Old Fortunatus – Act Five, Scene Two

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Oh, gentle Andelocia, pity me.
Take off this infamy, or take my life.

Your life?  You think then that I am a true doctor indeed that tie up my living in the knots of winding sheets.  Your life?  No, keep your life, but deliver your purse.  You know the thief’s salutation, “Stand and deliver.”  So, this is mine, and these yours.  I’ll teach you to life by the sweat of other men’s brows.

And to strive to be fairer than God made her.

Right, Shadow.  Therefore, vanish.  You have made me turn juggler and cry “hey-pass,” but your horns shall not repass.

Oh, gentle Andelocia.

Andelocia is a nettle.  If you touch him gently, he’ll sting you.

Or a rose; if you pull his sweet stalk, he’ll prick you.

Therefore not a word.  Go, trudge to your father.  Sigh not for your purse.  Money may be got by you, as well as by the little Welshwoman in Cyprus that had but one horn on her head; you have two and perhaps you should cast both.  As you use me, mark these words well, as you use me, nay, y’are best fly.  I’ll not endure one word more.  Yet stay too, because you entreat me so gently, and that I’ll make some amends to your father, although I care not for any king in Christendom.  Yet hold you, take this apple, eat it as you go to court, and your horns shall play the cowards and fall from you.

Oh, gentle Andelocia—

Nay, away, not a word!                                                   [Exit AGRIPYNE, weeping.

Ha, ha, ha, ‘ware horns.

Why dost thou laugh, Shadow?

To see what a horn plague follows covetousness and pride.

Brother, what mysteries lie in all this?

Tricks, Ampedo, tricks, devices, and mad hieroglyphics, mirth, mirth, and melody.  Oh, there’s more music in this than all the Gammoth airs and sol, fa, res in the world.  Here’s the purse, here’s the hat, because you shall be sure I’ll not start; wear you this, you know his virtue.  If danger beset you, fly and away.  A sort of broken-shinn’d limping legg’d jades run hobbling to seek us.  Shadow, we’ll for all this have one fit of mirth more, to make us laugh and be fat.

And when we are fat, we’ll do as all gluttons do, laugh and lie down.

Hie thee to my chamber; make ready my richest attire.  I’ll to court presently.

I’ll go to court in this attire, for apparel is but the shadow of a man, but Shadow is the substance of his apparel.                                                                           [Exit.

I had more need to cry away to thee.
Away, away with this wild lunacy!
Away with riots!

Away with your purity, brother.  Y’are an ass.  Why doth this purse spit out gold but to be spent?  Why lives a man in this world, to swell in the suburbs of it, as you do?  Away, foreign simplicity, away.  Are not eyes made to see fair ladies, hearts to love them, tongues to court them and hands to feel them?  Out, you stock, you stone, you log’s end.  Are not legs made to dance, and shall mine limp up and down they world after your cloth-stocking-heels?  You have the hat.  Keep it.  Anon I’ll visit your virtuous countenance again.  Adieu.  Pleasure is my sweet mistress.  I wear her love in my hat, and her soul in my heart.  I have sworn to be merry, and in spite of Fortune and the black-brow’d destinies, I’ll never be sad.                  [Exit.

Go, fool, in spite of mirth, thou shalt be sad.
I’ll bury half thy pleasures in a grave
Of hungry flames.  This fire I do ordain
To burn both purse and hat.  As this doth perish,
So shall the other.  Count what good and bad
They both have wrought, the good to the ill,
As a small pebble to a mighty hill.
Thy glory and thy mischiefs here shall burn.
Good gifts abus’d to man’s confusion turn.

Enter LONGAVILLE and MONTROSE with Soldiers.

This is his brother.  Soldiers, bind his arms.

Bind arms and legs and hale the fiend away.

Uncivil.  Wherefore must I taste your spite?

Art thou not one of Fortunata’s sons?

I am, but he did never do you wrong.

The devil thy brother has, villain, look here.

Where is the beauteous purse and wishing hat?

My brother Andelocia has the purse.
This way he’ll come anon to pass to court.
Alas, that sin should make men’s hearts so bold
To kill their souls for the base thirst of gold.
The wishing hat is burnt.

Burnt!  Soldiers, bind him.
Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you.
Villain, I’ll be reveng’d for that base scorn.
Thy hell-hound brother clapt upon my head.

And so will Longaville.  Away with him.

