SCENE III.[98

[_Enter_] PANELION _and_ ZONTES.

_Pan._ Who would have thought that Tellus, being so fair by nature, so honourable by birth, so wise by education, would have entered into a mischief to the gods so odious, to men so detestable, and to her friend so malicious. 5

_Zon._ If Bagoa had not bewrayed it, how then should it have come to light? But we see that gold and fair words are of force to corrupt the strongest men, and therefore able to work silly women like wax. 10

_Pan._ I marvel what Cynthia will determine in this cause.

_Zon._ I fear, as in all causes:—hear of it in justice, and then judge of it in mercy; for how can it be that she that is unwilling to punish (15) her deadliest foes with disgrace, will revenge injuries of her train with death.

_Pan._ That old witch, Dipsas, in a rage, having understood her practice to be discovered, turned poor Bagoa to an aspen tree. But let (20) us make haste and bring Tellus before Cynthia, for she was coming out after us.

_Zon._ Let us go. _Exeunt._

[_Enter_,] CYNTHIA, SEMELE, FLOSCULA, DIPSAS, ENDYMION, EUMENIDES, [GERON, PYTHAGORAS, GYPTES, _and_ SIR TOPHAS].

_Cynth._ Dipsas, thy years are not so many as thy vices, yet more in number than commonly (25) nature doth afford or justice should permit. Hast thou almost these fifty years practised that detested wickedness of witchcraft? Wast thou, so simple as for to know the nature of simples, of all creatures to be most sinful? Thou hast 30 threat’ned to turn my course awry and alter by thy damnable art the government that I now possess by the eternal gods; but know thou, Dipsas, and let all the enchanters know, that Cynthia, being placed for light on earth, is also (35) protected by the powers of heaven. Breathe out thou mayest words; gather thou mayest herbs; find out thou mayest stones agreeable to thine art; yet of no force to appal my heart, in which courage is so rooted, and constant (40) persuasion of the mercy of the gods so grounded, that all thy witchcraft I esteem as weak as the world doth thy case wretched. This noble gentleman, Geron, once thy husband but now thy mortal hate, didst thou procure to live in (45) a desert, almost desperate; Endymion, the flower of my court and the hope of succeeding time, hast thou bewitched by art, before thou wouldst suffer him to flourish by nature.

_Dipsas._ Madam, things past may be repented, (50) not recalled: there is nothing so wicked that I have not done, nor anything so wished for as death; yet among all the things that I committed, there is nothing so much tormenteth my rented and ransack’d thoughts as that in (55) the prime of my husband’s youth I divorced him by my devilish art; for which if to die might be amends, I would not live till to-morrow; if to live and still be more miserable would better content him, I would wish of all creatures to (60) be oldest and ugliest.

_Geron._ Dipsas, thou hast made this difference between me and Endymion, that being both young, thou hast caused me to wake in melancholy, losing the joys of my youth, and him (65) to sleep, not rememb’ring youth.

_Cynth._ Stay, here cometh Tellus; we shall now know all.

[_Re-enter_ PANELION _and_ ZONTES, _with_ CORSITES _and_ TELLUS.]

_Cors._ I would to Cynthia thou couldst make as good an excuse in truth as to me thou hast (70) done by wit.

_Tellus._ Truth shall be mine answer, and therefore I will not study for an excuse.

_Cynth._ Is it possible, Tellus, that so few years should harbour so many mischiefs? Thy (75) swelling pride have I borne, because it is a thing that beauty maketh blameless, which the more it exceedeth fairness in measure, the more it stretcheth itself in disdain. Thy devices against Corsites I smile at, for that wits, the sharper 80 they are, the shrewder[99] they are; but this unacquainted[100] and most unnatural practice with a vile enchantress against so noble a gentleman as Endymion I abhor as a thing most malicious, and will revenge as a deed most monstrous. (85) And as for you, Dipsas, I will send you into the desert amongst wild beasts, and try whether you can cast lions, tigers, boars, and bears into as dead a sleep as you did Endymion, or turn them to trees, as you have done Bagoa. But tell me, (90) Tellus, what was the cause of this cruel part, far unfitting thy sex, in which nothing should be but simpleness, and much disagreeing from thy face, in which nothing seemed to be but softness. 95

_Tellus._ Divine Cynthia, by whom I receive my life and am content to end it, I can neither excuse my fault without lying, nor confess it without shame; yet were it possible that in so heavenly thoughts as yours there could fall (100) such earthly motions as mine, I would then hope, if not to be pardoned without extreme punishment, yet to be heard without great marvel.

_Cynth._ Say on, Tellus; I cannot imagine any thing that can colour such a cruelty. 105

_Tellus._ Endymion, that Endymion, in the prime of his youth, so ravish’d my heart with love, that to obtain my desires I could not find means, nor to resist them reason. What was she that favoured not Endymion, being (110) young, wise, honourable, and virtuous; besides, what metal was she made of (be she mortal) that is not affected with the spice, nay, infected with the poison of that not-to-be-expressed yet always-to-be-felt love, which breaketh the (115) brains and never bruiseth the brow, consumeth the heart and never toucheth the skin, and maketh a deep scar to be seen before any wound at all be felt.[101] My heart, too tender to withstand such a divine fury, yielded to (120) love. Madam, I, not without blushing, confess [I] yielded to love.

_Cynth._ A strange effect of love, to work such an extreme hate. How say you, Endymion? All this was for love? 125

_End._ I say, madam, then the gods send me a woman’s hate.

_Cynth._ That were as bad, for then by contrary you should never sleep. But on, Tellus; let us hear the end. 130

_Tellus._ Feeling a continual burning in all my bowels, and a bursting almost in every vein, I could not smother the inward fire, but it must needs be perceived by the outward smoke; and by the flying abroad of divers sparks, (135) divers judged of my scalding flames. Endymion, as full of art as wit, marking mine eyes, (in which he might see almost his own,) my sighs, (by which he might ever hear his name sounded,) aimed at my heart, in which he (140) was assured his person was imprinted, and by questions wrung out that which was ready to burst out. When he saw the depth of my affections, he swore that mine in respect of his were as fumes to Ætna, valleys to Alps, ants (145) to eagles, and nothing could be compared to my beauty but his love and eternity. Thus drawing a smooth shoe upon a crooked foot, he made me believe that (which all of our sex willingly acknowledge) I was beautiful, and (150) to wonder (which indeed is a thing miraculous) that any of his sex should be faithful.

_Cynth._ Endymion, how will you clear yourself?

_End._ Madam, by mine own accuser. 155

_Cynth._ Well, Tellus, proceed; but briefly, lest taking delight in uttering thy love, thou offend us with the length of it.

_Tellus._ I will, madam, quickly make an end of my love and my tale. Finding continual (160) increase of my tormenting thoughts, and that the enjoying of my love made deeper wounds than the entering into it, I could find no means to ease my grief but to follow Endymion, and continually to have him in the object of (165) mine eyes who had me slave and subject to his love. But in the moment that I feared his falsehood and tried myself most in mine affections, I found—ah, grief, even then I lost myself!—I found him in most melancholy and desperate (170) terms cursing his stars, his state, the earth, the heavens, the world, and all for the love of—

_Cynth._ Of whom? Tellus, speak boldly.

_Tellus._ Madam, I dare not utter, for fear to offend. 175

_Cynth._ Speak, I say; who dare take offence, if thou be commanded by Cynthia?

_Tellus._ For the love of Cynthia.

_Cynth._ For my love, Tellus? That were strange. Endymion, is it true? 180

_End._ In all things, madam, Tellus doth not speak false.

_Cynth._ What will this breed to in the end? Well, Endymion, we shall hear all.

_Tellus._ I, seeing my hopes turned to mishaps, (185) and a settled dissembling towards me, and an immovable desire to Cynthia, forgetting both myself and my sex, fell into this unnatural hate; for knowing your virtues, Cynthia, to be immortal, I could not have an imagination to withdraw (190) him; and finding mine own affections unquenchable, I could not carry the mind that any else should possess what I had pursued. For though in majesty, beauty, virtue, and dignity, I always humbled and yielded myself (195) to Cynthia, yet in affections I esteemed myself equal with the goddesses, and all other creatures, according to their states, with myself; for stars to their bigness have their lights, and the sun hath no more, and little pitchers, when (200) they can hold no more, are as full as great vessels that run over. Thus, madam, in all truth have I uttered the unhappiness of my love and the cause of my hate, yielding wholly to that divine judgment which never erred for want of (205) wisdom or envied for too much partiality.

_Cynth._ How say you, my lords, to this matter? But what say you, Endymion; hath Tellus told truth?

_End._ Madam, in all things but in that (210) she said I loved her and swore to honour her.

_Cynth._ Was there such a time whenas for my love thou didst vow thyself to death, and in respect of it loathed thy life? Speak, Endymion; I will not revenge it with hate. 215

_End._ The time was, madam, and is, and ever shall be, that I honoured your highness above all the world, but to stretch it so far as to call it love I never durst. There hath none pleased mine eye but Cynthia, none delighted (220) mine ears but Cynthia, none possessed my heart but Cynthia. I have forsaken all other fortunes to follow Cynthia, and here I stand ready to die, if it please Cynthia. Such a difference hath the gods set between our states that all must be (225) duty, loyalty, and reverence; nothing (without it vouchsafe your highness) be termed love. My unspotted thoughts, my languishing body, my discontented life, let them obtain by princely favour that which to challenge they (230) must not presume, only wishing of impossibilities; with imagination of which I will spend my spirits, and to myself, that no creature may hear, softly call it love; and if any urge to utter what I whisper, then will I name it honour. 235 From this sweet contemplation if I be not driven, I shall live of all men the most content, taking more pleasure in mine aged thoughts than ever I did in my youthful actions.

_Cynth._ Endymion, this honourable respect (240) of thine shall be christened love in thee, and my reward for it, favour. Persevere, Endymion, in loving me, and I account more strength in a true heart than in a walled city. I have laboured to win all, and study to keep such as I (245) have won; but those that neither my favour can move to continue constant, nor my offered benefits get to be faithful, the gods shall either reduce to truth, or revenge their treacheries with justice. Endymion, continue as thou hast (250) begun, and thou shalt find that Cynthia shineth not on thee in vain.

_End._ Your Highness hath blessed me, and your words have again restored my youth; methinks I feel my joints strong and these 255 mouldy hairs to moult, and all by your virtue, Cynthia, into whose hands the balance that weigheth time and fortune are committed.

_Cynth._ What, young again! Then it is pity to punish Tellus. 260

_Tellus._ Ah, Endymion, now I know thee and ask pardon of thee; suffer me still to wish thee well.

_End._ Tellus, Cynthia must command what she will. 265

_Flosc._ Endymion, I rejoice to see thee in thy former estate.

_End._ Good Floscula, to thee also am I in my former affections.

_Eum._ Endymion, the comfort of my life, (270) how am I ravished with a joy matchless, saving only the enjoying of my mistress.

_Cynth._ Endymion, you must now tell who Eumenides shrineth for his saint.

_End._ Semele, madam. 275

_Cynth._ Semele, Eumenides? Is it Semele, the very wasp of all women, whose tongue stingeth as much as an adder’s tooth?

_Eum._ It is Semele, Cynthia, the possessing of whose love must only prolong my life. 280

_Cynth._ Nay, sith Endymion is restored, we will have all parties pleased. Semele, are you content after so long trial of his faith, such rare secrecy, such unspotted love, to take Eumenides? Why speak you not? Not a word? 285

_End._ Silence, madam, consents; that is most true.

_Cynth._ It is true, Endymion. Eumenides, take Semele; take her, I say.

_Eum._ Humble thanks, madam; now only (290) do I begin to live.

_Sem._ A hard choice, madam, either to be married if I say nothing, or to lose my tongue if I speak a word. Yet do I rather choose to have my tongue cut out than my heart distempered: (295) I will not have him.

_Cynth._ Speaks the parrot! She shall nod hereafter with signs. Cut off her tongue, nay her head, that having a servant of honourable birth, honest manners, and true love, will not be (300) persuaded.

_Sem._ He is no faithful lover, madam, for then would he have asked his mistress.

_Ger._ Had he not been faithful, he had never seen into the fountain, and so lost his friend (305) and mistress.

_Eum._ Thine own thoughts, sweet Semele, witness against thy words, for what hast thou found in my life but love? And as yet what have I found in my love but bitterness? (310) Madam, pardon Semele, and let my tongue ransom hers.

_Cynth._ Thy tongue, Eumenides! What, shouldst thou live wanting a tongue to blaze the beauty of Semele! Well, Semele, I will (315) not command love, for it cannot be enforced; let me entreat it.

_Sem._ I am content your highness shall command, for now only do I think Eumenides faithful, that is willing to lose his tongue for my (320) sake; yet loath, because it should do me better service. Madam, I accept of Eumenides.

_Cynth._ I thank you, Semele.

_Eum._ Ah, happy Eumenides, that hast a friend so faithful and a mistress so fair! (325) With what sudden mischief will the gods daunt this excess of joy? Sweet Semele, I live or die as thou wilt.

_Cynth._ What shall become of Tellus? Tellus, you know Endymion is vowed to a service (330) from which death cannot remove him. Corsites casteth still a lovely look towards you. How say you, will you have your Corsites, and so receive pardon for all that is past?

_Tellus._ Madam, most willingly. 335

_Cynth._ But I cannot tell whether Corsites be agreed.

_Cors._ Ay, madam, more happy to enjoy Tellus than the monarchy of the world.

_Eum._ Why, she caused you to be pinch’d (340) with fairies.

_Cors._ Ay, but her fairness hath pinched my heart more deeply.

_Cynth._ Well, enjoy thy love. But what have you wrought in the castle, Tellus? (345)

_Tellus._ Only the picture of Endymion.

_Cynth._ Then so much of Endymion as his picture cometh to, possess and play withal.

_Cors._ Ah, my sweet Tellus, my love shall be as thy beauty is, matchless. 350

_Cynth._ Now it resteth, Dipsas, that if thou wilt forswear that vile art of enchanting, Geron hath promised again to receive thee; otherwise, if thou be wedded to that wickedness, I must and will see it punished to the uttermost. 355

_Dipsas._ Madam, I renounce both substance and shadow of that most horrible and hateful trade, vowing to the gods continual penance, and to your highness obedience.

_Cynth._ How say you, Geron; will you admit (360) her to your wife?

_Ger._ Ay, with more joy than I did the first day, for nothing could happen to make me happy but only her forsaking that lewd[102] and detestable course. Dipsas, I embrace thee. 365

_Dipsas._ And I thee, Geron, to whom I will hereafter recite the cause of these my first follies.

_Cynth._ Well, Endymion, nothing resteth now but that we depart. Thou hast my favour; (370) Tellus her friend, Eumenides in Paradise with his Semele; Geron content with Dipsas.

_Sir Top._ Nay, soft; I cannot handsomely go to bed without Bagoa.

_Cynth._ Well, Sir Tophas, it may be there (375) are more virtues in me than myself knoweth of, for Endymion I awaked, and at my words he waxed young. I will try whether I can turn this tree again to thy true love.

_Top._ Turn her to a true love or false, so (380) she be a wench I care not.

_Cynth._ Bagoa, Cynthia putteth an end to thy hard fortunes; for, being turn’d to a tree for revealing a truth, I will recover thee again, if in my power be the effect of truth. 385

[BAGOA _recovers human shape_.]

_Top._ Bagoa, a bots[103] upon thee!

_Cynth._ Come, my lords, let us in. You, Gyptes and Pythagoras, if you can content yourselves in our court, to fall from vain follies of philosophers to such virtues as are here practised, (390) you shall be entertained according to your deserts, for Cynthia is no stepmother to strangers.

_Pythag._ I had rather in Cynthia’s court spend ten years than in Greece one hour.

_Gyptes._ And I choose rather to live by (395) the sight of Cynthia than by the possessing of all Egypt.

_Cynth._ Then follow.

_Eum._ We all attend. _Exeunt._

THE EPILOGUE

A MAN walking abroad, the Wind and Sun strove for sovereignty, the one with his blast, the other with his beams. The Wind blew hard; the man wrapped his garment about him harder: it blust’red more strongly; he then girt it fast to him. “I cannot prevail,” said the Wind. The Sun, casting her crystal beams, began to warm the man; he unloosed his gown: yet it shined brighter; he then put it off. “I yield,” said the Wind, “for if thou continue shining, he will also put off (5) his coat.”

Dread Sovereign, the malicious that seek to overthrow us with threats, do but stiffen our thoughts, and make them sturdier in storms; but if your highness vouchsafe with your favourable beams to glance upon us, we shall not only stoop, but with all humility lay both our hands and hearts at your majesty’s feet. 10

THE OLD WIVES TALE

BY GEORGE PEELE

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

SACRAPANT. First Brother, named CALYPHA. Second Brother, named THELEA. EUMENIDES. ERESTUS. LAMPRISCUS. HUANEBANGO. COREBUS. WIGGEN. Churchwarden. Sexton. Ghost of JACK. Friar, Harvest-men, Furies, Fiddlers, &c.

DELIA, sister to CALYPHA and THELEA. VENELIA, betrothed to ERESTUS. ZANTIPPA, } CELANTA, } daughters to LAMPRISCUS. Hostess.

ANTIC. FROLIC. FANTASTIC. CLUNCH, a smith. MADGE, his wife.]

_Enter_ ANTIC, FROLIC, _and_ FANTASTIC.

_Ant._ How now, fellow Frolic![104] What, all amort?[105] Doth this sadness become thy madness? What though we have lost our way in the woods, yet never hang the head as though thou hadst no hope to live till to-morrow; for (5) Fantastic and I will warrant thy life to-night for twenty in the hundred.

_Fro._ Antic and Fantastic, as I am frolic franion,[106] never in all my life was I so dead slain. What, to lose our way in the wood, 10 without either fire or candle, so uncomfortable! _O cœlum! O terra! O Maria!_ O Neptune!

_Fan._ Why makes thou it so strange, seeing Cupid hath led our young master to the fair lady, and she is the only saint that he hath 15 sworn to serve?

_Fro._ What resteth, then, but we commit him to his wench, and each of us take his stand up in a tree, and sing out our ill fortune to the tune of “_O man in desperation_”? 20

_Ant._ Desperately spoken, fellow Frolic, in the dark; but seeing it falls out thus, let us rehearse the old proverb:

“Three merry men, and three merry men, And three merry men be we; 25 I in the wood, and thou on the ground, And Jack sleeps in the tree.”

_Fan._ Hush! a dog in the wood, or a wooden[107] dog! O comfortable hearing! I had even as lief the chamberlain of the White Horse had 30 called me up to bed.

