THE HONOURABLE HISTORY of friar Bacon, and friar Bongay.  
As it was played by her majesties servants.  
Made by Robert Green Master of Arts.  
LONDON, Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, at the little North door of Paul's, at the sign of the Gun. 1594.   

THE HONOURABLE History of Friar Bacon.  Enter, Edward the first malcontented with Lacie earl of Lincoln, john Warren earl of Sussex, and Ermsbie gentleman: Ralph Simnell the king's fool. Lacie. 
WHY looks my lord like to a troubled sky,  
When heavens bright shine, is shadowed with a fog:  
A late we ran the dear and through the Lawns  
Stripped with our nags the lofty frolic bucks,  
That scudded fore the teasers like the wind,  
Near was the Dear of merry Fresingfield,  
So lustily pulled down by jolly mates,  
Nor shared the Farmers such fat venison,  
So frankly dealt this hundred years before:  
Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase,  
And now changed to a melancholy dump.  Warren. 
After the Prince got to the keepers lodge  
And had been jocund in the house a while:  
Tossing of ale and milk in country cans,  
Whether it was the country's sweet content:  
Or else the bonny damsel filled us drink  
That seemed so stately in her stammel red:  
Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,  
But strait he fell into his passions.  Ermsbie. 
Sirrah Ralph, what say you to your master,  
Shall he thus all amort live malcontent.  Ralph. 
Heerest thou Ned, nay look if he will speak to me.  Edward. 
What sayest thou to me fool?  Ralph. 
I pray thee tell me Ned, art thou in love with the keeper's daughter?  Edward. 
How if I be, what then?  Ralph. 
Why then sirrah I'll teach thee how to deceive love.  Edward. 
How Ralph.  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.  Edward. 
And what of this?  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.  Edward. 
Tell me Ned Lacie, didst thou mark the maid,  
How lively in her country weeds she looked:  
A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield,  
All Suffolk, nay all England holds none such.  Raphe. 
Sirrah, Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.  Ermsby. 
Why Ralph?  Ralph. 
He says all England hath no such, and I say, and I'll stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.  Warren. 
How proovest thou that Ralph?  Ralph. 
Why is not the Abbot a learned man, and hath red 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.  Ermsby. 
A good reason Ralph.  Edward. 
I tell the Lacie, that hersparkling eyes,  
Do lighten forth sweet loves alluring fire:  
And in her tresses she doth fold the looks  
Of such as gaze upon her golden hair,  
Her bashful white mixed 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 Margarites,  
Richly enclosed with ruddy coral cleves.  
Tush Lacie, she is beauty's overmatch,  
If thou survey'st her curious imagery.  Lacie. 
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,  
Whose faces are enriched with honours taint,  
Whose beauties stand upon the stage of fame,  
And vaunt their trophies in the courts of love.  Edw. 
Ah Ned, but hadst thou watched her as myself,  
And seen the secret beauties of the maid,  
Their courtly coyness were but foolery.  Ermsby. 
Why how watched you her my lord?  Edward. 
When as she swept like Venus through the house,  
And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts:  
Into the Milkhouse went I with the maid,  
And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine,  
As Palace, 'mongst her Princely housewifry:  
She turned her smock over her Lily arms,  
And dived them into milk to run her cheese:  
But whiter than the milk her crystal skin,  
Checked with lines of Azure made her blush,  
That art or nature durst bring for compare,  
Ermsbie if thou hadst seen as I did note it well,  
How beauty played the housewife, how this girl  
Like Lucrece laid her fingers to the work,  
Thou wouldst with Tarquin hazard Room and all  
To win the lovely maid of Fresingfield.  Ralph. 
Sirrah Ned, wouldst feign have her?  Edward. 
I Ralph.  Ralph. 
Why Ned I have laid the plot in my head thou shalt have her already.  Edward. 
I'll give thee a new coat and learn me that.  Raphe. 
Why sirrah Ned we'll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon, oh he is a brave scholar sirrah, they say he is a brave Nigromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into Costermongers.  Edward. 
And how then Ralph?  Ralph. 
Marry sirrah thou shalt go to 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 sinocke.  Edward. 
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 press of people, for fear of the cutpurse on a sudden she'll swap thee into her plackets, than sirrah being there you may plead for yourself.  Ermsbie. 
Excellent policy.  Edward. 
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 to a man, you may make up the match.  Lacy. 
Wonderfully wisely counseled Ralph.  Edward. 
Ralph shall have a new coat.  Raph. 
God thank you when I have it on my back Ned,  Edward. 
Lacie the fool hath laid a perfect plot,  
For why our country Margaret is so coy,  
And stands so much upon her honest points,  
That marriage or no market with the maid:  
Ermsbie, it must be nigromaticke spells,  
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,  
Bacon shall by his magic do this deed.  Warren. 
Content my lord, and that's a speedy way  
To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat,  Edward. 
I am unknown, not taken for the Prince,  
They only deem us frolic Courtiers,  
That revel thus among our liege's game:  
Therefore I have devised a policy,  
Lacy, thou know'st next friday is S. james,  
And then the country flocks to Harlston fair,  
Then will the keeper's daughter frolic there,  
And overshine the troop of all the maids,  
That come to see, and to be seen that day.  
Haunt thee disguised among the country swains,  
Feign thart a farmer's son, not far from thence,  
Espy her loves, and who she liketh best:  
Coat him, and court her to control the clown,  
Say that the Courtier tired all in green,  
That helped her handsomely to run her cheese,  
And filled her father's lodge with venison,  
Commends him, and sends fairings to herself,  
Buy some thing worthy of her parentage,  
Not worth her beauty for Lacie then the fair,  
affords no jewel fitting for the maid:  
And when thou talkest of me, note if she blush,  
Oh then she loves, but if her cheeks wax pale,  
Disdain it is. Lacy send how she fares,  
And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.  Lacie. 
I will my lord so execute this charge,  
As if that Lacie were in love with her.  Edward. 
Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.  Raphe. 
And sirrah Lacie, buy me a thousand thousand million of fine bells.  Lacie. 
What wilt thou do with them Ralph?  Raphe. 
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 word to his father Harry, that his son and my master Ned is become loves morris dance.  Edward. 
Well Lacie, look with care unto thy charge,  
And I will hast to Oxford to the Friar,  
That he by art, and thou by secret gifts,  
Mayst make me lord of merry Fresingfield.  Lacie. 
God send your honour your heart's desire.  Exeunt. Enter friar Bacon, with Miles his poor scholar with books under his arm, with them Burden, Mason, Clement, three doctors. Bacon. 
Miles where are you?  Miles. 
Hic sum dos●issime & reverendissime doctor.  Bacon. 
Attuli●●in●s libres meos de Necromantia.  Miles. 
Ecce quam bonum & quam iocundum, habitares libres in unum.  Bacon. 
Now masters of our Academic state,  
That rule in Oxford Vizroies in your place,  
Whose heads contain Maps of the liberal arts,  
Spending your time in depth of learned skill,  
Why flock you thus to Bacon's secret Cell,  
A Frier newly stalled in 〈◊〉,  
Say what's your mind, that I may make reply.  Burden. 
Bacon we hear, that long we have suspect,  
That thou art read in Magic's mystery,  
In Piromancie to divine by flames,  
To tell by Hydromantic, ebbs and tides,  
By Aeromancie, to discover doubts,  
To plain out questions, as Apollo did.  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.  Burden. 
I tell thee Bacon, Oxford makes report,  
Nay England, and the court of Henry says,  
Thart making of a brazen head by art,  
Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms,  
And read a lecture in Philosophy,  
And by the help of Devils and ghastly fiends,  
Thou meanest 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 speak mystically, for he knows if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet mother water strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a coppernose.  Clement. 
Bacon we come not grieving at thy skill,  
But ioieng that our Academy yields  
A man supposed 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,  
And statues, such as were built up in Rome,  
Eternize Friar Bacon for his art.  Mason. 
Then gentle Friar, tell us thy intent.  Bacon. 
Seeing you come as friends unto the friar  
Resolve you doctors, Bacon can by books,  
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 Pentageron.  
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 contrived and framed a head of brass,  
(I made Belzephon hammer out the stuff)  
And that by art shall read Philosophy,  
And I will strengthen England by my skill,  
That if ten Caesars lived and reigned in Rome,  
With all the legions Europe doth contain,  
They should not touch a grass of English ground,  
The work that Ninus reared at Babylon,  
The brazen walls framed by Semiramis,  
Carved out like to the portal of the sun,  
Shall not be such as rings the English strand:  
From Dover to the market place of Rie.  Burden. 
Is this possible?  Miles. 
I'll bring ye to or three witnesses.  Burden. 
What be those?  Miles. 
Marry sir three or four as honest devils, and good companions as any be in hell.  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.  Burden. 
But Bacon roves a bow beyond his reach,  
And tells of more than magic can perform:  
Thinking to get a fame by fooleries,  
Have I not past as far instate of schools:  
And red of many secrets, yet to think,  
That heads of Brass can utter any voice,  
Or more, to tell of deep philosophy,  
This is a fable Aesop had forgot.  Bacon. 
Burdens thou wrong'st me in detracting thus,  
Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies:  
But tell me fore these Doctors if thou dare,  
Of certain questions I shall move to thee.  Burden. 
I will ask what thou can.  Miles. 
Marry sir he'll strait be on your pickpack to know whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy.  Bacon. 
Were you not yesterday master Burden at Henly upon the Thembs?  Burden. 
I was, what then?  Bacon. 
What book studied you there on all night?  Burden. 
I, none at all I read not there a line.  Bacon. 
Then doctors, Friar Bacon's art knows nought.  Clement. 
What say you to this master Burden doth he not touch you?  Burden. 