Drag him to yonder tower; there shackle him,
And in a pair of stocks lock up his heels
And bid your wishing cap deliver you.
Give us the purse and hat, we’ll set thee free,
Else rot to death and starve.

Oh, tyranny,
You need not scorn the badge which you did bear.
Bests would you be, though horns you did not wear.

Drag hence the cur.  Come, noble Longaville,

[AMPEDO is led aside and chained in the stocks.

One’s sure, and were the other fiend as fast,
Their prise should cost their lives.  Their purse and hat
Shall be both ours, we’ll share them equally.

That will be some amends for arming me.

Enter ANDELOCIA and SHADOW after him.

Peace, Longaville, yonder the gallant comes.

Y’are well encountered.

Thanks, Lord Longaville.

The kings expects your presence at the court.

And thither am I going.

Pips fine, fine apples of Tamasco, ha, ha, ha.

Wert thou that Irishman that cozen’d us?

Pips fine, ha, ha, ha, no not I.  Not Shadow.

Were not your apples delicate and rare?

The worst that ere you sold.  Sirs, bind him fast.

What, will you murder me?  Help, help, some help!

Help, help, help!                                                                                                    [Exit.

Follow that dog and stop his bawling throat.                                   [Exit a Soldier.

Villains, what means this barbarous treachery?

We mean to be reveng’d for our disgrace.

And stop the golden current of thy waste.

Murder!  They murder me!  Oh, call for help!

Thy voice is spent in vain.  Come, come, this purse,
This well-spring of your prodigality.

Are you appointed by the king to this?

No, no.  Rise, spurn him up.  Know you who’s this?

My brother Ampedo?  Alas, what fate
Hath made thy virtues so infortunate?

Thy riot and the wrong of these two lords,
Who, careless, thus do starve me in this prison.

Strive not, y’are best.  Villains, lift in his legs.               [ANDELOCIA in stocks.

Traitors to honour, what do you intend?

That riot shall in wretchedness have end.
Question thy brother with what cost he’d fed,
And so assure thou shalt be banqueted.

 [Exit LONGAVILLE, MONTROSE, and Soldiers.

In want, in misery, in woe and care,
Poor Ampedo his fill hath surfeited.
My want is famine, bolts my misery.
My care and woe should be thy portion.

Give me that portion, for I have a heart
Shall spend it freely and make bankrout
The proudest woe that ever wet man’s eye.
Care with a mischief?  Wherefore should I care?
Have I rid side by side by mighty kings
Yet be thus bridled now?  I’ll tear these fetters.
Murder, cry murder, Ampedo, aloud.
To bear this scorn our fortunes are too proud.

Oh, folly, thou hast power to make flesh glad
When the rich soul in wretchedness is clad.

Peace, fool, am not I Fortune’s minion?
These bands are but one wrinkle of her frown.
This is her evening mask, her next morn’s eye
Shall over-shine the sun in majesty.

But this sad night will make an end of me.
Brother, farewell.  Grief, famine, sorrow, want,
Have made an end of wretched Ampedo.

Where is the wishing hat?

Consum’d in fire.

Accursed be the hands that did destroy it.
That would redeem us did we now enjoy it.

Wanton farewell.  I faint.  Death’s frozen hand
Congeals life’s little river in my breast.
No man before his end is truly blest.                                                                 [Dies.

Oh, miserable, miserable soul.
Thus a foul life makes death to look more foul.

Enter LONGAVILLE and MONTROSE with a halter.

Thus shall this golden purse divided be:
One day for you, another day for me.

Of days anon.  Say, what determine you?
Shall they have liberty or shall they die?

Die sure; and see, I think the elder’s dead.

Ay, murderers, he is dead.  Oh, sacred wisdom,
Had Fortunatus been enamored
Of thy celestial beauty, his two sons
Had shin’d like two bright suns.

Pull hard, Montrose.

Come you to strangle me?  Are you the hangman?
Hellhounds y’are dam’d for this impiety.
Fortune, forgive me; I deserve thy hate,
Myself have made myself a reprobate.
Virtue, forgive me, for I have transgress’d
Against thy laws; my vows are quite forgot,
And therefore shame is fall’n to my sin’s lot.
Riches and knowledge are two gifts divine.
They that abuse them both as I have done,
To shame, to beggary, to hell must run.
Oh, conscience, hold thy sting, cease to afflict me.
Be quick, tormenters, I desire to die.
No death is equal to my misery.
Cyprus, vain world, and vanity farewell.
Who builds his heaven on earth is sure of hell.                                          [Dies.

He’s dead.  In some deep vault let’s throw their bodies.

First let us see the purse, Lord Longaville.

Here ‘tis, by this we’ll fill the tower with gold.

Frenchman, this purse is counterfeit.

Thou liest.
Scot, thou has cozen’d me, give me the right,
Else shall thy bosom by my weapon’s grave.

Villain, thou shalt not rob me of my due.                                             [They fight.

Enter ATHELSTANE, AGRIPYNE, ORLEANS, GALLOWAY, CORNWALL, CHESTER, LINCOLN and SHADOW with weapons at one door; FORTUNE, VICE and their attendants at another door.

Lay hands upon the murderers; strike them down.

Surrender up this purse, for this is mine.

Are these two devils, or some powers divine?

Oh, see, see!  Oh, my two masters, poor Shadow’s substances; what shall I do?  Whose body shall Shadow now follow?

Peace, idiot, thou shalt find rich heaps of fools
That will be proud to entertain a Shadow.
I charm thy babbling lips from troubling me.
[To those holding LONGAVILLE and MONTROSE.]
You need not hold them; see I smite them down.
Lower then hell.  Base souls, sink to your heaven.

I do arrest you both my prisoners.

Stand not amaz’d, you gods of earth, at this.
She that arrestest these two fools is Vice.
They have broke Virtue’s laws, Vice is her servant,
Her gaoler and her executioner.
Look on those Cypriots, Fortunatus’ sons,
They and their father were my minions.
My name is Fortune.

Oh, dread deity!

Kneel not to me.  If Fortune list to frown,
You need not fall down, for she’ll spurn you down.
Arise, but fools, on you I’ll triumph thus.
What have you gain’d by being covetous?
This prodigal purse did Fortune’s bounteous hand
Bestow in them; their riots made them poor,
And set these marks of miserable death
On all their pride; the famine of base gold
Hath made your souls to murders hand be sold,
Only to be call’d rich.  But, idiots, see
The virtues to be fled; Fortune hath caus’d it so.               [Holding up purse.
Those that will all devow, must all forgo.

Most sacred goddess!

Peace, you flatterer!
Thy tongue but heaps more vengeance on thy head.
Fortune is angry with thee; in thee burns
A greedy covetous fire; in Agripyne
Pride like a monarch revels, and those sins
Have led you blind-fold to your former shames,
But Virtue pardon’d you, and so doth Fortune.

All thanks to both your sacred deities!

As for these metal-eaters, these base thieves,
Who rather than they would be counted poor,
Will dig through hell for gold, you were forgiven
By Virtue’s general pardon; her broad seal
Gave you your lives when she took off your horns.
Yet having scarce one foot out of the gaol
You tempt damnation by more desperate means.
You are both mortal, and your pains shall ring
Through both your ears, to terrify your souls
As please the judgement of this mortal king.

Fair empress of the world, since you resign
Your power to me, this sentence shall be mine.
[To LONGAVILLE and MONTROSE.] Thou shalt be tortur’d on a wheel to death;
Thou with wild horses shalt be quarter’d.

Ha, ha, weak judge, weak judgement!  I reverse
That sentence, for they are my prisoners.
Embalm the bodies of those Cypriots,
And honour them with princely burial.
For those do as you please, but for these two,
I kiss you both, I love you, y’are my minions.
Untie their bands.  Vice doth reprieve you both.
I set you free.

Thanks, gracious deity!

Be gone, but you in liberty shall find
More bondage then in chains.  Fools, get you hence.
Both wander with tormented conscience.

Oh, horrid judgement; that’s the hell indeed!

Come, come, our death ne’er ends if conscience bleed.

Oh, miserable, miserable men!           [Exeunt LONGAVILLE and MONTROSE.

Fortune triumphs at this, yet to appear
All like myself, that which from those I took,
King Athelstane, I will bestow in thee,
And in it the odd virtue I infuse;
But, king, take heed how thou my gifts dost use.
England shall ne’er be poor, if England strive,
Rather by virtue than by wealth to thrive.

Enter VIRTUE, crown’d; Nymphs and Kings attending on her, crown’d with olive branches and laurels; music sounding.