_Fro._ Either hath this trotting cur gone out of his circuit, or else are we near some village, which should not be far off, for I perceive (_Enter_ [CLUNCH] _a smith, with a lantern and candle._) the glimmering of a glow-worm, a candle, or a (35) cat’s eye, my life for a halfpenny! In the name of my own father, be thou ox or ass that appearest, tell us what thou art.

_Smith._ What am I? Why, I am Clunch the smith. What are you? What make you in (40) my territories at this time of the night?

_Ant._ What do we make, dost thou ask? Why, we make faces for fear; such as if thy mortal eyes could behold, would make thee water the long seams of thy side slops,[108] (45) smith.

_Fro._ And, in faith, sir, unless your hospitality do relieve us, we are like to wander, with a sorrowful heigh-ho, among the owlets and hobgoblins of the forest. Good Vulcan, for (50) Cupid’s sake that hath cozened us all, befriend us as thou mayst; and command us howsoever, wheresoever, whensoever, in whatsoever, for ever and ever.

_Smith._ Well, masters, it seems to me you (55) have lost your way in the wood; in consideration whereof, if you will go with Clunch to his cottage, you shall have house-room and a good fire to sit by, although we have no bedding to put you in. 60

_All._ O blessed smith, O bountiful Clunch!

_Smith._ For your further entertainment, it shall be as it may be, so and so. _A dog barks_ [_within_]. Hark![109] this is Ball my dog, that bids you all welcome in his own language. Come, take (65) heed for stumbling on the threshold.—Open door, Madge; take in guests.

_Enter_ [MADGE, _an_] _old woman_.

_Madge._[110] Welcome, Clunch, and good fellows all, that come with my good-man. For my good-man’s sake, come on, sit down; here is 70 a piece of cheese, and a pudding of my own making.

_Ant._ Thanks, gammer; a good example for the wives of our town.

_Fro._ Gammer, thou and thy good-man sit (75) lovingly together; we come to chat, and not to eat.

_Smith._ Well, masters, if you will eat nothing, take away. Come, what do we to pass away the time? Lay a crab in the fire to roast for (80) lamb’s-wool.[111] What, shall we have a game at trump[112] or ruff[112] to drive away the time? How say you?

_Fan._ This smith leads a life as merry as a king with Madge his wife. Sirrah Frolic, I (85) am sure thou art not without some round or other; no doubt but Clunch can bear his part.

_Fro._ Else think you me ill brought up; so set to it when you will. _They sing._

SONG.

Whenas the rye reach to the chin, 90 And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within, Strawberries swimming in the cream, And school-boys playing in the stream; Then, O, then, O, then, O, my true-love said, Till that time come again 95 She could not live a maid.

_Ant._ This sport does well; but methinks, gammer, a merry winter’s tale would drive away the time trimly. Come, I am sure you are not without a score. (100)

_Fan._ I’faith, gammer, a tale of an hour long were as good as an hour’s sleep.

_Fro._ Look you, gammer, of the giant and the king’s daughter, and I know not what. I have seen the day, when I was a little one, 105 you might have drawn me a mile after you with such a discourse.

_Madge._ Well, since you be so importunate, my good-man shall fill the pot and get him to bed; they that ply their work must keep 110 good hours. One of you go lie with him; he is a clean-skinned man I tell you, without either spavin or wind-gall: so I am content to drive away the time with an old wives’ winter’s tale.

_Fan._ No better hay in Devonshire; o’ my (115) word, gammer, I ’ll be one of your audience.

_Fro._ And I another, that ’s flat.

_Ant._ Then must I to bed with the good-man.—_Bona nox_, gammer.—Good night, Frolic.

_Smith._ Come on, my lad, thou shalt take (120) thy unnatural rest with me. _Exit_ ANTIC _and the smith_.

_Fro._ Yet this vantage shall we have of them in the morning, to be ready at the sight thereof extempore.

_Madge._ Now this bargain, my masters, (125) must I make with you, that you will say hum and ha to my tale, so shall I know you are awake.

_Both._ Content, gammer, that will we do.

_Madge._ Once upon a time, there was a (130) king, or a lord, or a duke, that had a fair daughter, the fairest that ever was, as white as snow and as red as blood; and once upon a time his daughter was stolen away; and he sent all his men to seek out his daughter; and he (135) sent so long, that he sent all his men out of his land.

_Fro._ Who drest his dinner, then?

_Madge._ Nay, either hear my tale, or kiss my tail. 140

_Fan._ Well said! On with your tale, gammer.

_Madge._ O Lord, I quite forgot! There was a conjurer, and this conjurer could do any thing, and he turned himself into a great dragon, and carried the king’s daughter away in his (145) mouth to a castle that he made of stone; and there he kept her I know not how long, till at last all the king’s men went out so long that her two brothers went to seek her. O, I forget! She (he, I would say,) turned a proper[113] (150) young man to a bear in the night, and a man in the day, and keeps[114] by a cross that parts three several ways; and he made his lady run mad,—Gods me bones, who comes here?

_Enter the_ Two Brothers.

_Fro._ Soft, gammer, here some come to (155) tell your tale for you.

_Fan._ Let them alone; let us hear what they will say.

_1 Bro._ Upon these chalky cliffs of Albion We are arrived now with tedious toil; 160 And compassing the wide world round about, To seek our sister, to seek fair Delia forth, Yet cannot we so much as hear of her.

_2 Bro._ O fortune cruel, cruel and unkind! Unkind in that we cannot find our sister, 165 Our sister, hapless in her cruel chance! Soft! who have we here?

_Enter Senex_ [ERESTUS] _at the cross, stooping to gather_.

_1 Bro._ Now, father, God be your speed! What do you gather there?

_Erest._[115] Hips and haws, and sticks and (170) straws, and things that I gather on the ground, my son.

_1 Bro._ Hips and haws, and sticks and straws! Why, is that all your food, father?

_Erest._ Yea, son. 175

_2 Bro._ Father, here is an alms-penny for me; and if I speed in that I go for, I will give thee as good a gown of grey as ever thou didst wear.

_1 Bro._ And, father, here is another alms-penny (180) for me; and if I speed in my journey, I will give thee a palmer’s staff of ivory, and a scallop-shell of beaten gold.

_Erest._ Was she fair?

_2 Bro._ Ay, the fairest for white, and the (185) purest for red, as the blood of the deer, or the driven snow.

_Erest._ Then hark well, and mark well, my old spell:

Be not afraid of every stranger; Start not aside at every danger; 190 Things that seem are not the same; Blow a blast at every flame; For when one flame of fire goes out, Then comes your wishes well about: If any ask who told you this good, 195 Say, the white bear of England’s wood.

_1 Bro._ Brother, heard you not what the old man said?

“Be not afraid of every stranger; Start not aside for every danger; Things that seem are not the same; 200 Blow a blast at every flame; [For when one flame of fire goes out, Then comes your wishes well about:] If any ask who told you this good, Say, the white bear of England’s wood.” 205

_2 Bro._ Well, if this do us any good, Well fare the white bear of England’s wood! _Exeunt_ [_the_ Two Brothers].

_Erest._ Now sit thee here, and tell a heavy tale, Sad in thy mood, and sober in thy cheer; Here sit thee now, and to thyself relate 210 The hard mishap of thy most wretched state. In Thessaly I liv’d in sweet content, Until that fortune wrought my overthrow; For there I wedded was unto a dame, That liv’d in honour, virtue, love, and fame. 215 But Sacrapant, that cursed sorcerer, Being besotted with my beauteous love, My dearest love, my true betrothed wife, Did seek the means to rid me of my life. But worse than this, he with his chanting spells 220 Did turn me straight unto an ugly bear; And when the sun doth settle in the west, Then I begin to don my ugly hide. And all the day I sit, as now you see. And speak in riddles, all inspired with rage, 225 Seeming an old and miserable man, And yet I am in April of my age. _Enter_ VENELIA _his lady, mad; and goes in again._ See where Venelia, my betrothed love, Runs madding, all enrag’d, about the woods, All by his cursed and enchanting spells.— 230 _Enter_ LAMPRISCUS _with a pot of honey._ But here comes Lampriscus, my discontented neighbour. How now, neighbour! You look toward the ground as well as I; you muse on something.

_Lamp._ Neighbour, on nothing but on the (235) matter I so often moved to you. If you do anything for charity, help me; if for neighbourhood or brotherhood, help me: never was one so cumbered as is poor Lampriscus; and to begin, I pray receive this pot of honey, to (240) mend your fare.

_Erest._ Thanks, neighbour, set it down; honey is always welcome to the bear. And now, neighbour, let me hear the cause of your coming. 245

_Lamp._ I am, as you know, neighbour, a man unmarried; and lived so unquietly with my two wives, that I keep every year holy the day wherein I buried them both: the first was on Saint Andrew’s day, the other on Saint (250) Luke’s.

_Erest._ And now, neighbour, you of this country say, your custom is out. But on with your tale, neighbour.

_Lamp._ By my first wife, whose tongue (255) wearied me alive, and sounded in my ears like the clapper of a great bell, whose talk was a continual torment to all that dwelt by her or lived nigh her, you have heard me say I had a handsome daughter. 260

_Erest._ True, neighbour.

_Lamp._ She it is that afflicts me with her continual clamours, and hangs on me like a bur. Poor she is, and proud she is; as poor as a sheep new-shorn, and as proud of her hopes (265) as a peacock of her tail well-grown.

_Erest._ Well said, Lampriscus! You speak it like an Englishman.

_Lamp._ As curst as a wasp, and as froward as a child new-taken from the mother’s teat; (270) she is to my age as smoke to the eyes or as vinegar to the teeth.

_Erest._ Holily praised, neighbour. As much for the next.

_Lamp._ By my other wife I had a daughter (275) so hard-favoured, so foul and ill-faced, that I think a grove full of golden trees, and the leaves of rubies and diamonds, would not be a dowry answerable to her deformity.

_Erest._ Well, neighbour, now you have (280) spoke, hear me speak. Send them to the well for the water of life; there shall they find their fortunes unlooked for. Neighbour, farewell. _Exit._

_Lamp._ Farewell, and a thousand! And (285) now goeth poor Lampriscus to put in execution this excellent counsel. _Exit._

_Fro._ Why, this goes round without a fiddling-stick: but, do you hear, gammer, was this the man that was a bear in the night and a man (290) in the day?

_Madge._ Ay, this is he; and this man that came to him was a beggar, and dwelt upon a green. But soft! who comes here? O, these are the harvest-men; ten to one they sing a (295) song of mowing.

_Enter the_ Harvest-men _a-singing, with this song double repeated._

All ye that lovely lovers be, Pray you for me. Lo, here we come a-sowing, a-sowing, And sow sweet fruits of love; 300 In your sweet hearts well may it prove! _Exeunt._

_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _with his two-hand sword, and_ BOOBY,[116] _the clown._

_Fan._ Gammer, what is he?

_Madge._ O, this is one that is going to the conjurer. Let him alone; hear what he says.

_Huan._ Now, by Mars and Mercury, (305) Jupiter and Janus, Sol and Saturnus, Venus and Vesta, Pallas and Proserpina, and by the honour of my house, Polimackeroeplacidus, it is a wonder to see what this love will make silly fellows adventure, even in the wane of their 310 wits and infancy of their discretion. Alas, my friend! what fortune calls thee forth to seek thy fortune among brazen gates, enchanted towers, fire and brimstone, thunder and lightning? Beauty, I tell thee, is peerless, and (315) she precious whom thou affectest. Do off these desires, good countryman; good friend, run away from thyself; and, so soon as thou canst, forget her, whom none must inherit but he that can monsters tame, labours achieve, riddles (320) absolve, loose enchantments, murder magic, and kill conjuring,—and that is the great and mighty Huanebango.

_Booby._ Hark you, sir, hark you. First know I have here the flurting feather, and have (325) given the parish the start for the long stock:[117] now, sir, if it be no more but running through a little lightning and thunder, and “riddle me, riddle me what ’s this?” I ’ll have the wench from the conjurer, if he were ten conjurers. 330

_Huan._ I have abandoned the court and honourable company, to do my devoir against this sore sorcerer and mighty magician: if this lady be so fair as she is said to be, she is mine, she is mine; _meus, mea, meum, in contemptum (335) omnium grammaticorum._

_Booby. O falsum Latinum!_ The fair maid is _minum_. _Cum apurtinantibus gibletis_ and all.

_Huan._ If she be mine, as I assure myself (340) the heavens will do somewhat to reward my worthiness, she shall be allied to none of the meanest gods, but be invested in the most famous stock of Huanebango,—Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my father Pergopolineo, (345) my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously descended.

_Booby._ Do you hear, sir? Had not you a cousin that was called Gusteceridis?

_Huan._ Indeed, I had a cousin that sometime (350) followed the court infortunately, and his name Bustegusteceridis.

_Cor._ O Lord, I know him well! He is the knight of the neat’s-feet.

_Huan._ O, he loved no capon better! He (355) hath oftentimes deceived his boy of his dinner; that was his fault, good Bustegusteceridis.

_Booby._ Come, shall we go along? [_Enter_ ERESTUS _at the cross._] Soft! here is an old man at the cross; let us ask him the way thither.—Ho, you gaffer! (360) I pray you tell where the wise man the conjurer dwells.

_Huan._ Where that earthly goddess keepeth her abode, the commander of my thoughts, and fair mistress of my heart. 365

_Erest._ Fair enough, and far enough from thy fingering, son.

_Huan._ I will follow my fortune after mine own fancy, and do according to mine own discretion. 370

_Erest._ Yet give something to an old man before you go.

_Huan._ Father, methinks a piece of this cake might serve your turn.

_Erest._ Yea, son. 375

_Huan._ Huanebango giveth no cakes for alms; ask of them that give gifts for poor beggars.—Fair lady, if thou wert once shrined in this bosom, I would buckler thee haratantara. _Exit._

_Booby._ Father, do you see this man? You (380) little think he ’ll run a mile or two for such a cake, or pass[118] for a pudding. I tell you, father, he has kept such a begging of me for a piece of this cake! Whoo! he comes upon me with “a superfantial substance, and the foison[119] of (385) the earth,” that I know not what he means. If he came to me thus, and said, “My friend Booby,” or so, why, I could spare him a piece with all my heart; but when he tells me how God hath enriched me above other fellows (390) with a cake, why, he makes me blind and deaf at once. Yet, father, here is a piece of cake for you, as hard as the world goes.[120] [_Gives cake._]

_Erest._ Thanks, son, but list to me; He shall be deaf when thou shalt not see. 395 Farewell, my son: things may so hit, Thou mayst have wealth to mend thy wit.

_Cor._ Farewell, father, farewell; for I must make haste after my two-hand sword that is gone before. _Exeunt omnes._ 400

_Enter_ SACRAPANT _in his study._

_Sac._ The day is clear, the welkin bright and grey, The lark is merry and records[121] her notes; Each thing rejoiceth underneath the sky, But only I, whom heaven hath in hate, Wretched and miserable Sacrapant. 405 In Thessaly was I born and brought up; My mother Meroe hight,[122] a famous witch, And by her cunning I of her did learn To change and alter shapes of mortal men. There did I turn myself into a dragon, 410 And stole away the daughter to the king, Fair Delia, the mistress of my heart; And brought her hither to revive the man That seemeth young and pleasant to behold, And yet is aged, crooked, weak, and numb. 415 Thus by enchanting spells I do deceive Those that behold and look upon my face; But well may I bid youthful years adieu. _Enter_ DELIA _with a pot in her hand._ See where she comes from whence my sorrows grow! How now, fair Delia! where have you been? 420

_Del._ At the foot of the rock for running water, and gathering roots for your dinner, sir.

_Sac._ Ah, Delia, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder far than steel or adamant! 425

_Del._ Will it please you to sit down, sir?

_Sac._ Ay, Delia, sit and ask me what thou wilt, Thou shalt have it brought into thy lap.

_Del._ Then, I pray you, sir, let me have the best meat from the King of England’s table, (430) and the best wine in all France, brought in by the veriest knave in all Spain.

_Sac._ Delia, I am glad to see you so pleasant. Well, sit thee down.— Spread, table, spread, 435 Meat, drink, and bread, Ever may I have What I ever crave, When I am spread, For meat for my black cock, 440 And meat for my red. _Enter a_ Friar _with a chine of beef and a pot of wine._ Here, Delia, will ye fall to?

_Del._ Is this the best meat in England?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What is it? 445

_Sac._ A chine of English beef, meat for a king and a king’s followers.

_Del._ Is this the best wine in France?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What wine is it? 450

_Sac._ A cup of neat wine of Orleans, that never came near the brewers in England.

_Del._ Is this the veriest knave in all Spain?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What, is he a friar? 455

_Sac._ Yea, a friar indefinite, and a knave infinite.

_Del._ Then, I pray ye, Sir Friar, tell me before you go, which is the most greediest Englishman? 460

_Fri._ The miserable and most covetous usurer.

_Sac._ Hold thee there, friar. (_Exit_ Friar.) But, soft! Who have we here? Delia, away, be gone! _Enter the_ Two Brothers. Delia, away! for beset are we.— But heaven or hell shall rescue her for me. 465 [_Exeunt_ DELIA _and_ SACRAPANT.]

_1 Bro._ Brother, was not that Delia did appear, Or was it but her shadow that was here?

_2 Bro._ Sister, where art thou? Delia, come again! He calls, that of thy absence doth complain.— Call out, Calypha, that she may hear, 470 And cry aloud, for Delia is near.

_Echo._ Near.

_1 Bro._ Near! O, where? Hast thou any tidings?

_Echo._ Tidings.

_2 Bro._ Which way is Delia, then; or that, or this? 475

_Echo._ This.

_1 Bro._ And may we safely come where Delia is?

_Echo._ Yes.

_2 Bro._ Brother, remember you the white bear of England’s wood? 480

“Start not aside for every danger, Be not afeard of every stranger; Things that seem are not the same.”

_1 Bro._ Brother, Why do we not, then, courageously enter? 485

_2 Bro._ Then, brother, draw thy sword and follow me.

_Re-enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer: it lightens and thunders; the_ Second Brother _falls down._

_1 Bro._ What, brother, dost thou fall?

