Part 51

_Bacon._ 'Tis past indeed. A[h], villaine, time is past: 90 My life, my fame, my glorie, all[1502] are past!-- Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruind downe, Thy seven yeares studie lieth in the dust; Thy Brazen-head lies broken through a slave, That watcht, and would not when the Head did will.-- 95 What said the Head first?

_Miles._ Even, sir, 'Time is.'

_Bacon._ Villain, if thou had'st cald to Bacon then, If thou hadst watcht, and wakte the sleepie frier, The Brazen-head had uttered aphorismes, 100 And England had been circled round with brasse: But proud Astmeroth,[1503] ruler of the north, And Demegorgon,[1504] maister of the fates, Grudge that a mortall man should worke so much. Hell trembled at my deepe commanding spels, 105 Fiendes frownd to see a man their overmatch; Bacon might bost more than a man might boast; But now the braves of Bacon hath an end, Europes conceit of Bacon hath an end, His seven yeares practise sorteth to ill end. 110 And, villaine, sith my glorie hath an end, I will appoint thee fatal[1505] to some end. Villaine, avoid! get thee from Bacons sight! Vagrant, go rome and range about the world, And perish as a vagabond on earth! 115

_Miles._ Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service?

_Bacon._ My service, villaine, with a fatall curse, That direfull plagues and mischiefe fall on thee. 118

_Miles._ Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb,--The more the fox is curst,[1506] the better he fares. God be with you, sir: Ile take but a booke in my hand, a wide sleeved gowne on my backe, and a crowned cap[1507] on my head, and see if I can want promotion.

_Bacon._ Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy wearie steps, Untill they doe transport thee quicke to hell: 125 For Bacon shall have never merrie day, To loose the fame and honour of his Head. _Exit._

[Scene Twelfth. _At Court._]

_Enter_ EMPEROUR, CASTILE, HENRIE, ELLINOR, EDWARD, LACIE, RAPHE.

_Emper._ Now, lovely Prince, the prince[1508] of Albions wealth, How fares the Lady Ellinor and you? What, have you courted and found Castile fit To answer England in equivolence? Wilt be a match twixt bonny Nell and thee? 5

_Edw._ Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece, And not lie fetter'd in faire Hellen's lookes? Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorits That Daphne glaunsed at his deitie? Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze, 10 Whose heat puts Hellen and faire Daphne downe? Now, Monarcks, aske the ladie if we gree.

_Hen._ What, madam, hath my son found grace or no?

_Ellinor._ Seeing, my lord, his lovely counterfeit, And hearing how his minde and shape agreed, 15 I come[1509] not, troopt with all this warlike traine, Doubting of love, but so effectionat As[1510] Edward hath in England what he wonne in Spaine.

_Castile._ A match, my lord; these wantons needes must love: Men must have wives, and women will be wed: 20 Lets hast the day to honour up the rites.

_Raphe._ Sirha Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?

_Henry._ I, Raphe; how then?

_Raphe._ Marrie, Harrie, follow my counsaile: send for Frier Bacon to marrie them, for heele so conjure him and her with his nigromancie, that they shall love togither like pigge and lambe whilest they live. 27

_Castile._ But hearst thou, Raphe, art thou content to have Ellinor to thy ladie?

_Raphe._ I, so she will promise me two things. 30

_Castile._ Whats that, Raphe?

_Raphe._ That shee will never scold with Ned, nor fight with me.--Sirha Harry, I have put her downe with a thing unpossible.

_Henry._ Whats that, Raphe? 34

_Raphe._ Why, Harrie, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her handes? No: but when egge-pies growes on apple-trees, then will thy gray mare proove a bag-piper.

_Emperour._ What saies[1511] the Lord of Castile and the Earle of Lincolne, that they are in such earnest and secret talke?

_Castile._ I stand, my lord, amazed at his talke, 40 How he discourseth of the constancie Of one surnam'd, for beauties excellence, The Faire Maid of merrie Fresingfield.

_Henrie._ Tis true, my lord, tis wondrous for to heare; Her beautie passing Marces[1512] parramour, 45 Her virgins right[1513] as rich as Vestas was: Lacie and Ned hath told me miracles.

_Castile._ What saies Lord Lacie? shall she be his wife?

