SCENE II.--FRIAR BACON'S _Cell.

_Enter a_ Devil.

_Dev._ How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits, When every charmer with his magic spells, Calls us from nine-fold-trenchèd Phlegethon, To scud and over-scour the earth in post Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds! Now Bacon hath rais'd me from the darkest deep, To search about the world for Miles his man, For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones For careless watching of his Brazen Head. See where he comes: O, he is mine!

_Enter_ MILES _in a gown and a corner-cap._

_Miles._ A scholar, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had been made a bottle-maker when I was made a scholar; for I can get neither to be a deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith, my head is as full of Latin as an egg's full of oatmeal: thus I am tormented, that the devil and Friar Bacon haunt me.--Good Lord, here's one of my master's devils! I'll go speak to him.--What, Master Plutus, how cheer you?

_Dev._ Dost thou know me?

_Miles._ Know you, sir! why, are not you one of my master's devils, that were wont to come to my master, Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose?

_Dev._ Yes, marry, am I.

_Miles._ Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times at my master's, and yet I had never the manners to make you drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute.--I warrant you, he's as yeomanly a man as you shall see: mark you, masters, here's a plain, honest man, without welt or guard.[234]--But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hell?

_Dev._ Ay, marry: how then?

_Miles._ Faith, 'tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not good tippling-houses there? may not a man have a lusty fire there, a pot of good ale, a pair[235] of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good drink?

_Dev._ All this you may have there.

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

_Dev._ Yes, a thousand: what would'st thou be?

_Miles._ By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I know hell is a hot place, and men are marvellous dry, and much drink is spent there; I would be a tapster.

_Dev._ Thou shalt.

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

_Dev._ Thou shalt ride on my back.

_Miles._ Now surely here's a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure his friend, will not stick to make a jade of himself.--But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.

_Dev._ What's that?

_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, I'll prevent it. [_Puts on spurs._

_Dev._ What dost?

_Miles._ Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or else uneasy, I'll put you to a false gallop; I'll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.

_Dev._ Get up upon my back. [MILES _mounts on the_ Devil's _back._

_Miles._ O Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back! [_Exeunt, the_ Devil _roaring._