_Sac._ Ay, and thou too, Calypha. _The_ First Brother _falls down. Enter_ Two Furies. _Adeste, dæmones!_ Away with them: Go carry them straight to Sacrapanto’s cell, 490 There in despair and torture for to dwell. [_Exeunt_ Furies _with the_ Two Brothers.] These are Thenores’ sons of Thessaly, That come to seek Delia their sister forth; But, with a potion I to her have given, My arts have made her to forget herself. 495 _Removes a turf, and shows a light in a glass._ See here the thing which doth prolong my life, With this enchantment I do any thing; And till this fade, my skill shall still endure, And never none shall break this little glass, But she that ’s neither wife, widow, nor maid. 500 Then cheer thyself; this is thy destiny, Never to die but by a dead man’s hand. _Exit._

_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight, and_ [ERESTUS] _the old man at the cross._

_Eum._ Tell me, Time, Tell me, just Time, when shall I Delia see? When shall I see the loadstar of my life? 505 When shall my wand’ring course end with her sight, Or I but view my hope, my heart’s delight? [_Seeing Erestus._] Father, God speed! If you tell fortunes, I pray, good father, tell me mine.

_Erest._ Son, I do see in thy face 510 Thy blessed fortune work apace. I do perceive that thou hast wit; Beg of thy fate to govern it, For wisdom govern’d by advice, Makes many fortunate and wise. 515 Bestow thy alms, give more than all, Till dead men’s bones come at thy call. Farewell, my son! Dream of no rest, Till thou repent that thou didst best. _Exit._

_Eum._ This man hath left me in a labyrinth: 520 He biddeth me give more than all, Till dead men’s bones come at my call; He biddeth me dream of no rest. Till I repent that I do best. [_Lies down and sleeps._]

_Enter_ WIGGEN, COREBUS,[123] Churchwarden, and Sexton.

_Wig._ You may be ashamed, you whoreson (525) scald Sexton and Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shameless faces of yours, to let a poor man lie so long above ground unburied. A rot on you all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow when he is gone! 530

_Church._[124] What, would you have us to bury him, and to answer it ourselves to the parish?

_Sex._ Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest run on in the quarter’s accounts, and put it down for one of your good 535 deeds, o’ God’s name! for I am not one that curiously stands upon merits.

_Cor._ You whoreson, sodden-headed sheep’s-face, shall a good fellow do less service and more honesty to the parish, and will you not, 540 when he is dead, let him have Christmas burial?

_Wig._ Peace, Corebus! As sure as Jack was Jack, the frolic’st franion amongst you, and I, Wiggen, his sweet sworn brother, Jack shall have his funerals, or some of them shall lie (545) on God’s dear earth for it, that’s once.[125]

_Church._ Wiggen, I hope thou wilt do no more than thou dar’st answer.

_Wig._ Sir, sir, dare or dare not, more or less, answer or not answer, do this, or have this. 550

_Sex._ Help, help, help!

WIGGEN _sets upon the parish with a pike-staff_:[126] EUMENIDES _awakes and comes to them._

_Eum._ Hold thy hands, good fellow.

_Cor._ Can you blame him, sir, if he take Jack’s part against this shake-rotten parish that will not bury Jack? 555

_Eum._ Why, what was that Jack?

_Cor._ Who, Jack, sir? Who, our Jack, sir? As good a fellow as ever trod upon neat’s-leather.

_Wig._ Look you, sir; he gave fourscore (560) and nineteen mourning gowns to the parish when he died, and because he would not make them up a full hundred, they would not bury him: was not this good dealing?

_Church._ O Lord, sir, how he lies! He was (565) not worth a halfpenny, and drunk out every penny; and now his fellows, his drunken companions, would have us to bury him at the charge of the parish. An we make many such matches, we may pull down the steeple, sell (570) the bells, and thatch the chancel. He shall lie above ground till he dance a galliard about the church-yard, for Steven Loach.

_Wig. Sic argumentaris, Domine_ Loach;—“an we make many such matches, we may (575) pull down the steeple, sell the bells, and thatch the chancel!”—in good time, sir, and hang yourselves in the bell-ropes, when you have done. _Domine, opponens præpono tibi hanc quœstionem_, whether will you have the (580) ground broken or your pates broken first? For one of them shall be done presently, and to begin mine,[127] I’ll seal it upon your coxcomb.

_Eum._ Hold thy hands, I pray thee, good fellow; be not too hasty. 585

_Cor._ You capon’s face, we shall have you turned out of the parish one of these days, with never a tatter to your arse; then you are in worse taking than Jack.

_Eum._ Faith, and he is bad enough. This (590) fellow does but the part of a friend, to seek to bury his friend. How much will bury him?

_Wig._ Faith, about some fifteen or sixteen shillings will bestow him honestly.

_Sex._ Ay, even thereabouts, sir. 595

_Eum._ Here, hold it, then:—[_aside._] and I have left me but one poor three half-pence. Now do I remember the words the old man spake at the cross, “Bestow all thou hast,” and this is all, “till dead men’s bones come (600) at thy call.”—Here, hold it [_gives money_]; and so farewell.

_Wig._ God, and all good, be with you, sir! [_Exit_ EUMENIDES.] Nay, you cormorants, I’ll bestow one peal of[128] Jack at mine own 605 proper costs and charges.

_Cor._ You may thank God the long staff and the bilbo-blade crossed nor your coxcomb.—Well, we’ll to the church-stile[129] and have a pot, and so trill-lill. [_Exit with_ WIGGEN.] 610

_Church._} _Sex._ } Come, let’s go. _Exeunt._

_Fan._ But, hark you, gammer, me thinks this Jack bore a great sway in the parish.

_Madge._ O, this Jack was a marvellous (615) fellow! he was but a poor man, but very well beloved. You shall see anon what this Jack will come to.

_Enter the_ Harvest-men _singing, with women in their hands._

_Fro._ Soft! who have we here? Our amorous harvesters. 620

_Fan._ Ay, ay, let us sit still, and let them alone.

_Here they begin to sing, the song doubled._

Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping, To reap our harvest-fruit! And thus we pass the year so long, 625 And never be we mute _Exeunt the_ Harvest-men.

_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _and_ COREBUS, _the clown._

_Fro._ Soft! who have we here?

_Madge._ O, this is a choleric gentleman! All you that love your lives, keep out of the smell of his two-hand sword. Now goes he to the (630) conjurer.

_Fan._ Methinks the conjurer should put the fool into a juggling-box.

_Huan._ Fee, fa, fum, Here is the Englishman,— 635 Conquer him that can,— Come for his lady bright, To prove himself a knight, And win her love in fight.

_Cor._ Who-haw, Master Bango, are you (640) here? Hear you, you had best sit down here, and beg an alms with me.

_Huan._ Hence, base cullion! Here is he that commandeth ingress and egress with his weapon, and will enter at his voluntary, 645 whosoever saith no.

_A voice and flame of fire_; HUANEBANGO _falleth down._

_Voice._ No.

_Madge._ So with that they kissed, and spoiled the edge of as good a two-hand sword as ever God put life in. Now goes Corebus in, spite 650 of the conjurer.

_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] the Conjurer _and_ [Two Furies].

_Sac._ Away with him into the open fields, To be a ravening prey to crows and kites: [HUAN. _is carried out by the_ Two Furies.] And for this villain, let him wander up and down, In naught but darkness and eternal night. 655

_Strikes_ COREBUS _blind._

_Cor._ Here hast thou slain Huan, a slashing knight, And robbed poor Corebus of his sight. _Exit._

_Sac._ Hence, villain, hence!—Now I have unto Delia Given a potion of forgetfulness, That, when she comes, she shall not know her brothers. 660 Lo, where they labour, like to country-slaves, With spade and mattock, on this enchanted ground! Now will I call her by another name; For never shall she know herself again, Until that Sacrapant hath breath’d his last. 665 See where she comes.

_Enter_ DELIA.

Come hither, Delia, take this goad; here hard At hand two slaves do work and dig for gold: Gore them with this, and thou shalt have enough. _Gives her a goad._

_Del._ Good sir, I know not what you mean. 670

_Sac._ [_aside._] She hath forgotten to be Delia, But not forgot the same she should forget; But I will change her name.— Fair Berecynthia, so this country calls you, Go ply these strangers, wench; they dig for gold. _Exit._ 675

_Del._ O heavens, how Am I beholding to this fair young man! But I must ply these strangers to their work: See where they come.

_Enter the_ Two Brothers _in their shirts, with spades, digging_.

_1 Bro._ O brother, see where Delia is! 680

_2 Bro._ O Delia, Happy are we to see thee here!

_Del._ What tell you me of Delia, prating swains? I know no Delia, nor know I what you mean. Ply you your work, or else you ’re like to smart. 685

_1 Bro._ Why, Delia, know’st thou not thy brothers here? We come from Thessaly to seek thee forth; And thou deceiv’st thyself, for thou art Delia.

_Del._ Yet more of Delia? Then take this, and smart. [_Pricks them with the goad._] What, feign you shifts for to defer your labour? 690 Work, villains, work; it is for gold you dig.

_2 Bro._ Peace, brother, peace: this vild[130] enchanter Hath ravisht Delia of her senses clean, And she forgets that she is Delia.

_1 Bro._ Leave, cruel thou, to hurt the miserable.— 695 Dig, brother, dig, for she is hard as steel.

_Here they dig, and descry a light [in a glass] under a little hill._

_2 Bro._ Stay, brother; what hast thou descried?

_Del._ Away, and touch it not; ’tis something that My lord hath hidden there. _Covers the light again._

_Re-enter_ SACRAPANT.

_Sac._ Well said![131] thou plyest these pioners[132] well— 700 Go get you in, you labouring slaves. [_Exeunt the_ Two Brothers.] Come, Berecynthia, let us in likewise, And hear the nightingale record her notes. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ ZANTIPPA, _the curst daughter, to the Well_ [_of Life_], _with a pot in her hand._

_Zan._ Now for a husband, house, and home: God send a good one or none, I pray God! (705) My father hath sent me to the well for the water of life, and tells me, if I give fair words, I shall have a husband. But here comes

_Enter_ [CELANTA], _the foul wench, to the Well for water with a pot in her hand._

Celanta, my sweet sister. I ’ll stand by and hear what she says. 710

_Cel._ My father hath sent me to the well for water, and he tells me, if I speak fair, I shall have a husband, and none of the worst. Well, though I am black,[133] I am sure all the world will not forsake me; and, as the old proverb (715) is, though I am black, I am not the devil.

_Zan._ Marry-gup with a murrain,[134] I know wherefore thou speakest that: but go thy ways home as wise as thou camest, or I ’ll set thee home with a wanion.[135] 720

_Here she strikes her pitcher against her sister’s, and breaks them both, and then exit._

_Cel._ I think this be the curstest quean in the world. You see what she is, a little fair, but as proud as the devil, and the veriest vixen that lives upon God’s earth. Well, I ’ll let her alone, and go home and get another pitcher, and, (725) for all this, get me to the well for water. _Exit._

_Enter two Furies out of the Conjurer’s cell and lay_ HUANEBANGO _by the Well of Life_ [_and then exeunt_.] _Re-enter_ ZANTIPPA _with a pitcher to the well_.

_Zan._ Once again for a husband; and, in faith, Celanta, I have got the start of you; belike husbands grow by the well-side. Now my father says I must rule my tongue. Why, alas, (730) what am I, then? A woman without a tongue is as a soldier without his weapon. But I ’ll have my water, and be gone.

_Here she offers to dip her pitcher in, and a_ Head _speaks in the well_.

_Head._ Gently dip, but not too deep. For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 735 Fair maiden, white and red, Stroke me smooth, and comb my head, And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.[136]

_Zan._ What is this? “Fair maiden, white and red, 740 Comb me smooth, and stroke my head. And thou shalt have some cockell-bread”? “Cockell” callest thou it, boy? Faith, I ’ll give you cockell-bread.

_She breaks her pitcher upon the_ Head: _then it thunders and lightens; and_ HUANEBANGO, _who is deaf and cannot hear, rises up_.

_Huan._ Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, flortos: 745 Dub dub-a-dub, bounce, quoth the guns, with a sulphurous huff-snuff:[137] Wakt with a wench, pretty peat, pretty love, and my sweet pretty pigsnie,[138] Just by thy side shall sit surnamed great Huanebango: Safe in my arms will I keep thee, threat Mars or thunder Olympus.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Foh, what greasy groom (750) have we here? He looks as though he crept out of the backside of the well, and speaks like a drum perisht at the west end.

_Huan._ O, that I might,—but I may not, woe to my destiny therefore!—[139] Kiss that I clasp! but I cannot. Tell me, my destiny, wherefore? 755

_Zan._ [_aside._] Whoop! now I have my dream. Did you never hear so great a wonder as this? Three blue beans in a blue bladder, rattle, bladder, rattle.

_Huan._ [_aside._] I ’ll now set my countenance, (760) and to her in prose, it may be, this rim-ram-ruff[140] is too rude an encounter.—Let me, fair lady, if you be at leisure, revel with your sweetness, and rail upon that cowardly conjurer, that hath cast me, or congealed me (765) rather, into an unkind sleep, and polluted my carcass.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Laugh, laugh, Zantippa; thou hast thy fortune, a fool and a husband under one.

_Huan._ Truly, sweet-heart, as I seem, (770) about some twenty years, the very April of mine age.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Why, what a prating ass is this!

_Huan._ Her coral lips, her crimson chin, Her silver teeth so white within, 775 Her golden locks, her rolling eye, Her pretty parts, let them go by, Heigh-ho, hath wounded me, That I must die this day to see!

_Zan._ By Gogs-bones, thou art a flouting (780) knave. “Her coral lips, her crimson chin”! ka,[141] wilshaw!

_Huan._ True, my own, and my own because mine, and mine because mine, ha, ha! Above a thousand pounds in possibility, and things 785 fitting thy desire in possession.

_Zan._ [_aside._] The sot thinks I ask of his lands. Lob[142] be your comfort, and cuckold be your destiny!—Hear you, sir; an if you will have us, you had best say so betime. 790

_Huan._ True, sweet-heart, and will royalize thy progeny with my pedigree. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight_.

_Eum._ Wretched Eumenides, still unfortunate, Envied by fortune and forlorn by fate, Here pine and die, wretched Eumenides, 795 Die in the spring, the April of my age! Here sit thee down, repent what thou hast done: I would to God that it were ne’er begun!

_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are well overtaken, sir.

_Eum._ Who ’s that? 800

[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are heartily well met, sir.

_Eum._ Forbear, I say; who is that which pincheth me?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Trusting in God, good Master Eumenides, that you are in so good health as (805) all your friends were at the making hereof, God give you good morrow, sir! Lack you not a neat, handsome, and cleanly young lad, about the age of fifteen or sixteen years, that can run by your horse, and, for a need, make (810) your mastership’s shoes as black as ink? How say you, sir?

_Eum._ Alas, pretty lad, I know not how to keep myself, and much less a servant, my pretty boy; my state is so bad. 815

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Content yourself, you shall not be so ill a master but I ’ll be as bad a servant. Tut, sir, I know you, though you know not me. Are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that came from a strange place (820) in the land of Catita, where Jack-an-apes flies with his tail in his mouth, to seek out a lady as white as snow and as red as blood? Ha, ha! have I touched you now?

_Eum._ [_aside._] I think this boy be a (825) spirit.—How knowest thou all this?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that gave all the money you had to the burying of a poor man, and but one three half-pence left in your (830) purse? Content you, sir, I ’ll serve you, that is flat.

_Eum._ Well, my lad, since thou art so impor[tu]nate, I am content to entertain thee, not as a servant, but a copartner in my journey, (835) But whither shall we go? for I have not any money more than one bare three half-pence.

_G._ [_of_] _Jack._ Well, master, content yourself, for if my divination be not out, that shall be spent at the next inn or alehouse we come (840) to: for, master, I know you are passing hungry; therefore I ’ll go before and provide dinner until that you come; no doubt but you ’ll come fair and softly after.

_Eum._ Ay, go before; I ’ll follow thee. 845

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But do you hear, master? Do you know my name?

_Eum._ No, I promise thee, not yet.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, I am Jack. _Exit._

_Eum._ Jack! Why, be it so, then. 850

_Enter the_ HOSTESS _and_ JACK, _setting meat on the table: and Fiddlers come to play_. EUMENIDES _walketh up and down, and will eat no meat_.

_Host._ How say you, sir? Do you please to sit down?

_Eum._ Hostess, I thank you, I have no great stomach.

_Host._ Pray, sir, what is the reason your (855) master is so strange? Doth not this meat please him?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Yes, hostess, but it is my master’s fashion to pay before he eats; therefore, a reckoning, good hostess. 860

_Host._ Marry, shall you, sir, presently. _Exit._

_Eum._ Why. Jack, what dust thou mean? Thou knowest I have not any money; therefore, sweet Jack, tell me what shall I do?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Well, master, look in your (865) purse.

_Eum._ Why, faith, it is a folly, for I have no money.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, look you, master; do so much for me. 870

_Eum._ [_looking into his purse._] Alas, Jack, my purse is full of money!

[_G. of_] _Jack._ “Alas,” master! does that word belong to this accident? Why, methinks I should have seen you cast away your cloak, (875) and in a bravado dance a galliard round about the chamber. Why, master, your man can teach you more wit than this. [_Re-enter_ Hostess.] Come, hostess, cheer up my master.

_Host._ You are heartily welcome; and if it (880) please you to eat of a fat capon, a fairer bird, a finer bird, a sweeter bird, a crisper bird, a neater bird, your worship never eat of.

_Eum._ Thanks, my fine, eloquent hostess.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But hear you, master, one (885) word by the way. Are you content I shall be halves in all you get in your journey?

_Eum._ I am. Jack, here is my hand.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, I ask no more.

_Eum._ Come, hostess, receive your money; (890) and I thank you for my good entertainment. [_Gives money._]

_Host._ You are heartily welcome, sir.

_Eum._ Come, Jack, whither go we now?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, to the conjurer’s presently. 895

_Eum._ Content, Jack.—Hostess, farewell. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ COREBUS [_blind_], _and_ CELANTA, _the foul wench, to the Well for water_.

_Cor._ Come, my duck, come: I have now got a wife. Thou art fair, art thou not?

_Cel._ My Corebus, the fairest alive; make no doubt of that. 900

_Cor._ Come, wench, are we almost at the well?

_Cel._ Ay, Corebus, we are almost at the well now. I ’ll go fetch some water; sit down while I dip my pitcher in.

_Voice._ Gently dip, but not too deep, 905 For fear you make the golden beard to weep.

_A_ Head _comes up with ears of corn, and she combs them into her lap_.

Fair maiden, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head. And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.

_A_ [Second] Head _comes up full of gold; she combs it into her lap_.[143]

[_Sec. Head._] Gently dip, but not too deep, 910 For fear thou make the golden beard to weep. Fair maid, white and red, Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, And every hair a sheaf shall be, And every sheaf a golden tree. 915

_Cel._ O, see, Corebus, I have comb’d a great deal of gold into my lap, and a great deal of corn!

_Cor._ Well said,[144] wench! now we shall have just enough. God send us coiners to coin our (920) gold. But come, shall we go home, sweet-heart?

_Cel._ Nay, come, Corebus, I will lead you.

_Cor._ So, Corebus, things have well hit; Thou hast gotten wealth to mend thy wit. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _and_ [EUMENIDES] _the wandering knight_.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Come away, master, come. 925

_Eum._ Go along. Jack, I ’ll follow thee. Jack, they say it is good to go cross-legged, and say his prayers backward; how sayest thou?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, never fear, master; let me alone. Here sit you still; speak not a word; (930) and because you shall not be enticed with his enchanting speeches, with this same wool I ’ll stop your ears: and so, master, sit still, for I must to the conjurer. _Exit._

_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer to the wandering knight._

_Sac._ How now! What man art thou that sits so sad? 935 Why dost thou gaze upon these stately trees Without the leave and will of Sacrapant? What, not a word but mum? Then, Sacrapant, Thou art betray’d.

_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _invisible, and takes off_ SACRAPANT’S _wreath from his head, and his sword out of his hand._

What hand invades the head of Sacrapant? 940 What hateful Fury doth envy my happy state? Then, Sacrapant, these are thy latest days. Alas, my veins are numb’d, my sinews shrink. My blood is pierc’d, my breath fleeting away. And now my timeless date is come to end! 945 He in whose life his actions hath[145] been so foul, Now in his death to hell descends his soul. _He dieth._

[_G. of_] _Jack._ O, sir, are you gone? Now I hope we shall have some other coil.—Now, master, how like you this? The conjurer he is 950 dead, and vows never to trouble us more. Now get you to your fair lady, and see what you can do with her.—Alas, he heareth me not all this while; but I will help that.

_Pulls the wool out of the ears of_ EUMENIDES.

_Eum._ How now. Jack! What news? 955

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Here, master, take this sword, and dig with it at the foot of this hill.

EUMENIDES _digs, and spies a light [in a glass]._

_Eum._ How now, Jack! What is this?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Master, without this the conjurer could do nothing; and so long as this (960) light lasts, so long doth his art endure, and this being out, then doth his art decay.

_Eum._ Why, then, Jack, I will soon put out this light.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Ay, master, how? 965

_Eum._ Why, with a stone I ’ll break the glass, and then blow it out.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ No, master, you may as soon break the smith’s anvil as this little vial; nor the biggest blast that ever Boreas blew cannot (970) blow out this little light; but she that is neither maid, wife, nor widow. Master, wind this horn, and see what will happen.

EUMENIDES _winds the horn. Here enters_ VENELIA, _and breaks the glass, and blows out the light, and goeth in again._

So, master, how like you this? This is she that ran madding in the woods, his betrothed love (975) that keeps the cross; and now, this light being out, all are restored to their former liberty. And now, master, to the lady that you have so long looked for.

_The_ GHOST OF JACK _draweth a curtain, and there_ DELIA _sitteth asleep._

_Eum._ God speed, fair maid, sitting alone,—there (980) is once; God speed, fair maid,—there is twice; God speed, fair maid,—that is thrice.

_Del._ Not so, good sir, for you are by.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, she hath (985) spoke; now I will leave her with you. [_Exit._]

_Eum._ Thou fairest flower of these western parts, Whose beauty so reflecteth in my sight As doth a crystal mirror in the sun; For thy sweet sake I have crost the frozen Rhine;[146] 990 Leaving fair Po, I sail’d up Danuby As far as Saba, whose enhancing streams Cut twixt the Tartars and the Russians; These have I crost for thee, fair Delia: Then grant me that which I have su’d for long. 995

_Del._ Thou gentle knight, whose fortune is so good To find me out and set my brothers free, My faith, my heart, my hand I give to thee.

_Eum._ Thanks, gentle madam; but here comes Jack: thank him, for he is the (1000) best friend that we have.

_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK, _with a head in his hand._

How now. Jack! What hast thou there?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, the head of the conjurer.

_Eum._ Why, Jack, that is impossible; he (1005) was a young man.

[_G. of_] _Jack_. Ah, master, so he deceived them that beheld him! But he was a miserable, old, and crooked man, though to each man’s eye he seemed young and fresh; for, (1010) master, this conjurer took the shape of the old man that kept the cross, and that old man was in the likeness of the conjurer. But now, master, wind your horn.

EUMENIDES _winds his horn. Enter_ VENELIA, _the_ Two Brothers, _and_ [ERESTUS] _he that was at the cross._

_Eum._ Welcome, Erestus! welcome, fair Venelia! 1015 Welcome, Thelea and Calypha both! Now have I her that I so long have sought; So saith fair Delia, if we have your consent.

_1 Bro._ Valiant EUMENIDES, thou well deservest To have our favours; so let us rejoice 1020 That by thy means we are at liberty. Here may we joy each in other’s sight, And this fair lady have her wandering knight.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ So, master, now ye think you have done; but I must have a saying to (1025) you. You know you and I were partners, I to have half in all you got.

_Eum._ Why, so thou shalt. Jack.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, then, master, draw your sword, part your lady, let me have half of (1030) her presently.

_Eum._ Why, I hope. Jack, thou dost but jest. I promised thee half I got, but not half my lady.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But what else, master? (1035) Have you not gotten her? Therefore divide her straight, for I will have half; there is no remedy.

_Eum._ Well, ere I will falsify my word unto my friend, take her all. Here, Jack, I’ll (1040) give her thee.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Nay, neither more nor less, master, but even just half.

_Eum._ Before I will falsify my faith unto my friend, I will divide her. Jack, thou shalt (1045) have half.

_1 Bro._ Be not so cruel unto our sister, gentle knight.

_2 Bro._ O, spare fair Delia! She deserves no death. 1050

_Eum._ Content yourselves; my word is passed to him.—Therefore prepare thyself, Delia, for thou must die.

_Del._ Then farewell, world! Adieu, Eumenides!

EUMENIDES _offers to strike, and_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _stays him._

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Stay, master; it is sufficient (1055) I have tried your constancy. Do you now remember since you paid for the burying of a poor fellow?

_Eum._ Ay, very well, Jack.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Then, master, thank that (1060) good deed for this good turn; and so God be with you all! _Leaps down in the ground._

_Eum._ Jack, what, art thou gone? Then farewell. Jack!— Come, brothers, and my beauteous Delia, Erestus, and thy dear Venelia, 1065 We will to Thessaly with joyful hearts.

_All._ Agreed: we follow thee and Delia.

_Exeunt all_ [_except_ FROLIC, FANTASTIC, _and_ MADGE].

_Fan._ What, gammer, asleep?

_Madge._ By the mass, son, ’t is almost day; and my windows shut at the cock’s-crow. 1070

_Fro._ Do you hear, gammer? Methinks this Jack bore a great sway amongst them.

_Madge._ O, man, this was the ghost of the poor man that they kept such a coil to bury; and that makes him to help the wandering 1075 knight so much. But come, let us in: we will have a cup of ale and a toast this morning, and so depart.[147]

_Fan._ Then you have made an end of your tale, gammer? 1080

_Madge._ Yes, faith: when this was done, I took a piece of bread and cheese, and came my way; and so shall you have, too, before you go, to your breakfast. [_Exeunt._]

THE HONOURABLE HISTORY OF FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY

BY ROBERT GREENE

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING HENRY THE THIRD. EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son. EMPEROR OF GERMANY. KING OF CASTILE. LACY, Earl of Lincoln. WARREN, Earl of Sussex. ERMSBY, a gentleman. RALPH SIMNELL, the King’s Fool. FRIAR BACON. MILES, Friar Bacon’s poor scholar. FRIAR BUNGAY. JAQUES VANDERMAST, a German. BURDEN, } MASON, } Doctors of Oxford. CLEMENT,} LAMBERT,} gentlemen. SERLSBY,} Two Scholars, their sons. The Keeper of Fressingfield. THOMAS, } farmers’ sons. RICHARD, } Constable. A Post. Lords, Country Clowns, &c.

ELINOR, daughter to the King of Castile. MARGARET, the Keeper’s daughter of Fressingfield. JOAN, a country wench. Hostess of the Bell at Henley.

A DEVIL. Spirit in the shape of HERCULES. A dragon shooting fire.]

[SCENE I.][148]

_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _malcontented, with_ LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY, _and_ RALPH SIMNELL.

_Lacy._ Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky When heaven’s bright shine is shadow’d with a fog? Alate[149] we ran the deer, and through the lawns Stripp’d[150] with our nags the lofty frolic bucks That scudded ’fore the teasers[151] like the wind. Ne’er was the deer of merry Fressingfield 6 So lustily pull’d down by jolly mates, Nor shar’d the farmers such fat venison, So frankly dealt, this hundred years before; Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase, 10 And now—chang’d to a melancholy dump.

_War._ After the prince got to the Keeper’s lodge, And had been jocund in the house awhile, Tossing off ale and milk in country cans, Whether it was the country’s sweet content, 15 Or else the bonny damsel fill’d us drink, That seem’d so stately in her stammel[152] red, Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,— But straight he fell into his passions.

_Erms._ Sirrah Ralph, what say you to your master? 20 Shall he thus all amort[153] live malcontent?

_Ralph._ Hearest thou, Ned?—Nay, look if he will speak to me!

_P. Edw._ What say’st thou to me, fool?

_Ralph._ I prithee, tell me, Ned, art thou in (25) love with the Keeper’s daughter?

_P. Edw._ How if I be, what then?

_Ralph._ Why, then, sirrah, I’ll teach thee how to deceive Love.

_P. Edw._ How, Ralph? (30)

_Ralph._ Marry, Sirrah Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and my dagger, and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword; and so thou shalt be my fool.

_P. Edw._ And what of this? 35

_Ralph._ Why, so thou shalt beguile Love: for Love is such a proud scab, that he will never meddle with fools nor children. Is not Ralph’s counsel good, Ned?

_P. Edw._ Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid, 40 How lively in her country-weeds she look’d? A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:— All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such.

_Ralph._ Sirrah Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.

_Erms._ Why, Ralph? 45

_Ralph._ He says all England hath no such, and I say, and I ’ll stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.

_War._ How provest thou that, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Why is not the abbot a learned man, (50) and hath read many books, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? Yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammar.

_Erms._ A good reason, Ralph. 55

_P. Edw._ I tell thee, Lacy, that her sparkling eyes Do lighten forth sweet love’s alluring fire; And in her tresses she doth fold the looks Of such as gaze upon her golden hair; 60 Her bashful white, mix’d with the morning’s red, Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks; Her front is beauty’s table, where she paints The glories of her gorgeous excellence; Her teeth are shelves of precious marguerites,[154] Richly enclos’d with ruddy coral cliffs. 65 Tush, Lacy, she is Beauty’s over-match. If thou survey’st her curious imagery.[155]

_Lacy._ I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair As simple Suffolk’s homely towns can yield; But in the court be quainter dames than she, 70 Whose faces are enrich’d with honour’s taint,[156] Whose beauties stand upon the stage of Fame, And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love.

_P. Edw._ Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch’d her as myself, And seen the secret beauties of the maid, 75 Their courtly coyness, were but foolery.

_Erms._ Why, how watch’d you her, my lord?

_P. Edw._ Whenas she swept like Venus through the house. And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts, Into the milk-house went I with the maid, 80 And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine As Pallas ’mongst her princely huswifery, She turn’d her smock over her lily arms, And div’d them into milk to run her cheese; But, whiter than the milk, her crystal skin, 85 Checked with lines of azure, made her blush[157] That art or nature durst bring for compare. Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did note it well, How Beauty play’d the huswife, how this girl, Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work, 90 Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.

_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her?

_P. Edw._ Ay, Ralph.

_Ralph._ Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in (95) my head; thou shalt have her already.

_P. Edw._ I’ll give thee a new coat, an learn me that.

_Ralph._ Why, Sirrah Ned, we’ll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon. O, he is a brave scholar, (100) sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers.

_P. Edw._ And how then, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, thou shalt go to (105) him: and because thy father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and I’ll to the court, and I’ll prince it out; and he shall make thee either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock. 110

_P. Edw._ But how shall I have the maid?

_Ralph._ Marry, sirrah, if thou be’st a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundays she’ll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great (115) press of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she’ll swap thee into her plackerd;[158] then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself.

_Erms._ Excellent policy! 120

_P. Edw._ But how if I be a wrought smock?

_Ralph._ Then she’ll put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day she’ll put thee on; and at night when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock (125) to a man, you may make up the match.

_Lacy._ Wonderfully wisely counselled, Ralph.

_P. Edw._ Ralph shall have a new coat.

_Ralph._ God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned. 130

_P. Edw._ Lacy, the fool hath laid a perfect plot; For-why[159] our country Margaret is so coy, And stands so much upon her honest points, That marriage or no market with the maid. Ermsby, it must be necromantic spells 135 And charms of art that must enchain her love, Or else shall Edward never win the girl. Therefore, my wags, we’ll horse us in the morn. And post to Oxford to this jolly friar: 140 Bacon shall by his magic do this deed.

_War._ Content, my lord; and that’s a speedy way To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat.

_P. Edw._ I am unknown, not taken for the prince; They only deem us frolic courtiers, That revel thus among our liege’s game; 145 Therefore I have devis’d a policy. Lacy, thou know’st next Friday is Saint James’,[160] And then the country flocks to Harleston fair; Then will the Keeper’s daughter frolic there, And over-shine the troop of all the maids 150 That come to see and to be seen that day. Haunt thee disguis’d among the country-swains, Feign thou ’rt a farmer’s son, not far from thence, Espy her loves, and who she liketh best; Cote[161] him, and court her, to control[162] the clown; 155 Say that the courtier tired all in green. That help’d her handsomely to run her cheese, And fill’d her father’s lodge with venison, Commends him, and sends fairings to herself. Buy something worthy of her parentage, 160 Not worth her beauty; for, Lacy, then the fair Affords no jewel fitting for the maid. And when thou talk’st of me, note if she blush; O, then she loves: but if her cheeks wax pale, Disdain it is. Lacy, send how she fares, 165 And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.

_Lacy._ I will, my lord, so execute this charge As if that Lacy were in love with her.

_P. Edw._ Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.

_Ralph._ And, Sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand (170) thousand million of fine bells.

_Lacy._ What wilt thou do with them, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Marry, every time that Ned sighs for the Keeper’s daughter, I’ll tie a bell about him; and so within three or four days I will send (175) word to his father Harry that his son and my master Ned is become Love’s morris-dance.

_P. Edw._ Well, Lacy, look with care unto thy charge, And I will haste to Oxford to the friar, That he by art and thou by secret gifts 180 Mayst make me lord of merry Fressingfield.

_Lacy._ God send your honour your heart’s desire. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][163]

_Enter_ FRIAR BACON, _with_ MILES _his poor Scholar, with books under his arm; with them_ BURDEN, MASON, _and_ CLEMENT, _three Doctors_.

_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?

_Miles. Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor._

_Bacon. Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?_ 5

_Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in unum!_

_Bacon._ Now, masters of our academic state, That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place, Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts, 10 Spending your time in depth of learned skill, Why flock you thus to Bacon’s secret cell, A friar newly stall’d in Brazen-nose? Say what’s your mind, that I may make reply.

_Burd._ Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect, 15 That thou art read in magic’s mystery; In pyromancy, to divine by flames; To tell, by hydromatic, ebbs and tides; By aeromancy to discover doubts. To plain out questions, as Apollo did. 20

_Bacon._ Well, Master Burden, what of all this?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, he doth but fulfil, by rehearsing of these names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes; that which is above us pertains nothing to us. 25

_Burd._ I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report, Nay, England, and the court of Henry says, Thou ’rt making of a brazen head by art, Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms, And read a lecture in philosophy; 30 And, by the help of devils and ghastly fiends, Thou mean’st, ere many years or days be past, To compass England with a wall of brass.

_Bacon._ And what of this?

_Miles._ What of this, master! Why, he doth (35) speak mystically; for he knows, if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet Mother Waters’ strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a copper nose.

_Clem._ Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill, 40 But joying that our académy yields A man suppos’d the wonder of the world; For if thy cunning work these miracles, England and Europe shall admire thy fame, And Oxford shall in characters of brass, 45 And statues, such as were built up in Rome, Etérnize Friar Bacon for his art.

_Mason._ Then, gentle friar, tell us thy intent.

_Bacon._ Seeing you come as friends unto the friar, Resolve you,[164] doctors, Bacon can by books 50 Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave, And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse. The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell, Trembles when Bacon bids him or his fiends Bow to the force of his pentagonon.[165] 55 What art can work, the frolic friar knows; And therefore will I turn my magic books, And strain out necromancy to the deep. I have contriv’d and fram’d a head of brass (I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff), 60 And that by art shall read philosophy; And I will strengthen England by my skill, That if ten Cæsars liv’d and reign’d in Rome, With all the legions Europe doth contain, They should not touch a grass of English ground. 65 The work that Ninus rear’d at Babylon, The brazen walls fram’d by Semiramis, Carv’d out like to the portal of the sun, Shall not be such as rings the English strand From Dover to the market-place of Rye. 70

_Burd._ Is this possible?

_Miles._ I’ll bring ye two or three witnesses.

_Burd._ What be those?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, three or four as honest devils and good companions as any be in hell. 75

_Mason._ No doubt but magic may do much in this; For he that reads but mathematic rules Shall find conclusions that avail to work Wonders that pass the common sense of men.

_Burd._ But Bacon roves[166] a bow beyond his reach, 80 And tells of more than magic can perform, Thinking to get a fame by fooleries. Have I not pass’d as far in state of schools, And read of many secrets? Yet to think That heads of brass can utter any voice, 85 Or more, to tell of deep philosophy,— This is a fable Æsop had forgot.

_Bacon._ Burden, thou wong’st me in detracting thus; Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies. But tell me ’fore these doctors, if thou dare, 90 Of certain questions I shall move to thee.

_Burd._ I will: ask what thou can.

_Miles._ Marry, sir, he’ll straight be on your pick-pack,[167] to know-whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy. 95

_Bacon._ Were you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the Thames?

_Burd._ I was; what then?

_Bacon._ What book studied you thereon all night? 100

_Burd._ I! none at all; I read not there a line.

_Bacon._ Then, doctors, Friar Bacon’s art knows naught.

_Clem._ What say you to this, Master Burden? Doth he not touch you?

_Burd._ I pass not of[168] his frivolous speeches. 105

_Miles._ Nay, Master Burden, my master, ere he hath done with you, will turn you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaam’s ass. 110

_Bacon._ Masters, for that learned Burden’s skill is deep, And sore he doubts of Bacon’s cabalism, I’ll show you why he haunts to Henley oft: Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air, But there to spend the night in alchemy, 115 To multiply with secret spells of art; Thus private steals he learning from us all. To prove my sayings true, I’ll show you straight The book he keeps at Henley for himself.

