Part 48

_Bacon._ Well, mistres, for I wil not have you mist, You shall to Henly to cheere up your guests Fore supper ginne.--Burden, bid her adew; Say farewell to your hostesse fore she goes.-- Sirha, away, and set her safe at home. 155

_Hostesse._ Maister Burden, when shall we see you at Henly?[1304]

_Exeunt_ HOSTESSE _and the_ Devill.

_Burden._ The devill take thee and Henly too.

_Miles._ Maister, shall I make a good motion?

_Bacon._ Whats that? 159

_Miles._ Marry, sir, nowe that my hostesse is gone to provide supper, conjure up another spirite, and send Doctor Burden flying after.

_Bacon._ Thus, rulers of our accademicke state, You have seene the frier frame his art by proofe; And as the colledge called Brazennose Is under him, and he the Maister[1305] there, 165 So surely shall this head of brasse be framde, And yeelde forth strange and uncoth aphorismes; And Hell and Heccate[1306] shall faile the frier, But I will circle England round with brasse.

_Miles._ So be it, _et nunc et semper. Amen._ _Exeunt omnes._ 170

[Scene Third. _Harlston Faire._]

_Enter_ MARGRET, _the faire mayd of Fresingfield, with_ THOMAS, [RICHARD] _and_ JONE, _and other clownes_; LACIE _disguised in countrie apparell._

_Thomas._ By my troth, Margret, heeres a wether is able to make a man call his father whorson: if this wether hold, wee shall have hay good cheape, and butter and cheese at Harlston will beare no price.

_Margret._ Thomas, maides, when they come to see the faire, Count not to make a cope[1307] for dearth of hay: 5 When we have turnd our butter to the salt, And set our cheese safely[1308] upon the rackes, Then let our fathers prise[1309] it as they please. We countrie sluts of merry Fresingfield Come to buy needlesse noughts to make us fine, 10 And looke that yong men should be francke[1310] this day, And court us with such fairings as they can. Phœbus is blythe, and frolicke lookes from heaven, As when he courted lovely Semele,[1311] Swearing the pedlers shall have emptie packs, 15 If that faire wether may make chapmen buy.

_Lacie._ But, lovely Peggie, Semele is dead, And therefore Phœbus from his pallace pries, And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint, Shewes all his glories for to court your selfe. 20

_Margret._ This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed, To sooth me up with such smooth flatterie; But learne of me, your scoffe's[1312] to[o] broad before.-- Well, Jone, our bewties[1313] must abide their jestes; We serve the turne in jolly Fresingfield. 25

_Jone._ Margret,[1314] a farmers daughter for a farmers son: I warrant you, the meanest of us both Shall have a mate to lead us from the church. But, Thomas, whats the newes? what, in a dumpe? Give me your hand, we are neere a pedlers shop,-- 30 Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.

_Thomas._ Faith, Jone, and shall: Ile bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.

_All this while_ LACIE _whispers_ MARGRET _in the eare._

_Margret._ Whence are you, sir? of Suffolke? for your tearmes Are finer than the common sort of men.[1315] 35

_Lacie._ Faith, lovely girle, I am of Beckles[1316] by, Your neighbour, not above six miles from hence, A farmers sonne, that never was so quaint[1317] But that he could do courtesie to such dames. But trust me, Margret, I am sent in charge 40 From him that reveld in your fathers house, And fild his lodge with cheere and venison, 'Tyred in green; he sent you this rich purse, His token that he helpt you run your cheese, And in the milkhouse chatted with your selfe. 45

_Margret._ To me? You forget your selfe.[1318]

_Lacie._ Women are often weake in memorie.

_Margret._ Oh, pardon sir, I call to mind the man: Twere little manners to refuse his gift, And yet I hope he sends it not for love; 50 For we have little leisure to debate of that.[1319]

_Jone._ What, Margret! blush not: mayds must have their loves.

_Thomas._ Nay, by the masse, she lookes pale as if she were angrie. 54

_Richard._ Sirha, are you of Beckls? I pray, how dooth Goodman Cob? my father bought a horse of him.--Ile tell you Margret, a were good to be a gentlemans jade, for of all things the foule hilding could not abide a doongcart.

