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Full speech
Even to her temple are my feeble limbs travel ling. Some call her Pandora: some Gloriana, some Cynthia: some Delphaebe, some Astraea: all by several names to express several loves: Yet all those names make but one celestial body, as all those loves meet to create but one soul. Blessed name, happy country: Your Eliza makes your land Elizium: but what do you offer? That which all strangers do: two eyes struck blind with admiration: Two lips (proud to found her glory:) Two hands held up full of prayers and praises: What not, that may express love? what not, that may make her beloved? A joust year: yet that year hath seemed to me but one day, because her glory hath been my howrely contemplation, and yet that year hath seemed to me more then twice seven years, because so long I have been absent from her. Come therefore, good father, lets go faster, least we come too late: for see, the Tapers of the night are already lighted, and stand brightly burr ning in their starry Candlesticks: See how gloriouslly the Moon shines upon us. Both kneel. No, no, speak thou, I want words to begin. Weeps. Great landlady of hearts, pardon me. My pure love shines, as thine does in thy fears: I weep for joy to see so many heads Of prudent Ladies, clothed in the livery Of silver-handed age, for serving you, While in your eyes youths glory does renew: I weep for joy to see the Sun look old, To see the Moon mad at her often change, To see the Stars only by night to shine, While you are still bright, still one, still divine: I weep for joy to see the world decay, Yet see Eliza flourishing Like May: Oh pardon me your Pilgrim, I have measured Many a mile to find you: and have brought, Old Fortunatus and his family, With other Cipnots (my poor country men) To pay a whole years tribute: Oh vouchsafe, Dread Queen of Fairies, with your gracious eyes, T'accept theirs and our humble sacrifice. Thou dost encourage me: I'll fetch them in, They have no princely gifts, we are all poor, Our offerings are true hearts, who can wish more? Exeunt. OF Loves sweet war, our timorous Muse does sing, And to the bosom of each gentle deer, Offence her Artless tunes, born on the wing Of sacred Poesy. A benumbing fear, (That your nice souls, cloyed with dilicious sounds, Will loath her lowly notes) makes her pull in Her fainting pinions, and her spirit confounds Before the weak voice of her song begin. Yet since within the circle of each eye, (Being Like so many Suns in his round Sphere) No wrinkle yet is seen, sheele dare to fly, Born up with Hope's, that as you oft do rear With your fair hands, those who would else sink down, So some will deign to smile, where all might frown: And for this small Circumference must stand, For the imagined Surface of much land, Of many kingdoms, and since many a mile, Should here be measured out: our muse intreats, Your thoughts to help poor Art, and to allow, That I may serve as Chorus to her scences, She begs your pardon, for sheele send me forth, Not when the laws of Poesy do call, But as the story needs, your gracious eye Gives life to Fortunatus history. Exit. I fear we all Like mortal men shall prove Weak (not in love) but in expressing love.
Plot summary
Plot — Old Fortunatus
Fortunatus gets lost in a wood and falls asleep. He is found by Fortune, attended by fallen kings who complain of her capricious control of their destiny. To spite them, she decides to advance Fortunatus’ fortunes, and offers him a choice of six gifts: wisdom, strength, health, beauty, longevity, or riches. He chooses wealth, and she gives him a purse which will always contain ten gold pieces, of legal tender wherever he may be. Fortunatus travels the world, visiting potentates, and bestows bottomless purses on every host. The Sultan of Babylon boats of his collection of treasures, and shows him the finest: an old hat which will transport its wearer anywhere in an instant. By a ruse, the Sultan puts it on Fortunatus’ head, and he wishes himself back home to Cyprus, thereby acquiring possession of the hat. Fortune decides that he has abused her gifts and reminds him that he did not choose long life or wisdom. He will die at the height of his fortunes with his sins black upon his soul, and will have no opportunity to repent. He dies there and then, leaving the purse and hat to his sons. The virtuous Ampedo takes the hat, while his imprudent younger brother Andelocia has the purse. Andelocia goes to England, where the Prince of Cyprus is wooing the King’s daughter, Agrippine; she is also loved by the melancholy French prisoner Orleans. On arrival, Andelocia is bountiful with largesse, which leaves King Athelstan itching to take him down a peg or two, and eager to learn the source of his riches. When Andelocia plans a magnificent banquet for his hosts, Athelstan orders that nobody is to supply him with any fuel: it will end up being a cold, unappetizing meal. Andelocia dances with Agrippine, and she takes him off to get to know him better. She then drugs him and takes the magic purse as he sleeps, leaving behind a copy. On waking, Andelocia finds that the King’s orders leave him unable to provide the banquet, and the Princess has left him without the wherewithal even to try to pay for it. Andelocia returns home to Cyprus and steals the wishing hat from Ampedo. He acquires some jewels by trickery and returns to England posing as a jeweller. Using the hat, he abducts Agrippine and takes her to a hot country. The climate doesn’t agree with her, so he climbs a tree to pick her a juicy apple; but while he’s up there, she puts on the wishing hat and goes home. Andelocia consoles himself by eating the apple, but it is one of the apples of Vice, sweet with a bitter…