I pass not of his frivolous speeches.  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.  Bacon. 
Masters, for that learned Burdens skill is deep,  
And sore he doubts of Bacon's Cabalism:  
I'll show you why he haunts to Henly oft,  
Not doctors for to taste the fragrant air:  
But there to spend the night in Alchemy,  
To multiply with secret spells of art.  
Thus private steals he learning from us all,  
To prove my sayings true, I'll show you strait,  
The book he keeps at Henly for himself.  Miles. 
Nay now my master goes to conjuration, take heed.  Bacon. 
masters stand still, fear not, I'll show you but his book.  here he conjures. 
Per omnes deos infernales Belzephon.  Enter a woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a Devil. Miles. 
Oh master cease your conjuration, or you spoil all, for here's a she devil come with a shoulder of mutton o●●spit, you have marred the devils 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.  Hostess. 
Oh where am I, or what's become of me.  Bacon. 
What art thou?  Hostess. 
Hostess at Henly mistress of the Bell.  Bacon. 
How camest thou here.  Hostess. 
As I was in the kitchen 'mongst the maids,  
Spitting the meat against supper for my guess:  
A motion moved me to look forth of door.  
No sooner had I pried into the yard,  
But strait a whirlwind hoist me from thence,  
And mounted me aloft unto the clouds:  
As in a trance I thought nor feared nought,  
Nor know I where or whether I was ta'en:  
Nor where I am, nor what these persons be.  Bacon. 
No, know you not master Burden.  Hostess. 
Oh yes good sir, he is my daily guest,  
What master Burden, 'twas but yesternight,  
That you and I at Henly played at cards.  Burden. 
I know not what we did, a pox of all conjuring Friars.  Clement. 
Now jolly Friar tell us, is this the book that Burden is so careful to look on?  Bacon. 
It is, but Burden tell me now,  
Thinkest thou that Bacon's Necromantic skill,  
Cannot perform his head and wall of Brass,  
When he can fetch thine hostess in such post.  Miles. 
I'll warrant you master, if master Burden could conjure as well as you, he would have his book every night from Henly to study on at Oxford.  Mason. 
Burden what are you mated by this frolic Friar,  
Look how he droops, his guilty conscience  
Drives him to bash and makes his hostess blush.  Bacon. 
Well mistress for I will not have you mist,  
You shall to Henly to cheer up your guests  
Fore supper gin, Burden bid her adieu,  
Say farewell to your hostess sore she goes,  
Sirrah away, and set her safe at home.  Hostess. 
Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henly.  Exeunt Hostess and the Devil. Burden. 
The devil take thee and Henly 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 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 Brazennose,  
Is under him and he the master there:  
So surely shall this head of brass be framed,  
And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms:  
And Hell and Hecate shall fail the Frier,  
But I will circled England round with brass.  Miles. 
So be it, & n●ne& semper, Amen.  Exeunt omnes. Enter Margaret the fair maid of Fresingfield, with Thomas and Ione, and other clowns: Latie disguised in country apparel. Thomas. 
By my troth Margaret here's a wether is able to make a man call his father whoreson, if this wether hold we shall have hay good cheap, and butter and cheese at Harlston will bear no price.  Margaret. 
Thomas, maids when they come to see the fair,  
Count not to make a cope for dearth of hay,  
When we have turned our butter to the salt,  
And set our cheese safely upon the racks.  
Then let our father's prize it as they please,  
We country sluts of merry Fresingfield,  
Come to buy needless noughts to make us fine,  
And look that youngmen should be frank this day,  
And court us with such fairings as they can.  
Phabus is blithe and frolic looks from heaven,  
As when he courted lovely Semele:  
Swearing the peddlers shall have empty packs,  
If that fair wether may make chapmen buy.  Lacie. 
But lovely Peggy Semele is dead,  
And therefore Phebus from his palace pries,  
And seeing such a sweet and seemly saint,  
Shows all his glories for to court yourself.  Margaret. 
This is a fairing gentle sir indeed,  
To soothe me up with such smooth flattery,  
But learn of me your scoffs to broad before:  
Well jone our beauties must abide their jests,  
We serve the turn iniolly Fresingfield.  jone. 
Margret, 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.  
Give me your hand, we are near a peddlers shop,  
Out with your purse we must have fairings now.  Thomas. 
Faith jone and shall, I'll bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.  All this while Lacie whispers Margaret in the eare. Margaret. 
Whence are you sir, of Suffolk, for your 〈◊〉 are finer than the common sort of men?  Lacy. 
Faith lovely girl, I am of Beckles by,  
Your neighbour not above six miles from hence,  
A farmer's son that never was so quaint,  
But that he could do courtesy to such dames:  
But trust me Margaret I am sent in charge,  
From him that reveld in your father's house,  
And filled his Lodge with cheer and venison,  
Tired in green, he sent you this rich purse:  
His token, that he helped you run your cheese,  
And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself.  Margret. 
To me, you forget yourself.  Lacy. 
Women are often weak in memory.  Margaret. 
Oh pardon sir, I call to mind the man,  
'Twere 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.  jone. 
What Margaret blush not, maids must have their loves.  Thomas. 
Nay by the mass she looks pale as if she were angry.  Richard. 
Sirrah are you of Beckls? I pray how doth goodman Cob, my father bought a horse of him, I'll tell you Margot, a were good to be a gentleman's jade, for of all things the foul hilding could not abide a doongcart.  Margaret. 
How different is this farmer from the rest,  
That erst as yet hath pleased my wandering sight,  
His words are witty, quickened with a smile,  
His courtesy gentle, smelling of the court,  
Facile and debonair in all his deeds,  
Proportioned as was Paris, when in grey,  
He courted Aenon in the vale by Troy.  
Great lords have come and pleaded for my love,  
Who but the keepers last of Fresingfield,  
And yet me thinks this Farmer's jolly son,  
Passeth the proudest that hath pleased mine eye.  
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.  
Come jone and Thomas, shall we to the fair,  
You Beckls man will not forsake us now,  Lacy. 
Not whilst I may have such acquaint girls as you,  Margaret. 
Well if you chance to come by Fresingfield,  
Make but a step into the keeper's lodge,  
And such poor fare as Woodmen can afford,  
Butter and cheese, cream, and fat venison,  
You shall have store, and welcome therewithal.  Lacie. 
Gramarcies' Peggy, look for me care long.  Enter Henry the third, the emperor, the king of Castille, Elinor his daughter, jaques Vandermast a Germaine. Henry. 
Great men of Europe, monarchs of the West,  
Ringed with the walls of old Oceanus,  
Whose lofty surges like the battlements,  
That compassed high built Babel in with towers,  
Welcome my lords, welcome brave western kings,  
To England's shore, whose promontory cleeves,  
Shows Albion is another little world,  
Welcome says English Henry to you all,  
 unto the lovely Eleanour,  
Who dared for Edward's sake cut through the seas,  
And venture as Agenor's damsel through the deep,  
To get the love of Henry's wanton son.  Castille. 
England's rich Monarch brave Plantagenet,  
The Pyren mounts swelling above the clouds,  
That ward the wealthy Castille in with walls,  
Can not detain the beauteous Eleanour,  
But hearing of the fame of Edward's youth,  
She dared to brook Neptunus' haughty pride,  
And bide the brunt of froward Aeolus,  
Then may fair England welcome her the more.  Elinor. 
After that English Henry by his lords,  
Had sent prince Edward's lovely counterfeit,  
A present to the Castille Elinor,  
The comely portrait of so brave a man,  
The virtuous fame discoursed of his deeds,  
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 Monarches son,  
That I attempted perils for his sake.  emperor. 
Where is the Prince, my lord?  Henry. 
He posted down, not long since from the court,  
To Suffolk side, to merry Framingham,  
To sport himself amongst my fallow dear,  
From thence by packets sent to Hampton house,  
We hear the Prince is ridden with his lords,  
To Oxford, in the Academy 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.  Empe. 
Nay rather Henry let us as we be,  
Ride for to visit Oxford with our train,  
Feign would I see your Universities,  
And what learned men your Academy yields,  
From Haspurg have I brought a learned clerk,  
To hold dispute with English Orators.  
This doctor surnamed jaques Vandermast,  
A German borne, passed into Padua,  
To Florence, and to fair Bolonia,  
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans,  
And talking there with men of art, put down  
The chiefest of them all in Aphorisms,  
In Magic, and the Mathematic rules,  
Now let us Henry try him in your schools.  Henry. 
He shall my lord, this motion likes me well,  
we'll progress strait to Oxford with our trains,  
And see what men our Academy brings.  
And wonder Vandermast welcome to me  
In Oxford shalt thou find a jolly friar,  
Called Friar Bacon, England's only flower  
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 poets garland●made of bay,  
But with a coronet of choicest gold,  
Whilst then we fit to Oxford with our troops,  
Let's in and banquet in our English court.  Exit. Enter Ralph Simnell in Edward's apparel, Edward, Warren, Ermsby disguised. Ralph. 
Where be these vagabond knaves that they attend no better on their master?  Edward. 
If it please your honour we are all ready at an inch.  Ralph. 
Sirrah Ned, I'll have no more post horse to ride on,  
I'll have another fetch.  Ermsbie. 
I pray you how is that my Lord?  Ralph. 
Marry sir, I'll send to the isle of Eely for four or five dozen of Geese, and I'll have them tied six and six together with whipcord, 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.  Warren. 
Your honour hath said well, but shall we to Brasen-nose College before we pull off our boots.  Ermsbie. 
Warren well motioned, we will to the Friar  
Before we revel it within the town.  
Ralph see you keep your countenance like a Prince.  Ralph. 
