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Carry their sacred sounds, and make each sense

To stand amaz'd at our bright eminence.

Fortunatus wakes, and is commanded by Fortune to rise. He implores her dread godship to pardon one who has wandered for three days and nights with weary sorrow in that wild wood. Fortune thus addresses him :

I, the world's empress am, Fortune my name;
This hand hath written in thick leaves of steel
An everlasting book of changeless fate,
Shewing who's happy, who unfortunate.
Thou shalt be one of Fortune's minions;
Behold these four chain'd 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 depos'd,
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 spurn'd 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 Meck ;) 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 sad 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 Tamberlain ;
Yet must thou in a cage of iron be drawn
In triumph at his heels; and there in grief
Dash out thy brains.

No tears can melt the heart of destiny:
These have I ruin'd, and exalted those :

These hands have conquer'd 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 advanc'd, 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.

Before thy soul (at this deep lottery)

Draw forth her prize, ordain'd 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.)

Fortunatus listens amazed, as Fortune continues :-
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 Phoebus, shalt speak oracle;
Thy heaven-inspired soul, on wisdom's wings,
Shall fly up to the parliament of Jove,

And read the statutes of éternity,

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:

Are thy desires long life? thy vital thread

Shall be stretch'd 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 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 decision of Fortunatus must be given in Dekker's eloquent verse:

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 thread-bare 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 inroll;
Therefore I'll beg for beauty; yet I will not,
The fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul
Lep'rous 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! not as the wretch
That only serves lean banquets to his eye,
Has gold, yet starves; is famish'd in his store;
No, let me ever spend, be never poor.

[Kneels down.

For. Thy latest words confine thy destiny;
Thou shall spend ever, and be never poor :

For proof receive this purse; with it this virtue;
Still when thou thrust'st 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.

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.

Fortunatus had two sons, Ampedo and Andelocia. They are of essentially different characters. Ampedo is serious, humble, and contented: Andelocia volatile, proud, and ambitious. They are both poor. Andelocia asks his brother if he is not "mad to see money on goldsmiths' stalls, and none in our purses ?" Ampedo thus answers him :

The sons of Fortunatus had not wont

Thus to repine at others' 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
To see your beauteous mind in wisdom shine,
As you at their rich poverty repine.

Fortunatus meets his sons, and gives them ten golden pieces each, out of his exhaustless purse. Ampedo implores his father to be prudent. Fortunatus replies,

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 four leathern bags trussed full of gold;
Those spent I'll fill you more: go, lads, be gallant;
Shine in the streets of Cyprus like two stars,

C 2

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 elsewhere;

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 Souldan 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 runs)
Wonder at Fortunatus and his sons.

6

The Chorus' now furnishes the link in the story of Fortunatus, and introduces us to the adventure of the Wishing-Cap :

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 turn'd, 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 sail'd with him upon the seas,
And leap'd with him upon the Asian shores;
Been feasted with him in the Tartar's palace,
And all the courts of each barbarian king:

From whence (being call'd 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 imprison'd:

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 lore.
Fortune (to triumph in unconstancy),
From prison bails him; (liberty is wild)

For being set free, he, like a lusty eagle,

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