The fortunate isles and their vnion Celebrated in a masque design'd for the court, on the Twelfth night. 1624.

THE FORTVNATE ISLES.

His Ma^tie being sett,

ENtreth in, running, IOHPHIEL, an aëry spirit, and (according to the Magi) the Intelligence of Iupiters sphere: Attired in light silks of seuerall colours, with wings of the same, a bright yellow haire, a chaplet of flowers, blew silke stockings, and pumps, and gloues, with a siluer fan in his hand.

IOHPHIEL.

Like a lightning from the skie, or an arrow shot by Loue, Or a Bird of his let fly; Bee't a Sparrow, or a Doue: With that winged hast, come I, loosed from the Sphere of Ioue, To wish good-night to your delight.

To him enters a Melancholique Student, in bare and worne cloathes, shrowded vnder an obscure cloake, and the eaues of an old hatt, fetching a deepe sigh, his name, M^r.

MERE-FOOLE.

Oh, oh!

IOHPHIEL.

In Saturn's name, the Father of my Lord! What ouer-charged peice of Melancholie Is this, breakes in betweene my wishes thus, With bombing sighes?

MERE-FOOLE.

No! no Intelligence! Not yet! and all my vowes now nine dayes old! Blindnes of fate! Puppies had seene by this time: But I see nothing! that I should! or would see! What meane the Brethren of the Rosie-Crosse So to desert their votary!

IOHPHIEL.

O! tis one Hath vow'd himselfe vnto that aërie order, And now is gaping for the flie they promis'd him. I'll mixe a little with him for my sport.

MERE-FOOLE.

Haue I both in my lodging, and my diet, My cloaths, and euery other solemne charge Obseru'd 'hem! made the naked bords my bed! A fagot for my pillow! hungred sore!

IOHPHIEL.

And thirsted after'hem!

MERE-FOOLE.

To looke gaunt, and leane!

IOHPHIEL.

Which will not be.

MERE-FOOLE.

(Who's that?) yes, and outwatcht, Yea, and out-walked any Ghost aliue In solitarie circle, worne my bootes, Knees, armes, and elbowes out!

IOHPHIEL.

Ran on the score!

MERE-FOOLE.

That haue I (who suggests that?) and for more Then I will speake of, to abate this flesh, And haue not gaind the sight;

IOHPHIEL.

Nay scarce the sense,

MERE-FOOLE.

(Voice, thou art right) of any thing but a cold Wind in my stomacke.

IOHPHIEL.

And a kind of whimsie.

MERE-FOOLE.

Here in my head, that puts me to the staggers, Whether there be that Brotherhood, or no.

IOHPHIEL.

Beleeue fraile man, they be: And thou shalt see.

MERE-FOOLE.

What shall I see?

IOHPHIEL.

Mee.

MERE-FOOLE.

Thee? Where?

IOHPHIEL.

Here. If you Be M^r. Mere-Foole.

MERE-FOOLE.

Sir, our name is Mery-Foole. But by contraction Mere-Foole.

IOHPHIEL.

Then are you The wight I seeke: and S^r. my name is Iohphiel, Intelligence to the Sphere of Iupiter, An aëry iocular spirit, imploy'd to you From Father OVTIS.

MERE-FOOLE.

OVTIS? who is hee?

IOHPHIEL.

Know yee not OVTIS? Then know Nobody: The good old Hermit, that was said to dwell Here in the forest without trees, that built The Castle in the aire, where all the Brethren Rhodostaurotick liue. It flies with wings, And runnes on wheeles: where Iulian de Campis Holds out the brandisht blade.

MERE-FOOLE.

Is't possible

They thinke on mee?

IOHPHIEL.

Rise, be not lost in wonder, But heare mee, and be faithfull. All the Brethren Haue heard your vowes, salute you, and expect you, By mee, this next returne. But the good Father Has bin content to die for you.

MERE-FOOLE.

For mee?

IOHPHIEL.

For you. Last New-years day, which some giue out Because it was his Birth-day, and began The yeare of Iubile, he would rest vpon it, Being his hundred fiue and twentith yeare: But the truth is, hauing obseru'd your Genesis, He would not liue, because he might leaue all He had to you.

MERE-FOOLE.

What had hee?

IOHPHIEL.

