Part 50

_Vander._ Cease, Hercules, untill I give thee charge.-- Mightie commander of this English Ile, Henrie, come from the stout Plantagenets, 105 Bungay is learned enough to be a frier; But to compare with Jaquis Vandermast, Oxford and Cambridge must go seeke their celles To find a man to match him in his art. I have given _non-plus_ to the Paduans, 110 To them of Sien,[1427] Florence, and Bologna,[1428] Reimes,[1429] Louain, and faire Rotherdam, Franckford, Lutrech,[1430] and Orleance: And now must Henrie, if he do me right, Crowne me with laurell, as they all have done. 115

_Enter_ BACON.

_Bacon._ All haile to this roiall companie,[1431] That sit to heare and see this strange dispute!-- Bungay, how standst thou as a man amazd? What, hath the Germane acted more than thou?

_Vandermast._ What art thou that questions thus?[1431] 120

_Bacon._ Men call me Bacon.

_Vander._ Lordly thou lookest, as if that thou wert learnd; Thy countenance as if science held her seate Betweene the circled arches of thy browes.

_Henrie._ Now, Monarcks, hath the Germain found his match.

_Emperour._ Bestirre thee, Jaquis, take not now the foile,[1432] 126 Least thou doest loose what foretime thou didst gaine.

_Vandermast._ Bacon, wilt thou dispute?

_Bacon._ Noe,[1431] unlesse he were more learnd than Vandermast: For yet, tell me, what hast thou done? 130

_Vandermast._ Raisd Hercules to ruinate that tree That Bongay mounted by his magicke spels.

_Bacon._ Set Hercules to worke.

_Vander._ Now, Hercules, I charge thee to thy taske; Pull off the golden branches from the roote. 135

_Hercules._ I dare not. Seest thou not great Bacon heere, Whose frowne doth act more than thy magicke can?

_Vandermast._ By all the thrones, and dominations, Vertues, powers, and mightie hierarchies,[1433] I charge thee to obey to Vandermast. 140

_Hercules._ Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon, And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north, Bindes me from yeelding unto Vandermast.

_Hen._ How now, Vandermast! have you met with your match?

_Vandermast._ Never before wast knowne to Vandermast 145 That men held devils in such obedient awe. Bacon doth more than art, or els I faile.

_Emperour._ Why, Vandermast, art thou overcome?-- Bacon, dispute with him, and trie his skill.

_Bacon._ I come[1434] not, Monarckes, for to hold dispute 150 With such a novice as is Vandermast; I came[1435] to have your royalties to dine With Frier Bacon heere in Brazennose; And, for this Germane troubles but the place, And holds this audience with a long suspence, 155 Ile send him to his accademie hence.-- Thou, Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise, Transport the Germane unto Haspurge straight, That he may learne by travaile, gainst the spring,[1436] More secret doomes and aphorisms of art. 160 Vanish the tree, and thou away with him!

_Exit the Spirit with_ VANDERMAST _and the Tree._

_Emperour._ Why, Bacon, whether doest thou send him?

_Bacon._ To Haspurge: there your highnesse at returne Shall finde the Germane in his studie safe.

_Henrie._ Bacon, thou hast honoured England with thy skill, 165 And made faire Oxford famous by thine art: I will be English Henrie to thy selfe;-- But tell me, shall we dine with thee to-day?

_Bacon._ With me, my lord; and while I fit my cheere, See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you, 170 Gratious as[1437] the morning starre of heaven. [_Exit._

_Enter_ EDWARD, LACIE, WARREN, ERMSBIE.

_Emperour._ Is this Prince Edward, Henries royall sonne? How martiall is the figure of his face! Yet lovely and beset with amorets.[1438]

_Henrie._ Ned, where hast thou been? 175

_Edward._ At Framingham, my lord, to trie your buckes If they could scape the[1439] teisers or the toile. But hearing of these lordly potentates Landed, and prograst up to Oxford towne, I posted to give entertaine to them: 180 Chiefe to the Almaine monarke; next to him, And joynt with him, Castile and Saxonie Are welcome as they may be to the English court. Thus for the men: but see, Venus appeares, Or one that overmatcheth[1440] Venus in her shape! 185 Sweete Ellinor, beauties highswelling pride, Rich natures glorie and her wealth at once, Faire of all faires, welcome to Albion; Welcome to me, and welcome to thine owne, If that thou dainst the welcome from my selfe. 190

_Ellinor._ Martiall Plantagenet, Henries high minded sonne, The marke that Ellinor did count her aime, I likte thee fore I saw thee: now I love, And so as in so short a time I may; Yet so as time shall never breake that so, 195 And therefore so accept of Ellinor.