Virtue?  Alas, good soul, she hides her head.

What envious tongue said, “Virtue hides her head?”

She that will drive thee into banishment.

She that hath conquer’d thee.  How dar’st thou come,
Thus trick’d in gaudy feathers, and thus guarded
With crown’d kings and Muses, when thy foe
Hath trod thus on thee, and now triumphs so?
Where’s virtuous Ampedo?  See, he’s her slave
For following thee this recompense they have.

Is Ampedo her slave?  Why, that’s my glory.
The idiot’s cap I once wore on my head
Did figure him; those that like him do muffle
Virtue in clouds, and care not how she shine.
I’ll make their glory like to his decline.
He made no use of me, but like a miser,
Lock’d up his wealth in rusty bars of sloth.
His face was beautiful, but wore a mask,
And in the world’s eyes seem’d a blackamoor.
So perish they that so keep Virtue poor.

Thou art a fool to strive.  I am more strong.
And greater than thyself.  Then, Virtue, fly
And hide thy face.  Yield me the victory.

Is Vice higher than Virtue?  That’s my glory.
The higher that thou art thou art more horrid.
The world will love me for my comeliness.

Thine own self loves thyself.  Why on the heels
Of Agripyne, Montrose, and Longaville,
English, Scot, French, did Vice clap ugly horns,
But to approve that English, French, and Scot,
And all the world else, kneel and honour Vice;
But in no country Virtue is of price?

Yes, in all countries, Virtue is of price;
In every kingdom some diviner breast
Is more enamour’d of me than the rest.
Have English, Scot, and French bow’d knees to thee?
Why that’s my glory too, for by their shame,
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.
Fortune, thou art too weak, Vice th’art a fool
To fight with me.  I suffer’d you awhile
T’eclipse my brightness, but I now will shine
And make you sear your beauty’s base to mine.

Thou art too insolent.  See, here’s a court
Or mortal judges.  Let’s by them be tried,
Which of us three shall most be deified.

I am content.

And I.

So am not I.
My judge shall be your sacred deity.                                           [To the QUEEN.

Oh, miserable me!  I am undone.                                [Exit VICE and her train.

Oh, stop the horrid monster.

Let her run.
Fortune, who conquers now?

Virtue, I see,
Thou wild triumph both over her and me.

Empress of heaven and earth!

Why do you mock me?
Kneel not to me, to her transfer your eyes.
There sits the Queen of chance.  I bend my knees
Lower than yours.  Dread goddess, ‘tis most meet   [To the QUEEN, kneeling.
That Fortune fall down at thy conqu’ring feet.
Thou sacred Empress that command’st the Fates,
Forgive what I have to my handmaid done,
And at thy chariot wheels Fortune shall run,
And be thy captive and to thee resign
All powers which heaven’s large patent have made mine.

Fortune, th’art vanquish’d.  Sacred deity,
Oh, now pronounce who wins the victory,
And yet the sentence needs not, since alone,
Your virtuous presence Vice hate overthrown;
Yet to confirm the conquest on your side,
Look  but on Fortunatus and his sons.
Of all the wealth those gallants did possess,
Only poor Shadow is left, comfortless;
Their glory’s faded and their golden pride.

Only poor Shadow tells how poor they died.

All that they had, or mortal man can have,
Sends only but a Shadow from the grave.
Virtue alone lives still, and lives in you.
I am a counterfeit, you are the true,
I am a shadow, at your feet I fall,
Begging for these, and these, myself and all.
All these that thus do kneel before your eyes
Are shadows like myself.  Dread nymph, it lies
In you to make us substances.  Oh, do it.
Virtue I am sure you love; she woos you to it.
I read a verdict in your sun-line eyes,
And this it is:  Virtue the victory.

All loudly cry, Virtue the victory!

Virtue the victory.  For joy of this
Those self same hymns which you to Fortune sung,
Let them be now in Virtue’s honour rung.

The Song

Virtue smiles, cry holiday!
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Virtue frowns, cry welladay!
Her love is heaven, her hate is hell.
Since heav’n and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lower.
Since heav’n and hell her power obey,
When she smiles, cry holiday!
Holiday, with joy we cry,
And bend, and bend, and merrily,
Sing hymns to Virtue’s deity,
Sing hymns to Virtue’s deity.  [As they offer to go in, enter the two Old Men.

Proceed to the Epilogue


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