The higher that thou art, thou art more horrid:
The world will love me for my comeliness.

Fortune. Thine own self loves thyself: why on the heads

Of Agripyne, Montrose, and Longaville,-
English, Scot, French-did Vice clap ugly horns,
But to approve that English, French and Scot,
And all the world else, kneel and honour Vice;
But in no country, Virtue is of price!

Virtue. Yes, in all countries Virtue is of price,
In every kingdom some diviner breast

Is more enamoured of me than the rest.

Have English, Scot and French bowed knees to thee?
Why that's my glory too, for by their shame,
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.
Fortune, thou art too weak, Vice, th'art a fool
To fight with me; I suffered you awhile
T'eclipse my brightness, but I now will shine,
And make you swear your beauty's base to mine.
Fortune. Thou art too insolent; see, here's a court
Of mortal judges; let's by them be tried,
Which of us three shall most be deified.

Vice. I am content.

Fortune. And I.

Virtue. So am not I.

My judge shall be your sacred deity.1
Vice. O miserable me, I am undone.

[Exit VICE and her train.

All. O stop the horrid monster.

Virtue. Let her run.

Fortune, who conquers now?

Fortune. Virtue, I see,

Thou wilt triumph both over her and me.
All. Empress of Heaven and earth.

1 Virtue here evidently addressed Queen Elizabeth, as she sat in the audience; this direct recognition is kept up to the end of the play.

Fortune. Why do you mock me?

Kneel not to me, to her transfer your eyes,

There sits the Queen of Chance, I bend my knees
Lower than yours. Dread goddess, 'tis must meet
That Fortune fall down at thy conquering feet.
Thou sacred Empress that command'st the Fates.
Forgive what I have to thy handmaid done,
And at thy chariot wheels Fortune shall run,
And be thy captive, and to thce resign

All powers which Heaven's large patent have made

mine.

Virtue. Fortune, th'art vanquished. Sacred deity,
O now pronounce who wins the victory,

And yet that sentence needs not, since alone,
Your virtuous presence Vice hath overthrown,
Yet to confirm the conquest on your side,
Look but on Fortunatus and his sons;
Of all the wealth those gallants did possess,
Only poor Shadow is left, comfortless:

Their glory's faded and their golden pride.

Shad. Only poor Shadow tells how poor they died.
Virtue. All that they had, or mortal men can have,
Sends only but a Shadow from the grave.
Virtue alone lives still, and lives in you;
I am a counterfeit, you are the true ;
I am a shadow, at your feet I fall,

Begging for these, and these, myself and all.
All these that thus do kneel before your eyes,
Are shadows like myself: dread nymph, it lies
In you to make us substances. O do it!
Virtue I am sure you love, she wooes you to it.
I read a verdict in
your sun-like eyes,
And this it is: Virtue the victory.

All. All loudly cry, Virtue the victory!
Fortune. Virtue the victory! for joy of this,
Those self-same hymns which you to Fortune sung
Let them be now in Virtue's honour rung.

SONG.

Virtue smiles: cry holiday,

Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Virtue frowns, cry welladay,

Her love is Heaven, her hate is hell.
Since Heaven and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lower.
Since Heaven and hell her power obey,
Where she smiles, cry holiday.

Holiday with joy we cry,

And bend, and bend, and merrily,
Sing hymns to Virtue's deity:

Sing hymns to Virtue's deity.

As they are about to depart, enter Two Old Men.

THE EPILOGUE AT COURT.'

1st O. Man. Nay stay, poor pilgrims, when I entered first

The circle of this bright celestial sphere,

I wept for joy, now I could weep for fear.

2nd O. Man. I fear we all like mortal men shall prove Weak, not in love, but in expressing love.

1st. O. Man. Let every one beg once more on his knee,

One pardon for himself, and one for me;

For I enticed you hither. O dear Goddess,

Breathe life in our numbed spirits with one smile,
And from this cold earth, we with lively souls,

Shall rise like men new-born, and make Heaven sound

1 See note 1 to Prologue.

Dekker.

сс

With hymns sung, to thy name, and prayers that we

May once a year so oft enjoy this sight,

Till these young boys change their curled locks to white,

And when gray-wingèd age sits on their heads,

That so their children may supply their steads,
And that Heaven's great arithmetician,

Who in the scales of number weighs the world,
May still to forty-two add one year more,
And still add one to one, that went before,
And multiply four tens by many a ten:
To this I cry, Amen.

All. Amen, amen!

1st O. Man. Good-night, dear mistress, those that wish

thee harm,

Thus let them stoop under destruction's arm.

All. Amen, amen, amen!

[Exeunt