Fort. I have cut through the air like a falcon; I would have it seem strange to you.
Shad. So it does, sir.
Fort. But ’tis true: I would not have you believe it neither.
Shad. No more we do not, sir.
Fort. But ’tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you, brought me to Cyprus. I’ll leave you more gold, and go visit more countries.
Shad. Leave us gold enough, and we’ll make all countries come visit us.
Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your blood,
And strews her snowy flowers upon your head,
And gives you warning that within few years,
Death needs must marry you: those short-lived minutes,
That dribble out your life, must needs be spent
In peace, not travel: rest in Cyprus then.
Could you survey ten worlds, yet you must die;
And bitter is the sweet that’s reaped thereby.
Andel. Faith, father, what pleasure have you met by walking your stations?
Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled with kings, danced with queens, dallied with ladies, worn strange attires, seen fantasticos, conversed with humorists, been ravished with divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian harmonies. I have spent the day in triumphs, and the night in banqueting.
Andel. Oh rare: this was heavenly.