_Castile._ Feare not, my lord, this couple will agree, If love may creepe into their wanton eyes:-- And therefore, Edward, I accept thee heere, Without suspence, as my adopted sonne. 200

_Henrie._ Let me that joy in these consorting greets, And glorie in these honors done to Ned, Yeeld thankes for all these favours to my sonne, And rest a true Plantagenet to all.

_Enter_ MILES _with a cloth and trenchers and salt._

_Miles._ _Salvete, omnes reges_, that govern your _greges_,[1441] 205 In Saxonie and Spaine, in England and in Almaine! For all this frolicke rable must I cover the[1442] table With trenchers, salt, and cloth; and then looke for your broth.

_Emperour._ What pleasant fellow is this?

_Henrie._ Tis, my lord, Doctor Bacons poore scholler. 210

_Miles_ [_aside_]. My maister hath made me sewer[1443] of these great lords; and, God knowes, I am as serviceable at a table as a sow is under an apple-tree: tis no matter; their cheere shall not be great, and therefore what skils where the salt stand, before or behinde? [_Exit._]

_Castile._ These schollers knowes more skill in actiomes, 215 How to use quips and sleights of sophistrie, Than for to cover courtly for a king.

[_Re_]_enter_ MILES _with a message of pottage and broth; and, after him_, BACON.

_Miles._ Spill, sir? why, doe you thinke I never carried twopeny chop[1444] before in my life?---- By your leave, _nobile decus_, for here comes Doctor Bacons _pecus_,[1445] Being in his full age to carrie a messe of pottage. 221

_Bacon._ Lordings, admire not if your cheere be this, For we must keepe our accademicke fare; No riot where Philosophie doth raine: And therefore, Henrie, place these potentates, 225 And bid them fall unto their frugall cates.

_Emp._ Presumptuous Frier! what, scoffst thou at a king? What, doest thou taunt us with thy pesants fare, And give us cates fit[1446] for countrey swaines?---- Henrie, proceeds this jest of thy consent, 230 To twit us with such[1447] a pittance of such price? Tell me, and Fredericke will not greeve the[e] long.

_Henrie._ By Henries honour, and the royall faith The English monarcke beareth to his friend, I knew not of the frier's feeble fare, 235 Nor am I pleasd he entertaines you thus.

_Bacon._ Content thee, Fredericke, for I shewd the[1448] cates, To let thee see how schollers use to feede; How little meate refines our English wits.---- Miles, take away, and let it be thy dinner. 240

_Miles._ Marry, sir, I wil. This day shall be a festival day with me;[1449] For I shall exceed in the highest degree. [_Exit_ MILES.]

_Bacon._ I tell thee, monarch, all the Germane peeres Could not affoord thy entertainment such, So roiall and so full of maiestie, 245 As Bacon will present to Fredericke; The basest waiter that attends thy cups Shall be in honours greater than thy selfe; And for thy cates, rich Alexandria drugges[1450] Fecht by carveils[1451] from Aegypts richest straights, 250 Found in the wealthy strond of Affrica, Shall royallize the table of my king; Wines richer than the Gyptian courtisan Quaft to Augustus kingly countermatch, Shalbe carrowst in English Henries feasts; 255 Candie shall yeeld the richest of her canes; Persia, downe her volga[1452] by canows, Send down the secrets of her spicerie; The Africke dates, mirabolanes[1453] of Spaine, Conserves and suckets[1454] from Tiberias, 260 Cates from Judea, choiser than the lampe[1455] That fiered Rome with sparkes of gluttonie, Shall bewtifie the board for[1456] Fredericke: And therfore grudge not at a frier's feast. [_Exeunt._]

[Scene Tenth. _Near the Keepers lodge in Fresingfield._]

_Enter two gentlemen_, LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY[1457] _with the_ Keeper.

