Echo. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Fort. Why so, two fools laugh at one another, I at my tittle tattle gammer Echo, and she at me. Shortly there will creep out in print some filthy book of the old hoary wandering knight, meaning me: would I were that book, for then I should be sure to creep out from hence. I should be a good soldier, for I traverse my ground rarely; marry I see neither enemy nor friends, but popinjays, and squirrels, and apes, and owls, and daws, and wagtails, and the spite is that none of these grass-eaters can speak my language, but this fool that mocks me, and swears to have the last word, in spite of my teeth, ay, and she shall have it because she is a woman, which kind of cattle are indeed all echo, nothing but tongue, and are like the great bell of St. Michael’s[331] in Cyprus, that keeps most rumbling when men would most sleep. Echo, a pox on thee for mocking me.
Echo. A pox on thee for mocking me.
Fort. Why so, Snip snap, this war is at an end, but this wilderness is world without end. To see how travel can transform: my teeth are turned into nutcrackers, a thousand to one I break out shortly, for I am full of nothing but waxen kernels, my tongue speaks no language but an almond for a parrot, and crack me this nut. If I hop three days more up and down this cage of cuckoos’ nests, I shall turn wild man sure, and be hired to throw squibs among the commonalty upon some terrible day. In the meantime, to tell truth, here will I lie. Farewell, fool!
Echo. Farewell, fool.
Fort. Are not these comfortable words to a wise man? All hail, signor tree, by your leave I’ll sleep under your leaves. I pray bow to me, and I’ll bend to you, for your back and my brows must, I doubt, have a game or two at noddy ere I wake again: down, great heart, down. Hey, ho, well, well. [He lies down and sleeps.
Enter a Shepherd, a Carter,[332] a Tailor,[333] and a Monk, all crowned; a Nymph with a globe, another with Fortune’s wheel; then Fortune. After her, four Kings with broken crowns and sceptres, chained in silver gyves and led by her. The foremost enter singing. Fortune takes her chair, the Kings lying at her feet so that she treads on them as she ascends to her seat.
Song.
Fortune smiles, cry holiday,
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell,
Fortune 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,
When she smiles, cry holiday.
Holiday with joy we cry
And bend, and bend, and merrily
Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity,
Sing hymns to Fortune’s deity.
Chorus. Let us sing, merrily, merrily, merrily,
With our song let Heaven resound,
Fortune’s hands our heads have crowned;
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily.