Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Is such a bait it covers any hook. Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold: good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Mos. Alas, sir, I but do, as I am taught; Follow your grave instructions; give 'em words: Pour oil into their ears: and send them hence. Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishment Is avarice to itself! Mos. I, with our help, sir. Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, Can be more frequent with 'em; their limbs faint, And with these thoughts so battens, as if Fate All gaping here for legacies; but I, I still interpreted the nods, he made Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry, and curse. Corv. O, my dear Mosca. Does he not perceive us? Mos. No more than a blind harper. He No face of friend, nor name of any servant, Corv. Has he children? Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, Gypsies, and Jews, and black - moors, when he was drunk: Knew you not that, sir? "Tis the common fable, The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his; He's the true father of his family, In all, save me: but he has given 'em nothing. Corv. That's well, that's well. Art sure he does not hear us? Mos. Sure, sir? why look you, credit your Cover'd with hide, instead of skin: (nay help, sir) That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end. Cor. Or, like an old smok'd wall, on which the rain Ran down in streaks. Mos. Excellent, sir, speak out; Mos. 'Tis good; and what his mouth? Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, It is your presence makes him last so long. Why should you be thus scrupulous? 'Pray you, sir. Corv. Nay at your discretion. Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take What a needless care Is this afflicts you? Is not all here yours? Am not I here, whom you have made your creature, That owe my being to you? Corv. Grateful Mosca! Volp. My divine Mosca! Thomas Decker. Die Lebensverhältnisse dieses dramatischen Dichters, der bald allein, bald in Verbindung mit Anderen für die Bühne arbeitete, sind unermittelt geblieben. Man weiss nur, dass er 1597 zuerst ein Drama lieferte und seit 1603 sich als Prosaist, vorzüglich durch scharfe und treffende Sittenschilderungen bekannt machte, welche ihm wahrscheinlich eine dreijährige Gefangenschaft zuzogen. Ben Jonson griff ihn in seinem Poetaster als Crispinus heftig an, was Decker in seinem Satyromastix erwiderte, in welchem er seinen Gegner siegreich geisselte. Er muss um 1639 gestorben sein. Decker war sehr fruchtbar und hinterliess u. A. zwei und dreissig Dramen, die er zum Theil allein, zum Theil mit Anderen gemeinschaftlich verfasst hatte, die aber nicht alle im Druck erschienen sind. Sein Talent war nicht gering und offenbart sich besonders durch kräftige und consequente Characterzeichnung und gute Erfindung. Fortunat, von dem wir hier einige Scenen mittheilen, wird als sein gelungenstes Werk betrachtet. Scenes That Jove shall turn away young Ganimede, rom the Comedy of old Fortunatus. And with immortal arms shall circle thee. By Thomas Decker. Are thy desires Long Life? thy vital thread Shall be stretch'd out, thou shalt behold the change The Goddess Fortune appears to Fortunatus, and offers him the choice of six things. He chuses Riches. Fortune. Fortunatus. Draw forth her prize, ordain'd by destiny, me speak. Of monarchies, and see those children die Fortunat. Q whither am I rapt beyond More violent conflicts fight in every thought Fortune. Stay Fortunatus; once more hear Shall I contract myself to Wisdom's love? If thou kiss Wisdom's cheek and make her thine, And see what's past and learn what is to come. There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors: Make Health thine object, thou shalt be strong Then take Long Life, or Health; should I do so, proof 'Gainst the deep searching darts of surfeiting, Be ever merry, ever revelling. Wish but for Beauty, and within thine eyes I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll And on thy cheeks I'll mix such white and red, The Wisdom of this world is idiotism; Strength a weak reed; Health Sickness' enemy, Ladies; worn strange attires; seen Fantasticoes; Therefore, dread sacred Empress, make me rich: 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. 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 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 We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small hois shewn by the Soldan a wondrous Hat, which in a wish transports the wearer whithersoever he pleases, rizon over land and sea. Fortunatus puts it on, wishes Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes himself at home in Cyprus; where he arrives in a Worship'd these clouds as brightest: but my minute, as his sons Ampedo and Andelocia are talking of him and tells his Travels. Fortunatus. Ampedo. Andelocia. boys, The glist'ring beams which do abroad appear 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, formed? And. Methinks, father, you look as you did, Which else would dwell in every Kingdom's only your face is more withered. I scorn'd to croud among the muddy throng or am I trans-Of the rank multitude, whose thicken'd breath (Like to condensed fogs) do choke that beauty, 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. cheek. No; I still boldly stept into their Courts. To make night day, and day more chrystaline. Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your The standers by being the fair workmanship. blood, And strews her snowy flowers upon your head, That dribble out your life, must needs be spent Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with Kings, danced with Queens, dallied with And. Oh how my soul is rapt to a Third I'll travel sure, and live with none but Kings. Beheld such glory, so majestical, Fort. In some Courts shall you see Ambition By travel, boys, I have seen all these things. That let my true true sorrow make them glad? Orleans to his friend Galloway defends the passion ter Agripyna. Orleans. Galloway. Crowding together to be counted Wise, I laugh because sweet Agripyne's not there. Orl. This music makes me but more out of But weep because she is not any where; O Agripyna. tune. Gall. Gentle friend, no more. Thou sayst Love is a madness: hate it then, Orl. I love that Madness, Even for the name's sake. Gall. Let me tame this frenzy, Orl. If he do, why so do I. Gall. Love is ambitious and loves Majesty. Orl. Dear friend, thou art deceiv'd: Love's voice doth sing As sweetly in a beggar as a king. And weep because (whether she be or not) Orl. Look yonder, Galloway, dost thou see Nay, good friend, stare upon it, mark it well: To enforce Care laugh, and Woe not shed a tear! Gall. Dear friend forbear; Beauty (like Sorrow) dwelleth every where. Gall. Dear friend thou art deceiv'd: O bid Rase out this strong idea of her face: thy soul Lift up her intellectual eyes to heaven, If not: fa, la, la, sol, la, etc. As fair as her's shineth in any place. Orl. Thou art a Traitor to that White and Red, Which sitting on her cheeks (being Cupid's throne) Gall. O call this madness in: see, from the Are not enamour'd of thee: thou didst never windows Murder men's hearts, or let them pine like wax Melting against the sun of thy destiny; Thou art a faithful nurse to Chastity; Thy beauty' is not like to Agripyne's, For cares, and age, and sickness her's deface, Thy fairness is not like to Agripyne's Orl. Ha, ha, I laugh at them: are they not For (dead) her beauty will no beauty have, |