Imperial feet?
This world is Fortune's ball wherewith she sports.
Sometimes I strike it up into the air,
And then create I Emperors and Kings.
Sometimes I spurn it: at which spurn crawls out
That wild beast multitude: curse on, you fools.
'Tis I that tumble Princes from their thrones,
And gild false brows with glittering diadems.
'Tis I that tread on necks of conquerors,
And when like semi-gods they have been drawn,
In ivory chariots to the capitol,
Circled about with wonder of all eyes
The shouts of every tongue, love of all hearts
Being swoll'n with their own greatness, I have prick'd
The bladder of their pride, and made them die,
As water bubbles, without memory.
I thrust base cowards into honour's chair,
Whilst the true spirited soldier stands by
Bare headed, and all bare, whilst at his scars
They scoff, that ne'er durst view the face of wars.
I set an Idiot's cap on virtue's head,
Turn learning out of doors, clothe wit in rags
And paint ten thousand images of loam
In gaudy silken colours: on the backs
Of mules and asses I make asses ride
Only for sport, to see the apish world
Worship such beasts with sound idolatry.
This Fortune does, and when this is done,
She sits and smiles to hear some curse her name,
And some with adoration crown her fame.

* * * * *

_And._ "To-morrow? ay to-morrow thou shalt buy them.
To-morrow tell the Princess I will love her,
To-morrow tell the King I'll banquet him,
To-morrow, Shadow, will I give thee gold,
To-morrow pride goes bare, and lust a-cold.
To-morrow will the rich man feed the poor,
And vice to-morrow virtue will adore.
To-morrow beggars shall be crowned kings.
This no-time, morrow's time, no sweetness sings.
I pray thee hence: bear that to Agripyne."

The whole is, as a whole, to the last degree crude and undigested, but the
ill-matured power of the writer is almost the more apparent.

_The Honest Whore_, in two parts, is, as far as general character goes, a
mixed comedy of intrigue