Could women learn but that imperiousness,
By which men use to stint our happiness
(When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs
By customary sighs and forced tears)
To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint,
But no abundance; that we ever want,

And still are begging: which too well they know
Endears affection, and doth make it grow.
Had we those sleights, how happy were we then
That we might glory over love-sick men !
But arts we know not, nor have any skill
To feign a sour look to a pleasing will;
Nor couch a secret love in show of hate:
But, if we like, must be compassionate *.
Adversity.

How ruthless men are to adversity!

My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet
They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone;
And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them.

Prodigality.

That which gilded over his imperfections,
Is wasted and consumed, even like ice,
Which by the vehemence of heat dissolves,
And glides to many rivers; so his wealth,
That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense,
Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers
Ran like a violent stream to other men's.

This is so like Shakspeare, that one seems almost to remember it as a speech of Desdemona's, upon perceiving an alteration in the behaviour of the Moor.,

THE COMEDY OF OLD FORTUNATUS. BY
THOMAS DECKER.

The Goddess Fortune appears to Fortunatus, and offers him the choice of six things. He chuses Riches.

Fortune. Before thy soul at this deep lottery
Draw forth her prize, ordain'd by destiny,
Know that here's no recanting a first choice.
Chuse then discreetly: for the laws of fate,
Being grav'n in steel, must stand inviolate.

Fortunat. Daughters of Jove and the unblemish'd
Night,

Most righteous Parcæ, guide my genius right:
Wisdom, Strength, Health, Beauty, Long Life, and Riches.
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 Phoebus) shall speak oracle;
Thy heav'n-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,

And on thy cheeks I'll mix such white and red,

That Jove shall turn away young Ganimede,
And with immortal arms shall circle thee.
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.

Fortunat. O whither am I wrapt 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 might enroll:
Therefore I'll beg for Beauty; yet I will not:
The 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:
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.

Fortune gives to Fortunatus a purse that is inexhaustible. With this he puts on costly attire, and visits all the Asian Courts, where he is caressed and made much of for his infinite wealth. At Babylon he is shewn by the Soldan a wondrous hat, which in a wish transports the wearer whithersoever he pleases, over land and sea. Fortunatus puts it on, wishes himself at home in Cyprus; where he arrives in a minute, as his sons Ampedo and Andelocia are talking of him and tells his Travels.

FORTUNATUS. AMPEDO.

ANDELOCIA.

Fort. Touch me not, boys, I am nothing but air, let none speak to me till you have marked me well.—Am I as you are, or am I transformed?

And. Methinks, father, you look as you did, only your face is more withered.

Fort. Boys, be proud; your father hath the whole world in this compass. I am all felicity, up to the brims. In a minute am I come from Babylon; I have been this half hour in Famagosta.

And. How in a minute, father? I see travellers must lie.

Fort. I have cut through the air like a falcon. I'

would have it seem strange to you. But 'tis true. I would not have you believe it neither. But 'tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you brought me to Cyprus. I'll leave you more gold, and go to visit more countries.

Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your blood, And strews her snowy flowers upon your head,

And gives you warning that within few years

Death needs must marry you: those short lines, minutes,
That dribble out your life, must needs be spent

In peace, not travel; rest in Cyprus then.
Could you survey ten worlds, yet you must die;
And bitter is the sweet that's reapt thereby.

And. Faith, father, what pleasure have you met by walking your stations?

Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with Kings, danced with Queens, dallied with Ladies; worn strange attires; seen Fantasticoes; conversed with Humourists; been ravished with divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian harmonies; I have spent the day in triumphs and the night in banquetting.

And. O rare: this was heavenly. He that would not be an Arabian Phoenix to burn in these sweet fires, let him live like an owl for the world to wonder at.

Amp. Why, brother, are not all these Vanities?

Fort. Vanities! Ampedo, thy soul is made of lead, too dull, too ponderous, to mount up to the incomprehensible glory that Travel lifts men to.

And. Sweeten mine ears, good father, with some more.
Fort. When in the warmth of mine own country's

arms

We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small horizon
Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes

Worshipp'd these clouds as brightest: but, my boys,
The glist'ring beams which do abroad appear