_Lambert._ Come, frolicke keeper of our lieges game, Whose table spred hath ever venison And jacks[1458] of wines to welcome passengers, Know I am in love with jolly Marg[a]ret, That over-shines our damsels as the moone 5 Darkneth the brightest sparkles of the night. In Laxfield[1459] heere my land and living lies: Ile make thy daughter joynter[1460] of it all, So thou consent to give her to my wife; And I can spend five hundreth markes a yeare. 10

_Serlbie._ I am the landslord,[1461] Keeper, of thy holds, By coppie all thy living lies in me; Laxfield did never see me raise my due: I will infeofe faire Marg[a]ret in all, So she will take her to a lustie squire. 15

_Keeper._ Now, courteous gent[i]ls, if the keepers girle Hath pleasd the liking fancie of you both, And with her beutie hath subdued your thoughts, Tis doubtfull to decide the question. It joyes me that such men of great esteeme 20 Should lay their liking on this base estate, And that her state should grow so fortunate To be a wife to meaner men than you: But sith such squires will stoop to keepers fee,[1462] I will, to avoid displeasure of you both, 25 Call Margret forth, and she shall make her choise. _Exit._

_Lambert._ Content,[1463]--Keeper; send her unto us. Why, Serlsby, is thy wife so lately dead, Are all thy loves so lightly passed over, As thou canst wed before the yeare be[1464] out? 30

_Serlsby._ I live not, Lambert, to content the dead, Nor was I wedded but for life to her: The grave[1465] ends and begins a maried state.

_Enter_ MARGRET.

_Lambert._ Peggie, the lovelie flower of all townes, Suffolks fair Hellen, and rich Englands star, 35 Whose beautie, tempered with her huswiferie, Maks England talke of merry Frisingfield!

_Serlsby._ I cannot tricke it up with poesies, Nor paint my passions with comparisons, Nor tell a tale[1466] of Phebus and his loves: 40 But this beleve me,--Laxfield here is mine, Of auncient rent seven hundred pounds a yeare, And if thou canst but love a countrie squire, I will infeoffe thee, Marg[a]ret, in all: I cannot flatter; trie me, if thou please. 45

_Mar._ Brave neighbouring squires, the stay of Suffolks clime, A keepers daughter is too base in gree[1467] To match with men accoumpted of such worth: But might I not displease, I would reply.

_Lambert._ Say, Peggy; nought shall make us discontent. 50

_Mar._ Then, gentils, note that love hath little stay, Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire Be kindled but by fancies motion: Then pardon, gentils, if a maids reply Be doubtful, while I have debated with my selfe 55 Who, or of whome, love shall constraine me like.

_Serlsby._ Let it be me; and trust me, Marg[a]ret, The meads invironed with the silver streames, Whose batling pastures fatneth[1468] all my flockes, Yeelding forth fleeces stapled[1469] with such woole 60 As Lempster cannot yeelde more finer stuffe, And fortie kine with faire and burnisht[1470] heads, With strouting[1471] duggs, that paggle[1472] to the ground, Shall serve thy da[i]ry, if thou wed with me.

_Lambert._ Let passe the countrie wealth, as flocks and kine, 65 And lands that wave with _Ceres_ golden sheves, Filling my barnes with plentie of the fieldes; But, Peggie, if thou wed thy selfe to me, Thou shall have garments of imbrodred silke, Lawnes, and rich networks for thy head attyre: 70 Costlie shalbe thy fa[i]re abiliments, If thou wilt be but Lamberts loving wife.

_Margret._ Content you, gentles, you have proferd faire, And more than fits a countrie maids degree: But give me leave to counsaile me a time, 75 For fancie bloomes not at the first assault; Give me ...[1473]but ten days' respite, and I will replye, Which or to whom my selfe affectionats.

_Serlsby._ Lambert, I tell thee, thourt importunate; Such beautie fits not such a base esquire: 80 It is for Serlsby to have Marg[a]ret.

_Lamb._ Thinkst thou with wealth to over reach me? Serlsby, I scorne to brooke thy country braves: I dare thee, coward, to maintaine this wrong, At dint of rapier, single in the field. 85

_Serlsby._ Ile aunswere, Lambert, what I have avoucht.-- Margret, farewel; another time shall serve. _Exit_ SERLSBY.