_Miles._ Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed. 120

_Bacon._ Masters, stand still, fear not, I’ll show you but his book. _Here he conjures. Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!_

_Enter a Woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a_ Devil.

_Miles._ O master, cease your conjuration, or you spoil all; for here’s a she-devil come (125) with a shoulder of mutton on a spit. You have marr’d the devil’s supper; but no doubt he thinks our college fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cook with a shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed. 130

_Hostess._ O, where am I, or what’s become of me?

_Bacon._ What art thou?

_Hostess._ Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.

_Bacon._ How camest thou here?

_Hostess._ As I was in the kitchen ’mongst the maids, 135 Spitting the meat ’gainst supper for my guests, A motion[169] mov’d me to look forth of door: No sooner had I pried into the yard, But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence, And mounted me aloft unto the clouds. 140 As in a trance, I thought nor feared naught, Nor know I where or whither I was ta’en, Nor where I am nor what these persons be.

_Bacon._ No? Know you not Master Burden?

_Hostess._ O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.— 145 What, Master Burden! ’t was but yesternight That you and I at Henley play’d at cards.

_Burd._ I know not what we did.—A pox of all conjuring friars!

_Clem._ Now, jolly friar, tell us, is this the book 150 That Burden is so careful to look on?

_Bacon._ It is.—But, Burden, tell me now, Think’st thou that Bacon’s necromantic skill Cannot perform his head and wall of brass, When he can fetch thine hostess in such post? 155

_Miles._ I’ll warrant you, master, if Master Burden could conjure as well as you, he would have his hook every night from Henley to study on at Oxford.

_Mason._ Burden, 160 What, are you mated[170] by this frolic friar?— Look how he droops; his guilty conscience Drives him to bash,[171] and makes his hostess blush.

_Bacon._ Well, mistress, for I will not have you miss’d. You shall to Henley to cheer up your guests 165 ’Fore supper gin.—Burden, bid her adieu; Say farewell to your hostess ’fore she goes.— Sirrah, away, and set her safe at home.

_Hostess._ Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henley? 170

_Exeunt_ Hostess _and_ Devil.

_Burd._ The devil take thee and Henley too.

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

_Bacon._ What’s that?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, now that my hostess is gone to provide supper, conjure up another (175) spirit, and send Doctor Burden flying after.

_Bacon._ Thus, rulers of our academic state, You have seen the friar frame his art by proof; And as the college called Brazen-nose Is under him, and he the master there, 180 So surely shall this head of brass be fram’d, And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms, And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar. But I will circle England round with brass.

_Miles._ So be it _et nunc et semper_, amen. _Exeunt._ 185

[SCENE III.][172]

_Enter_ MARGARET, _the fair maid of Fressingfield, and_ JOAN; THOMAS, [RICHARD,] _and other_ Clowns; _and_ LACY _disguised in country apparel._

_Thom._ By my troth, Margaret, here’s a weather is able to make a man call his father “whoreson”: if this weather hold, we shall have hay good cheap, and butter and cheese at Harleston will hear no price. 5

_Mar._ Thomas, maids when they come to see the fair Count not to make a cope[173] for dearth of hay; When we have turn’d our butter to the salt, And set our cheese safely upon the racks, Then let our fathers price it as they please. 10 We country sluts of merry Fressingfield Come to buy needless naughts to make us fine, And look that young men should be frank this day, And court us with such fairings as they can. Phœbus is blithe, and frolic looks from heaven, As when he courted lovely Semele, 16 Swearing the pedlars shall have empty packs, If that fair weather may make chapmen buy.

_Lacy._ But, lovely Peggy, Semele is dead, And therefore Phœbus from his palace pries, 20 And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint, Shows all his glories for to court yourself.

_Mar._ This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed, To soothe me up with such smooth flattery; But learn of me, your scoff’s too broad before.—[174] 25 Well, Joan, our beauties must abide their jests; We serve the turn in jolly Fressingfield.

_Joan._ Margaret, a farmer’s daughter for a farmer’s son: I warrant you, the meanest of us both Shall have a mate to lead us from the church. But, Thomas, what’s the news? What, in a dump? 31 Give me your hand, we are near a pedlar’s shop; Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.

_Thom._ Faith, Joan, and shall. I’ll bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern, (35) and snap off a pint of wine or two.

_All this while_ LACY _whispers_ MARGARET _in the ear._

_Mar._ Whence are you, sir? Of Suffolk? For your terms Are finer than the common sort of men.

_Lacy._ Faith, lovely girl, I am of Beccles by, Your neighbour, not above six miles from hence, 40 A farmer’s son, that never was so quaint[175] But that he could do courtesy to such dames. But trust me, Margaret, I am sent in charge From him that revell’d in your father’s house, And fill’d his lodge with cheer and venison, 45 Tired in green. He sent you this rich purse, His token that he help’d you run your cheese, And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself.

_Mar._ To me?

_Lacy._ You forget yourself;[176] 50 Women are often weak in memory.

_Mar._ O, pardon, sir, I call to mind the man. ’T were little manners to refuse his gift, And yet I hope he sends it not for love; For we have little leisure to debate of that. 55

_Joan._ What, Margaret! blush not; maids must have their loves.

_Thom._ Nay, by the mass, she looks pale as if she were angry.

_Rich._ Sirrah, are you of Beccles? I pray, how doth Goodman Cob? My father bought a (60) horse of him.—I’ll tell you, Margaret, ’a were good to be a gentleman’s jade, for of all things the foul hilding[177] could not abide a doong-cart.

_Mar._ [_aside._] How different is this farmer from the rest 65 That erst as yet have pleas’d my wand’ring sight! His words are witty, quickened with a smile, His courtesy gentle, smelling of the court; Facile and debonair in all his deeds, Proportion’d as was Paris, when, in grey,[178] 70 He courted Œnon in the vale by Troy. Great lords have come and pleaded for my love: Who but the Keeper’s lass of Fressingfield? And yet methinks this farmer’s jolly son Passeth the proudest that hath pleas’d mine eye. 75 But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love, And show as yet no sign of love to him, Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love; Keep that to thee till time doth serve thy turn, To show the grief wherein thy heart doth burn.— 80 Come, Joan and Thomas, shall we to the fair?— You, Beccles man, will not forsake us now?

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

_Mar._ Well, if you chance to come by Fressingfield, Make but a step into the Keeper’s lodge, 85 And such poor fare as woodmen can afford, Butter and cheese, cream and fat venison, You shall have store, and welcome therewithal.

_Lacy._ Gramercies, Peggy; look for me ere long. _Exeunt._

[Scene IV.][179]

_Enter_ [KING] HENRY THE THIRD, _the_ EMPEROR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE, ELINOR, _his daughter_, _and_ VANDERMAST, _a German._

_K. Hen._ Great men of Europe, monarchs of the west, Ring’d with the walls of old Oceanus, Whose lofty surge is like the battlements That compass’d high-built Babel in with towers, Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave western kings, 5 To England’s shore, whose promontory cliffs Show Albion is another little world; Welcome says English Henry to you all; Chiefly unto the lovely Elinor, Who dar’d for Edward’s sake cut through the seas, 10 And venture as Agenor’s damsel through the deep, To get the love of Henry’s wanton son.

_K. of Cast._ England’s rich monarch, brave Plantagenet, The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds, That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls, 15 Could not detain the beauteous Elinor; But, hearing of the fame of Edward’s youth, She dar’d to brook Neptunus’ haughty pride, And bide the brunt of froward Æolus. 19 Then may fair England welcome her the more.

_Elin._ After that English Henry by his lords Had sent Prince Edward’s lovely counterfeit, A present to the Castile Elinor, The comely portrait of so brave a man, The virtuous fame discoursed of his deeds, 25 Edward’s courageous resolution, Done at the Holy Land ’fore Damas’ walls, Led both mine eye and thoughts in equal links To like so of the English monarch’s son, That I attempted perils for his sake. 30

_Emp._ Where is the prince, my lord?

_K. Hen._ He posted down, not long since, from the court, To Suffolk side, to merry Framlingham, To sport himself amongst my fallow deer; From thence, by packets sent to Hampton-house, 35 We hear the prince is ridden with his lords To Oxford, in the académy there To hear dispute amongst the learned men. But we will send forth letters for my son, To will him come from Oxford to the court. 40

_Emp._ Nay, rather, Henry, let us, as we be, Ride for to visit Oxford with our train. Fain would I see your universities, And what learn’d men your académy yields. From Hapsburg have I brought a learned clerk To hold dispute with English orators. 46 This doctor, surnam’d Jaques Vandermast, A German born, pass’d into Padua, To Florence and to fair Bologna, To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans, 50 And, talking there with men of art, put down The chiefest of them all in aphorisms,[180] In magic, and the mathematic rules: Now let us, Henry, try him in your schools.

_K. Hen._ He shall, my lord; this motion likes me well. 55 We’ll progress straight to Oxford with our trains, And see what men our académy brings.— And, wonder Vandermast, welcome to me. In Oxford shalt thou find a jolly friar Call’d Friar Bacon, England’s only flower: 60 Set him but nonplus in his magic spells, And make him yield in mathematic rules, And for thy glory I will bind thy brows, Not with a poet’s garland made of bays, But with a coronet of choicest gold. 65 Whilst,[181] then, we set[182] to Oxford with our troops, Let’s in and banquet in our English court. _Exeunt._

[SCENE V.][183]

_Enter_ RALPH SIMNELL _in_ [PRINCE] EDWARD’S _apparel; and_ [PRINCE] EDWARD, WARREN, _and_ ERMSBY, _disguised._

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

_P. Edw._ If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.[184]

_Ralph._ Sirrah Ned, I’ll have no more post-horse (5) to ride on: I’ll have another fetch.[185]

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

_Ralph._ Marry, sir, I’ll send to the Isle of Ely for four or five dozen of geese, and I’ll have them tied six and six together with whip-cord, (10) Now upon their backs will I have a fair field-bed with a canopy; and so, when it is my pleasure, I’ll flee into what place I please. This will be easy.

_War._ Your honour hath said well; but (15) shall we to Brazen-nose College before we pull off our boots?

_Erms._ Warren, well motion’d; we will to the friar Before we revel it within the town.— Ralph, see you keep your countenance like a prince. 20

_Ralph._ Wherefore have I such a company of cutting[186] knaves to wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against all mine enemies? Have you not good swords and bucklers? 25

_Enter_ [FRIAR] BACON _and_ MILES.

_Erms._ Stay, who comes here?

_War._ Some scholar; and we’ll ask him where Friar Bacon is.

_Bacon._ Why, thou arrant dunce, shall I never make thee good scholar? Doth not all the (30) town cry out and say, Friar Bacon’s subsizer[187] is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? Why, thou canst not speak one word of true Latin.

_Miles._ No, sir? yes. What is this else? _Ego sum tuus homo_, “I am your man”: I warrant (35) you, sir, as good Tully’s phrase as any is in Oxford.

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

_Miles. Ego_, that is “I”; marry, _nomen (40) substantivo_.

_Bacon._ How prove you that?

_Miles._ Why, sir, let him prove himself an ’a will; I can be heard, felt, and understood.

_Bacon._ O gross dunce! _Beats him._ 45

_P. Edw._ Come, let us break off this dispute between these two.—Sirrah, where is Brazen-nose College?

_Miles._ Not far from Coppersmith’s Hall.

_P. Edw._ What, dost thou mock me? 50

_Miles._ Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazen-nose?

_Erms._ Marry, we would speak with Friar Bacon.

_Miles._ Whose men be you? 55

_Erms._ Marry, scholar, here ’s our master.

_Ralph._ Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrel? 59

_Miles._ Then here ’s good game for the hawk; for here’s the master-fool and a covey of coxcombs. One wise man, I think, would spring you all.

_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds! Warren, kill him.

_War._ Why, Ned, I think the devil be in (65) my sheath; I cannot get out my dagger.

_Erms._ Nor I mine. ’Swounds, Ned, I think I am bewitcht.

_Miles._ A company of scabs! The proudest of you all draw your weapon, if he can.—(70) [_Aside._] See how boldly I speak, now my master is by.

_P. Edw._ I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut And conjur’d fast by magic in my sheath, Villain, here is my fist. _Strikes_ MILES _a box on the ear._

_Miles._ O, I beseech you conjure his hands (75) too, that he may not lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered!

_Ralph._ Ned, strike him; I’ll warrant thee by mine honour.

_Bacon._ What means the English prince to wrong my man? 80

_P. Edw._ To whom speak’st thou?

_Bacon._ To thee.

_P. Edw._ Who art thou?

_Bacon._ Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast, That Friar Bacon was not far from hence? 85 Edward, King Henry’s son and Prince of Wales, Thy fool disguis’d cannot conceal thyself. I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earl, Else Friar Bacon had but little skill. Thou com’st in post from merry Fressingfield, 90 Fast-fancied[188] to the Keeper’s bonny lass, To crave some succour of the jolly friar; And Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, hast thou left To treat[189] fair Margaret to allow thy loves; 94 But friends are men, and love can baffle lords; The earl both woos and courts her for himself.

_War._ Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all.

_Erms._ Apollo could not utter more than this.

_P. Edw._ I stand amaz’d to hear this jolly friar Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts.— But, learned Bacon, since thou know’st the cause 101 Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield, Help, friar, at a pinch, that I may have The love of lovely Margaret to myself, 104 And, as I am true Prince of Wales, I’ll give Living and lands to strength thy college state.

_War._ Good friar, help the prince in this.

_Ralph._ Why, servant Ned, will not the friar do it? Were not my sword glued to my scabbard by conjuration, I would cut off his 110 head, and make him do it by force.

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

_Erms._ What, doctor, in a dump? Tush, help the prince, 115 And thou shalt see how liberal he will prove.

_Bacon._. Crave not such actions greater dumps than these? I will, my lord, strain out my magic spells; For this day comes the earl to Fressingfield, 119 And ’fore that night shuts in the day with dark, They’ll be betrothed each to other fast. But come with me; we’ll to my study straight, And in a glass prospective I will show What’s done this day in merry Fressingfield.

_P. Edw._ Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy pain. 125

_Bacon._ But send your train, my lord, into the town; My scholar shall go bring them to their inn. Meanwhile we’ll see the knavery of the earl.

_P. Edw._ Warren, leave me:—and, Ermsby, take the fool; Let him be master, and go revel it, 130 Till I and Friar Bacon talk awhile.

_War._ We will, my lord.

_Ralph._ Faith, Ned, and I’ll lord it out till thou comest. I’ll be Prince of Wales over all the black-pots[190] in Oxford. _Exeunt._ 135

[Scene VI.][191]

FRIAR BACON _and_ [PRINCE] EDWARD _go into the study_.[192]

_Bacon._ Now, frolic Edward, welcome to my cell; Here tempers Friar Bacon many toys. And holds this place his consistory-court, Wherein the devils plead homage to his words. Within this glass prospective thou shalt see 5 This day what’s done in merry Fressingfield ’Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln Earl.

_P. Edw._ Friar, thou glad’st me. Now shall Edward try How Lacy meaneth to his sovereign lord.

_Bacon._ Stand there and look directly in the glass. 10

_Enter_ MARGARET _and_ FRIAR BUNGAY.

What sees my lord?

_P. Edw._ I see the Keeper’s lovely lass appear, As brightsome[193] as the paramour of Mars, Only attended by a jolly friar.

_Bacon._ Sit still, and keep the crystal in your eye. 15

_Mar._ But tell me. Friar Bungay, is it true[194] That this fair courteous country swain, Who says his father is a farmer nigh, Can be Lord Lacy, Earl of Lincolnshire?

_Bun._ Peggy, ’t is true, ’t is Lacy for my life, 20 Or else mine art and cunning both doth fail, Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves; For he in green, that help you run your cheese, Is son to Henry and the Prince of Wales.

_Mar._ Be what he will, his lure is but for lust. 25 But did Lord Lacy like poor Margaret, Or would he deign to wed a country lass, Friar, I would his humble handmaid be, And for great wealth quite him with courtesy. 29

_Bun._ Why, Margaret, dost thou love him?

_Mar._ His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy, Might well avouch to shadow[195] Helen’s scape:[196] His wit is quick and ready in conceit, As Greece afforded in her chiefest prime: Courteous, ah friar, full of pleasing smiles! 35 Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more; Suffice to me he’s England’s paramour.

_Bun._ Hath not each eye that view’d thy pleasing face Surnamed thee Fair Maid of Fressingfield?

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

_Bun._ Fear not, the friar will not be behind To show his cunning to entangle love.

_P. Edw._ I think the friar courts the bonny wench; Bacon, methinks he is a lusty churl. 45

_Bacon._ Now look, my lord.

_Enter_ LACY [_disguised as before_].

_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds, Bacon, here comes Lacy!

_Bacon._ Sit still, my lord, and mark the comedy.

_Bun._ Here’s Lacy, Margaret; step aside awhile. _They withdraw._

_Lacy._ Daphne, the damsel that caught Phœbus fast, 51 And lock’d him in the brightness of her looks, Was not so beauteous in Apollo’s eyes As is fair Margaret to the Lincoln Earl. Recant thee, Lacy, thou art put in trust: 55 Edward, thy sovereign’s son, hath chosen thee, A secret friend, to court her for himself, And dar’st thou wrong thy prince with treachery? Lacy, love makes no exception of a friend, Nor deems it of a prince but as a man. 60 Honour bids thee control[197] him in his lust; His wooing is not for to wed the girl, But to entrap her and beguile the lass. Lacy, thou lov’st, then brook not such abuse, But wed her, and abide thy prince’s frown; 65 For better die than see her live disgrac’d.

_Mar._ Come, friar, I will shake him from his dumps.—[_Comes forward._] How cheer you, sir? A penny for your thought! You ’re early up, pray God it be the near.[198] What, come from Beccles in a morn so soon? 70

_Lacy._ Thus watchful are such men as live in love, Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep. I tell thee, Peggy, since last Harleston fair My mind hath felt a heap of passions.

_Mar._ A trusty man, that court it for your friend. 75 Woo you still for the courtier all in green? I marvel that he sues not for himself.

_Lacy._ Peggy, I pleaded first to get your grace for him; But when mine eyes survey’d your beauteous looks, 80 Love, like a wag, straight div’d into my heart, And there did shrine the idea of yourself. Pity me, though I be a farmer’s son, And measure not my riches, but my love. 84

_Mar._ You are very hasty; for to garden well, Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring: Love ought to creep as doth the dial’s shade, For timely[199] ripe is rotten too-too soon.

