FORTUNE

Fortunatus, rise. This travel now expires: yet from this circle, Where I and these with Fairy troops abide, Thou canst not stir, unless I be thy guide. I the world's Empress am Fortune my name, This hand hath written in thick leaves of steel, And everlasting book of changeless Fate. Showing whoo's happy, who unfortunate. Thou shalt be one of Fortune's minions: Behold these four chained Like Tartarian slaves, These I created Emperors and Kings, And these are now my basest underlings: This sometime was a Germane Emperor, Henry the fifth, who being first deposed, 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 spurned 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, (Lews the meek) but through his children's pride, Thus have I caused him to be famished, Here stands the very soul of misery Poor Basazet old Turkish Emperor, And once the greatest Monarch in the East; Fortune her self is said to view thy fallen, And grieves to see Thee glad to lick up crommes 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 rained and exalted those: These hands have conquered 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 your selves trod down, And this Duch-Botcher wearing Munsters crown? John Leyden born in Holland poor and base, Now rich in Empery and Fortune's grace. As these I have advanced, so will I this 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, ordained by destiny, Know that heres no recanting a first choice. Choose then discreetly (for the laws of Fate, Being graven in steel, must stand inviolate) Stay, Fortunatus, once more hear me speak, If thou kiss wisdoms cheek and make her thine, Shéele breath into thy lips divinity, And thou (Like Phebus) shalt speak Oracle, Thy heaven-inspired soul, on wisdoms ngs, Shall fly up to the Parliament of Jove, And read the Statutes of eternity, And see whats passed, 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 obiest, 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 Cupid's amorousty shall swim, And on thy cheeks isle mix such white and read, 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 Golds 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 souls best faculties, And gladly kiss this bounteous hand of Fate, Which strives to bless thy name of Fortunate. 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 thrusts thy hand into the same, Thou shalt draw forth ten pieces of bright gold, Currant in any Realm where then thou breathest; If thou canst dribble out the Sea by drops, Then shalt thou want: but that can never 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 Wisdoms divine embrace, she would have born Thee On the rich wings of immortality; But now go dwell with cares and quickly die. You ministers of Virtue, Vice, and Fortune, Tear off this upper garment of the earth, And in her naked bosom stick these trees. Now, fool, thou liest; where thy proud feet do tread These shall throw down thy cold & breathless head. Thou art no sonnne of Fortune, but her slave: Thy Cedar hath aspired to his full height. Thy Sun Like glory hath advanced herself Into the top of prides Meridian, And down amain it comes. From beggary I plumed thee Like and Ostrich, Like that Ostrich Thou hast eaten Metals, and abused my gifts, Hast played the Ruffian, wasted that in riots, Which as a blessing I bestowed on thee. No, endless follies follow endless wealth. Thou hadst thy fancy, I must have thy fate, Which is, to die when the art most fortunate. This inky thread thy ugly sins have spun, Black life, black death: faster that it were done. The destinies deny thee longer life. And now take I must pride to cast thee down. Hadst thou chosen wisdom, this black had been white, And death's stern brow could not thy soul affright. No, fool, it's now too late; as death strikes thee, So shall their ends sudden and wxetched be. Jove's daughters (righteous destinies) make haste, His life hath wasteful been, and let it waste. Exeunt. See where my new-turnd devil has built his hell. Surrender up this purse, for this is mine. Peace, you slatterer. 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 blindfold to your former shames, But Virtue pardoned you, and so does Fortune. Fortune triumphs at this, yet to appear, All Like my self, that which from those I took, King Athelstan I will vestow on Thee, And in it the old virtue I infuse: But, king, take heed how thou my gifts dost use. England shall never be poor, it England strive, Rather by virtue, then by wealth to thrive.