.
Fortune.No, Andelocia, thou must live to seeWorse 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.
Fortune.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 armCatched at the highest bough, the loftiest vice,The fairest apple, but the foulest price;Thou didst behold her, when thy liquorish eyeFed on the beauty of fair Agripyne;Because th’ hadst gold, thou thought’st all women thine.When look’st thou off from her? for they whose soulsStill revel in the nights of vanity,On the fair cheeks of Vice still fix their eye.Because her face doth shine, and all her bosomBears silver moons, thou wast enamoured of her.But hadst thou upward looked, and seen these shames,Or viewed her round about, and in this glassSeen idiots’ 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.