_Bun._ [_coming forward._] _Deus hic_; room for a merry friar! What, youth of Beccles, with the Keeper’s lass? 90 ’T is well; but tell me, hear you any news?

_Mar._ No, friar. What news?

_Bun._ Hear you not how the pursuivants do post With proclamations through each country-town? 94

_Lacy._ For what, gentle friar? Tell the news.

_Bun._ Dwell’st thou in Beccles, and hear’st not of these news? Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln, is late fled From Windsor court, disguised like a swain, And lurks about the country here unknown. Henry suspects him of some treachery, 100 And therefore doth proclaim in every way, That who can take the Lincoln Earl shall have, Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns.

_Lacy._ The Earl of Lincoln! Friar, thou art mad. It was some other; thou mistak’st the man. 105 The Earl of Lincoln! Why, it cannot be.

_Mar._ Yes, very well, my lord, for you are he: The Keeper’s daughter took you prisoner. Lord Lacy, yield, I’ll be your gaoler once.

_P. Edw._ How familiar they be, Bacon! 110

_Bacon._ Sit still, and mark the sequel of their loves.

_Lacy._ Then am I double prisoner to thyself. Peggy, I yield. But are these news in jest?

_Mar._ In jest with you, but earnest unto me; For-why[200] these wrongs do wring me at the heart. 115 Ah, how these earls and noblemen of birth Flatter and feign to forge poor women’s ill!

_Lacy._ Believe me, lass, I am the Lincoln Earl; I not deny but, tired thus in rags, I liv’d disguis’d to win fair Peggy’s love. 120

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

_Lacy._ I meant, fair girl, to make thee Lacy’s wife.

_Mar._ I little think that earls will stoop so low.

_Lacy._ Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep?

_Mar._ Handmaid unto the earl, so please himself; 125 A wife in name, but servant in obedience.

_Lacy._ The Lincoln Countess, for it shall be so: I’ll plight the bands, and seal it with a kiss.

_P. Edw._ Gog’s wounds, Bacon, they kiss! I’ll stab them. 130

_Bacon._ O, hold your hands, my lord, it is the glass!

_P. Edw._ Choler to see the traitors gree so well. Made me think the shadows substances.

_Bacon._ ’T were a long poniard, my lord, to reach between Oxford and Fressingfield; but sit still and see more. 135

_Bun._ Well, Lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit, And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree, To avoid ensuing jars, I’ll hamper up the match. I’ll take my portace[201] forth and wed you here: Then go to bed and seal[202] up your desires. 140

_Lacy._ Friar, content.—Peggy, how like you this?

_Mar._ What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.

_Bun._ Then hand-fast hand, and I will to my book.

_Bacon._ What sees my lord now?

_P. Edw._ Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand, 145 The friar ready with his portace there To wed them both: then am I quite undone. Bacon, help now, if e’er thy magic serv’d; Help, Bacon! Stop the marriage now, If devils or necromancy may suffice, 150 And I will give thee forty thousand crowns.

_Bacon._ Fear not, my lord, I’ll stop the jolly friar For[203] mumbling up his orisons this day.

_Lacy._ Why speak’st not, Bungay? Friar, to thy book.

_Bungay is mute, crying_, “Hud, hud.”

_Mar._ How look’st thou, friar, as a man distraught? 155 Reft of thy senses, Bungay? Show by signs, If thou be dumb, what passions holdeth thee.

_Lacy._ He’s dumb indeed. Bacon hath with his devils Enchanted him, or else some strange disease Or apoplexy hath possess’d his lungs. 160 But, Peggy, what he cannot with his book, We’ll ’twixt us both unite it up in heart.

_Mar._ Else let me die, my lord, a miscreant.

_P. Edw._ Why stands Friar Bungay so amaz’d?

_Bacon._ I have struck him dumb, my lord; and, if your honour please, 165 I’ll fetch this Bungay straightway from Fressingfield And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.

_P. Edw._ Bacon, do that, and thou contentest me.

_Lacy._ Of courtesy, Margaret, let us lead the friar Unto thy father’s lodge, to comfort him 170 With broths, to bring him from this hapless trance.

_Mar._ Or else, my lord, we were passing unkind To leave the friar so in his distress.

_Enter a_ Devil, _who carries off_ BUNGAY _on his back._

O, help, my lord! a devil, a devil, my lord! Look how he carries Bungay on his back! 175 Let’s hence, for Bacon’s spirits be abroad. _Exit_ [_with_ LACY].

_P. Edw._ Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly friar Mounted upon the devil, and how the earl Flees with his bonny lass for fear. As soon as Bungay is at Brazen-nose, 180 And I have chatted with the merry friar, I will in post hie me to Fressingfield, And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere ’t be long.

_Bacon._ So be it, my lord; but let us to our dinner; For ere we have taken our repast awhile, 185 We shall have Bungay brought to Brazen-nose. _Exeunt._

[Scene VII.][204]

_Enter_ three doctors, BURDEN, MASON, _and_ CLEMENT.

_Mason._ Now that we are gathered in the Regent-house, It fits us talk about the king’s repair,[205] For he, trooped with all the western kings, That lie alongst the Dantzic seas by east, North by the clime of frosty Germany, 5 The Almain monarch, and the Saxon duke, Castile and lovely Elinor with him, Have in their jests resolv’d for Oxford town.

_Burd._ We must lay plots of stately tragedies Strange comic shows, such as proud Roscius 10 Vaunted before the Roman emperors, To welcome all the western potentates.

_Clem._ But more; the king by letters hath foretold That Frederick, the Almain emperor, Hath brought with him a German of esteem, 15 Whose surname is Don Jaques Vandermast, Skilful in magic and those secret arts.

_Mason._ Then must we all make suit unto the friar, To Friar Bacon, that he vouch this task, And undertake to countervail in skill 20 The German; else there’s none in Oxford can Match and dispute with learned Vandermast.

_Burd._ Bacon, if he will hold the German play, Will teach him what an English friar can do. The devil, I think, dare not dispute with him. 25

_Clem._ Indeed, Mas doctor, he [dis]pleasur’d you, In that he brought your hostess with her spit From Henley, posting unto Brazen-nose.

_Burd._ A vengeance on the friar for his pains! But leaving that, let’s hie to Bacon straight, 30 To see if he will take this task in hand.

_Clem._ Stay, what rumour is this? The town is up in a mutiny. What hurly-burly is this?

_Enter a_ Constable, _with_ RALPH SIMNELL, WARREN, ERMSBY, [_all three disguised as before_], _and_ MILES.

_Cons._ Nay, masters, if you were ne’er so good, you shall before the doctors to answer (35) your misdemeanour.

_Burd._ What’s the matter, fellow?

_Cons._ Marry, sir, here’s a company of rufflers, that, drinking in the tavern, have made a great brawl, and almost killed the vintner. 40

_Miles._ Salve_, Doctor Burden! This lubberly lurden,[206] Ill-shap’d and ill-faced, Disdain’d and disgraced, What he tells unto _vobis_ 45 _Mentitur de nobis_.

_Burd._ Who is the master and chief of this crew?

_Miles._ Ecce asinum mundi_ _Fugura rotundi_, 50 Neat, sheat,[207] and fine, As brisk as a cup of wine.

_Burd._ What are you?

_Ralph._ I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the bell-wether of this company; these (55) are my lords, and I the Prince of Wales.

_Clem._ Are you Edward, the king’s son?

_Ralph._ Sirrah Miles, bring hither the tapster that drew the wine, and, I warrant, when they see how soundly I have broke his head, 60 they’ll say ’t was done by no less man than a prince.

_Mason._ I cannot believe that this is the Prince of Wales.

_War._ And why so, sir? 65

_Mason._ For they say the prince is a brave and a wise gentleman.

_War._ Why, and think’st thou, doctor, that he is not so? Dar’st thou detract and derogate from him, Being so lovely and so brave a youth? 70

_Erms._ Whose face, shining with many a sug’red smile, Bewrays that he is bred of princely race.

_Miles._ And yet, master doctor, To speak like a proctor, And tell unto you 75 What is veriment and true; To cease of this quarrel, Look but on his apparel; Then mark but my talis. He is great Prince of Walis, 80 The chief of our _gregis_, And _filius regis_: Then ’ware what is done, For he is Henry’s white[208] son.

_Ralph._ Doctors, whose doting night-caps are (85) not capable of my ingenious dignity, know that I am Edward Plantagenet, whom if you displease will make a ship that shall hold all your colleges, and so carry away the niniversity with a fair wind to the Bankside in Southwark. (90) —How sayest thou, Ned Warren, shall I not do it?

_War._ Yes, my good lord; and, if it please your lordship, I will gather up all your old pantofles, and with the cork[209] make you a (95) pinnace of five-hundred ton, that shall serve the turn marvellous well, my lord.

_Erms._ And I, my lord, will have pioners to undermine the town, that the very gardens and orchards be carried away for your 100 summerwalks.

_Miles._ And I, with _scientia_ And great _diligentia_, Will conjure and charm, To keep you from harm; 105 That _utrum horum mavis_, Your very great _navis_, Like Barclay’s[210] ship, From Oxford do skip With colleges and schools, 110 Full-loaden with fools. _Quid dicis ad hoc_, Worshipful _Domine_ Dawcock?

_Clem._ Why, hare-brain’d courtiers, are you drunk or mad, To taunt us up with such scurrility? 115 Deem you us men of base and light esteem, To bring us such a fop for Henry’s son?— Call out the beadles and convey them hence Straight to Bocardo:[211] let the roisters lie Close clapt in bolts, until their wits be tame. 120

_Erms._ Why, shall we to prison, my lord?

_Ralph._ What sayest, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence?

_Miles._ No, no: out with your blades, And hamper these jades; 125 Have a flurt and a crash, Now play revel-dash, And teach these sacerdos That the Bocardos, Like peasants and elves, 130 Are meet for themselves.

_Mason._ To the prison with them, constable.

_War._ Well, doctors, seeing I have sported me With laughing at these mad and merry wags, Know that Prince Edward is at Brazen-nose, 135 And this, attired like the Prince of Wales, Is Ralph, King Henry’s only loved fool; I, Earl of Sussex, and this Ermsby, One of the privy-chamber to the king; Who, while the prince with Friar Bacon stays, Have revell’d it in Oxford as you see. 141

_Mason._ My lord, pardon us, we knew not what you were: But courtiers may make greater scapes than these. Wilt please your honour dine with me to-day?

_War._ I will, Master doctor, and satisfy (145) the vintner for his hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him all this forenoon the Prince of Wales.

_Mason._ I will, sir.

_Ralph._ And upon that I will lead the way; (150) only I will have Miles go before me, because I have heard Henry say that wisdom must go before majesty. _Exeunt._

[SCENE VIII.][212]

_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _with his poniard in his hand_, LACY, _and_ MARGARET.

_P. Edw._ Lacy, thou canst not shroud thy traitorous thoughts, Nor cover, as did Cassius, all his wiles; For Edward hath an eye that looks as far As Lynceus from the shores of Græcia. Did not I sit in Oxford by the friar, 5 And see thee court the maid of Fressingfield, Sealing thy flattering fancies with a kiss? Did not proud Bungay draw his portace forth, And, joining hand in hand, had married you, If Friar Bacon had not struck him dumb, 10 And mounted him upon a spirit’s back, That we might chat at Oxford with the friar? Traitor, what answer’st? Is not all this true?

_Lacy._ Truth all, my lord; and thus I make reply: At Harleston fair, there courting for your grace, Whenas mine eye survey’d her curious shape, 16 And drew the beauteous glory of her looks To dive into the centre of my heart, Love taught me that your honour did but jest, That princes were in fancy[213] but as men; 20 How that the lovely maid of Fressingfield Was fitter to be Lacy’s wedded wife Than concubine unto the Prince of Wales.

_P. Edw._ Injurious Lacy, did I love thee more Than Alexander his Hephæstion? 25 Did I unfold the passions of my love, And lock them in the closet of thy thoughts? Wert thou to Edward second to himself, Sole friend, and partner of his secret loves? And could a glance of fading beauty break 30 Th’ enchained fetters of such private friends? Base coward, false, and too effeminate To be corrival[214] with a prince in thoughts! From Oxford have I posted since I din’d, To quite a traitor ’fore that Edward sleep. 35

_Mar._ ’T was I, my lord, not Lacy stept awry: For oft he su’d and courted for yourself, And still woo’d for the courtier all in green; But I, whom fancy made but over-fond, Pleaded myself with looks as if I lov’d; 40 I fed mine eye with gazing on his face, And still bewitch’d lov’d Lacy with my looks; My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears, My face held pity and content at once, And more I could not cipher-out by signs, 45 But that I lov’d Lord Lacy with my heart. Then, worthy Edward, measure with thy mind If women’s favours will not force men fall, If beauty, and if darts of piercing love, Are not of force to bury thoughts of friends. 50

_P. Edw._ I tell thee, Peggy, I will have thy loves; Edward or none shall conquer Margaret In frigates bottom’d with rich Sethin[215] planks, Topt with the lofty firs of Lebanon, Stemm’d and incas’d with burnish’d ivory, 55 And over-laid with plates of Persian wealth, Like Thetis shalt thou wanton on the waves, And draw the dolphins to thy lovely eyes, To dance lavoltas in the purple streams: Sirens, with harps and silver psalteries, 60 Shall wait with music at thy frigate’s stem, And entertain fair Margaret with their lays. England and England’s wealth shall wait on thee; Britain shall bend unto her prince’s love, And do due homage to thine excellence, 65 If thou wilt be but Edward’s Margaret.

_Mar._ Pardon, my lord: if Jove’s great royalty Sent me such presents as to Danaë; If Phœbus, tired in Latona’s webs, Come courting from the beauty of his lodge; 70 The dulcet tunes of frolic Mercury,— Nor all the wealth heaven’s treasury affords Should make me leave Lord Lacy or his love.

_P. Edw._ I have learn’d at Oxford, then, this point of schools,— _Ablata causa, tollitur effectus:_ 75 Lacy, the cause that Margaret cannot love Nor fix her liking on the English prince, Take him away, and then th’ effects will fail. Villain, prepare thyself; for I will bathe My poniard in the bosom of an earl. 80

_Lacy._ Rather than live, and miss fair Margaret’s love, Prince Edward, stop not at the fatal doom, But stab it home: end both my loves and life.

_Mar._ Brave Prince of Wales, honoured for royal deeds, ’Twere sin to stain fair Venus’ courts with blood; 85 Love’s conquest ends, my lord, in courtesy. Spare Lacy, gentle Edward; let me die, For so both you and he do cease your loves.

_P. Edw._ Lacy shall die as traitor to his lord.

_Lacy._ I have deserv’d it, Edward; act it well. 90

_Mar._ What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy’s death?

_P. Edw._ To end the loves ’twixt him and Margaret.

_Mar._ Why, thinks King Henry’s son that Margaret’s love Hangs in th’ uncertain balance of proud time? That death shall make a discord of our thoughts? 95 No, stab the earl, and, ’fore the morning sun Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east, Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.

_Lacy._ If aught betides to lovely Margaret That wrongs or wrings her honour from content, 100 Europe’s rich wealth nor England’s monarchy Should not allure Lacy to over-live. Then, Edward, short my life, and end her loves.

_Mar._ Rid[216] me, and keep a friend worth many loves.

_Lacy._ Nay, Edward, keep a love worth many friends. 105

_Mar._ An if thy mind be such as fame hath blaz’d, Then, princely Edward, let us both abide The fatal resolution of thy rage. Banish thou fancy and embrace revenge, And in one tomb knit both our carcases, 110 Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love.

_P. Edw._ [_aside._] Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales, Who at Damasco beat the Saracens, And brought’st home triumph on thy lance’s point? And shall thy plumes be pull’d by Venus down? 115 Is’t princely to dissever lovers’ leagues, To part such friends as glory in their loves? Leave, Ned, and make a virtue of this fault, And further Peg and Lacy in their loves: So in subduing fancy’s passion, 120 Conquering thyself, thou gett’st the richest spoil.——- Lacy, rise up. Fair Peggy, here’s my hand. The Prince of Wales hath conquered all his thoughts, And all his loves he yields unto the earl. Lacy, enjoy the maid of Fressingfield; 125 Make her thy Lincoln Countess at the church, And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet, Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife.

_Lacy._ Humbly I take her of my sovereign, As if that Edward gave me England’s right, 130 And rich’d me with the Albion diadem.

_Mar._ And doth the English prince mean true? Will he vouchsafe to cease his former loves, And yield the title of a country maid Unto Lord Lacy? 135

_P. Edw._ I will, fair Peggy, as I am true lord.

_Mar._ Then, lordly sir, whose conquest is as great, In conquering love, as Caesar’s victories, Margaret, as mild and humble in her thoughts As was Aspasia unto Cyrus’ self, 140 Yields thanks, and, next Lord Lacy, doth enshrine Edward the second secret in her heart.

_P. Edw._ Gramercy, Peggy. Now that vows are past, And that your loves are not to be revolt,[217] Once, Lacy, friends again. Come, we will post To Oxford; for this day the king is there, 145 And brings for Edward Castile Elinor. Peggy, I must go see and view my wife: I pray God I like her as I loved thee. Beside, Lord Lincoln, we shall hear dispute 150 ’Twixt Friar Bacon and learned Vandermast. Peggy, we’ll leave you for a week or two.

_Mar._ As it please Lord Lacy; but love’s foolish looks Think footsteps miles and minutes to be hours.

_Lacy._ I’ll hasten, Peggy, to make short return.—— 155 But please your honour go unto the lodge, We shall have butter, cheese, and venison; And yesterday I brought for Margaret A lusty bottle of neat claret-wine: Thus can we feast and entertain your grace. 160

_P. Edw._ ’Tis cheer, Lord Lacy, for an emperor, If he respect the person and the place. Come, let us in; for I will all this night Ride post until I come to Bacon’s cell. _Exeunt._

[SCENE IX.][218]

_Enter_ KING HENRY, the EMPEROR, the KING OF CASTILE, ELINOR, VANDERMAST, _and_ BUNGAY.

_Emp._ Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schools Are richly seated near the river-side: The mountains full of fat and fallow deer, The battling[219] pastures lade with kine and flocks, The town gorgeous with high-built colleges, 5 And scholars seemly in their grave attire, Learned in searching principles of art.—— What is thy judgment, Jaques Vandermast?

_Van._ That lordly are the buildings of the town, 9 Spacious the rooms, and full of pleasant walks; But for the doctors, how that they be learned, It may be meanly, for aught I can hear.

_Bun._ I tell thee, German, Hapsburg holds none such, None read so deep as Oxenford contains. There are within our academic state 15 Men that may lecture it in Germany To all the doctors of your Belgic schools.