Had? An office, Two, three, or foure.

MERE-FOOLE.

Where?

IOHPHIEL.

In the vpper Region: And that you'll find. The Farme of the great Customes, Through all the Ports of the Aires Intelligences;

Then Constable of the Castle Rosy-Crosse: Which you must be, and Keeper of the Keyes Of the whole Kaball, with the Seales; you shall be Principall Secretarie to the Starres; Know all their signatures, and combinations, The diuine rods, and consecrated roots. What not? Would you turne trees vp like the wind, To shew your strength? march ouer heads of armies, Or points of pikes, to shew your lightnesse? force All doores of arts, with the petarr, of your wit? Reade at one view all books? speake all the languages Of seuerall creatures? master all the learnings Were, are, or shallbe? or, to shew your wealth, Open all treasures, hid by nature, from The rocke of Diamond, to the mine of Sea-coale? Sir, you shall doe it.

MERE-FOOLE.

But how?

IOHPHIEL.

Why, by his skill, Of which he has left you the inheritance, Here in a pot: this little gally pot, Of tincture, high rose tincture. Ther's your a 1.1 Order, You will ha' your Collar sent you, er't be long.

MERE-FOOLE.

I lookt S^r. for a halter, I was desperate.

IOHPHIEL.

Reach forth your hand:

MERE-FOOLE.

O S^r. a broken sleeue

Keepes the arme back as'tis i'the prouerbe.

IOHPHIEL.

Nay, For that I doe commend you: you must be poore With al your wealth, & learning. Whē you ha'made Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter, Where you will walke inuisible to Mankinde, Talkt with all birds & beasts in their owne language, When you haue penetrated hills like ayre, Diu'd to the bottome of the Sea, like lead, And riss'againe like corke, walk't in the fire An 'twere a Salamander, pass'd through all The winding orbes, like an Intelligence, Vp to the Empyreum, when you haue made The World your gallery, can dispatch a busines In some three minuts, with the Antipodes, And in fiue more, negotiate the Globe ouer; You must be poore still.

MERE-FOOLE.

By my place, I know it.

IOPHIEL.

Where would you wish to be now? or what to see? Without the fortunate purse to beare your charges, Or wishing hat? I will but touch your temples, The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip, The very tip o' your nose, with this Collyrium And you shall see i' the aire all the Ideas, Spirits, and Atomes, Flies, that buz about This way, and that way, and are rather admirable, Then any way intelligible.

MERE-FOOLE.

O, come, tinct me, Tinct me: I long, saue this great belly, I long. But shall I onely see?

IOHPHIEL.

See, and commaund As they were all your vallets, or your foot-boyes: But first you must declare, (your Greatnes must, For that is now your stile) what you would see, Or whom.

MERE-FOOLE.

Is that my stile? My Greatnes, then, Would see King Zoroastres.

IOHPHIEL.

Why you shall: Or any one beside. Thinke whom you please? Your thousand, Your ten thousand, to a million: All's one to me, if you could name a myriad.

MERE-FOOLE.

I haue nam'd him.

IOHPHIEL.

You'haue reason.

MERE-FOOLE.

I, I haue reason. Because he's said to be the Father of coniurers, And a cunning man i'the starres.

IOHPHIEL.

I, that's it troubles vs. A little for the present: For, at this time

He is confuting a French Almanack, But he will straight haue don, Ha' you but patience; Or thinke but any other in meane time, Any hard name.

MERE-FOOLE.

Then, Hermes Trismegistus.

IOHPHIEL.

O, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 Why, you shall see him, A fine hard name. Or him, or whom you will, As I said to you afore. Or what do you thinke Of Howle-glasse, in stead of him?

MERE-FOOLE.

No, him I haue a minde to.

IOHPHIEL.

O', but Vlen-spiegle Were such a name! but you shal haue your longing. What lucke is this, he should be busie to? He is waighing water, but to fill three houreglasses, And marke the day in pen'orths like a cheese, And he has done. Tis strange you should name him Of all the rest! there being Iamblicus, Or Porphyrie, or Proclus, any name That is not busy.

MERE-FOOLE.

Let me see Pythagoras.

IOHPHIEL.

Good.

MERE-FOOLE.

or Plato,

IOHPHIEL.

