Act II. sc. ii., _q.v.

_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,[347] 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.

[347] See an anonymous poem in _Tottel’s Miscellany_, 1557, called “A praise of his Lady,” from which Dekker may have borrowed the fancy:--

“In each of her two crystal eyes Smileth a naked boy.”

_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,[348] 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.

[348] Dekker is not careful even to remember here that Cyprus is an island.

_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 scent 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.[349] [_Exit._

[349] Compare Shakespeare’s “Crabbed Age and Youth.”