_Lacie._ Or els Lord Lacie is unfit to live.-- May it please your highnesse give me leave to post 50 To Fresingfield, Ile fetch the bonny girle, And proove, in true apparance at the court, What I have vouched often with my tongue.

_Henrie._ Lacie, go to the quirie[1514] of my stable, And take such coursers as shall fit thy turne: 55 Hie thee to Fresingfield, and bring home the lasse,[1515] And, for her fame flies through the English coast, If it may please the Ladie Ellinor, One day shall match your excellence and her.

_Ellinor._ We Castile ladies are not very coy; 60 Your highnesse may command a greater boone: And glad were I to grace the Lincolne earl With being partner of his marriage day.

_Edward._ Gramercie, Nell, for I do love the lord, As he thats second to my selfe[1516] in love. 65

_Raphe._ You love her?--Madam Nell, never beleeve him you, though he sweares he loves you.

_Ellinor._ Why, Raphe?

_Raphe._ Why, his love is like unto a tapsters glasse that is broken with every tuch; for he loved the faire maid of Fresingfield once out of all hoe.[1517]--Nay, Ned, never wincke upon me: I care not, I.

_Henrie._ Raphe tels all; you shall have a good secretarie of him.--73 But, Lacie, haste thee post to Fresingfield; For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state, 75 The solemne marriage day will be at hand.

_Lacie._ I go, my Lord. _Exit Lacie._

_Emperour._ How shall we passe this day, my lord?

_Henrie._ To horse, my lord; the day is passing faire, Weele flie the partridge, or go rouse the deere. 80 Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport. _Exeunt._

[Scene Thirteenth. _Frier Bacons cell._]

_Enter_ FRIER BACON _with_ FRIER BUNGAY _to his cell._

_Bungay._ What meanes the frier that frolickt it of late, To sit as melancholie in his cell[1518] As if he had neither lost nor wonne to-day?

_Bacon._ Ah, Bungay,[1519] ... my Brazen-head is spo[i]l'd, My glorie gone, my seven yeares studie lost! 5 The fame of Bacon, bru[i]ted through the world, Shall end and perish with this deepe disgrace.

_Bun._ Bacon hath built foundation of[1520] his fame So surely on the wings of true report, With acting strange and uncoth miracles, 10 As this cannot infringe what he deserves.

_Bacon._ Bungay, sit down, for by prospective skill I find this day shall fall out ominous: Some deadly act shall tide me ere I sleep; But what and wherein little can I gesse, 15 My minde is heavy, what so ere shall hap.[1521] _Enter two_ Schollers, _sonnes to_ LAMBERT _and_ SERLBY. _Knocke._ Whose that knocks?

_Bungay._ Two schollers that desires to speake with you.

_Bacon._ Bid them come in.-- Now, my youths, what would you have? 20

_1 Scholler._ Sir, we are Suffolkemen and neighbouring friends; Our fathers in their countries lustie squires; Their lands adjoyne: in Crackfield[1522] mine doth dwell, And his in Laxfield. We are colledge-mates, Sworne brothers, as our fathers live as friendes. 25

_Bacon._ To what end is all this?

_2 Scholler._ Hearing your worship kept within your cell A glasse prospective, wherin men might see What so their thoughts or hearts desire could wish, We come to know how that our fathers fare. 30

_Bacon._ My glasse is free for every honest man. Sit downe, and you shall see ere long,[1523] How or in what state your friendly fathers live.[1524] Meane while, tell me your names.

_Lambert._ Mine Lambert. 35

_2 Scholler._ And mine Serlsbie.

_Bacon._ Bungay, I smell there will be[1525] a tragedie.

_Enter_[1526] LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBIE _with rapiers and daggers._

_Lambert._ Serlsby, thou hast[1525] kept thine houre[1525] like a man; Th'art worthie of the title of a squire, That durst, for proofe of thy affection 40 And for thy mistresse favour, prize[1527] thy bloud. Thou knowst what words did passe at Fresingfield, Such shamelesse braves as manhood cannot brooke: I,[1528] for I skorne to beare such piercing taunts,-- Prepare thee, Serlsbie; one of us will die. 45

_Serlsbie._ Thou seest I single [meet] thee [in] the field,[1529] And what I spake, Ile maintaine with my sword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. And if thou kill me, thinke I have a sonne, That lives in Oxford in the Brodgateshall,[1530] 50 Who will revenge his fathers bloud with bloud.