_Margret_ [_aside_]. How different is this farmer from the rest That earst as yet hath pleasd my wandring sight! 60 His words are wittie, quickened with a smile, His courtesie gentle, smelling of the court; Facill and debonaire in all his deeds; Proportiond as was Paris, when, in gray, He courted Ænon in the vale by Troy. 65 Great lords have come and pleaded for my love: Who but the keepers lasse of Fresingfield? And yet me thinks this farmers jolly sonne Passeth the prowdest that hath pleasd mine eye. But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love, 70 And shew as yet no sign of love to him, Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love; Keepe that to thee till time doth serve thy turne, To shew the greefe wherein thy heart doth burne.-- Come, Jone and Thomas, shall we to the faire?-- 75 You, Beckls man, will not forsake us now?

_Lacie._ Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.

_Margret._ Well, if you chaunce to come by Fresingfield, Make but a step into the keepers lodge,[1320] And such poore fare as woodmen can affoord, 80 Butter and cheese, creame and fat venison, You shall have store, and welcome therewithall.

_Lacie._ Gramarcies, Peggie; looke for me eare long. _Exeunt omnes._

[Scene Fourth. _The Court at Hampton House._]

_Enter_ HENRY _the third, the_ EMPEROUR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE, ELINOR, _his daughter,_ JAQUES VANDERMAST _a Germaine_.

_Henrie._ Great men of Europe, monarks of the West, Ringd with the walls of old _Oceanus_, Whose loftie surge is[1321] like the battelments That compast high built Babell in with towers,-- Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave westerne kings, 5 To Englands shore, whose promontorie cleeves Shewes Albion is another little world: Welcome says English Henrie to you all; Chiefly unto the lovely Eleanour, Who darde for Edwards sake cut through the seas, 10 And venture as Agenors damsell through the deepe,[1322] To get the love of Henries wanton sonne.

_Castile._ Englands rich monarch, brave Plantagenet. The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds, That ward the welthie Castile in with walles, 15 Could not detaine the beautious Eleanour; But, hearing of the fame of Edwards youth, She darde to brooke _Neptunus_ haughtie pride, And bide the brunt of froward Eolus: Then may faire England welcome her the more. 20

_Elinor._ After that English Henrie by his lords Had sent Prince Edwards lovely counterfeit, A present to the Castile Elinor, The comly pourtrait of so brave a man, The vertuous fame discoursed of his deeds, 25 Edwards couragious resolution, Done at the Holy Land fore Damas[1323] walles, Led both mine eye and thoughts in equall links, To like so of the English monarchs sonne, That I attempted perrils for his sake. 30

_Emperour._ Where is the prince, my lord?

_Henrie._ He posted down, not long since, from the court, To Suffolke side, to merrie Fremingham,[1324] To sport himselfe amongst my fallow deere; From thence, by packets sent to Hampton[1324] house, 35 We heare the prince is ridden with his lords To Oxford, in the academie there To heare dispute amongst the learned men. But we will send foorth letters for my sonne, To will him come from Oxford to the court. 40

_Empe._ Nay, rather, Henrie, let us, as we be, Ride for to visite Oxford with our traine. Faine would I see your universities, And what learned men your academie yields. From Haspurg[1325] have I brought a learned clarke 45 To hold dispute with English orators: This doctor, surnamde Jaques Vandermast, A Germaine borne, past into Padua, To Florence and to fair Bolonia, To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans, 50 And, talking there with men of art, put downe The chiefest of them all in aphorismes,[1326] In magicke, and the mathematicke rules: Now let us, Henrie, trie him in your schooles.

_Henrie._ He shal, my lord; this motion likes me wel. 55 Weele progresse straight to Oxford with our trains, And see what men our academie bringes.-- And, woonder Vandermast, welcome to me: In Oxford shalt thou find a jollie frier, Cald Frier Bacon, Englands only flower: 60 Set him but non-plus in his magicke spels, And make him yeeld in mathematicke rules, And for thy glorie I will bind thy browes, Not with a poets garland[1327] made of baies, But with a coronet of choicest gold. 65 Whilst then we set[1328] to Oxford with our troupes, Lets in and banquet in our English court. _Exit._

[Scene Fifth. _A Street in Oxford._]

_Enter_ RAPHE SIMNELL _in Edwardes apparell_; EDWARD, WARREN, ERMSBY, _disguised._

_Raphe._ Where be these vacabond knaves, that they attend no better on their master?

_Edward._ If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.[1329]

_Raphe._ Sirrha Ned, Ile have no more post horse to ride on: Ile have another fetch.[1330] 5

_Ermsbie._ I pray you, how is that, my lord?

_Raphe._ Marrie, sir, Ile send to the Ile of Eely for foure or five dozen of geese, and Ile have them tide six and six together with whipcord: now upon their backes will I have a faire field bed with a canapie; and so, when it is my pleasure, Ile flee into what place I please. This will be easie. 11

_Warren._ Your honour hath said well: but shall we to Brasennose Colledge before we pull off our bootes?

_Ermsbie._ Warren, well motion'd; wee will to the frier Before we revell it within the towne.-- 15 Raphe, see that you keepe your countenance like a prince.

_Raphe._ Wherefore have I such a companie of cutting[1331] knaves to wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against all mine enemies? have you not good swords and bucklers?

_Enter_ BACON _and_ MILES.

_Ermsbie._ Stay, who comes heere? 20

_Warren._ Some scholler; and weele aske him where Frier Bacon is.

_Bacon._ Why, thou arrant dunce, shal I never make thee good scholler? doth not all the towne crie out and say, Frier Bacons subsiser is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? why, thou canst not speake one word of true Latine. 25

_Miles._ No, sir? Yes.[1332] What is this els? _Ego sum tuus homo_, 'I am your man'; I warrant you, sir, as good Tullies phrase as any is in Oxford.

_Bacon._ Come on, sirha; what part of speech is _Ego_?

_Miles._ _Ego_, that is 'I'; marrie, _nomen substantivo_. 30

_Bacon._ How proove you that?

_Miles._ Why, sir, let him proove himselfe and a will; 'I' can be hard, felt, and understood.

_Bacon._ O grosse dunce!

_Here beate him._

_Edw._ Come, let us breake off this dispute between these two.--Sirha, where is Brazennose Colledge? 36

_Miles._ Not far from Copper-smithes Hall.

_Edward._ What, doest thou mocke me?

_Miles._ Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazennose?

_Ermsbie._ Marrie, we would speak with Frier Bacon. 40

_Miles._ Whose men be you?

_Ermsbie._ Marrie, scholler, heres our maister.

_Raphe._ Sirha, I am the maister of these good fellowes; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrell? 44

_Miles._ Then heeres good game for the hawke; for heers the maister foole and a covie of cocks combs: one wise man, I thinke, would spring you all.

_Edward._ Gogs wounds! Warren, kill him.

_Warren._ Why, Ned, I think the devill be in my sheath; I cannot get out my dagger. 50

_Ermsbie._ Nor I mine: swones, Ned, I think I am bewitcht.

_Miles._ A companie of scabbes! the proudest of you all drawe your weapon if he can.-- See how boldly I speake, now my maister is by. [_Aside._]

_Edward._ I strive in vaine; but if my sword be shut 55 And conjur'd fast by magicke in my sheath, Villaine, heere is my fist.

_Strikes him a box on the eare._

_Miles._ Oh, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not lift his armes to his head, for he is light fingered!

_Raphe._ Ned, strike him; Ile warrant thee by mine honour. 60

_Bacon._ What meanes the English prince to wrong my man?

_Edward._ To whom speakest thou?

_Bacon._ To thee.

_Edward._ Who art thou?[1333]

_Bacon._ Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast, 65 That Frier Bacon was not farre from hence? Edward, King Henries sonne and Prince of Wales, Thy foole disguisd[1334] cannot conceale thy self: I know both Ermsbie and the Sussex earle, Els Frier Bacon had but little skill. 70 Thou comest in post from merrie Fresingfield, Fast fancied to the keepers bonny lasse, To crave some succour of the jolly frier: And Lacie, Ear[l]e of Lincolne, hast thou left To treat fair Margret to allow thy loves; 75 But friends are men, and love can baffle lords; The earl both woes and courtes her for himselfe.

_Warren._ Ned, this is strange; the frier knoweth al.

_Ermsbie._ Appollo could not utter more than this.

_Edward._ I stand amazed to heare this jolly frier 80 Tell even the verie secrets of my thoughts.-- But, learned Bacon, since thou knowest the cause Why I did post so fast from Fresingfield, Helpe, Frier, at a pinch, that I may have The love of lovely Margret to my selfe, 85 And, as I am true Prince of Wales, Ile give Living and lands to strength thy colledge state.

_Warren._ Good Frier, helpe the prince in this.

_Raphe._ Why, servant Ned, will not the frier doe it? Were not my sword glued to my scabberd by conjuration, I would cut off his head, and make him do it by force. 91

_Miles._ In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.

_Ermsbie._ What, doctor, in a dumpe! tush, helpe the prince, And thou shalt see how liberall he will proove. 95

_Bacon._ Crave not such actions greater dumps than these? I will, my lord, straine out my magicke spels; For this day comes the earle to Fresingfield, And fore that night shuts in the day with darke, Theile be betrothed ech to other fast. 100 But come with me; weele to my studie straight, And in a glasse prospective I will shew Whats done this day in merry Fresingfield.

_Edward._ Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy paine.

_Bacon._ But send your traine, my lord, into the towne: 105 My scholler shall go bring them to their inne: Meane while weele see the knaverie of the earle.

_Edward._ Warren, leave me:--and, Ermsbie, take the foole; Let him be maister, and go revell it, Till I and Frier Bacon talke a while. 110

_Warren._ We will, my lord.

_Raphe._ Faith, Ned, and Ile lord it out till thou comest: Ile be Prince of Wales over all the blacke pots[1335] in Oxford. _Exeunt._

[Scene Sixth. _Frier Bacons cell in Brazennose._]

BACON, _and_ EDWARD, _goes into the study_.[1336]

_Bacon._ Now, frolick Edward, welcome to my cell; Heere tempers Frier Bacon many toies, And holds this place his consistorie court, Wherein the divels pleads[1337] homage to his words. Within this glasse prospective thou shall see 5 This day whats done in merry Fresingfield Twixt lovely Peggie and the Lincolne earle.

_Edward._ Frier, thou gladst me: now shall Edward trie How Lacie meaneth to his soveraigne lord.

_Bacon._ Stand there and looke directly in the glasse. 10

_Enter_ MARGARET _and_ FRIER BUNGAY.[1338]

What sees my lord?

_Edward._ I see the keepers lovely lasse appeare, As bright-sunne[1339] as the parramour of Mars, Onely attended by a jolly frier.

_Bacon._ Sit still, and keepe the cristall in your eye. 15

_Margret._ But tell me, Frier Bungay, is it true That this fair[1340] courtious countrie swaine, Who saies his father is a farmer nie, Can be Lord Lacie, Earle of Lincolnshire?

_Bun._ Peggie, tis true, tis Lacie for my life, 20 Or else mine art and cunning both doth faile, Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves; For he in greene, that holpe you runne your cheese, Is sonne to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.

_Margret._ Be what he will, his lure is but for lust: 25 But did Lord Lacie like poor Marg[a]ret, Or would he daine to wed a countrie lasse,[1341] Frier, I would his humble handmayd be, And for great wealth quite him with courtesie.

_Bungay._ Why, Margret, doest thou love him? 30

_Margret._ His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy, Might well avouch to shadow[1342] Hellen's scape:[1343] His wit is quicke and readie in conceit, As Greece affoorded in her chiefest prime. Courteous, ah Frier, full of pleasing smiles! 35 Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more; Suffice to me he is Englands parramour.[1344]

_Bun._ Hath not ech eye that viewd thy pleasing face Surnamed thee Faire Maid of Fresingfield?

_Margret._ Yes, Bungay; and would God the lovely earle 40 Had that in _esse_ that so many sought.

_Bungay._ Feare not, the frier will not be behind To shew his cunning to entangle love.

_Edward._ I thinke the frier courts the bonny wench:[1345] Bacon, me thinkes he is a lustie churle. 45

_Bacon._ Now looke, my lord.

_Enter_ LACIE.

_Edward._ Gogs wounds, Bacon, heere comes Lacie![1346]

_Bacon._ Sit still, my lord, and marke the commedie.

_Bungay._ Heeres Lacie, Margret; step aside awhile.

[_They withdraw._]

_Lacie_ [_solus_]. Daphne, the damsell that caught Phæbus fast, 50 And lockt him in the brightnesse of her lookes, Was not so beautious in Appollos eyes As is faire Margret to the Lincolne earle;-- Recant thee, Lacie--thou art put in trust. Edward, thy soveraignes sonne, hath chosen thee, 55 A secret friend, to court her for himself, And darest thou wrong thy prince with trecherie?-- Lacie, love makes no exception[1347] of a friend, Nor deemes it of a prince but as a man. Honour bids thee controll[1348] him in his lust; 60 His wooing is not for to wed the girle, But to intrap her and beguile the lasse. Lacie, thou lovest, then brooke not such abuse, But wed her, and abide thy prince's frowne;[1349] For better[1350] die than see her live disgracde. 65

_Margret._ Come, Frier, I will shake him from his dumpes.-- [_Advancing._] How cheere you, sir? a penie for your thought! Your early up, pray God it be the neere.[1351] What, come from Beckles in a morne so soone?

_Lacie._ Thus watchfull are such men as live in love, 70 Whose eyes brooke broken slumbers for their sleepe. I tell thee, Peggie, since last Harlston faire My minde hath felt a heape of passions.

_Mar._ A trustie man, that court it for your friend: Woo you still for the courtier all in greene?-- 75 [_Aside._] I marvell that he sues not for himselfe.

_Lacie._ Peggie, I pleaded first to get your grace for him; But when mine eies survaid your beautious lookes, Love, like a wagge, straight dived into my heart, And there did shrine the Idea[1352] of your selfe. 80 Pittie me, though I be a farmers sonne, And measure not my riches, but my love.

_Margret._ You are verie hastie; for to garden well, Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring Love ought to creepe as doth the dials shade, 85 For timely[1353] ripe is rotten too too[1354] soone.

_Bungay_ [_advancing_]. _Deus hic_; roome for a merrie frier! What, youth of Beckles, with the keepers lasse? Tis well; but tell me, heere you any newes?

_Margret._[1355] No, Frier: what newes? 90

_Bungay._ Heere you not how the pursevants do post With proclamations through ech country towne?

_Lacie._ For what, gentle frier? tell the newes.

_Bun._ Dwelst thou in Beckles, & heerst not of these news? Lacie, the Earle of Lincolne, is late fled 95 From Windsor court, disguised like a swaine, And lurkes about the countrie heere unknowne. Henrie suspects him of some trecherie, And therefore doth proclaime in every way, That who can take the Lincolne earle shall have, 100 Paid in the Exchequer, twentie thousand crownes.

_Lacie._ The Earle of Lincoln! Frier, thou art mad: It was some other; thou mistakest the man. The earle of Lincolne! why, it cannot be.

_Margret._ Yes, verie well, my lord, for you are he: 105 The keepers daughter tooke you prisoner. Lord Lacie, yeeld, Ile be your gailor once.

_Edward._ How familiar they be, Bacon!

_Bacon._ Sit still, and marke the sequell of their loves.

_Lacie._ Then am I double prisoner to thy selfe: 110 Peggie, I yeeld. But are these newes in jest?[1356]

_Margret._ In jest with you, but earnest unto me; For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart. Ah, how these earles and noble men of birth Flatter and faine to forge poore womens ill! 115

_Lacie._ Beleeve me, lasse, I am the Lincolne earle: I not denie but, tyred thus in rags, I lived disguisd to winne faire Peggies love.

_Margret._ What love is there where wedding ends not love?

_Lacie._ I meant,[1357] faire girle, to make thee Lacies wife. 120

_Margret._ I litle thinke that earles wil stoop so low.

_Lacie._ Say shall I make thee countesse ere I sleep?

_Margret._ Handmaid unto the earle, so please him selfe: A wife in name, but servant in obedience.

_Lacie._ The Lincolne countesse, for it shalbe so: 125 Ile plight the bands, and seale it with a kisse.

_Edward._ Gogs wounds, Bacon, they kisse! Ile stab them.

_Bacon._ Oh, hold your handes, my lord, it is the glasse!

_Edward._ Coller to see the traitors gree so well Made me[1358] thinke the shadowes substances. 130

_Bacon._ Twere a long poinard, my lord, to reach betweene Oxford and Fresingfield; but sit still and see more.[1359]

_Bungay._ Well, Lord of Lincolne, if your loves be knit, And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree, To avoid insuing jarres, Ile hamper up the match: 135 Ile take my portace[1360] forth and wed you heere. Then go to bed and scale up your desires.