_Lambert._ Ile follow.--Peggie, farewell to thy selfe; Listen how well Ile answer for thy love. _Exit_ LAMBERT.

_Margeret._ How fortune tempers lucky happes with frowns, 90 And wrongs[1474] me with the sweets of my delight! Love is my blisse, and love is now my bale. Shall I be Hellen in my forward[1475] fates, As I am Hellen in my matchles hue, And set rich Suffolke with my face afire? 95 If lovely Lacie were but with his Peggy? The cloudie darckenesse of his bitter frowne Would check the pride of those aspiring squires. Before the terme of ten dayes be expired, When as they looke for aunswere of their loves, 100 My lord will come to merry Frisingfield, And end their fancies and their follies both.-- Til when, Peggie, be blith and of good cheere.

_Enter a_ Post _with a letter and a bag of gold._

_Post._ Fair lovely damsell, which way leads this path? How might I post me unto Frisingfield? 105 Which footpath leadeth to the keepers lodge?

_Margeret._ Your way is ready, and this path is right: My selfe doe dwell hereby in Frisingfield; And if the keeper be the man you seeke, I am his daughter: may I know the cause?

_Post._ Lovely, and once beloved of my lord,-- No mervaile if his eye was lodgd so low, When brighter bewtie is not in the heavens: The Lincolne earle hath sent you letters here, And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold. 115 Sweete, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.

_Margret._ The scrowls that Jove sent Danae, Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnisht gold, Were not more welcome than these lines to me. Tell me, whilst that I doe unrip the seales, 120 Lives Lacie well? how fares my lovely lord?

_Post._ Well, if that wealth may make men to live well.

_The letter and_ MARGRET _reads it._

_The bloomes of the Almond tree grow in a night, and vanish in a morne; the flies hæmere,_[1476] _(faire Peggie), take life with the Sun, and die with the dew; fancie that slippeth in with a gase, goeth out with a winke; and too timely loves have ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grefe, and my folly, who at Frisingfield lovd that which time hath taught me to be but meane dainties: eyes are dissemblers, and fancie is but queasie; therefore know, Margret, I have chosen a Spanish Ladie to be my wife, chiefe waighting woman to the Princesse Ellinour; a Lady faire, and no lesse faire than thy selfe, honorable and wealthy. In that I forsake thee, I leave thee to thine own liking; and for thy dowrie I have sent thee an hundred pounds; and ever assure thee of my favour, which shall availe thee and thine much. Farewell._

_Not thine, nor his owne_, EDWARD LACIE.

Fond Atæ, doomer of bad boading fates, 137 That wrappes[1477] proud Fortune in thy snaky locks, Didst thou inchaunt my byrth-day with such stars As lightned mischeefe from their infancie? 140 If heavens had vowd, if stars had made decree, To shew on me their froward influence, If Lacie had but lovd, heavens, hell, and all, Could not have wrongd the patience of my minde.

_Post._ It grieves me, damsell; but the earle is forst 145 To love the lady by the kings command.

_Margret._ The wealth combinde within the English shelves,[1478] Europes commaunder, nor the English king, Should not have movde the love of Peggie from her lord.[1479]

_Post._ What answere shall I returne to my lord? 150

_Margret._ First, for thou cam'st from Lacie whom I lovd,-- Ah, give me leave to sigh at every[1480] thought!-- Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent; For Margrets resolution craves no dower: The world shalbe to her as vanitie; 155 Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, dispaire: For I will straight to stately Fremingham, And in the abby there be shorne a nun, And yeld my loves and libertie to God. Fellow, I give thee this, not for the newes, 160 For those be hatefull unto Marg[a]ret, But for thart Lacies man, once Margrets love.

_Post._ What I have heard, what passions I have seene, Ile make report of them unto the Earle. [_Exit_ POST.]

_Margret._ Say that she joyes his fancies be at rest, 165 And praies that his misfortune[1481] may be hers. _Exit._

[Scene Eleventh. _Frier Bacons cell._]

_Enter_ FRIER BACON _drawing the courtaines with a white stick, a booke in his hand, and a lampe lighted by him; and the_ Brasen Head, _and_ MILES _with weapons by him._

_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?

_Miles._ Here, sir.

_Bacon._ How chaunce you tarry so long?