Wherefore have I such a company of cutting knaves to wait upon me, but to Keep and defend my countenance against all mine enemies: have you not good swords and bucklers.  Enter Bacon and Miles. Ermsbie. 
Stay who comes here.  Warren. 
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 town try out, and say, Friar Bacon's subsiser 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 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 substantivo.  Bacon. 
How prove you that?  Miles. 
Why sir let him prove himself and a will, I can be hard felt and understood.  Bacon. 
Oh gross dunce.  Here beat him. Edw. 
Come let us break off this dispute between these two. Sirrah, where is Brazennose College.  Miles. 
Not far from Copper-smithes hall.  Edward. 
What dost thou mock me.  Miles. 
Not I sir, but what would you at Brazennose?  Ermsby. 
Marry we would speak with friar Bacon.  Miles. 
Whose men be you.  Ermsbie. 
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 reparel.  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.  Edward. 
Gog's wounds Warren kill him.  Warren. 
Why Ned I think the devil be in my sheath, I cannot get out my dagger.  Ermsbie. 
Nor I mine, 'Swounds Ned I think I am bewitched.  Miles. 
A company of scabs, the proudest of you all draw your weapon if he can,  
See how boldly I speak now my master is by.  Edward. 
I strive in vain, but if my sword be shut,  
And conjured fast by magic in my sheath,  
Villain here is my fist.  Strike him a box on the ear. Miles. 
Oh I beseech you conjure his hands 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,  Edward. 
To whom speakest thou.  Bacon. 
To thee.  Edward. 
Who art thou.  Bacon. 
Can you not judge when all your swords grew fast,  
That friar Bacon was not far from hence:  
Edward king Henry's son and Prince of Wales,  
Thy fool disguised cannot conceal thyself,  
I know both Ermsby and the Suslex Earl,  
Else Friar Bacon had but little skill.  
Thou comest in post from merry Fresingfield,  
Fast fancied to the keepers bonny lass,  
To crave some succour of the jolly Friar,  
And Lacie Ear of Lincoln hast thou left,  
To treat fair Margaret to allow thy loves:  
But friends are men, and love can baffle lords.  
The Earl both woes and courts her for himself.  Warren. 
Ned this is strange, the friar knoweth al.  Ermsbie. 
Apollo could not utter more than this.  Edward. 
I stand amazed to hear this jolly Friar,  
Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts:  
But learned Bacon since thou knowest the cause,  
Why I did post so fast from Fresingfield.  
Help Friar at a pinch, that I may have  
The love of lovely Margaret to myself;  
And as I am true Prince of Wales, I'll give  
Living and lands to strength thy college state.  Warren. 
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 head and make him do it by force.  Miles. 
In faith my lord, your manhood and your sword all alike, they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.  Ermsbie. 
Wat doctor in a dump, tush help the prince,  
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 Fresingfield,  
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 strait,  
And in a glass prospective I will show  
What's done this day in merry Fresingfield.  Edward. 
Gramercies Bacon, I will quite thy pain.  Bacon. 
But send your train my lord into the town,  
My scholar shall go bring them to their Inn:  
Mean while we'll see the knavery of the earl.  Edward. 
Warren leave me and Ermsbie, take the fool,  
Let him be master and go revel it,  
Till I and Friar Bacon talk a while.  Warren. 
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 in Oxford.  Exeunt. Bacon and Edward goes into the study. Bacon. 
Now frolic Edward, welcome to my Cell,  
Hear tempers Friar Bacon many toys:  
And holds this place his consistory court,  
Wherein the devils pleads homage to his words,  
Within this glass prospective thou shalt see  
This day what's done in merry Fresingfield,  
Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln earl.  Edward. 
Friar thou gladst me, nowshall Edward try,  
How Lacie meaneth to his sovereign lord.  Bacon. 
Stand there and look directly in the glass,  Enter Margaret and Friar Bungay. Bacon. 
What sees my lord.  Edward. 
I see the keepers lovely lass appear,  
As bright-sun as the paramour of Mars,  
Only attended by a jolly friar.  Bacon. 
Sat still and keep the crystal in your eye,  Margaret. 
But tell me friar Bungay is it true,  
That this fair courteous country swain,  
Who says his father is a farmer nigh,  
Can be lord Lacie earl of Lincolnshire.  Bungay. 
Peggy 'tis true, 'tis Lacie for my life,  
Or else mine art and cunning both doth fail:  
Left by prince Edward to procure his loves,  
For he in green that holp you run your cheese,  
Is son to Henry and the prince of Wales.  Margaret. 
Be what he will his lure is but for lust.  
But did lord Lacie 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.  Bungay. 
Why Margaret dost thou love him.  Margaret. 
His parsonage like the pride ofvaunting Troy,  
Might well avouch to shadow Helen's cape:  
His wits quick and ready in conceit,  
As Greece afforded in her chiefest prime  
Courteous, ah Friar full of pleasing smiles,  
Trust me I love too much to tell thee more,  
Suffice to me he is England's paramour.  Bungay. 
Hath not each eye that viewed thy pleasing face,  
Surnamed thee fair maid of Fresingfield.  Margaret. 
Yes Bungay, and would God the lovely Earl  
Had that in esse, thatso many sought.  Bungay. 
Fear not, the Friar will not be behind,  
To show his cunning to entangle love.  Edward. 
I think the Friar courts the bonny wench,  
Bacon, me thinks he is a lusty churl.  Bacon. 
Now look my lord.  Enter Lacie. Edward. 
Gog's wounds Bacon here comes Lacie.  Bacon. 
Sat still my lord and mark the comedy.  Bungay. 
here's Lacie, Margaret step aside awhile.  Lacie. 
Daphne the damsel, that caught Phoebus fast,  
And locked 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 Lacie thou art put in trust,  
Edward thy sovereigns' son hath chosen thee  
A secret friend to court her for himself:  
And darest thou wrong thy Prince with treachery.  
Lacie, love makes no acception of a friend,  
Nor deems it of a Prince, but as a man:  
Honour bids thee control him in his lust,  
His wooing is not for to wed the girl,  
But to entrap her and beguile the lass:  
Lacie thou lovest, then brook not such abuse,  
But wed her, and abide thy Prince's frown:  
For better die, then see her live disgraced.  Margaret. 
Come Friar I will shake him from his dumps,  
How cheer you sir, a penny for your thought:  
Your early up, pray God it be the near,  
What come from Beckles in a morn so soon.  Lacie. 
Thus watchful are such men as live in love,  
Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep,  
I tell thee Peggy since last Harlston fair,  
My mind hath felt a heap of passions.  Margaret. 
A trusty man that court it for your friend,  
Woe you still for the courtier all in green.  
I marvel that he sues not for himself.  Lacie. 
Peggy, I pleaded first to get your grace for him,  
But when mine eyes furuaid your beauteous looks  
Love like a wag, strait dived 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.  Margaret. 
You are very hasty for to garden well,  
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring,  
Love aught to creep as doth the dials shade,  
For timely ripe is rotten too too soon.  Bungay. 
Deus hic, room for a merry Friar,  
What youth of Beckles, with the keeper's lass,  
'tis well, but tell me here you any news.  Margaret. 
No, Friar what news.  Bungay. 
Hear you not how the pursuivants do post,  
With proclamations through each country town:  Lacie. 
For what gentle friar tell the news.  Bungay. 
Dwellest thou in Beckles & heerst not of these news,  
Lacie 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,  
And therefore doth proclaim in every way,  
That who can take the Lincoln earl, shall have  
Paid in the Exchequer twenty thousand crowns.  Lacie. 
The earl of Lincoln, Friar thou art mad,  
It was some other, thou mistakest the man:  
The earl of Lincoln, why it cannot be.  Margaret. 
Yes very well my lord, for you are he,  
The keeper's daughter took you prisoner,  
Lord Lacie yield, I'll be your jailor once.  Edward. 
How familiar they be Bacon.  Bacon. 
Sat still and mark the sequel of their loves.  Lacie. 
Then am I double prisoner to thyself,  
Peggy, I yield, but are these news iniest,  Margaret. 
In iest with you, but earnest unto me:  
For why, these wrongs do wring me at the heart,  
Ah how these earls and noble men of birth,  
Flatter and feign to forge poor women's ill.  Lacie. 
Believe me lass, I am the Lincoln earl▪  
I not deny, but tired thus in rags  
I lived disguised to win fair Peggy's love.  Margaret. 
What love is there where wedding ends not love?  Lacie. 
I meant fair girl to make thee Lacy's wife.  Margaret. 
I 〈◊〉 think that earls will stoop so low,  Lacie. 
Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep.  Marg. 
Handmaid unto the earl so please himself  
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.  Lacie. 
The Lincoln countess, for it shallbe so,  
I'll plight the bands and seal it with a kiss.  Edward. 
Gog's wounds Bacon they kiss, I'll stab them,  Bacon. 
Oh hold your hands my lord it is the glass.  Edward. 
Collar to see the traitors 'gree so well,  
Made me think the shadows substances.  Bacon. 
'Twere a long poinard my lord, to reach between  
Oxford and Fresingfield, but sit still and see more.  Bungay. 
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 forth, and wed you here,  
Then go to bed and seal up your desires.  Lacie. 
Friar content, Peggy how like you this?  Margaret. 
What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.  Bungay. 
Then handfast hand, and I will to my book,  Bacon. 
What sees my lord now.  Edward. 
Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand,  
The Friar ready with his portace there,  
To wed them both, then am I quite undone,  
Bacon help now, if ere thy magic served,  
Help Bacon, stop the marriage now,  
If devils or necromancy may suffice,  
And I will give thee forty thousand crowns.  Bacon. 
Fear not my lord, I'll stop the jolly Friar,  
For mumbling up his orisons this day.  Lacie. 
Why speak'st not Bungay, Friar to thy book.  Bungay is mute, crying Hud hud. Margaret. 
How lookest thou friar, as a man disttaught●  
To see if he will take this task in hand.  Clement. 
Stay what rumour is this, the town is up in a mutiny, what hurly-burly is this?  Enter a Constable, with Ralph, Warren, Ermsbie and Miles. Constable. 
Nay masters if you were near so good, you shall before the doctors to answer your misdemeanour.  Burden. 
What's the matter fellow?  Constable. 
Marry sir, here's a company of rufflers that drinking in the Tavern have made a great brawl, and almost killed the vintner.  Miles. 
Salue doctor Burden, this lubberly lurden,  
Ill shaped and ill faced, disdained and disgraced,  
What he tells unto vobis, mentitur de nobis.  Burden. 
Who is the master and chief of this crew?  Miles. 
Ecce asinum mundi, fugura rotundi,  
Neat sheet and fine, as brisk as a cup of wine.  Burden. 
What are you?  Ralph. 
I am father doctor as a man would say, the Belwether of this company, these are my lords, and I the prince of Wales.  Clement. 
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 sound I have broke his head, they'll say 'twas done by no less man than a prince.  Mason. 
I cannot believe that this is the prince of Wales.  Warren. 
And why so sir?  Mason. 
For they say the prince is a brave & a wise gentleman.  War. 
Why and thinkest thou doctor that he is not so?  
darest thou detract and deerogate from him,  
Being so lovely and so brave a youth.  Ermsbie. 
Whose face shining with many a sugared smile,  
Bewrays that he is bred of princely race.  Miles. 
And yet master doctor, to speak like a proctor,  
And tell unto you, 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,  
The cheese of our gregis, and filius regis,  
Then ware what is done, for he is Henry's white son.  Ralph. 
Doctors whose doting nightcaps are 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 Niniversitie with a fair wind, to the Bankside in Southwark, how sayest thou Ned Warraine, shall I not do it?  Warren. 
Yes my good lord, and if it please your lordship, I will gather up all your old pantofles, and with the cork, make you a Pinnace of five hundred tun, that shall serve the turn marvelous well, my lord.  Ermsbie. 
And I my lord will have pioneers to undermine the town, that the very Gardens and orchards be carried away for your summer walks.  Miles. 
And I with scientia, and great diligentia,  
Will conjure and charm, to keep you from harm,  
That utrum horum mavis, your very great navis,  
Like Bartlet's ship, from Oxford do skip,  
With Colleges and schools, full loaden with fools,  
Quid dices ad hoc, worshipful domine Dawcocke.  Clement. 
Why harebrained courtiers, are you drunk or mad,  
To taunt us up with such scurrility,  
Deem you us men of base and light esteem,  
To bring us such a fop for Henry's son,  
Call out the beadls and convey them hence,  
Strait to Bocardo, let the roisters lie  
Close clapped in bolts, until theirwits be tame.  Ermsby. 
Why shall we to prison my lord?  Ralph. 
What sayst Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence?  Miles. 
No no, out with your blades, and hamper these jades,  
Have a flirt and a crash, now play revel dash,  
And teach these Sacerdos, that the Bocardoes,  
Like peasant's and elves, are meet for themselves.  Mason. 
To the prison with them constable.  Warren. 
Well doctors seeing I have sported me,  
With laughing at these mad and merry wags,  
Know that prince Edward is at Brazennose,  
And this attired like the prince of Wales,  
Is Ralph, king Henry's only loved fool,  
I, earl of Essex, and this Ermsbie  
One of the privy chamber to the king,  
Who while the prince with Friar Bacon stays,  
Have reveld it in Oxford as you see.  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?  Warren. 
I will master doctor, and satisfy 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, only I will have Miles go before me, because I have heard Henry say, that wisdom must go before Majesty.  Exeunt omnes. Enter prince Edward with his poinard in his hand, Lacie and Margaret. Edward. 
Lacie 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 L●ncaeus from the shores of Grecia,  
Did not I sit in Oxford by the Friar,  
And see thee court the maid of Fresingfield,  
Seahog thy flattering fancies with a kiss,  
Did not proud Bungay draw his portasse forth,  
And joining hand in hand had married you,  
If Friar Bacon had not struck him 〈◊〉,  
And mounted him upon a spirits back,  
That we might chat at Oxford with the friar,  
Traitor what answer'st, is not all this true?  Lacie. 
Truth all my Lord and thus I make reply,  
At Harlstone fair there courting for your grace,  
When as mine eye surveyed her curious shape,  
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 but as men,  
How that the lovely maid of Fresingfield,  
Was fit to be Lacy's wedded wife,  
Than concubine unto the prince of Wales.  Edward. 
Injurious Lacie did I love thee more  
Than Alexander his Hephestion;  
Did I unfold the passion 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,  
Theinchained fetters of such private friends,  
Base coward, false, and too effeminate,  
To be corival with a prince in thoughts,  
From Oxford have I posted since I dined,  
To quite a traitor fore that Edward sleep.  Marg. 
'Twas I my Lord, not Lacie stepped awry,  
For oft he sued and courted for yourself,  
And still wood for the courtier all in green,  
But I whom fancy made but over fond,  
Pleaded myself with looks as if I loud,  
I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,  
And still bewitched loud Lacie 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  
But that I loud Lord Lacie 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 〈◊〉 love,  
Is not of force to bury thoughts of friends.  Edward. 
I tell thee Peggy I will have thy loves,  
Edward or none shall conquer Margaret,  
In Frigates bottomd with rich Sethin planks,  
Topped with the lofty sirs of Libanon,  
Stemd and encased with burnished luorie  
And overlaid 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 haps and silver psalteries,  
Shall weight with music at thy frigates stem,  
And entertain fair Margaret with her 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,  
If thou wilt be but Edward's Margaret.  Margaret. 
Pardon my lord if joves' great royalty,  
Sent me such presents as to Danae,  
If Phoebus tied in Latona's webs,  
Come courting from the beauty of his lodge,  
The dulcet tunes of frolic Mercury,  
Not all the wealth heavens treasury affords,  
Should make me leave lord Lacie or his love.  Edw. 
I have learned at Oxford then this point ofschooles,  
Abbata causa, tollitur effectus,  
Lacie the cause that Margaret cannot love,  
Nor fix her liking on the English Prince,  
Take him away, and then the effects will fail,  
Villain prepare thyself for I will bathe  
My poinard in the bosom of an eatle.  Lacie. 
Rather than live, and miss fair Margret's love,  
Prince Edward stop not at the fatal doom,  
But stab it home, end both my loves and life.  Marg. 
Brave Prince of Wales, honoured for royal deeds,  
'Twere sin to stain fair Venus courts with blood,  
loves conquests ends my Lord in courtesy,  
Spare Lacie gentle Edward, let me die,  
For so both you and he do cease your loves.  Edward. 
Lacie shall die as traitor to his Lord.  Lacie. 
I have deserved it, Edward act it well.  Margaret 
What hopes the Prince to gain by Lacy's death?  Edward. 
To end the loves twixt him and Margeret.  Marg. 
Why, thinks king Henry's son that Margret's love,  
Hangs in the uncertain balance of proud time,  
That death shall make a discord of our thoughts,  
No, stab the earl, and fore the morning sun  
Shall vaunt him thrice, over the lofty east,  
Margaret will meet her Lacie in the heavens.  Lacie. 
If aught betides to lovely Margaret,  
That wrongs or wrings her honour from content,  
Europe's rich wealth nor England's monarchy,  
Should not allure Lacie to overlive,  
Then Edward short my life and end her loves.  Margaret. 
Rid me, and keep a friend worth many loves.  Lacie. 
Nay Edward keep a love worth many friends.  Margaret. 
And if thy mind be such as fame hath blazed,  
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,  
Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love,  Edward. 
Edward Art thou that famous prince of Wales,  
Who at Damascus beat the Saracens,  
And brought'st home triumph on thy lances point,  
And shall thy plumes be pulled by Venus down,  
Is it 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 Lacie in their loves,  
So in subduing fancies passion,  
Conquering thyself thou getst the richest spoil,  
Lacie 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,  
Lacie enjoy the maid of Fresingfield,  
Make her thy Lincoln countess at the church,  
And Ned as he is true Plantagenet,  
Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife.  Lacie. 
Humbly I take her of my sovereign,  
As if that Edward gave me England's right,  
And riched me with the Albion diadem.  Margaret. 
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 Lacie.  Edward. 
I will fair Peggy as I am true lord.  Marg. 
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 Cirus self,  
Yields thanks, and next lord Lacie, doth enshrine  
Edward the second secret in her heart.  Edw. 
Gramercy Peggy, now that vows are past,  
And that your loves are not be revolt:  
Once Lacie friends again, come we will post  
To Oxford, for this day the king is there,  
And brings for Edward Castille Ellinor.  
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,  
Twixt friar Bacon, and learned Vandermast,  
Peggy we'll leave you for a week or two.  Margaret. 
As it please lord Lacie, but loves foolish looks,  
Think footsteps Miles, and minutes to be hours.  Lacie. 
I'll hasten Peggy to make short return,  
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.  Edward. 
'tis cheer lord Lacie 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. Enter Henry, Emperor, Castille, Ellinor, Vandermast, Bungay. Emperor. 
Trust me Plantagenet these Oxford schools  
Are richly seated near the river side:  
The mountains full of fat and fallow dear,  
The batling pastures laid with kine and flocks,  
The town gorgeous with high built colleges,  
And scholars seemly in their grave attire.  
Learned in searching principles of art,  
What is thy judgement, jaquis Vandermast.  Vandermast. 
That lordly are the buildings of the town,  
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 here.  Bungar. 
I tell thee German, Haspurge holds none such,  
None red so deep as Oxenford contains,  
There are within our academic state,  
Men that may lecture it in Germany,  
To all the doctors of your Belgic schools.  Henry. 
Stand to him Bungay, charm this Vandermast,  
And I will use thee as a royal king.  Vandermast. 
Wherein darest thou dispute with me.  Bungay. 
In what a Doctor and a Friar can.  Vandermast. 
Before rich Europe's worthies put thou forth  
The doubtful question unto Vandermast.  Bungay. 
Let it be this, whether the spirits of piromancie  
or Geomancy, be most predominant in magic.  Vander. 
I say of Piromancie.  Bungay. 
And I of Geomancy.  Vander. 
The cabalists that wright of magic spells,  
As Hermes, Melchre, and Pythagoras,  
Affirm that 'mongst the quadruplicitie  
Of elemental essence, Terra is but thought,  
To be a punctum squared to the rest:  
And that the compass of ascending eliments  
Exceed in bigness as they do in height.  
judging the concave circle of the son,  
To hold the rest in his circomference,  
If then as Hermes says the fire be greatest,  
Purest and only giveth shapes to spirits:  
Then must these Demons that haunt that place,  
Be every way superior to the rest.  Bungay. 
I reason not of elemental shapes,  
Nor tell I of the concave lattitudes,  
Noting their essence nor their quality,  
But of the spirits that Piromancie calls,  
And of the vigourof the Geomantic fiends,  
I tell thee German magic haunts the grounds,  
And those strange necromantic spells  
That work such shows and wondering in the world,  
Are acted by those Geomantic spirits,  
That Hermes calleth Terraefilii.  
The fiery spirits are but transparent shades,  
That lightly pass as Heralts to bear news,  
But earthly fiends closed in the lowest deep,  
Dissever mountains if they be but charged,  
Being more gross and massy in their power.  Vander. 
Rather these earthly geomantic spirits,  
Are dull and like the place where they remain:  
For when proud Lucipher fell from the heavens,  
The spirits and angels that did sin with him,  
Retained 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,  
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 vild sorcerers,  
Whereas the Pyromantic gemij,  
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.  Bungay. 
I will.  Emper. 
Now English Harry here gins the game,  
We shall see sport between these learned men.  Vandermast. 
What wilt thou do.  Bung. 
Show thee the tree lewd with refined gold,  
Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat,  
That watched the garden called Hesperides,  
Subdued and won by conquering Hercules.  Vandermast. 
Well done.  Hear Bungay conjures and the tree appears with the dragon shooting fire. Henry. 
What say you royal lordings to my friar,  
Hath he not done a point of cunning skill.  Vander. 
Each scholar in the Necromantic spells,  
Can do as much as Bungay hath performed,  
Burr as Alcmenas bastard rased this tree,  
So will I raise him up as when he lived,  
And cause him pull the Dragon from his seat,  
And tear the branches piecemeal from the root,  
Hercules Prodeo, Prodi Hercules.  
Hercules appears in his Lion's skin.  Hercules. 
Quis me vult.  Vandermast. 
joves' bastard son thou libyan Hercules  
Pull off the sprigs from off the Hesperian tree,  
As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.  Hercules. 
Fiat.  Hear he gins to break the branches. Vander. 
Now Bungay if thou canst by magic charm,  
The fiend appearing like great Hercules,  
From pulling down the branches of the tree,  
Then art thou worthy to be counted learned.  Bungay. 
I cannot.  Vander. 
Cease Hercules until I give thee charge,  
Mighty commander of this English I'll,  
Henry come from the stout Plantagenets,  
Bungay is learned enough to be a Friar.  
But to compare with jaquis Vandermast,  
Oxford and Cambridge must go seek their celles,  
To find a man to match him in his art.  
I have given nonplus to the Paduans,  
To them of Sien, Florence, and Belogna,  
Rheims, Louvain and fair Rotherdam,  
Frankford, Lutrech and Orleans:  
And now must Henry if he do me right,  
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 amazed,  
What hath the German acted more than thou,  Vandermast. 
What art thou that questions thus.  Bacon. 
Men call me Bacon.  Vander. 
Lordly thou lookest, as if that thou wert learned,  
Thy countenance, as if science held her seat  
Between the circled arches of thy brows.  Henry. 
Now Monarchs' hath the german found his match.  Emperor. 
Bestir thee jaquis take not now the foil,  
Lest thou dost lose what foretime thou didst gain.  Vandermast. 
Bacon, wilt thou dispute.  Bacon. 
No, unless he were more learned than Vandermast.  
For yet tell me, what hast thou done?  Vandermast. 
Raised Hercules to ruinated that tree,  
That Bongay mounted by his magic spells.  Bacon. 
Set Hercules to work.  Vander. 
Now Hercules, I charge thee to thy task,  
Pull off the golden branches from the root.  Hercules. 
Idare not, Seest thou not great Bacon here,  
Whose frown doth act more than thy magic can.  Vandermast. 
By all the thrones and dominations,  
Virtues, powers and mighty Herarchies,  
I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.  Hercules. 
Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon,  
Andrules A●menoth guide erof the North:  
Binds me from yielding unto Vandermast.  Hen. 
How now Vandermast, have you met with your match.  Vandermast. 
Never before wast known to Vandermast,  
That men held devils in such obedient awe,  
Bacon doth more than art or else I fail.  Emperor. 
Why Vandermast art thou overcome,  
Bacon dispute with him, and try his skill:  Bacon. 
I come not Monatckes for to hold dispute,  
With such a novice as is Vandermast,  
I come to have your royalties to dine  
With Friar Bacon Heere in Brazennose,  
And for this German troubles but the place  
And holds this audience with a long suspense,  
I'll send him to his Accademie hence,  
Thou Hercules whom Vandermast did raise,  
Transport the German unto Haspurge strait,  
That he may learn by travail 'gainst the springs,  
More secret dooms and Aphorisms of art,  
Vanish the tree and thou away with him.  Exit the spirit with Vandermast and the Tree. Emperor. 
Why Bacon whether dost thou send him,  Bacon. 
To Haspurge there your highness at return,  
Shall find the German in his study safe.  Henry. 
Bacon, thou hast honoured England with thy skill,  
And made fair Oxford famous by thine art,  
I will be English Henry to thyself,  
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 Edward, Lacic, Warren, Ermsbie. Emperor. 
Is this Prince Edward Henry's royal son,  
How martial is the figure of his face,  
Yet lovely and beset with Amorets.  Henry. 
Ned, where hast thou been.  Edward. 
At Framingham my Lord, to try your bucks.  
If they could scape they teasers or the toil:  
But hearing of these lordly Potentates  
Landed, and prograst up to Oxford town,  
I posted to give entertain to them,  
Chief to the Almain Monarch, next to him,  
And joint with him, Castille and Saxony,  
Are welcome as they may be to the English Court.  
Thus for the men, but see Venus appears,  
Or one that overmatch eth Venus in her shape,  
Sweet Ellinor, beauties highswelling pride,  
Rich nature's glory, and her wealth at once:  
Fair of all fairs, welcome to Albion,  
Welcome to me, and welcome to thine own,  
If that thou dainst the welcome from myself.  Ellinor. 
Martial Plantagenet, Henry's high minded son,  
The mark that Ellinor did count her aim,  
I liked 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 Ellinor.  Castile. 
Fear not my Lord, this couple will agree,  
If love may creep into their wanton eyes:  
And therefore Edward I accept thee here,  
Without suspense, as my adopted son.  Henry. 
Let me that joy in these consorting greets,  
And glory in these honours done to Ned,  
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. 
Saluete omnes reges, that govern your Greges, in Saxony and Spain, in England and in Almain: for all this frolic table must I cover thee table, with trenchers, salt and cloth, and thenlooke for your broth.  Emperor. 
What pleasant fellow is this.  Henry. 
'tis my lord, doctor Bacon's poor scholar.  miles. 
My master hath made me sewer of these great lords, and God knows I am as serviceable at a table, as a sow is under an apple tree: 'tis no matter, their cheer shall not be great, and therefore what skills where the salt stand before or behind.  Castille. 
Theseschollers knows more skill in actiomes,  
How to use quips and sleights of Sophistry,  
Than for to cover courtly for a king.  Enter Miles with a mess of pottage and broth, and after him Eacon. Miles. 
Spill sir, why do you think I never carried twopeny chop before in my life: by your leave, Nobile decus, for here comes doctor Bacon's pecus, being in his full age, to carry a mess of pottage.  Bacon. 
Lordings admire not if your cheer be this,  
For we must keep our Academic fare,  
No riot where Philosophy doth rain,  
And therefore Henry place these Potentates,  
And bid them fall unto their frugal cates.  Emp. 
Presumptuous Friar, what scoff'st thou at a king,  
What dost thou taunt us with thy peasants far,  
And give us cates fit for country swains,  
Henry proceeds this jest of thy consent,  
To twit us with such a pittance of such price,  
Tell me, and Frederick will not grieve the long.  Henry. 
By Henry's honour and the royal faith  
The English monarch beareth to his friend:  
I knew not of the friars feeble fare,  
Nor am I pleased he entertains you thus.  Bacon. 
Content thee Frederick for I showed the cates  
To let thee see how scholars use to feed:  
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 Miles. Bacon. 
I tell thee Monarch, all the German Peers  
Can not afford thy entertainmentsuch,  
So royal and so full of Majesty,  
As Bacon will present to Frederick,  
The Basest waiter that attends thy cups,  
Shall be in honours greater than thyself:  
And for thy cates rich Alexandria drugs,  
Fetched by Caravels from Egypt's richest straits:  
Found in the wealthy strand of Africa,  
Shall royalize the table of my king,  
Wines richer than the Gyptian courtesan,  
Quaft to Augustus' kingly countermatch,  
shallbe caroused in English Henry's feasts:  
Candie shall yield the richest of her canes,  
Persia down her volga by Canoes,  
Send down the secrets of her spicery.  