Plato, is framing some Idea's, Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen, Three grosse at least: And, for Pythagoras, He 'has rashly run himselfe on an imployment, Of keeping Asses from a feild of beanes; And cannot be stau'd off.

MERE-FOOLE.

Then, Archimedes.

IOHPHIEL.

Yes, Archimedes!

MERE-FOOLE.

I, or Aesope.

IOHPHIEL.

Nay, Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes, And worthy to be seene; but he is now Inventing a rare Mouse-trap with Owles wings And a Catts-foote, to catch the Mise alone: And Aesop, he is filing a Fox tongue, For a new fable he has made of Court; But you shall see 'hem all, stay but your time And aske in season; Things ask'd out of season A man denies himselfe. At such a time As Christmas, when disguising is o' foote, To aske of the inventions, and the men, The witts, and the ingines that moue those Orbes! Me thinkes, you should enquire now, after Skelton, Or M^r. Scogan.

MERE-FOOLE.

Scogan? what was he?

IOHPHIEL.

O' a fine gentleman, and a Master of Arts, Of Henry the fourth's times, that made disguises For the Kings sonnes, and writ in ballad-royall Daintily well.

MERE-FOOLE.

But, wrote he like a Gentleman?

IOHPHIEL.

In rime! fine tinckling rime! and flowand verse! With now & then some sense! & he was paid for't, Regarded, and rewarded: which few Poets Are now adaies.

MERE-FOOLE.

And why.

IOHPHIEL.

'Cause euery Dabler In rime is thought the same. But you shall see him. Hold vp your nose.

MERE-FOOLE.

I had rather see a Brathman, Or a Gymnosophist yet.

IOHPHIEL.

You shall see him, Sir. Is worth them both. And with him Domine Skelton, The worshipfull Poet Laureat to K. Harry And Tytire tu of those times. Aduance quick Scogan, And quicker Skelton, shew your craftie heads, Before this Heyre of arts, this Lord of learning,

This Master of all knowledge in reuersion.

Enter SKOGAN, and SKELTON in like habits, as they liu'd.

SCOGAN.

Seemeth wee are call'd of a morall intent If the words, that are spoken, as well now be ment.

IOHPHIEL.

That M^r. Scogan I dare you ensure.

SCOGAN.

Then, Sonne, our acquaintance is like to indure.

MERE-FOOLE.

A pretty game! like Crambe. M^r. Scogan, Giue me thy hand. Thou'art very leane, me thinks. Is't liuing by thy witts?

SCOGAN.

If it had bin that, My worshipfull Sonne, thou hadst ne'r bin so fatt.

IOHPHIEL.

He tels you true S^r. Here's a gentleman (My paire of crafty Clearkes) of that high caract, As hardly hath the age produc't his like. Who not content with the witt of his owne times, Is curious to know yours, and what hath bin,

MERE-FOOLE.

Or is, or shall be.

IOHPHIEL.

Note his Latitude!

SKELTON.

O, vir amplissimus! (Vt scholis dicimus) Et gentilissimus!

IOHPHIEL.

The question-issimus Is, should he aske a sight now, for his life; I meane, a person, he would haue restor'd, To memorie of these times, for a Play-fellow, Whether you would present him, with an Hermes, Or, with an Howle-glas?

SKELTON.

An Howleglasse To come, to passe On his Fathers Asse; There neuer was, By day, nor night, A finer sight. With fethers vpright In his horned cap, And crooked shape, Much like an Ape. With Owle on sist, And Glasse at his wrist.

SKOGAN.

Except the soure Knaues entertain'd for the guards, Of the Kings, & y^e Queenes that triumph in y^e cards.

IOHPHIEL.

I, that were a sight and a halfe, I confesse, To see 'hem come skipping in, all at a messe!

SKELTON.

With Elinor Rumming. To make vp the mumming; That comely Gill, That dwelt on a hill, But she is not grill: Her face all bowsy, Droopie, and drowsie, Scuruy, and lowsie, Comely crinkled, Wondersly wrinkled, Like a rost pigs eare, Bristled with haire.

SCOGAN.

Or, what do you say to Ruffian Fitz-Ale?

IOHPHIEL.

An excellent sight, if he be not too stale. But then, we can mix him with moderne Vapors, The Child of Tobacco, his pipes, and his papers.

MERE-FOOLE.

You talk'd of Elinor Rumming, I had rather See Ellen of Troy.

IOHPHIEL.

Her you shall see. But credit mee, That Marie Ambree (Who march'd so free. To the siege of Gaunt, And death could not daunt,

As the Ballad doth vaunt) Were a brauer wight, And a better sight.

SKELTON.

Or Westmister Meg, With her long leg, As long as a Crane; And feet like a plane: With a paire of heeles, As broad as two wheeles; To driue downe the dew, As she goes to the stew: And turnes home metry, By Lambeth ferry. Or you may haue come In, Thomas Thumbe, In a pudding fatt With Doctor Ratt.

IOHPHIEL.

I, that! that! that! Wee'll haue'em all, To fill the Hall.

The Antimasque followes.

Consisting of these twelue persons, Owle∣glas, the foure Knaues, two Ruffians Fitz∣ale, and Vapors; Elnor Rumming, Mary Am∣bree, Long=Meg of Westminster, Tom Thumbe, and Doctor Ratt.

Which done,

MERE-FOOLE.

What! are they vanish'd! where is skipping Skelton? Or morall Scogan? I doe like their shew And would haue thankt'hem, being the first grace The Company of the Rosie-Crosse hath done me.

IOHPHIEL.

The company o'the Rosie-crosse! you wigion, The company of Players. Go, you are, And wilbe stil your selfe, a Mere-foole, In; And take your pot of hony here, and hogs greace, See, who has guld you, and make one. Great King, Your pardon, if desire to please haue trespass'd. This foole should haue bin sent to Antycira, (The Ile of Ellebore,) there to haue purg'd, Not hop'd a happie seat within your waters. Heare now the message of the Fates, and Ioue, On whom those Fates depend, to you, as Neptune The great Commander of the Seas, and Iles. That point of Reuolution being come

When all the Fortunate Islands should be ioyn'd, MACARIA, one, and thought a Principall, That hetherto hath floted, as vncertaine Where she would fix her blessings, is to night Instructed to adhere to your BRITANNIA: That where the happie spirits liue, hereafter Might be no question made, by the most curious, Since the Macarij come to doe you homage, And ioyne their cradle to your continent.

Here the Scene opens, and the Masquers are discouer'd sitting in their seuerall seiges. The aire opens aboue, and APOLLO with Harmony, and the spirits of Musique sing, the while the Iland moues forward, Proteus sitting below, and hearkning.

Song.

Looke forth the Shepheard of the Seas, And of the Ports that keep the keyes, And to your Neptune tell,

MACARIA, Prince of all the Isles, Wherein there nothing growes, but smiles, Doth here put in, to dwell.

The windes are sweete, and gently blow, But Zephirus, no breath they know, The Father of the flowers:

By him the virgin violets liue, And euery plant doth odours giue, As new, as are the howers.

CHORVS.

Then, thinke it not a common cause, That to it so much wonder drawes, And all the heauens consent, With Harmony to tune their notes, In answer to the publique votes, That for it vp were sent.

By this time, the Iland hauing ioyned it selfe to the shore; PROTEVS, PORTV∣NVS, and SARON come forth, and go vp singing to the State, while the Masquers take time to ranke themselues.

Song.

PROTEVS.

I, now, the heights of Neptunes honors shine, And all the glories of his greater stile Are read, reflected in this happiest Ile.

PORTVNVS.

How both the aire, the soile, the seat combine To speake it blessed!

SARON.

These are the true groues, Where ioyes are borne,

PROTEVS.

Where longings,

PORTVNVS.

and where loues!

SARON.

That liue!

PROTEVS.

That last!

PORTVNVS.

No intermitted wind Blowes here, but what leaues flowers, or fruit behind

CHORVS.

Tis odour all, that comes! And euery tree doth giue his gummes.

PROTEVS.

There is no sicknes, nor no old age knowne To man, nor any greife that he dares owne. There is no hunger there, nor enuy of state. Nor least ambition in the Magistrate. But all are euen-harted, open, free, And what one is, another striues to be.

PORTVNVS.

Here all the day, they feast, they sport, and spring; Now dance the Graces Hay, now Venus Ring: To which the old Musitians play, and sing.

SARON.

There is ARION, tuning his bold Harpe, from flat to sharpe.

