Old Fortunatus – Act Four, Scene One

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Enter ANDELOCIA with the wishing hat on; AGRIPYNE in his hand.  Trees of VIRTUE and VICE at the rear.

What devil art thou that affright’st me thus,
Hauling a princess from her father’s court,
To spoil her in this savage wilderness?

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?

I am betray’d.  This is the Cypriot.
Forgive me.  ‘Twas not I that chang’d they 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—

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 sweet heart?  Oh, fie, fie, a she cony-catcher?  You must be dealt fondly with.

Enjoin what pains thou wilt, and I’ll endure them,
So thou wilt send me to my father’s court.

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.

Oh, do not violate my chastity.

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.

If I must die, doom me some easier death.

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.

What will my gentle Andelocia do?

Oh, now you come to your old bias of cogging.

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.

Shall I, in faith?

In faith, in faith thou shalt.

Here, god a mercy.  Now thou shalt not go.

Oh, God!

Nay, do you hear, lady?  Cry not, y’are best.  No, nor curse me not.  If you think but a crabbed thought of me, the spirit that carried you in mine arms though the air will tell me all.  Therefore, set you Sunday face upon’t.  Since you’ll love me, I’ll love 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.

I care not for the world.  Thou murd’rest me.
Between my sorrow, and the scalding sun,
I faint, and quickly will my life be done.
My mouth is like a furnace, and dry heat
Drinks up my blood.  Oh, God, my heart will burst.
I die, unless some moisture quench my thirst.

[Aside.] S’hart, 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.  [Aloud.] My lovely Agripyne,
Be comforted.  See, here are apple trees.

Climb up, for God’s sake, reach me some of them.

[Before the tree of VIRTUE.] Look up, which of these apples like thee best?

This hath a withered face.  ‘Tis some sweet fruit.
Not that.  My sorrows are too sour already.

[Runs to the tree of VICE.] Come hither.  Here are apples like gold.

Oh, ay, for God’s sake, gather some of these.
Ay me, would God I were at home again!

[Climbs up.] Stand farther, lest I chance to fall on thee.  Oh, here be rare apples, rare red-cheek’d apples that cry, “Come kiss me.”  Apples, hold your peace.  I’ll teach you to cry.                                                                                                 [Eats one.]

Oh, England, shall I ne’er behold thee more?

Apripyna, ‘tis a most sugared delicious taste in one’s mouth, but when ‘tis down, ‘tis as bitter as gall.

Yet gather some of them.  Oh, that a princess
Should pine for food.  Were I at home again,
I should disdain to stand thus and complain.

Here’s one apple that grows highest, Agripyna; and I could reach that, I’ll come down.                                               [He stands fishing with his girdle for it.

Make haste, for the hot sun doth scald my cheeks.

The sun kiss thee?  Hold, catch, put on my hat.  I will have yonder highest apple, though I die for’t.

I had not wont be sunburnt, wretched me.
Oh, England, would I were again in thee!                               [Exit.  He leaps down.

‘Swounds, Agripyna, stay!  Oh, I am undone!
Sweet Agripyna, if thou hear’st my voice,
Take pity of me and return again.
She flies like lightening.  Oh, she hears me not.
I wish’d 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 rent mine hair.
What hills of flint are grown upon my brows?
Oh me!  Two forked horns!  I am turn’d beast.
I have abused two blessings, wealth and knowledge;
Wealth in my purse, and knowledge in my hat,
By which being borne into the court of kings
I might have seen the wondrous works of Jove;
Acquir’d 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.
Live none within this wood?  If none but I,
Live here, thanks heaven, for here none else shall die.

[He lies down and sleeps under the tree.

Enter FORTUNE, VICE, VIRTUE, the Priest; Satyrs with music, playing as they come in before FORTUNE.  They play awhile.

See where my new-turn’d devil has built his hell.

Virtue, who conquers now?  The fool is ta’en.

Oh, sleepy sin.

Sweet tunes wake him again.                               [Music awhile and then cease.

Vice sets too heavy on his drowsy soul.
Music’s sweet concord cannot pierce his ear.
Sing and amongst your songs, mix bitter scorn.

Those that tear Virtue must by Vice be torn.

The Song

1st verse
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.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn.
Who’s the fool?  He wears a horn.    [ANDELOCIA wakens and stands up.

2nd verse
Virtue, stand aside; mock him, mock him, mock him,
Laugh aloud to see him; call him fool.
Error gave him suck, now sorrow’s rock him.
Send the riotous beast to madness’ school.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn.
Who’s the fool?  He wears a horn.

3rd verse
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.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, laugh, laugh in scorn.
Who’s the fool?  He wears a horn.

When they have done singing, VICE and VIRTUE hold apples out to him, VICE laughing, VIRTUE grieving.

Oh me!  What hell is this?  Fiends, tempt me not.
Thou glorious devil, hence!  Oh, now I see,
This fruit is thine; thou hast deformed me.
Idiot avoid; thy gifts I loath 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 grace
Come and redeem me from this hideous place.

To her hath Andelocia all his life
Sworn fealty.  Wouldn’t thou forsake her now?

Whose blessed tongue names Andelocia?

Hers, who, attended on by destinies,
Shortened thy father’s life, and lengthened thine.

Oh, sacred queen of chance, now shorten mine,                                 [Kneels.
Else let thy deity take off this shame.

Woo her.  ‘Twas she that set it on thy head.

She laughs to see me metamorphosed.                                                [Rises.

Woo me, and I’ll take off this ugly scorn.

Woo me, and I’ll clap on another horn.

I am beset with anguish, shame and death.
O bid the Fates work fast and stop my breath.

No, Andelocia, thou must live to see
Worse torments, for thy follies, light on thee.
This glorious tree, which did thine eyes entice,
Was planted here by Vice.  Lo, here stands Vice.
How often hast thou sued to win her grace?

Till now I never did behold her face.

Thou didst behold her at thy father’s death,
When thou in scorn didst violate his will;
Thou didst behold her, when thy stretch’d-out arm
Catch’d at the highest bough, the loftiest vice,
The fairest apple, but the foulest price.
Thou didst behold her when thy liquorish eye
Fed on the beauty of fair Agripyne,
Because th’adst gold, thou thoughtst all women thine.
When lookst thou off from her?  For they whose souls
Still revel in the nights of vanity,
On the fair cheeks of Vice still fix their eye.
Because her face doth shine, and all her bosom
Bears silver moons, thou wast enamour’d of her.
But hadst thou upward look, and seen these shames,
Or view’d her round about, and in this glass
Seen idiot’s faces, heads of devils and hell,
And read this “Ha, ha, he,” this merry story,
Thou wouldst have loath’d 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.

Oh, retransform me to a glorious shape,
And I will learn how I may love to hate her.

I cannot retransform thee.  Woo this woman.

This woman?  Wretched is my state when I
To find out wisdom to a fool must fly.

Fool, cheer thine eyes.  This is bright Arete.
This is poor Virtue.  Care not how the world
Doth crown her head; the world laughs her to scorn.
Yet sibi sapit, Virtue knows her worth.
Run after her; she’ll give thee these and these
Crowns and bay-garlands, honour’s victories.
Serve her, and she will fetch thee pay from heaven,
Or give thee some bright office in the stars.

Immortal Arete, Virtue divine,                                                                 [Kneels.
Oh, smile on me, and I will still be thine.

Smile thou on me, and I will still be thine.
Though I am jealous of thy apostasy,
I’ll entertain thee.  Here, come taste this tree.
Here’s physic for thy sick deformity.

‘Tis bitter.  This fruit I shall ne’er digest.

Try once again; the bitterness soon dies.

Mine’s sweet.  Taste mine.

But being down, ‘tis sour,
And mine being down has a delicious taste.
The path that leads to Virtue’s court is narrow,
Thorny, and up a hill; a bitter journey;
But being gone through, you find all heav’nly sweets.
The entrance is all flinty, but at th’end,
To towers of pearl and crystal you ascend.

Oh, delicate!  Oh, sweet Ambrosian relish,
And see, my ugliness drops from my brows.
Thanks, beauteous Arete!  Oh, had I now
My hat and purse again, how I would shine
And gild my soul with none but thoughts divine.

That shall be tried.  Take fruit from both these trees;
By help of them, win both thy purse and hat.
I will instruct thee how, for on my wings
To England shalt thou ride.  Thy virtuous brother
Is, with that Shadow who attends on thee,
In London.  There I’ll set thee presently.
But if thou lose our favours once again,
To taste her sweets, those sweets must prove thy bane.

Vice, who shall now be crown’d with victory?

She that triumphs at last, and that must I.                                         [Exeunt.

Proceed to the next scene


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