SCENE I.--FRIAR BACON'S _Cell_.

FRIAR BACON _draws the curtains and is discovered, lying on a bed,_[222] _with a white stick in one hand, a book in the other, and a lamp lighted beside him; and the_ Brazen Head, _and_ MILES _with weapons by him._

_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?

_Miles._ Here, sir.

_Bacon._ How chance you tarry so long?

_Miles._ Think you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I have so armed myself that if all your devils come, I will not fear them an inch.

_Bacon._ Miles, thou know'st that I have divèd into hell, And sought the darkest palaces of fiends; That with my magic spells great Belcephon Hath left his lodge and kneelèd at my cell; The rafters of the earth rent from the poles, And three-form'd Luna hid her silver looks, Trembling upon her concave continent, When Bacon read upon his magic book. With seven years' tossing necromantic charms, Poring upon dark Hecat's principles, I have fram'd out a monstrous head of brass, That, by the enchanting forces of the devil, Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms, And girt fair England with a wall of brass. Bungay and I have watch'd these threescore days, And now our vital spirits crave some rest: If Argus liv'd, and had his hundred eyes, They could not over watch Phobetor's night. Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon's weal: The honour and renown of all his life Hangs in the watching of this Brazen Head; Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God, That holds the souls of men within his fist, This night thou watch; for ere the morning-star Sends out his glorious glister on the north, The head will speak: then, Miles, upon thy life, Wake me; for then by magic art I'll work To end my seven years' task with excellence. If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye, Then farewell Bacon's glory and his fame! Draw close the curtains, Miles: now, for thy life, Be watchful, and--[_Falls asleep._

_Miles._ So; I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and 'tis no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and he on the nights, have watch'd just these ten and fifty days: now this is the night, and 'tis my task, and no more. Now, Jesus bless me, what a goodly head it is! and a nose! you talk of _nos autem glorificare_;[223] but here's a nose that I warrant may be called _nos autem populare_ for the people of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, sir, I will set me down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to wake me, if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call you out of your _memento_ ... Passion o' God, I have almost broke my pate! [_A great noise._] Up, Miles, to your task; take your brown-bill[224] in your hand; here's some of your master's hobgoblins abroad.

_The Brazen Head._ Time is.

_Miles._ Time is! Why, Master Brazen-head, have you such a capital nose, and answer you with syllables, "Time is"? Is this all my master's cunning, to spend seven years' study about "Time is"? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon: well, I'll watch you as narrowly as ever you were watched, and I'll play with you as the nightingale with the slow-worm; I'll set a prick against my breast. Now rest there, Miles.--Lord have mercy upon me, I have almost killed myself! [_A great noise._] Up, Miles; list how they rumble.

_The Brazen Head._ Time was.

_Miles._ Well, Friar Bacon, you have spent your seven years' study well, that can make your head speak but two words at once, "Time was." Yea, marry, time was when my master was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brazen Head. You shall lie while your arse ache, an your Head speak no better. Well, I will watch, and walk up and down, and be a peripatetian and a philosopher of Aristotle's stamp. [_A great noise._] What, a fresh noise? Take thy pistols in hand, Miles.

_The Brazen Head._ Time is past. [_A lightning flashes forth, and a hand appears that breaks down the_ Head _with a hammer._

_Miles._ Master, master, up! hell's broken loose; your Head speaks; and there's such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all Oxford is up in arms. Out of your bed, and take a brown-bill in your hand; the latter day is come.

_Bacon._ Miles, I come. O passing warily watch'd! Bacon will make thee next himself in love. When spake the head?

_Miles._ When spake the head! did not you say that he should tell strange principles of philosophy? Why, sir, it speaks but two words at a time.

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

_Miles._ Oft! ay, marry, hath it, thrice: but in all those three times it hath uttered but seven words.

_Bacon._ As how?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, the first time he said, "Time is," as if Fabius Cumentator[225] should have pronounced a sentence; [the second time] he said "Time was"; and the third time with thunder and lightning, as in great choler, he said, "Time is past."

_Bacon._ 'Tis past indeed. Ah, villain! time is past: My life, my fame, my glory, all are past.-- Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruin'd down, Thy seven years' study lieth in the dust: Thy Brazen Head lies broken through a slave, That watch'd, and would not when the Head did will.-- What said the Head first?

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

_Bacon._ Villain, if thou hadst call'd to Bacon then, If thou hadst watch'd, and wak'd the sleepy friar, The Brazen Head had utter'd aphorisms, And England had been circled round with brass: But proud Asmenoth, ruler of the north, And Demogorgon, master of the fates, Grudge that a mortal man should work so much. Hell trembled at my deep-commanding spells, Fiends frown'd to see a man their over-match; Bacon might boast more than a man might boast: But now the braves of Bacon have an end, Europe's conceit of Bacon hath an end, His seven years' practice sorteth to ill end: And, villain, sith my glory hath an end, I will appoint thee to some fatal end. Villain, avoid! get thee from Bacon's sight! Vagrant, go roam and range about the world, And perish as a vagabond on earth.

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

_Bacon._ My service, villain! with a fatal curse, That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.

_Miles._ 'Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb--"The more the fox is curst[226] the better he fares." God be with you, sir; I'll take but a book in my hand, a wide-sleeved gown on my back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion. [_Exit._

_Bacon._ Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps, Until they do transport thee quick to hell: For Bacon shall have never merry day, To lose the fame and honour of his Head. [_Exit._