The Afrique Dates mirab les of Spain,  
Conserves, and Suckets from Tiberias,  
Cates from judea choicer than the lamp  
That fired Rome with sparks of gluttony,  
Shall bewtisie the board for Frederick,  
And therefore grudge not at a friars feast.  Enter two gentlemen, Lambert, and Serlby with the keeper. Lambert. 
Come frolic keeper of our liege's game,  
Whose table spread hath ever venison,  
And jacks of wines to welcome passengers,  
Know I am in love with jolly Margaret,  
That over-shines our damsels as the moon,  
Darkeneth the brightest sparkles of the night,  
In Laxfield here my land and living lies,  
I'll make thy daughter jointer of it all,  
So thou consent to give her to my wise,  
And I can spend five hundredth marks a year.  Serlbie. 
I am the landlord keeper of thy holds,  
By copy all thy living lies in me.  
Laxfield did never see me raise my due,  
I will infeofe fair Margaret in all,  
So she will take her to a lusty squire.  Keeper. 
Now courteous gentls, if the Keeper's girl,  
Hath pleased the liking fancy of you both,  
And with her beauty hath subdued your thoughts,  
'tis doubtful to decide the question.  
It joys me that such men of great esteem,  
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,  
I will to avoid displeasure of you both,  
Call Margaret forth, and she shall make her choice,  Exit. Lambert. 
Content Keeper send hereunto 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,  Serlsby. 
I live not Lambert to content the dead,  
Nor was I wedded but for life to her,  
The graves ends and gins a married state.  Enter Margret. Lambert. 
Peggy the lovely flower of all towns,  
Suffolks' fair Helen, and rich England's star,  
Whose beautietempered with her housewifry,  
Makes England talk of merry Frisingfield.  Serlsby. 
I cannot trick it up with poesies,  
Nor paint my passions with comparisons,  
Nor tell a tall of Phoebus and his loves,  
But this believe me Laxfield here is mine,  
Of ancient rent seven hundred pounds a year,  
And if thou canst but love acountrie squire,  
I will enfeoff thee Margaret in all,  
I can not flatter, try me if thou please.  Mar. 
Brave neighbouring squires the stay of Suffolk's clime,  
A Keeper's daughters is too base in gree  
To match with men accounted of such worth,  
But might I notdisplease I would reply,  Lambert. 
Say Peggy nought shall make us discontent.  Marg. 
Then gentiles note that love hath little stay,  
Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire,  
Be kindled but by fancy's motion,  
Then pardon gentiles, if a maid's reply  
Be doubtful, while I have debated with myself,  
Who or of whom love shall constrain me like,  Serlsbie. 
Let it be me and trust me Margaret,  
The meads environed with the silver streams,  
Whose Batling pastures fatneth all my flocks,  
Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool,  
As Lempster cannot yield more finer stuff  
And forty kine with fair and burnished heads,  
With strutting dugs that paggle to the ground,  
Shall serve thy dairy if thou wed with me.  Lambert. 
Let pass the country wealth as flocks and kine,  
And lands that wave with Ceres' golden sheves  
filling my barns with plenty of the fields,  
But peggy if thou wed thyself to me,  
Thou shalt have garments of Embroidered silk,  
Lawns and rich networks for thy head attire  
costly shallbe thy fare habiliments,  
If thou wilt be but Lambert's loving wife.  Margaret 
Content you gentles you have proffered fair,  
And more than fits a country maids degree,  
But give me leave to counsel me a time,  
For fancy blooms not at the first assault,  
Give me but ten days respite and I will reply,  
Which or to whom myself affectionats.  Serslby. 
Lambert I tell thee thou art importunate,  
Such beauty fits not such a base esquire  
It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.  Lamb. 
Thinkest thou with wealth to over reach 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.  Serlsby 
I'll answer Lambert what I have avoucht  
Margaret farewell, another time shall serve.  Exit Serlsby Lambert. 
I'll follow Peggy farewell to thyself,  
Listen how well i'll answer for thy love.  Exit Lambert Margeret. 
How Fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns,  
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 forward fates,  
As I am Helen in my matchless hue  
And set rich Suffolk with my face afire,  
If lovely Lacie were but with his Peggy,  
The cloudy darkness of his bitter ●rowne  
Would check the pride of these aspiring squires,  
Before the term of ten days be expired,  
When as they look for answer of their loves,  
My Lord will come to merry Frisingfield,  
And end their fancies, and their follies both,  
Till when Peggy be blith 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 mevn●o Frisingfield,  
which foot-path leadeth to the keepers lodge?  Margeret 
Your way is ready and this path is right,  
Myself do dwell hereby in Frisingfield,  
And if the keeper be the man you seek,  
I am his daughter may 〈…〉 the cause?  Post 
Lovely and once beloved of my lord,  
No marvel if his eye was lodged so low,  
when brighter 〈◊〉 is not in the he Heavens,  
The Lincoln earl hath sent you letters here,  
And with them, just an hundred pounds in gold,  
Sweet bonny wench read them and make reply.  Margaret. 
The scrolls that jove sent Danae  
Wrapped in rich closures of fine burnished gold,  
Were not more welcome than these lines to me.  
Tell me whilst that I do unrip the seals,  
lives Lacie well, how fares my lovely Lord?  Post. 
Well, if that wealth may make men to live well.  The letter, and Margre●reads it. Margaret. 
THe blooms of the Almond three grow in a night, and vanish in a mome, the flies Hamere (fair Peggy) take life with the Sun, and die with the dew, fancy that slippeth in with a gaze, goeth out with a wink; and too timely loves, have ever the shortest length. I writ this as thy grief, and my folly, who at Frisingfield loud that which time hath taught me to be but mean dainties, eyes are dissen●blers, and fancy is but queasy, therefore know Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish Lady to be my wife, chief weighting woman to the Princess Elinor, a Lady saire, and no less fair than thyself, honourable and wealthy, in 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, Edward Lacy.  
Fond Ate doomer of bad boding fates,  
That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks,  
Didst thou enchant my birthday with such stars,  
As lightened mischief from their infancy,  
If heavens had vowed, if●tars had made decree,  
To show on me their froward influence,  
If Lacy had but loud, heavens hell and all,  
Can not have wronged the patience of my mind.  Post. 
It grieves me damsel, but the Earl is forced  
To love the Lady, by the King's command.  Margaret 
The wealth combined within the English shelves,  
Europe's commander nor the English King,  
Should not have moved the love of Peggy from her Lord.  Post. 
What answer shall I return to my Lord?  Margaret. 
First for thou camest from Lacie whom I loud,  
Ah give me leave to sigh at every thought,  
Take thou my friend the hundred pound he sent,  
For Margret's resolution craves no dower,  
The world shallbe to her as vanity,  
Wealth trash, love hate, pleasure despair,  
For I will strait to stately Framingham,  
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,  
For those be hateful unto Margaret,  
But for thart Lacy's man once Margret's love.  Post. 
What I have heard what passions I have seen  
I'll make report of them unto the Earl.  Exit Pope Margaret. 
Say that she joys his fancies be at rest,  
And prays that his misfortune may be hers.  Exit 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, which weapons by him. Bacon. 
Miles where are you?  Mites. 
Here sir.  Bacon. 
How chance you tarry so long?  Miles. 
Think you that the watching of the brazen head craves no furniture? I warrant you sir I have so armed myself, that if all your devils come I will not fear them an inch.  Bacon. 
Miles thou knowest that I have dived into hell,  
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends,  
That with my Magic spells great Belzephon,  
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell,  
The rafters of the earth rend from the poles,  
And three-formd Luna hide her silver looks,  
Trembling upon her concave contenent,  
When Bacon red upon his Magic book,  
With seven years tossing necromantic charms,  
Poring upon dark Hecate's principles,  
I have framed out a monstrous head of brass,  
That by theinchaunting forces of the devil,  
Shall tell out strange and uncouth Aphorisms,  
And gird fair England with a wall of brass,  
Bungay and I have watched these threescore days,  
And now our vital spirits crave some rest,  
If Argos lived and had his hundred eyes,  
They could not overwatch Phobeter'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 brazenhead,  
Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God  
That holds the souls of men within his fist,  
This night thou watch, for ere the morning star  
Sends out his glorious glister on the north,  
The head will speak, than Miles upon thy life,  
Wake me for then by Magic art I'll work,  
To end my seven years task with excellence,  
If that awinke but shut thy watchful eye,  
Thenfarewell Bacon's glory and his fame,  
Draw close the curtains Miles now for thy life,  
Be watchful and  Here he falleth asleep. Miles. 
So, I thought you would talk yourself a sleep anon, and 'tis 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 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 p●pelare for the people of the parish, well I am furnished with weapons,, now sit 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 a God I have almost broke my pate, Up Miles to your 
S●t down and knock your head.  task, take your brown bill in your hand, here's some of your masters hobgoblins abroad.  With this a great noise. The Head speaks. Head. 
Time is.  Miles. 
Time is, Why master Brazenhead have you such a capital nose, and answer you with syllables, Time is: is this all my masters cunning, to spend seven years study about Time is: well sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon, well I'll watch you as narrowly as ever you were watched, and I'll play with you as the Nightingale with the Slowworme, I'll set a prick against my breast: now rest there Miles, Lord have mercy upon me, I have almost killed my self: up Miles list how they rumble.  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 was: yea marry, time was when my master was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brazenhead, you shall lie while your arme ache and your Head speak no better: well I will watch and walk up and down, and be a Perepatetian and a Philosopher of Aristotle's stamp, what a fresh noise, take thy pistols in hand Miles.  Hear the Head speaks and a lightning flasheth forth, and a hand appears that breaketh down the Head with a hammer. Head. 