_Miles._ Thinke you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I have so armed my selfe[1482] that if all your devills come, I will not feare them an inch. 6

_Bacon._ Miles, thou knowst that I have dived into hell, And sought the darkest pallaces of fiendes; That with my magic spels great Belcephon Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell; 10 The rafters of the earth rent from the poles, And three-formd Luna hid her silver looks, Trembling upon her concave contenent,[1483] When Bacon red upon his magick booke. With seven years tossing nigromanticke charmes, 15 Poring upon darke Hecats principles, I have framd out a monstrous head of brasse, That, by the inchaunting forces of the devil, Shall tell out strange and uncoth Aphorismes, And girt faire England with a wall of brasse. 20 Bungay and I have watcht these threescore dayes, And now our vitall spirites crave some rest: If Argos[1484] livd, and had his hundred eyes, They could not overwatch Phobeters[1485] night. Now, Miles, in thee rests Frier Bacons weale; 25 The honour and renowne of all his life Hangs in the watching of this Brazen-Head; Therefore I charge thee by the immortall God, That holds the soules of men within his fist,[1486] This night thou watch; for ere the morning star 30 Sends out his glorious glister on the north, The head will speake: then, Miles, upon thy life, Wake me; for then by magick art Ile worke To end my seven yeares taske with excellence. If that a winke[1487] but shut thy watchfull eye, 35 Then farewell Bacons glory and his fame! Draw closse the courtaines, Miles: now, for thy life, Be watchfull, and-- _Here he falleth asleepe._

_Miles._ So; I thought you would talke your selfe a sleepe anon; and 'tis no mervaile, for Bungay on the dayes, and he on the nights, have watcht just these ten and fifty dayes: now this is the night, and tis my taske, and no more. Now, Jesus blesse me, what a goodly head it is! and a nose! you talke of _nos autem glorificare_;[1488] but heres a nose that I warrant may be cald _nos autem popelare_[1489] for the people of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, sir, I will set me downe by a post, and make it as good as a watch-man to wake me, if I chaunce to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call you out of your _memento_[1490] ...[1491] Passion a God, I have almost broke my pate![1492] Up, Miles, to your taske; take your browne bill[1493] in your hand; heeres some of your maister's hobgoblins abroad. 51

_With this a great noise. The_ HEAD _speakes._

_Head._ Time is.

_Miles._ Time is! Why, Master Brazenhead, you have such a capitall nose, and answer you with sillables, 'Time is'? Is this my all[1494] maister's cunning, to spend seven years studie about 'Time is'? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon: well, Ile watch you as narrowly as ever you were watcht, and Ile play with you as the nightingale with the slowworme;[1495] Ile set a pricke against my brest. Now rest there, Miles.... Lord have mercy upon me, I have almost killd my selfe.[1496] Up, Miles; list how they rumble. 61

_Head._ Time was.

_Miles._ Well, Frier Bacon, you spent[1497] your seven yeares studie well, that can make your Head speake but two wordes at once, 'Time was.' Yea, marie, time was when my maister was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brasen-head. You shall lie while your arce ake, and your Head speake no better. Well, I will watch, and walke up and downe, and be a perepatetian and a philosopher of Aristotles stampe. What, a freshe noise? Take thy pistols in hand, Miles. 70

_Heere the_ HEAD _speakes; and a lightning flasheth forth, and a hand appears that breaketh down the_ HEAD _with a hammer._

_Head._ Time is past.[1498]

_Miles._ Maister, maister, up! hels broken loose; your Head speakes; and theres such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all Oxford is up in armes. Out of your bed, and take a browne bill in your hand; the latter day is come. 75

_Bacon._ Miles, I come.[1499] Oh, passing warily watcht! Bacon will make thee next himselfe in love. When spake the Head?

_Miles._ When spake the Head! did not you say that hee should tell strange principles of philosophie? Why, sir, it speaks but two wordes at a time. 81

_Bacon._ Why, villaine, hath it spoken oft?

_Miles._ Oft! I, marie, hath it, thrice; but in all those three times it hath uttered but seven wordes.

_Bacon._ As how? 85

_Miles._ Marrie, sir, the first time he said 'Time is,' as if Fabius Cumentator[1500] should have pronounst a sentence; [the second time[1501]] he said, 'Time was'; and the third time, with thunder and lightning, as in great choller, he said, 'Time is past.'