PORTVNVS.

And light Anacreon, He still is one!

PROTEVS.

Stesichorus there, too, That Linus, and old Orpheus doth out-doe To wonder.

SARON.

And Amphion! he is there.

PORTVNVS.

Nor is Apollo dainty to appeare In such a quire, although the trees be thick,

PROTEVS.

He will looke in, and see the aires be quick, And that the times be true.

PORTVNVS.

Then, chanting,

PROTEVS.

Then, Vp, with their notes, they raise the Prince of Men.

SARON.

And sing the present Prophecie that goes Of ioyning the bright LILLIE, and the ROSE.

CHORVS.

See! all the flowres

PROTEVS.

That spring the banks along, Do moue their heads vnto that vnder-song.

CHORVS.

SARON, PORTVNVS, PROTEVS, helpe to bring Our Primrose in, the glorie of the spring! And tell the Daffadill, against that day, That we prepare new Gyrlands fresh as May. And enterweaue the Myrtle, and the Bay.

This sung, the Island goes back, whilst the vpper Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers prepare for their figure.

CHORVS.

Spring all the Graces of the age, And all the Loues of time; Bring all the pleasures of the stage, And relishes of rime: Add all the softnesses of Courts, The lookes, the laughters, and the sports. And mingle all their sweets, and salts, Thai none may say, the Triumph halts.

The Masquers dance their Entry or first dance.

Which done, the first Prospectiue, a Mari∣time Palace, or the house of Oceanus is discouered to lowd Musique.

The other aboue is no more seene.

IOHPHIEL.

Behold the Palace of Oceanus! Hayle Reuerend structure! Boast no more to vs Thy being able, all the Gods to feast; We saw enough: when ALBION was thy guest.

The measures.

After which, the second Prospectiue, a Sea is showne, to the former Musique.

IOHPHIEL.

Now turne; and view the wonders of the deepe, Where Proteus heards, & Neptunes Orkes do keep, Where all is plough'd, yet still the pastures greene New wayes are found, and yet no paths are seene.

Here Proteus, Portunus, Saron goe vp to the Ladies with this Song.

PROTEVS.

Come noble Nymphs, and doe not hide The ioyes, for which you so prouide:

SARON.

If not to mingle with the Men, What do you here? Go home agen.

PORTVNVS.

Your dressings doe confesse, By what wee see, so curious parts Of Pallas, and Arachnes arts, That you could meane no lesse.

PROTEVS.

Why do you weare the silke-wormes toyles. Or glorie in the shell-fish spoiles;

Or striue to shew the graines of Ore That you haue gather'd on the shore, whereof to make a stocke To graft the greener Emerald on, Or any better water'd stone,

SARON.

Or Rubie of the rock?

PROTEVS.

Why do you smell of Amber-gris, Of which was formed Neptunes Neice, The Queene of Loue: vnlesse you can Like Sea-borne Venus loue a Man?

SARON.

Try, put your selues vnto't.

CHORVS.

Your lookes, your smiles, and thoughts that meete. Ambrosian hands, and siluer feete, Do promise you will do't.

The Reuels follow.

Which ended, the Fleete is discouered, while the three Corners play.

IOHPHIEL.

Tis time, your eyes should be refresht at length With something new, a patt of NEPTVNES strength, See, yond', his Fleete, ready to goe or come, Or fetch the riches of the Ocean home,

So to secure him, both in peace, and warres, Till not one ship alone, but all be starres.

Then the last Song.

PROTEVS.

Although we wish the glorie still might last Of such a night, and for the causes past: Yet now, great Lord of waters, and of Iles, Giue Proteus leaue to turne vnto his wiles.

PORTVNVS.

And, whilst young ALBION doth thy labours ease, Dispatch Portunus to thy Ports,

SARON.

And Saron to thy Seas: To meet old Nereus, with his fiftie girles, From aged Indus laden home with pearles, And Orient gummes, to burne vnto thy name.

CHORVS.

And may thy subiects hearts be all one flame. Whilst thou dost keepe the earth in firme estate, And 'mongst the winds, do'st suffer no debate, But both at Sea, and Land, our powers increase, With health, and all the golden gifts of Peace.

After which, their last Dance.

The End.

Notes

• a 1.1

  He giues him a Rose.