_K. Hen._ Stand to him, Bungay, charm this Vandermast, And I will use thee as a royal king.

_Van._ Wherein darest thou dispute with me? 20

_Bun._ In what a doctor and a friar can.

_Van._ Before rich Europe’s worthies put thou forth The doubtful question unto Vandermast.

_Bun._ Let it be this,—Whether the spirits of pyromancy or geomancy be most predominant (25) in magic?

_Van._ I say, of pyromancy.

_Bun._ And I, of geomancy.

_Van._ The cabalists that write of magic spells, As Hermes, Melchie, and Pythagoras, 30 Affirm that, ’mongst the quadruplicity Of elemental essence, _terra_ is but thought To be a _punctum_ squared[220] to the rest; And that the compass of ascending elements Exceed in bigness as they do in height; 35 Judging the concave circle of the sun To hold the rest in his circumference. If, then, as Hermes says, the fire be great’st, Purest, and only giveth shape to spirits, Then must these dæmones that haunt that place Be every way superior to the rest. 41

_Bun._ I reason not of elemental shapes, Nor tell I of the concave latitudes, Noting their essence nor their quality, But of the spirits that pyromancy calls, 45 And of the vigour of the geomantic fiends. I tell thee, German, magic haunts the ground, And those strange necromantic spells, That work such shows and wondering in the world, Are acted by those geomantic spirits 50 That Hermes calleth _terræ filii_. The fiery spirits are but transparent shades, That lightly pass as heralds to bear news; But earthly fiends, clos’d in the lowest deep, Dissever mountains, if they be but charg’d, 55 Being more gross and massy in their power.

_Van._ Rather these earthly geomantic spirits Are dull and like the place where they remain; For when proud Lucifer fell from the heavens, The spirits and angels that did sin with him, 60 Retain’d their local essence as their faults, All subject under Luna’s continent. They which offended less hang in the fire, And second faults did rest within the air; But Lucifer and his proud-hearted fiends 65 Were thrown into the centre of the earth, Having less understanding than the rest, As having greater sin and lesser grace. Therefore such gross and earthly spirits do serve For jugglers, witches, and vile sorcerers; 70 Whereas the pyromantic genii Are mighty, swift, and of far-reaching power. But grant that geomancy hath most force; Bungay, to please these mighty potentates, Prove by some instance what thy art can do. 75

_Bun._ I will.

_Emp._ Now, English Harry, here begins the game; We shall see sport between these learned men.

_Van._ What wilt thou do?

_Bun._ Show thee the tree, leav’d with refined gold, 80 Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat, That watch’d the garden call’d Hesperides, Subdu’d and won by conquering Hercules.

_Van._ Well done!

_Here_ BUNGAY _conjures, and the tree appears with the dragon shooting fire._

_K. Hen._ What say you, royal lordings, to my friar? 85 Hath he not done a point of cunning skill?

_Van._ Each scholar in the necromantic spells Can do as much as Bungay hath perform’d. But as Alcmena’s bastard raz’d this tree, So will I raise him up as when he liv’d, 90 And cause him pull the dragon from his seat, And tear the branches piecemeal from the root.— Hercules! _Prodi, prodi_, Hercules!

HERCULES _appears in his lion’s skin._

_Her. Quis me vult?_

_Van._ Jove’s bastard son, thou Libyan Hercules, 95 Pull off the sprigs from off the Hesperian tree, As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.

_Her. Fiat._ _Begins to break the branches._

_Van._ Now, Bungay, if thou canst by magic charm The fiend, appearing like great Hercules, 100 From pulling down the branches of the tree, Then art thou worthy to be counted learned.

_Bun._ I cannot.

_Van._ Cease, Hercules, until I give thee charge.— Mighty commander of this English isle, 105 Henry, come from the stout Plantagenets, Bungay is learn’d enough to be a friar; But to compare with Jaques Vandermast, Oxford and Cambridge must go seek their cells To find a man to match him in his art. 110 I have given nonplus to the Paduans, To them of Sien, Florence, and Bologna, Rheims, Louvain, and fair Rotterdam, Frankfort, Lutetia,[221] and Orleans: And now must Henry, if he do me right, 115 Crown me with laurel, as they all have done.

_Enter_ BACON.

_Bacon._ All hail to this royal company, That sit to hear and see this strange dispute!— Bungay, how stand’st thou as a man amaz’d? What, hath the German acted more than thou? 120

_Van._ What art thou that questions thus?

_Bacon._ Men call me Bacon.

_Van._ Lordly thou look’st, as if that thou wert learn’d; Thy countenance as if science held her seat Between the circled archers of thy brows. 125

_K. Hen._ Now, monarchs, hath the German found his match.

_Emp._ Bestir thee, Jaques, take not now the foil, Lest thou dost lose what foretime thou didst gain.

_Van._ Bacon, wilt thou dispute?

_Bacon._ No, 130 Unless he were more learn’d than Vandermast: For yet, tell me, what hast thou done?

_Van._ Rais’d Hercules to ruinate that tree That Bungay mounted by his magic spells.

_Bacon._ Set Hercules to work. 135

_Van._ Now, Hercules, I charge thee to thy task; Pull off the golden branches from the root.

_Her._ I dare not. See’st thou not great Bacon here, Whose frown doth act more than thy magic can?

_Van._ By all the thrones, and dominations, 140 Virtues, powers, and mighty hierarchies, I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.

_Her._ Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon, And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north, Binds me from yielding unto Vandermast. 145

_K. Hen._ How now, Vandermast! Have you met with your match?

_Van._ Never before was’t known to Vandermast That men held devils in such obedient awe. Bacon doth more than art, or else I fail. 150

_Emp._ Why, Vandermast, art then overcome?— Bacon, dispute with him, and try his skill.

_Bacon._ I come not, monarchs, for to hold dispute With such a novice as is Vandermast; I came to have your royalties to dine 155 With Friar Bacon here in Brazen-nose; And, for this German troubles but the place, And holds this audience with a long suspence, I’ll send him to his academy hence.—— 159 Thou Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise, Transport the German unto Hapsburg straight, That he may learn by travail, ’gainst the spring, More secret dooms and aphorisms of art. Vanish the tree, and thou away with him!

_Exit the spirit_ [_of_ HERCULES] _with_ VANDERMAST _and the tree._

_Emp._ Why, Bacon, whither dost thou send him? (165)

_Bacon._ To Hapsburg; there your highness at return Shall find the German in his study safe.

_K. Hen._ Bacon, thou hast honour’d England with thy skill, And made fair Oxford famous by thine art; I will be English Henry to thyself. 170 But tell me, shall we dine with thee to-day?

_Bacon._ With me, my lord; and while I fit my cheer, See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you. Gracious as the morning-star of heaven. _Exit._

_Enter_ [PRINCE] EDWARD, LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY.

_Emp._ Is this Prince Edward, Henry’s royal son? 175 How martial is the figure of his face! Yet lovely and beset with amorets.[222]

_K. Hen._ Ned, where hast thou been?

_P. Edw._ At Framlingham, my lord, to try your bucks If they could scape the teasers[223] or the toil. 180 But hearing of these lordly potentates Landed, and progress’d up to Oxford town, I posted to give entertain to them: Chief, to the Almain monarch; next to him, And joint with him, Castile and Saxony 185 Are welcome as they may be to the English court. Thus for the men: but see, Venus appears, Or one that overmatcheth Venus in her shape! Sweet Elinor, beauty’s high-swelling pride, Rich nature’s glory and her wealth at once, 190 Fair of all fairs, welcome to Albion; Welcome to me, and welcome to thine own, If that thou deign’st the welcome from myself.

_Elin._ Martial Plantagenet, Henry’s high-minded son, The mark that Elinor did count her aim, 195 I lik’d thee ’fore I saw thee: now I love, And so as in so short a time I may; Yet so as time shall never break that so, And therefore so accept of Elinor.

_K. of Cast._ Fear not, my lord, this couple will agree, 200 If love may creep into their wanton eyes:—— And therefore, Edward, I accept thee here, Without suspence, as my adopted son.

_K. Hen._ Let me that joy in these consorting greets, And glory in these honours done to Ned, 205 Yield thanks for all these favours to my son, And rest a true Plantagenet to all.

_Enter_ MILES _with a cloth and trenchers and salt._

_Miles. Salvete, omnes reges_, That govern your _greges_ In Saxony and Spain, 210 In England and in Almain! For all this frolic rabble Must I cover the table With trenchers, salt, and cloth; And then look for your broth. 215

_Emp._ What pleasant fellow is this?

_K. Hen._ ’Tis, my lord, Doctor Bacon’s poor scholar.

_Miles._ [_aside._] My master hath made me sewer[224] of these great lords; and, God knows, (220) I am as serviceable at a table as a sow is under an apple-tree. ’T is no matter; their cheer shall not be great, and therefore what skills where the salt stand, before or behind? [_Exit._]

_K. of Cast._ These scholars know more skill in axioms, 225 How to use quips and sleights of sophistry, Than for to cover courtly for a king.

_Re-enter_ MILES _with a mess of pottage and broth; and, after him_, BACON.

_Miles._ Spill, sir? why, do you think I never carried twopenny chop[225] before in my life?—— By your leave, _nobile decus_, 230 For here comes Doctor Bacon’s _pecus_, Being in his full age To carry a mess of pottage.

_Bacon._ Lordings, admire[226] not if your cheer be this, For we must keep our academic fare; 235 No riot where philosophy doth reign: And therefore, Henry, place these potentates, And bid them fall unto their frugal cates.

_Emp._ Presumptuons friar! What, scoff’st thou at a king? What, dost thou taunt us with thy peasants’ fare, 240 And give us cates fit for country swains?—— Henry, proceeds this jest of thy consent, To twit us with[227] a pittance of such price? Tell me and Frederick will not grieve thee long.

_K. Hen._ By Henry’s honour, and the royal faith 245 The English monarch beareth to his friend, I knew not of the friar’s feeble fare, Nor am I pleas’d he entertains you thus.

_Bacon._ Content thee, Frederick, for I show’d the cates, To let thee see how scholars use to feed; 250 How little meat refines our English wits.—— Miles, take away, and let it be thy dinner.

_Miles._ Marry, sir, I will. This day shall be a festival-day with me; For I shall exceed in the highest degree. [_Exit._]

_Bacon._ I tell thee, monarch, all the German peers 256 Could not afford thy entertainment such, So royal and so full of majesty, As Bacon will present to Frederick. The basest waiter that attends thy cups 260 Shall be in honours greater than thyself; And for thy cates, rich Alexandria drugs,[228] Fetch’d by carvels from Egypt’s richest straits, Found in the wealthy strand of Africa, Shall royalize the table of my king; 265 Wines richer than th’ Egyptian courtesan Quaff’d to Augustus’ kingly countermatch, Shall be carous’d in English Henry’s feast; Candy shall yield the richest of her canes; Persia, down her Volga by canoes, 270 Send down the secrets of her spicery; The Afric dates, myrobalans[229] of Spain, Conserves and suckets[230] from Tiberias, Cates from Judaea, choicer than the lamp[231] That fired Rome with sparks of gluttony, 275 Shall beautify the board for Frederick: And therefore grudge not at a friar’s feast. [_Exeunt._]

[SCENE X.][232]

_Enter two gentlemen_, LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY, _with the_ Keeper.

_Lam._ Come, frolic Keeper of our liege’s game, Whose table spread hath ever venison And jacks[233] of wine to welcome passengers, Know I’m in love with jolly Margaret, That overshines our damsels as the moon 5 Dark’neth the brightest sparkles of the night. In Laxfield here my land and living lies: I’ll make thy daughter jointer[234] of it all, So thou consent to give her to my wife; And I can spend five hundred marks a-year. 10

_Ser._ I am the lands-lord. Keeper, of thy holds, By copy all thy living lies in me; Laxfield did never see me raise my due: I will enfeoff fair Margaret in all, So she will take her to a lusty squire. 15

_Keep._ Now, courteous gentles, if the Keeper’s girl Hath pleas’d the liking fancy of you both, And with her beauty hath subdu’d your thoughts, ’Tis doubtful to decide the question. It joys me that such men of great esteem 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 keeper’s fee,[235] I will, to avoid displeasure of you both, 25 Call Margaret forth, and she shall make her choice. _Exit._

_Lam._ Content, 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 year be out? 30

_Ser._ I live not, Lambert, to content the dead, Nor was I wedded but for life to her: The grave ends and begins a married state.

_Enter_ MARGARET.

_Lam._ Peggy, the lovely flower of all towns, Suffolk’s fair Helen, and rich England’s star, 35 Whose beauty, tempered with her huswifery, Makes England talk of merry Fressingfield!

_Ser._ I cannot trick it up with poesies, Nor paint my passions with comparisons, Nor tell a tale of Phœbus and his loves: 40 But this believe me,—Laxfield here is mine, Of ancient rent seven hundred pounds a-year, And if thou canst but love a country squire, I will enfeoff thee, Margaret, in all. I cannot flatter; try me, if thou please. 45

_Mar._ Brave neighbouring squires, the stay of Suffolk’s clime, A keeper’s daughter is too base in gree[236] To match with men accounted of such worth: But might I not displease, I would reply.

_Lam._ Say, Peggy; naught shall make us discontent. 50

_Mar._ Then, gentles, note that love hath little stay, Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire Be kindled but by fancy’s motion: Then pardon, gentles, if a maid’s reply, Be doubtful, while[237] I have debated with myself, 55 Who, or of whom, love shall constrain me like.

_Ser._ Let it be me; and trust me, Margaret, The meads environed with the silver streams, Whose battling pastures fatt’neth all my flocks, Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool 60 As Leominster[238] cannot yield more finer stuff, And forty kine with fair and burnish’d heads, With strouting[239] dugs that paggle[240] to the ground, Shall serve thy dairy, if thou wed with me.

_Lam._ Let pass the country wealth, as flocks and kine, 65 And lands that wave with Ceres’ golden sheaves, Filling my barns with plenty of the fields; But, Peggy, if thou wed thyself to me, Thou shalt have garments of embroid’red silk, Lawns, and rich net-works for thy head-attire: 70 Costly shall be thy fair habiliments, If thou wilt be but Lambert’s loving wife.

_Mar._ Content you, gentles, you have proffer’d fair, And more than fits a country maid’s degree; But give me leave to counsel me a time, 75 For fancy blooms not at the first assault; Give me but ten days’ respite, and I will reply, Which or to whom myself affectionates.

_Ser._ Lambert, I tell thee, thou’rt importunate; Such beauty fits not such a base esquire: 80 It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.

_Lam._ Think’st thou with wealth to overreach me? Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves. I dare thee, coward, to maintain this wrong, At dint of rapier, single in the field. 85

_Ser._ I’ll answer, Lambert, what I have avouch’d.—— Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve. _Exit._

_Lam._ I’ll follow.—Peggy, farewell to thyself; Listen how well I’ll answer for thy love. _Exit._

_Mar._ How Fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns, 90 And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight! Love is my bliss, and love is now my bale. Shall I be Helen in my froward[241] fates, As I am Helen in my matchless hue, And set rich Suffolk with my face afire? 95 If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy, The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown Would check the pride of these aspiring squires. Before the term of ten days be expired, Whenas they look for answer of their loves, 100 My lord will come to merry Fressingfield, And end their fancies and their follies both: Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.

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

_Post._ Fair lovely damsel, which way leads this path? How might I post me unto Fressingfield? 105 Which footpath leadeth to the Keeper’s lodge?

_Mar._ Your way is ready, and this path is right; Myself do dwell hereby in Fressingfield, And if the Keeper be the man you seek, I am his daughter: may I know the cause? 110

_Post._ Lovely, and once beloved of my lord,— No marvel if his eye was lodg’d so low, When brighter beauty is not in the heavens,— The Lincoln Earl hath sent you letters here, And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold. 115 Sweet, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.

_Mar._ The scrolls that Jove sent Danaë, Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnish’d gold, Were not more welcome than these lines to me. Tell me, whilst that I do unrip the seals, 120 Lives Lacy well? How fares my lovely lord?

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

_Mar._ (_reads_) _The blooms of the almond-tree grow in a night, and vanish in a morn; the flies hœmeræ,[242] fair Peggy, take life with the sun,_ (125) _and die with the dew; fancy that slippeth in with a gaze, goeth out with a wink; and too timely[243] loves have ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grief, and my folly, who at Fressingfield loved that which time hath taught me to be but mean_ (130) _dainties. Eyes are dissemblers, and fancy is but queasy; therefore know, Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish lady to be my wife, chief waiting-woman to the Princess Elinor; a lady fair, and no less fair than thyself, honourable and wealthy. In_ (135) _that I forsake thee, I leave thee to thine own liking: and for thy dowry I have sent thee an hundred pounds; and ever assure thee of my favour, which shall avail thee and thine much._

_Farewell. Not thine, nor his own,_ (140) _EDWARD LACY_.

Fond Ate, doomer of bad-boding fates, That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks, Didst thou enchant my birth-day with such stars As light’ned mischief from their infancy? 145 If heavens had vow’d, if stars had made decree, To show on me their froward influence, If Lacy had but lov’d, heavens, hell, and all Could not have wrong’d the patience of my mind.

_Post._ It grieves me, damsel; but the earl is forc’d 150 To love the lady by the king’s command.

_Mar._ The wealth combin’d within the English shelves, Europe’s commander, nor the English king, Should not have mov’d the love of Peggy from her lord.

_Post._ What answer shall I return to my lord? 155

_Mar._ First, for thou cam’st from Lacy whom I lov’d,— Ah, give me leave to sigh at every thought!— Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent, For Margaret’s resolution craves no dower. The world shall be to her as vanity; 160 Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, despair: For I will straight to stately Framlingham, And in the abbey there be shorn a nun, And yield my loves and liberty to God. Fellow, I give thee this, not for the news, 165 For those be hateful unto Margaret, But for thou ’rt Lacy’s man, once Margaret’s love.

_Post._ What I have heard, what passions I have seen, I’ll make report of them unto the earl.

_Mar._ Say that she joys his fancies be at rest, 170 And prays that his misfortune may be hers. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XI.][244]

_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _drawing the curtains with a white stick, a book in his hand, and a lamp lighted by 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?

_Mil._ Think you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no furniture? I warrant (5) 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 dived into hell, And sought the darkest palaces of fiends; 10 That with my magic spells great Belcephon Hath left his lodge and kneeled 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, 15 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, 20 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, 25 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, 30 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 35 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— _Here he falleth asleep_. 40

_Miles._ So; I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and ’t is no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and he on the nights, have watched just these ten and fifty days: now this is the night, and ’tis my task, and no more. Now, (45) Jesus bless me, what a goodly head it is! and a nose! you talk of _nos autem glorificare_; 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, (50) 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! Up, Miles, to (55) your task; take your brown-bill[245] in your hand; here’s some of your master’s hobgoblins abroad.