Time is past.  Miles. 
Master master, up, hells broken lose, your Head speaks, and there's such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all Oxford is up in arms, out of your bed and take a brown bill in your hand, the latter day is come.  Bacon. 
Miles I come, oh passing warily watched,  
Bacon will make thee next himself in love,  
When spoke the Head  Miles. 
When spoke the Head, did not you say that he should tell strange principles of Philosophy, why sir it speaks but two words at a time.  Bacon. 
Why villain hath it spoken oft.  Miles. 
Oft, I marry hath it thrice: but in all those three times it hath uttered but seven words.  Bacon. 
As how  Miles. 
Marry sir, the first time he said, Time is, as if Fabius cumentator should have pronounced a sentence, 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, a villain time is past,  
My life, my fame, my glory, all are past:  
Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruined down,  
Thy seven years study lieth in the dust:  
Thy Brazenhead lies broken through a slave  
That watched, and would not when the Head did will,  
What said the Head first.  Miles. 
Even sir, Time is,  Bacon. 
Villain if thou hadst called to Bacon then,  
If thou hadst watched and waked the sleepy friar,  
The Brazenhead had uttered Aphorisms,  
And England had been circled round with brass,  
But proud Astm●roth 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 frowned to see a man their overmatch,  
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 toill end:  
And villain sith my glory hath an end,  
I will appoint thee fatal to some end,  
Villain avoid getthee from Bacon's sight:  
Vag●●t go rome and range about the world,  
And perish as a vagabond on earth.  Miles. 
Why then sir you forbidden me your service.  Bacon. 
My service villain with a fatal curse,  
That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.  Miles. 
'tis no matter I am against you with the old proverb, The more the foxis cursed the better he fares: God be with you sir, I'll take but a book in my hand, a wide sleeved gown on my back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion.  Bacon. 
Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,  
Until they do transport thee quick to hell,  
For Bacon shall have never merry day,  
To lose the fame and honour of his Head.  Exit. Enter Emperor, Castille, Henry, Ellinor, Edward, Lacie, Ralph. Emper. 
Now lovely Prince the prince of Albion's wealth,  
How fares the lady Ellinor and you:  
What have you courted and found Castille fit,  
To answer England in equivolence  
Wilt be a match twixt bonny Nell and thee.  Edw. 
Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,  
And not lie fettered in fair Helen's looks,  
Or Phoebus scape those piercing amorits,  
That Daphne glaunsed at his deity:  
Can Edward then sit by a flame and freeze,  
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down,  
Now Monarchs' ask the lady if we 'gree.  Hen. 
What madam hath my son found grace or no.  Ellinor. 
Seeing my lord his lovely counterfeit,  
And hearing how his mind and shape agreed,  
I come not trooped with all this warlike train,  
Doubting of love, but so effectionat  
As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.  Castile. 
A match my lord, these wantoness needs must love,  
Men must have wives and women will be wed,  
Let's hast the day to honour up the rites.  Ralph. 
Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell.  Henry. 
I Ralph, how then.  Ralph. 
Marry Harrie follow my counsel, send for friar Bacon to marry them, for he'll so conjure him and her with his Necromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst they live.  Castile. 
But hearst thou Ralph, art thou content to have Ellinor to thy lady.  Raphe. 
I so she will promise me two things.  Castile. 
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 unpossible,  Henry. 
What's that Ralph.  Ralph. 
Why Harrie didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her hands, no but when egge-pies grows on appletrees, then will thy grey mare prove a bagpiper.  Emperor. 
What says the lord of Castille and the earl of Lincoln, that they are in such earnest and secret talk.  Castille. 
I stand my lord amazed at his talk  
How he discourseth of the constancy,  
Of one surnamed for beauties excellence,  
The fair maid of merry Fresingfield.  Henry. 
'tis true my lord, 'tis wondrous for to hear,  
Her beauty passing Marces paramour:  
Her virgins right as rich as Vesta's was,  
Lacie and Ned hath told me miracles.  Castille. 
What says lord Lacie, shall she be his wife.  Lacy. 
Or else lord Lacie is unfit to live,  
May it please your highness give me leave to post  
To Fresingfield Ilefetch the bonny girl,  
And prove in true appearance at the court  
What I have vouched often with my tongue.  Henry. 
Lacie, go to the query of my stable,  
And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn,  
High thee to Frefingfield and bring home the lass,  
And for her fame flies through the English coast,  
If it may please the lady Ellinor,  
One day shall match your excellence and her,  Ellinor. 
We Castille ladies are not very coy,  
Your highnesle may command a greater boon,  
And glad were I to grace the Lincoln earl  
With being partner of his marriage day.  Edward. 
Gramercy Nell for I do love the lord,  
As he that's second to myself in love.  Raph. 
You love her, madam Nell, never believe him you though he swears he loves you.  Ellinor. 
Why Ralph.  Raphe. 
Why his love is like unto a tapster's glass that is broken with every touch, for he loved the fair maid of Fresingfield once out of all ho, nay Ned never wink upon me, I care not I.  Hen. 
Ralph tells all, you shall have a good secretary of him,  
But Lacie haste thee post to Fresingfield:  
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,  
The solemn marriage day will be at hand.  Lacie. 
I go my lord.  Exit Lacie. Emperor. 
How shall we pass this day my lord.  Henry. 
To horse my lord, the day is passing fair,  
we'll fly the partridge or go rouse the dear,  
Fellow my lords, you shall not want for sport.  Exeunt. Enter friar Bacon with friar Bungay to his cell. Bungay. 
What means the friar that frolicked it of late,  
To sit as melancholy in his cell:  
To sit as melancholy in his cell,  
As if he had neither lost nor won to day.  Bacon. 
Ah Bungay my Brazenhead is spold,  
My glory gone, my seven years study lost:  
The fame of Bacon bruited through the world,  
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.  Bungay. 
Bacon hath built foundation on his fame,  
So surely on the wings of true report,  
With acting strange and uncouth miracles,  
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 tied me ere I sleep:  
But what and wherein little can I guess.  Bungay. 
My mind is heavy what so ere shall hap.  Enter two scholars, sonnes-to Lambert and Serlby. Knockc. Bacon. 
who's that knocks.  Bungay. 
Two scholars that desires to speak with you.  Bac. 
Bid the come in, Now my youths what would you have.  1. Sholler. 
Sir we are Suffolk men and neighbouring friends,  
Our fathers in their country's lusty squires,  
Their lands adjoin, in Crack mine doth dwell,  
And his in Laxfield, we are college mates,  
Sworn brothers as our father's lives as friends.  Bacon. 
To what end is all this.  2. Scholar. 
Hearing your worship kept within your cell  
A glass prospective wherein men might see,  
What so their thoughts or hearts desire could wish,  
We come to know how that our father's fare.  Bacon. 
My glass is free for every honest man,  
Sat down and you shall see ere long,  
How or in what state your friendly father lives,  
Mean while tell me your names.  Lambert. 
Mine Lambert.  2. Scholar. 
And mine Serlsbie.  Bacon. 
Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.  Enter Lambert and Serlsbie, with Rapiers and daggers. Lambert. 
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,  
And for thy mistress favour prise thy blood,  
Thou know'st what words did pass at Fresingfield,  
Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook:  
I for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts,  
Prepare thee Serlsbie one of us will die.  Serlsby. 
Thou seest I single thee the field,  
And what I spoke, I'll maintain with my sword:  
Stand on thy guard I cannot scold it out.  
And if thou kill me, think I have a son,  
That lives in Oxford in the Brodgate's hall,  
Who will revenge his father's blood with blood.  Lambert. 
And Serlsbie 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 about.  Bacon. 
Now lusty younkers look within the glass,  
And tell me if you can discern your sires.  1. Scol. 
Serlsbie 'tis hard, thy father offers wrong,  
To combat with my father in the field.  2. Scholar 
Lambert thou liest, my fathers is the abuse,  
And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.  Bungay. 
How goes it sirs.  1. Scholar. 
Our fathers are in combat hard by Fresingfield.  Bacon. 
Sat still my friends and see the event.  Lambert. 
Why stand'st thou Serlsbie doubtst thou of thy life,  
A veny man, fair Margaret craves so much.  Serlbie. 
Then this for her.  1. Scholar. 
Ah well thrust.  2. Scholar. 
But mark the ward.  They fight and kill each other. Lambert. 
Oh I am slain.  Serlbie. 
And I, Lord have mercy on me.  1. Scholar. 
My father slain, Serlby ward that.  The two scholars stab on another. 2. Scholar. 
And so is mine Lambert, I'll quite thee well.  Bungay. 
O strange strattagem.  Bacon. 
See Friar where the fathers both lie dead.  
Baconthy magic doth effect this massacre:  
This glass prospective worketh many woes,  
And therefore seeing these brave lusty brutes,  
These friendly youths did perish by thine art,  
End all thy magic and thine art at once:  
The poniard that did end the fatal 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.  He breaks the glass. Bung. 
What means learned Bacon thus to break his glass.  Bacon. 
I tell thee Bungay it reputes 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,  
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,  
With stole and albe and strange Pentaganon,  
The wresting of the holy name of God,  
As Sother, Elaim, and Adonaie,  
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragramiton,  
With praying to the five-fould powers of heaven,  
Are instances that Bacon must be damned,  
For using devils to countervail his God.  