_Lambert._ And, Serlsbie, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy sonne, And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine: But draw thy rapier, for weele have a bout.[1531] 55

_Bacon._ Now, lustie yonkers, looke within the glasse,[1532] And tell me if you can discerne your sires.

_1 Scol._ Serlsbie, tis hard; thy father offers wrong To combat with my father in the field.

_2 Schol._ Lambert, thou liest, my fathers is the abuse,[1533] 60 And thou shalt find it, if my father harme.[1534]

_Bungay._ How goes it, sirs?

_1 Scholler._ Our fathers are in combat hard by Fresingfield.

_Bacon._ Sit still, my friendes, and see the event.

_Lambert._ Why standst thou, Serlsbie? doubtst thou of thy life? A venie,[1535] man! fair Margret craves so much. 66

_Serlsbie._ Then this for her.

_1 Scholler._ Ah, well thrust!

_2 Scholler._ But marke the ward.

_They[1536] fight and kill ech other._

_Lambert._ Oh, I am slaine! 70

_Serlsbie._ And I,--Lord have mercie on me!

_1 Scholler._ My father slaine!--Serlby, ward that.

_2 Scholler._ And so is mine![1537]--Lambert, Ile quite thee well.

_The two_ Schollers _stab on[e] another._

_Bungay._ O strange strattagem!

_Bacon._ See, Frier, where the fathers[1538] both lie dead!-- 75 Bacon, thy magicke doth effect this massacre: This glasse prospective worketh manie woes; And therefore seeing these brave lustie Brutes,[1539] These friendly youths, did perish by thine art, End all thy magicke and thine art at once. 80 The poniard that did end the[1540] fatall[1541] lives, Shall breake the cause efficiat[1542] of their woes. So fade the glasse, and end with it the showes That nigromancie did infuse the christall with. _He breakes the glass._

_Bungay._ What means learned Bacon thus to breake his glasse?

_Bacon._ I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore 86 That ever Bacon meddled in this art. The houres I have spent in piromanticke spels, The fearefull tossing in the latest night Of papers full of nigromanticke charmes, 90 Conjuring and adjuring divels and fiends, With stole and albe and strange pentaganon;[1543] The wresting of the holy name of God, As Sother,[1544] Elaim, and Adonaie,[1545] Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragramiton,[1546] 95 With praying to the five-fould[1547] powers of heaven, Are instances that Bacon must be damde For using divels to countervaile his God.-- Yet, Bacon, cheere thee, drowne not in despaire: Sinnes have their salves, repentance can do much;[1548] 100 Thinke Mercie sits where Justice holds her seate, And from those wounds those bloudie Jews did pierce, Which by thy magicke oft did bleed a fresh, From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops, To wash the wrath of hie Jehovahs ire, 105 And make thee as a new borne babe from sinne.-- Bungay, Ile spend the remnant of my life In pure devotion, praying to my God That he would save what Bacon vainly lost. _Exit._

[Scene Fourteenth. _A Meadow near the Keepers lodge._]

_Enter_ MARGRET _in nuns apparel_, Keeper, _her father, and their_ Friend.

_Keep._ Margret, be not so headstrong in these vows: O, burie not such beautie in a cell, That England hath held famous for the hue! Thy fathers haire like to the silver bloomes That beautifie the shrubs of Affrica, 5 Shall fall before the dated time of death, Thus to forgoe his lovely Marg[a]ret.

_Margret._ A[h], father, when the hermonie of heaven Soundeth the measures of a lively faith, The vaine illusions of this flattering world 10 Seemes odious to the thoughts of Marg[a]ret. I loved once,--Lord Lacie was my love; And now I hate my selfe for that I lovd, And doated more on him than on my God; For this I scourge my selfe with sharpe repents. 15 But now the touch of such aspiring sinnes Tels me all love is lust but love of heavens: That beautie usde for love is vanitie; The world containes naught but alluring baites, Pride,[1549] flatterie, and inconstant thoughts. 20 To shun the pricks of death,[1550] I leave the world, And vow to meditate on heavenly blisse, To live in Framingham a holy nunne, Holy and pure in conscience and in deed; And for to wish all maides to learne of me 25 To seek heavens joy before earths vanitie.

_Friend._ And will you, then, Margret, be shorn a nunne, and so leave us all?

_Margret._ Now farewell world, the engin of all woe! Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ! 30 Adiew to daintie robes! this base attire Better befits an humble minde to God Than all the show of rich abilliments. Love[1551] ... oh love!--and, with fond love, farewell Sweet Lacie, whom I loved once so deare! 35 Ever be well, but never in my thoughts, Least I offend to think on Lacies love: But even to that, as to the rest, farewell.

_Enter_ LACIE, WARRAIN, ERMSBIE, _booted and spurd._

_Lacie._ Come on, my wags, weere near the keepers lodge. Heere have I oft walkt in the watrie meades, 40 And chatted with my lovely Marg[a]ret.

_Warraine._ Sirha Ned, is not this the keeper?

_Lacie._ Tis the same.

_Ermsbie._ The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him; a nunne, my lord. 45

_Lacie._ Keeper, how farest thou? holla, man, what cheere? How doth Peggie, thy daughter and my love?

_Keeper._ Ah, good my lord! O, wo is me for Pegge! See where she stands clad in her nunnes attire, Readie for to be shorne in Framingham: 50 She leaves the world because she left[1552] your love. Oh, good my lord, perswade her if you can!

_Lacie._ Why, how now, Margret! what, a malecontent? A nunne? what holy father taught you this, To taske your selfe to such a tedious life 55 As die a maid? twere injurie to me, To smother up such bewtie in a cell.

_Margret._ Lord Lacie, thinking of thy[1553] former[1554] misse, How fond the prime of wanton yeares were spent In love (Oh, fie upon that fond conceite, 60 Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!), I leave both love and loves content at once, Betaking me to him that is true love, And leaving all the world for love of him.

_Lacy._ Whence, Peggie, comes this metamorphosis? 65 What, shorne a nun, and I have from the court Posted with coursers to convaie thee hence To Windsore, where our mariage shalbe kept! Thy wedding robes are in the tailors hands. Come, Peggy, leave these peremptorie vowes. 70

_Margret._ Did not my lord resigne his interest, And make divorce 'twixt Marg[a]ret and him?

_Lacie._ Twas but to try sweete Peggies constancie. But will fair Margret leave her love and lord?

_Margret._ Is not heavens joy before earths fading blisse, 75 And life above sweeter than life in love?

_Lacy._ Why,[1555] then, Margret will be shorne a nun?

_Marg._ Margret hath made a vow which may not be revokt.

_Warraine._ We cannot stay, my lord;[1555] and if she be so strict, Our leisure graunts us not to woo a fresh. 80

_Ermsby._ Choose you, fair damsell,--yet the choise is yours,-- Either a solemne nunnerie or the court, God or Lord Lacie: which[1556] contents you best, To be a nun or els Lord Lacies wife?

_Lacie._ A good motion.--Peggie, your answer must be short.

_Margret._ The flesh is frayle: my lord doth know it well 86 That when he comes with his inchanting face, What so ere betyde, I cannot say him nay. Off goes the habite of a maidens heart, And, seeing fortune will, faire Fremingham, 90 And all the shew of holy nuns, farewell! Lacie, for me, if he wilbe my lord.

_Lacie._ Peggie, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.[1557] Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king Staies for to marry matchles Ellinour, 95 Until I bring thee richly to the court, That one day may both marry her and thee.-- How saist thou, Keeper? art thou glad of this?

_Keeper._ As if[1558] the English king had given The parke and deere of Frisingfield to me. 100

_Erms._ I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a broune study?

_War._ To see the nature of women; that be they never so neare God, yet they love to die in a mans armes.

_Lacie._ What have you fit for breakefast? We have hied And posted all this night to Frisingfield.[1559] 106

_Mar._ Butter and cheese, and humbl[e]s[1560] of a deere, Such as poore keepers have within their lodge.[1559]

_Lacie._ And not a bottle of wine?

_Margret._ Weele find one for my lord. 110

_Lacie._ Come, Sussex, ... lets[1561] in: we shall have more, For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.[1559] [_Exeunt._]

[Scene Fifteenth. _Frier Bacons cell._]

_Enter a_ Devill[1562] _to seeke_ MILES.

_Devill._ How restles are the ghosts of hellish spirites, When everie charmer with his magick spels Cals us from nine-fold trenched Phlegethon,[1563] To scud and over-scoure the earth in post Upon the speedie wings of swiftest winds! 5 Now Bacon hath raisd me from the darkest deepe, To search about the world for Miles his man, For Miles, and to torment his lasie bones For careles watching[1564] of his Brazen-head. See where he comes: Oh, he is mine. 10

_Enter_ MILES _with a gowne and a corner cap._

_Miles._ A scholler, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had bene made a botlemaker when I was made a scholler; for I can get neither to be a deacon, reader,[1565] nor schoolemaister, no, not the clarke of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith, my head is as full of Latine as an egs full of oatemeale: thus I am tormented, that the devil and Frier Bacon haunts me.--Good Lord, heers one of my maisters devils! Ile goe speake to him.--What, Maister Plutus, how chere you?

_Devill._ Doost thou know me? 19

_Miles._ Know you, sir! why, are not you one of my maisters devils, that were wont to come to my maister, Doctor Bacon, at Brazennose?

_Devil._ Yes, marry, am I.

_Miles._ Good Lord, M[aister] Plutus, I have seene you a thousand times at my maisters, and yet I had never the manners to make you drinke. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute.[1566]--I warrant you, hees as yeomanly a man as you shall see: marke you, maisters, heers a plaine honest man, without welt or garde.[1566]--But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hel?

_Devil._ I, marry: how then? 30

_Miles._ Faith, tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not good tipling-houses there? may not a man have a lustie fier there, a pot of good ale, a paire of cardes, a swinging peece of chalke,[1567] and a browne toast that will clap a white wastcoat[1568] on a cup of good drinke? 35

_Devil._ All this you may have there.

_Miles._ You are for me, freinde, and I am for you. But I pray you, may I not have an office there?

_Devil._ Yes, a thousand: what wouldst thou be? 39

_Miles._ By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit my selfe. I know hel is a hot place, and men are mervailous drie, and much drinke is spent there; I would be a tapster.

_Devil._ Thou shalt.

_Miles._ Theres nothing lets me from going with you, but that tis a long journey, and I have never a horse. 45

_Devil._ Thou shalt ride on my backe.[1569]

_Miles._ Now surely her[e]s a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure[1570] his friend, will not stick to make a jade of him self.--But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.

_Dev._ Whats that? 50

_Miles._ I pray you, whether is your pace a trot or an amble?

_Dev._ An amble.

_Miles._ Tis well; but take heed it be not a trot; but tis no matter, Ile prevent it. [_Stoops._]

_Dev._ What doest? 55

_Miles._ Mary, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or els uneasie, Ile put you to a false gallop; Ile make you feele the benefit of my spurs.

_Dev._ Get up upon my backe.

_Miles._ O Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back! _Exeunt_: [_the_ Devil] _roaring_.

[Scene Sixteenth. _At Court._]

_Enter the_ EMPEROUR _with a pointlesse sword; next the_ KING OF CASTILE _carrying a sword with a point_; LACY _carrying the globe_; EDWARD; WARRAINE _carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it_;[1571] ERMSBY _with a crowne and sceptre; the_ QUEENE; [PRINCESS ELINOR]_ with the faire Maide of Fresingfield on her left hand_; HENRY; BACON; _with other Lords attending._

_Edward._ Great potentates, earth's miracles for state, Think that Prince Edward humbles at your feet, And, for these favours, on his martial sword He vows perpetuall homage to yourselves, Yeelding these honours unto Ellinour. 5

_Henrie._ Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet, That rules and swayes the Albion diademe, With teares discovers these conceived joyes, And vows requitall if his men at armes, The wealth of England, or due honours done 10 To Ellinor, may quite his favourites.[1572] But all this while what say you to the dames That shine like to the christall lampes of heaven?

_Emperour._ If but a third were added to these two, They did surpasse those gorgeous images 15 That gloried Ida with rich beauties wealth.