_ With this a great noise. The_ Head _speaks._

_The Brazen Head._ Time is!

_Miles._ Time is! Why, Master Brazen-head, have you such a capital nose, and answer (60) 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 (65) 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 (70) they rumble.

_The Brazen Head._ Time was!

_Miles._ Well. Friar Bacon, you spent your seven-years’ study well, that can make your head speak but two words at once, “Time (75) 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[246] your arse ache, an your head speak no better. Well, I will watch, and walk up and down, (80) and be a peripatetian and a philosopher of Aristotle’s stamp. [_A great noise._] What, a fresh noise? Take thy pistols in hand, Miles.

_Here the_ Head _speaks, and a lightning flashes forth, and a hand appears that breaks down the_ Head _with a hammer._

_The Brazen Head._ Time is past!

_Miles._ Master, master, up! Hell’s broken (85) 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. 90

_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 (95) 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 (100) seven words.

_Bacon._ As how?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, the first time he said “Time is,” as if Fabius Cumentator should have pronounced a sentence; [the second (105) 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.— 110 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? 115

_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 uttered aphorisms, And England had been circled round with brass: 120 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; 125 Bacon might boast more than a man might boast. But now the braves of Bacon hath 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, 130 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 vagaboud on earth!

_Miles._ Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service? (135)

_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 cursed,[247] the better he fares. God be with you, 140 sir. I ’II 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.

_Bacon._ Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps, Until they do transport thee quick to hell; 145 For Bacon shall have never merry day, To lose the fame and honour of his head. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XII.][248]

_Enter the_ EMPEROR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE, KING HENRY, ELINOR, PRINCE EDWARD, LACY, _and_ RALPH [SIMNELL].

_Emp._ Now, lovely prince, the prime of Albion’s wealth, How fare the Lady Elinor and you? What, have you courted and found Castile fit To answer England in equivalence? 4 Will’t be a match ’twixt bonny Nell and thee?

_P. Edw._ Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece, And not lie fettered in fair Helen’s looks? Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorets That Daphne glanced at his deity? Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze, 10 Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down? Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we gree.

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

_Elin._ Seeing, my lord, his lovely connterfeit, And hearing how his mind and shape agreed, 15 I come not, troop’d with all this warlike train, Doubting of love, but so affectionate As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.

_K. of Cast._ A match, my lord; these wantons needs must love: Men must have wives, and women will be wed. 20 Let’s haste the day to honour up the rites.

_Ralph._ Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?

_K. Hen._ Ay, Ralph: how then?

_Ralph._ Marry, Harry, follow my counsel: send for Friar Bacon to marry them, for he’ll (25) so conjure him and her with his necromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst they live.

_K. of Cast._ But hearest thou, Ralph, art thou content to have Elinor to thy lady? 30

_Ralph._ Ay, so she will promise me two things.

_K. of Cast._ What’s that, Ralph?

_Ralph._ That she will never scold with Ned, nor fight with me.—Sirrah Harry, I have put her down with a thing impossible. 35

_K. Hen._ What’s that, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Why, Harry, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her hands? No: but when egg-pies grows on apple-trees, then will thy grey mare prove a (40) bagpiper.

_Emp._ What say the Lord of Castile and the Earl of Lincoln, that they are in such earnest and secret talk?

_K. of Cast._ I stand, my lord, amazed at his talk, 45 How he discourseth of the constancy Of one surnam’d, for beauty’s excellence, The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.

_K. Hen._ ’Tis true, my lord, ’tis wondrous for to hear; Her beauty passing Mars’s paramour, 50 Her virgin’s right as rich as Vesta’s was, Lacy and Ned hath told me miracles.

_K. of Cast._ What says Lord Lacy? Shall she be his wife?

_Lacy._ Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.— May it please your highness give me leave to post 55 To Fressingfield. I’ll fetch the bonny girl, And prove, in true appearance at the court, What I have vouched often with my tongue.

_K. Hen._ Lacy, go to the ’querry of my stable, And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn; 60 Hie thee to Fressingfield, and bring home the lass; And, for her fame flies through the English coast, If it may please the Lady Elinor, One day shall match your excellence and her.

_Elin._ We Castile ladies are not very coy; 65 Your highness may command a greater boon: And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl With being partner of his marriage-day.

_P. Edw._ Gramercy, Nell, for I do love the lord, As he that’s second to myself in love. 70

_Ralph._ You love her?—Madam Nell, never believe him you, though he swears he loves you.

_Elin._ Why, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Why, his love is like unto a tapster’s glass that is broken with every touch; for (75) he loved the fair maid of Fressingfield once out of all ho.[249]—Nay, Ned, never wink upon me; I care not, I.

_K. Hen._ Ralph tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.— 80 But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield; For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state, The solemn marriage-day will be at hand.

_Lacy._ I go, my lord. _Exit._

_Emp._ How shall we pass this day, my lord? 85

_K. Hen._ To horse, my lord; the day is passing fair, We’ll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer. Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XIII.][250]

_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _with_ FRIAR BUNGAY _to his cell._

_Bun._ What means the friar that frolick’d it of late, To sit as melancholy in his cell As if he had neither lost nor won to-day?

_Bacon._ Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil’d, My glory gone, my seven years’ study lost! 5 The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world, Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.

_Bun._ Bacon hath built foundation of his fame So surely on the wings of true report, With acting strange and uncouth 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 guess. 15 My mind is heavy, whatsoe’er shall hap.

_Enter two Scholars, sons to Lambert and Serlsby. Knock._

_Bacon._ Who ’s that knocks?

_Bun._ Two scholars that desire to speak with you.

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

_First Schol._ Sir, we are Suffolk-men and neighbouring friends; Our fathers in their countries lusty squires; Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell, And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates, Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends. 25

_Bacon._ To what end is all this?

_Second Schol._ Hearing your worship kept within your cell A glass prospective, wherein men might see Whatso their thoughts or hearts’ desire could wish, We come to know how that our fathers fare. 30

_Bacon._ My glass is free for every honest man. Sit down, and you shall see ere long, how Or in what state your friendly fathers live. Meanwhile, tell me your names.

_First Schol._ Mine Lambert. 35

_Second Schol._ And mine Serlsby.

_Bacon._ Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.

_Enter_ LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY _with rapiers and daggers_.

_Lam._ Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man: Thou’rt worthy of the title of a squire, That durst, for proof of thy affection 40 And for thy mistress’ favour, prize[251] thy blood. Thou know’st what words did pass at Fressingfield, Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook: Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts, Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die. 45

_Ser._ Thou see’st I single [meet] thee [in] the field, And what I spake, I’ll maintain with my sword. Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. An if thou kill me, think I have a son, That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall, 50 Who will revenge his father’s blood with blood.

_Lam._ And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy son, And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine. But draw thy rapier, for we’ll have a bout. 55

_Bacon._ Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass, And tell me if you can decern your sires.

_First Schol._ Serlsby, ’tis hard; thy father offers wrong. To combat with my father in the field.

_Second Schol._ Lambert, thou liest, my father’s is th’ abuse, 60 And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.

_Bun._ How goes it, sirs?

_First Schol._ Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield.

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

_Lam._ Why stand’st thou, Serlsby? Doubt’st thou of thy life? 65 A veney,[252] man! fair Margaret craves so much.

_Ser._ Then this for her.

_First Schol._ Ah, well thrust!

_Second Schol._ But mark the ward.

[LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY] _fight and kill each other_.

_Lam._ O, I am slain! 70

_Ser._ And I,—Lord have mercy on me!

_First Schol._ My father slain!—Serlsby, ward that.

_Second Schol._ And so is mine!—Lambert, I’ll quite thee well.

_The two_ Scholars _stab each other_ [_and die_].

_Bun._ O strange stratagem!

_Bacon._ See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead!— 75 Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre: This glass prospective worketh many woes; And therefore seeing these brave lusty Brutes,[253] These friendly youths, did perish by thine art, End all thy magic and thine art at once. 80 The poniard that did end the fatal[254] lives, Shall break the cause efficient of their woes. So fade the glass, and end with it the shows That necromancy did infuse the crystal with. _Breaks the glass._

_Bun._ What means learn’d Bacon thus to break his glass? 85

_Bacon._ I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore That ever Bacon meddled in this art. The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells, The fearful tossing in the latest night Of papers full of necromantic charms, 90 Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends, With stole and alb and strange pentagonon; The wresting of the holy name of God, As Soter, Eloim, and Adonai, Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton, 95 With praying to the five-fold powers of heaven, Are instances that Bacon must be damn’d For using devils to countervail his God.— Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair: Sins have their salves, repentance can do much: 100 Think Mercy sits where Justice holds her seat, And from those wounds those bloody Jews did pierce, Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh, From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops, To wash the wrath of high Jehovah’s ire, 105 And make thee as a new-born babe from sin.— Bungay, I’ll spend the remnant of my life In pure devotion, praying to my God That he would save what Bacon vainly lost. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XIV.][255]

_Enter_ MARGARET _in nun’s apparel, the_ Keeper, _her father, and their_ Friend.

_Keeper._ Margaret, be not so headstrong in these vows: O, bury not such beauty in a cell, That England hath held famous for the hue! Thy father’s hair, like to the silver blooms That beautify the shrubs of Africa, 5 Shall fall before the dated time of death, Thus to forgo his lovely Margaret.

_Mar._ Ah, father, when the harmony of heaven Soundeth the measures of a lively faith, The vain illusions of this flattering world 10 Seem odious to the thoughts of Margaret. I loved once,—Lord Lacy was my love; And now I hate myself for that I lov’d, And doted more on him than on my God; For this I scourge myself with sharp repents. 15 But now the touch of such aspiring sins Tells me all love is lust but love of heavens; That beauty us’d for love is vanity: The world contains naught but alluring baits, Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts. 20 To shun the pricks of death, I leave the world, And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss, To live in Framlingham a holy nun, Holy and pure in conscience and in deed; And for to wish all maids to learn of me 25 To seek heaven’s joy before earth’s vanity.

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

_Mar._ Now farewell world, the engine of all woe! Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ! 30 Adieu to dainty robes! This base attire Better befits an humble mind to God Than all the show of rich habiliments. Love—O love! and, with fond love, farewell Sweet Lacy, whom I loved once so dear! 35 Ever be well, but never in my thoughts, Lest I offend to think on Lacy’s love: But even to that, as to the rest, farewell!

_Enter_ LACY, WARREN, _and_ ERMSBY, _booted and spurred_.

_Lacy._ Come on, my wags, we’re near the Keeper’s lodge. Here have I oft walk’d in the watery meads, 40 And chatted with my lovely Margaret.

_War._ Sirrah Ned, is not this the Keeper?

_Lacy._ ’Tis the same.

_Erm._ The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton[256] to him: a nun, my lord. 45

_Lacy._ Keeper, how far’st thou? Holla, man, what cheer? How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?

_Keeper._ Ah, good my lord! O, woe is me for Peggy! See where she stands clad in her nun’s attire, Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham; 50 She leaves the world because she left your love. O, good my lord, persuade her if you can!

_Lacy._ Why, how now, Margaret! What, a malcontent? A nun? What holy father taught you this, To task yourself to such a tedious life 55 As die a maid? ’T were injury to me, To smother up such beauty in a cell.

_Mar._ Lord Lacy, thinking of thy former miss, How fond[257] the prime of wanton years were spent In love (O, fie upon that fond conceit, 60 Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!), I leave both love and love’s content at once, Betaking me to Him that is true love, And leaving all the world for love of Him.

_Lacy._ Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis? 65 What, shorn a nun, and I have from the court Posted with coursers to convey thee hence To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept! Thy wedding-robes are in the tailor’s hands. Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows. 70

_Mar._ Did not my lord resign his interest, And make divorce ’twixt Margaret and him?

_Lacy._ ’T was but to try sweet Peggy’s constancy. But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord?

_Mar._ Is not heaven’s joy before earth’s fading bliss, 75 And life above sweeter than life in love?

_Lacy._ Why, then, Margaret will be shorn a nun?

_Mar._ Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revok’d.

_War._ We cannot stay, my lord; an if she be so strict, Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh. 80

_Erms._ Choose you, fair damsel, yet the choice is yours,— Either a solemn nunnery or the court, God or Lord Lacy. Which contents you best, To be a nun or else Lord Lacy’s wife?

_Lacy._ A good motion.—Peggy, your answer must be short. 85

_Mar._ The flesh is frail: my lord doth know it well, That when he comes with his enchanting face, Whatsoe’er betide, I cannot say him nay. Off goes the habit of a maiden’s heart, And, seeing fortune will, fair Framlingham, 90 And all the show of holy nuns, farewell! Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.

_Lacy._ Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband. Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king Stays for to marry matchless Elinor, 95 Until I bring thee richly to the court, That one day may both marry her and thee.— How say’st thou, Keeper? Art thou glad of this?

_Keep._ As if the English king had given The park and deer of Fressingfield to me. 100

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

_War._ To see the nature of women; that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man’s arms. 105

_Lacy._ What have you fit for breakfast? We have hied And posted all this night to Fressingfield.

_Mar._ Butter and cheese, and umbles of a deer, Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.

_Lacy._ And not a bottle of wine? 110

_Mar._ We’ll find one for my lord.

_Lacy._ Come, Sussex, let us in: we shall have more, For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XV.][258]

_Enter a_ Devil _to seek_ MILES.

_Dev._ How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits, When every charmer with his magic spells Calls us from nine-fold-trenched Phlegethon, To scud and over-scour the earth in post Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds! 5 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! 10

_Enter_ MILES _with 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; (15) 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 haunts me.—Good Lord, here’s one of my master’s devils! I’ll go speak to him.—What, Master Plutus, (20) 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 25 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 30 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.[259] But I pray you, sir, (35) 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 (40) pot of good ale, a pair[260] of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat[261] on a cup of good drink?

_Dev._ All this you may have there.

_Miles._ You are for me, friend, and I am for (45) you. But I pray you, may I not have an office there?

_Dev._ Yes, a thousand. What wouldst thou be?

_Miles._ By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I know hell is a hot place, (50) 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 (55) I have never a horse.

_Dev._ Thou shall 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 60 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? 65

_Dev._ An amble.

_Miles._ ’T is well; but take heed it be not a trot: but ’tis no matter, I’ll prevent it.

_Dev._ What dost?

_Miles._ Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; (70) 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, (75) when a man rides to hell on the devil’s back! _Exeunt, roaring._

[SCENE XVI.][262]

_Enter the_ EMPEROR _with a pointless sword; next the_ KING OF CASTILE _carrying a sword with a point_; LACY _carrying the globe_; PRINCE EDWARD; WARREN _carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it_; ERMSBY _with a crown and sceptre_; _the_ QUEEN; [PRINCESS ELINOR] _with the Fair Maid of Fressingfield on her left hand_; KING HENRY; BACON.; _with other_ Lords _attending_.

_P. Edw._ 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 perpetual homage to yourselves, Yielding these honours unto Elinor. 5

_K. Hen._ Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet, That rules and sways the Albion diadem, With tears discovers these conceived joys, And vows requital, if his men-at-arms, The wealth of England, or due houours done 10 To Elinor, may quite his favourites. But all this while what say you to the dames That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven?

_Emp._ If but a third were added to these two, They did surpass those gorgeous images 15 That gloried Ida with rich beauty’s wealth.

_Mar._ ’Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove For lifting up his handmaid to this state, Brought from her homely cottage to the court, 20 And grac’d with kings, princes, and emperors; To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl) I vow obedience, and such humble love As may a handmaid to such mighty men.

_P. Elin._ Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown, 25 And you the western potentates of might, The Albion princess, English Edward’s wife, Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield, Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl, 29 Attends on Elinor,—gramercies, lord, for her,— ’Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all, And rest for her due bounden to yourselves.

_K. Hen._ Seeing the marriage is solémnized, Let’s march in triumph to the royal feast.— But why stands Friar Bacon here, so mute? 35

_Bacon._ Repentant for the follies of my youth, That magic’s secret mysteries misled, And joyful that this royal marriage Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm.

_K. Hen._ Why, Bacon, 40 What strange event shall happen to this land? Or what shall grow from Edward and his queen?

_Bacon._ I find by deep prescience of mine art, Which once I temp’red in my secret cell, That here where Brute did build his Troynovant, 45 From forth the royal garden of a king Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud[263] Whose brightness shall deface proud Phœbus’ flower, And over-shadow Albion with her leaves. Till then Mars shall be master of the field, 50 But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease: The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike, Drums shall he turn’d to timbrels of delight; With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich The strand that gladded wand’ring Brute to see, 55 And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves That gorgeous beautifies this matchless flower: Apollo’s heliotropion then shall stoop, And Venus’ hyacinth shall vail[264] her top; Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up, 60 And Pallas’ bay shall ’bash her brightest green; Ceres’ carnation, in consórt with those, Shall stoop and wonder at Diana’s rose.

_K. Hen._ This prophecy is mystical.— But, glorious commanders of Europa’s love, 65 That make fair England like that wealthy isle Circled with Gihon and [swift][265] Euphrates, In royalizing Henry’s Albion With presence of your princely mightiness,— Let’s march: the tables all are spread, 70 And viands, such as England’s wealth affords, Are ready set to furnish out the boards. You shall have welcome, mighty potentates: It rests to furnish up this royal feast, Only your hearts be frolic; for the time 75 Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance. Thus glories England over all the west. _Exeunt omnes._

_Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci._

TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

PART THE FIRST

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MYCETES, King of Persia. COSROE, his Brother. ORTYGIUS, } CENEUS, } MEANDER, } Persian Lords and Captains. MENAPHON, } THERIDAMAS, } TAMBURLAINE, a Scythian Shepherd. TECHELLES, } USUMCASANE, } his Followers. BAJAZETH, Emperor of the Turks. KING OF ARABIA. KING OF FEZ. KING OF MOROCCO. KING OF ARGIER (Algiers). SOLDAN OF EGYPT. GOVERNOR OF DAMASCUS. AGYDAS, } MAGNETES, } Median Lords. CAPOLIN, an Egyptian Captain. PHILEMUS, a Messenger. Bassoes, Lords, Citizens, Moors, Soldiers, and Attendants. ZENOCRATE, Daughter of the Soldan of Egypt. ANIPPE, her Maid. ZABINA, Wife of Bajazeth. EBEA, her Maid. Virgins of Damascus.]

THE PROLOGUE

From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We’ll lead you to the stately tent of war, Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine Threat’ning the world with high astounding terms, And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword. View but his picture in this tragic glass, And then applaud his fortunes as you please.