Yet Bacon cheer thee, drown not in despair,  
Sins have their salves repentance can do much,  
Think mercy sits where justice holds her seat,  
And from those wounds those bloody jews did pierce  
Which by thy magic oft did bleed a fresh,  
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,  
To wash the wrath of high jehovahs' ire,  
And make thee as a new borne 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.  Exit. Enter Margret in Nun's apparel, Keeper, her father, and their friend. Keep. 
Margaret be not so headstrong in these vows,  
Oh 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  
Shall fall before the dated time of death,  
Thus to forego his lovely Margaret.  Margaret. 
A father when the harmony of heaven,  
soundeth the measures of a lively faith:  
The vain Illusions of this flattering world,  
Seems odious to the thoughts of Margaret,  
I loved once, lord Lacie was my love,  
And now I hate myself for that I loud,  
And doted more on him than on my God:  
For this I scourge myself with sharp repents.  
But now the touch of such aspiring sins  
Tells me all love is lust but love of heavens:  
That beauty used for love is vanity,  
The world contains nought but alluring baits:  
Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts,  
To shun the pricks of death I leave the world,  
And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss,  
To live in Framingham a holy Nun,  
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed:  
And for to wish all maids to learn of me,  
To seek heavens joy before earth's vanity.  Friend. 
And will you then Margaret be shorn a Nun, and so leave us all.  Margaret. 
Now farewell world the engine of all woe,  
Farewell to friends and father, welcome Christ:  
Adieu to dainty robes, this base attire  
Better befits an humble mind to God,  
Than all the show of rich abiliments,  
Love, oh Love, and with fond Love farewell,  
Sweet Lacie whom I loved once so dear,  
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 Lacie, Warrain, Ermsbie, booted and spurred. Lacie. 
Come on my wags were near the keeper's lodge,  
Hear have I oft walked in the watery Meads,  
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.  Warraine. 
Sirrah Ned, is not this the keeper.  Lacie. 
'tis the same.  Ermsby. 
The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him a Nun my lord.  Lacy. 
Keeper how farest thou holla man, what cheer,  
How doth Peggy thy daughter and my love.  Keeper. 
Ah good my lord, oh woe is me for Peg,  
See where she stands clad in her nuns attire,  
Ready for to be shorn in Framingham:  
She leaves the world because she left your love,  
Oh good my lord persuade her if you can.  Lacie. 
Why how now Margaret, what a malcontent,  
A Nun, what holy father taught you this,  
To task yourself to such a tedious life,  
As die a maid, 'twere injury to me.  
To smother up such beauty in a cell.  Margret. 
Lord Lacie thinking of thy former miss,  
How fond the prime of wanton years were spent  
In love, Oh fie upon that fond conceit,  
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye,  
I leave both love and loves content at once,  
Betaking me to him that is true love,  
And leaving all the world for love of him.  Lacie. 
Whence Peggy comes this Metamorphosis,  
What shorn a Nun, and I have from the co urt,  
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence,  
To Windsor, where our Marriage shallbe kept,  
Thy wedding robes are in the tailor's hands,  
Come Peggy leave these peremptory vows.  Margaret. 
Did not my lord resign his interest,  
And make divorce twixt Margaret and him?  Lacy. 
'Twas but to try sweet Peggy's constancy,  
But will fair Margaret leave her love and Lord?  Margaret. 
Is not heavens joy before earth's fading bliss,  
And life above sweeter than life in love,  Lacie. 
Why then Margaret will be shorn a Nun,  Marg. 
Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revoked.  Warraine. 
We cannot stay my Lord, and if she be so strict,  
Our leisure grants us not to woe a fresh.  Ermsby. 
Choose you fair damsel, yet the choice is yours,  
Either a solemn Nunnery, or the court,  
God, or Lord Lacie, weich contents you best,  
To be a Nun, or else Lord Lacy's wife.  Lacie. 
A good motion, Peggy your answer must be short.  Margret. 
The flesh is frail, my Lord doth know it well,  
That when he comes with his enchanting face,  
What so ere betide I cannot say him nay,  
Off goes the habit of a maiden's heart,  
And seeing Fortune will, fair Framingham,  
And all the show of holy Nun's farewell,  
Lacie for me, if he willbe my lord.  Lacie. 
Peggy thy Lord, thy love, thy husband,  
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the King  
Stays for to marry matchless Elinor,  
Until I bring thee richly to the court,  
That one day may both marry her and thee,  
How sayst thou Keeper art thou glad of this?  Keeper. 
As if the English King had given  
The park and decree of Frisingfield to me.  Erms. 
I pray thee my Lord of Sussex why art thou in a brown study?  Warraine. 
To see the nature of women, that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man's arms.  Lacie. 
What have you fit for breakfast? we have hied and posted all this night to Frisingfield.  Margaret. 
Butter and cheese and humbls of a Deer,  
Such as poor Keepers have within their lodge.  Lacie. 
And not a bottle of wine?  Margaret. 
we'll find one for my Lord.  Lacie. 
Come Sussex lets in, we shall have more, for she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.  Exeunt. Enter a denill to seek Miles. Devil. 
How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits,  
When every charmer with his Magic spells  
Calls us from ninefold trenched Blegiton,  
To scud and over-scoure the earth in post,  
Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds,  
Now Bacon hath raised me from the darkest deep,  
To search about the world for Miles his man,  
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones,  
For careless watchidg of his Brazen head,  
See where he comes, Oh he is mine.  Enter Miles with a gown and a corner cap. Miles. 
A scholar quoth you, marry sir I would I had been made a botlemaker when I was made a scholar, for I can get neither to be a Deacon, Reader, nor Schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish, some call me dunce, another saith my head is as full of Latin as an eggs full of oatmeal, thus I am tormented that the devil and Friar Bacon, haunts me, good Lord here's one of my masters devils, I'll go speak to him, what master Plutus, how cheer you?  Devil. 
Dost thou know me?  Miles. 
Know you sir, why are not you one of my masters devils, that were wont to come to my master Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose?  Devil. 
Yes marry am I  Miles. 
Good Lord M. Plutus I have seen you a thousand times at my masters and yet I had never the manners to make you drink, but sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute, I warrant you heesasyeomanlya man, as you shall see, mark you masters, here's a plain honest man, without welt or guard, but I pray you sir do you come lately from hell?  Devil. 
I 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, apot of good ale, a pair of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good drink?,  Devil. 
All thisyou may have there.  Miles. 
You are for me friend, and I am for you, but I pray you, may I not have an office there?  Devil. 
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, and men are marvelous dry, and much drink is spent there, I would be a tapster.  Devil. 
Thou shalt.  Miles, 
There's nothing lets me from going with you, but that 'tis a long journey, and I have never a horse.  Devil. 
Thou shalt ride on my back.  Miles. 
Now surely hers acourteous devil, that for to pleasure his friend will not stick to make a jade of himself, but I pray you goodman friend let me move a question to you.  Devil. 
What's that?  Miles. 
I pray you whether is your pace a trot or an amble?  Devil. 
An amble.  Miles. 
'tis well, but take heed it be not a trot,  
But 'tis no matter I'll prevent it.  Devil. 
What dost?  Miles. 
Marry friend I put on my spurs, for if I find your pace either a trot or else uneasy, I'll put you to a false gallop, I'll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.  Devil. 
Get up upon my back.  Miles. 
Oh Lord here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devils back.  Exeunt roaring. Enter the Emperor with a pointless sword, next the King of Castille, carrying a sword with a point, Lacie carrying the globe Ed. Warr●carrying arod of gold with a dove on it, Ermsby with a crown and Sceptre, The queen with the fair maid of Frisingfield on her left hand, Henry, Bacon with other Lords attending. Edward. 
Great potentates earth's miracles for state,  
Think that prince Edward humbles at your feet,  
And for these favours on his martial sword,  
He vows perpetual homage to yourselves,  
Yielding these honours unto Elinor.  Henry. 
Gramercies Lordlings, 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 honours done  
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?  Emperor. 
If but a third were added to these two  
They did surpass those gorgeous images,  
That gloried Ida with rich beauty's wealth.  Margaret. 
'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,  
And graced with King's 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.  Elinor. 
Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown,  
And you the western Potentates of might,  
The Albion Princess, English Edward's wife,  
Proud that the lovely star of Frisingfield,  
Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl,  
Attends on Elinor, gramercies Lord for her,  
'tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all,  
And rest for her due bounden to yourselves.  Henry. 
Seeing the marriage is solemnized,  
Let's march in triumph to the royal feast,  
But why stands Friar Bacon here so mute?  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.  Hen. 
Why Bacon what strange event shall hap to this land  
Or what shall grow from Edward and his Queen.  Bacon. 
I find by deep prescience of mine art,  
Which once I tempered in my secret cell,  
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant,  
From forth the royal garden of a King,  
Shall flourish out, so rich and fair a bud,  
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phoebus' flower,  
And overshadow Albion with her leaves.  
Till then, Mars shall be master of the field,  
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease,  
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike,  
Drums shallbe turned to timbrels of delight,  
With wealthy favours, plenty shall enrich,  
The strand that gladded wandering Brute to see,  
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves,  
That gorgeous beautifies this matchless flower,  
Apollo's Hellitropian then shall stoop,  
And Venus hyacinth shall vail her top,  
juno shall shut her gilly-flowers up,  
And Palace bay shall bash her brightest green,  
Ceres carnation in consort with those,  
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana's rose.  Henry. 
This prophesy is mystical,  
But glorious commanders of Europa's love,  
That makes fair England like that wealthy I'll,  
Circled with Gihen, and first Euphrates,  
In royallising Henry's Albion,  
With presence of your princely mightiness,  
Let's march, the tables all are spread,  
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,  
Craves that we taste of nought but iovysaunce,  
Thus glories England over all the west.  Exeunt omnes. 
Finis Friar Bacon,  made by Robert green, Master of Arts. Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci.