Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay.
Robert Greene.
Note on the e-text:
this Renascence
Edition
was transcribed in June 2007 by Risa Bear from the edition by G. B.
Harrison, London, Robert Holden & Co, Ltd., 1927. Harrison has
modernized the spelling and punctuation, and rewritten many of the
stage directions; we have elided some of the more obtrusive of these.
The title page is taken from the quarto of 1594 and is not
found in Harrison.
Content unique to this presentation is copyright © 2007
The
University
of Oregon. For nonprofit and educational uses only. Send comments and
error reports to: <http://renascence-editions.blogspot.com/2007/06/friar-bacon-and-friar-bungay.html>
THE
HONORABLE HISTORIE
of frier Bacon, and frier Bongay.
As it was plaid by her Maiesties seruants.
made by Robert Greene Maister
of Arts.
:::
L O N D O N,
Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, at
the little North dore of Poules, at the signe of
the Gun. 1594.
THE CHARACTERS
(in the order of their appearance)
EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES
LACY, EARL OF LINCOLN }
WARREN, EARL OF SUSSEX } his friends
ERMSBY
}
RALPH SIMNEL, the royal fool
FRIAR ROGER BACON
MILES, his poor scholar
BURDEN }
MASON } doctors of the University of
Oxford
CLEMENT }
A WOMAN, the hostess of the Bell Inn at Henley
MARGARET, daughter of the keeper of Fressingfield
JOAN, her friend
THOMAS }
RICHARD } countrymen of Fressingfield
KING HENRY THE THIRD
THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY
THE KING OF CASTILE
PRINCESS ELINOR, his daughter
JAQUES VANDERMAST, a German magician
FRIAR BUNGAY
THE SPIRIT OF HERCULES
A DEVIL
THE CONSTABLE
LAMBERT }Suffolk squires
SERLSBY }
THE KEEPER OF FRESSINGFIELD
THE POSTBOY
Two SCHOLARS
THE KEEPER'S FRIEND
Edward, Prince of Wales, sits
by himself, silent and depressed. His companions, Lacy, Earl of
Lincoln, Warren, Earl of Sussex, and Ermsby, stand apart, conversing in
low tones with Ralph Simnel the royal fool.
LACY
Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky
When heaven's bright shine is shadow'd with a fog?
Alate we ran the deer, and through the lawnds
Stripp'd with our nags the lofty frolic bucks
That scudded 'fore the teasers like the wind.
Ne'er was the deer of merry Fressingfield
So lustily pull'd down by jolly mates,
Nor shar'd the farmers such fat venison,
So frankly dealt, this hundred years before.
Nor have
I seen my lord more frolic in the chase,
And now chang'd to a melancholy dump.
WARREN
After the prince got to the Keeper's lodge,
And had been jocund in the house awhile,
Tossing off ale and milk in country cans,
Whether it was the country's sweet content,
Or else the bonny damsel fill'd us drink
That seem'd so stately in her stammel red,
Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,
But straight he fell into his passions.
ERMSBY
Sirrah
Ralph, what say you to your master,
Shall
he thus all amort live malcontent?
RALPH
Hearest thou, Ned? Nay, look if he will
speak to me!
PRINCE
EDWARD
What say'st thou to me, fool?
RALPH
I prithee, tell me, Ned, art thou
in love with the Keeper's daughter?
PRINCE
EDWARD
RALPH
Why, then, sirrah, I'll teach
thee how to deceive Love.
PRINCE
EDWARD
How,
Ralph?
RALPH
Marry, Sirrah
Ned, thou shall 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.
PRINCE
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?
PRINCE EDWARD
Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid,
How lovely in her country weeds she look'd!
A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield--
All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such.
RALPH
Sirrah
Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.
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 provest thou that, Ralph?
RALPH
Why,
is not the abbot a learned
man, and hath read many books, and thinkest thou he hath not more
learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? Yes, warrant I thee, by
his whole grammar.
ERMSBY
A good reason, Ralph.
PRINCE EDWARD
I tell thee, Lacy, that her
sparkling eyes
Do lighten forth sweet love's alluring fire;
And in her tresses she doth fold the looks
Of such as gaze upon her golden hail.
Her bashful white, mix'd with the morning's red,
Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks;
Her front is beauty's table, where she paints
The glories of her gorgeous excellence.
Her teeth are shelves of precious margarites,
Richly enclos'd with ruddy coral cleeves.
Tush, Lacy, she is beauty's over-match,
If thou survey'st her curious imagery.
LACY
I grant,
my lord, the damsel is as fair
As
simple Suffolk's homely towns can yield.
But
in the court be quainter dames than she,
Whose
faces are enrich'd with honour's taint,
Whose
beauties sland upon the stage of fame,
And
vaunt their trophies in the courts of love.
PRINCE
EDWARD
Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch'd her as myself,
And seen the secret beauties of the maid,
Their courtly coyness were but foolery.
ERMSBY
Why, how watch'd you her, my lord?
PRINCE
EDWARD
Whenas she swept like Venus through the house,
And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,
Into the milk-house went I with the maid,
And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine
As Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery.
She turn'd her smock over her lily arms,
And div'd them into milk to run her cheese;
But whiter than the milk her crystal skin,
Checked with lines of azure, made her blush
That art or nature durst bring for compare.
Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did, note it well,
How beauty play'd the huswife, how this girl,
Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work,
Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all
To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.
RALPH
Sirrah, Ned, wouldst fain have her?
PRINCE EDWARD
Ay, Ralph.
RALPH
Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in my head; thou shalt
have her already.
PRINCE EDWARD
I'll give thee a new coat, an learn me that.
RALPH
Why,
Sirrah Ned, we'll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon! Oh, he
is a brave scholar, sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he
can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers.
PRINCE 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
smock.
PRINCE 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 prease of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she'll
swap thee into her plackerd; then, sirrah, being there, you may plead
for yourself.
ERMSBY
Excellent policy!
PRINCE 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 counselled, Ralph.
PRINCE
EDWARD
Ralph shall have a new coat.
RALPH
God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned.
PRINCE EDWARD
Lacy, 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.
Ermsby, it must be necromantic 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.
PRINCE 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 devis'd a policy.
Lacy,
thou know'st next Friday is Saint James',
And
then the country flocks to Harleston fair;
Then
will the Keeper's daughter frolic there,
And
over-shine the troop of all the maids
That
come to see and to be seen that day.
Haunt
thee disguis'd among the country-swains,
Feign
thou 'rt a farmer's son, not far from thence,
Espy
her loves, and who she liketh best;
Cote
him, and court her to control the clown;
Say
that the courtier 'tired all in green,
That
help'd her handsomely to run her cheese,
And
fill'd her father's lodge with venison,
Commends him, and sends fairings to herself.
Buy something worthy of her parentage,
Not worth her beauty; for, Lacy, then the fair
Affords no jewel fitting for the maid.
And when thou talk's! of me, note if she blush--
O, 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.
LACY
I will, my lord, so execute this charge
As if that Lacy were in love with her.
PRINCE EDWARD
Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.
RALPH
And,
Sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand thousand million of fine bells.
LACY
What wilt thou do with them, Ralph?
RALPH
Marry,
every time that Ned sighs
for the Keeper's daughter, I'll tie a bell about him: and so within
three or four days I will send word to his father Harry, that his son,
and my master Ned, is become Love's morris-dancer.
PRINCE EDWARD
Well,
Lacy, look with care unto thy charge,
And
I will haste to Oxford to the friar,
That
he by art, and thou by secret gifts,
Mayst
make me lord of merry Fressingfield.
LACY
God send
your honour your heart's desire.
SCENE II
In his
study at Brazenose
College, Oxford, Friar Bacon receives a deputation of three learned
doctors of the University -- Burden, Mason and Clement -- who have come
to
inquire into Bacon's studies. Miles, his servant, follows them,
carrying the Friar's books of necromancy under his arm.
The doctors sit down with Bacon.
BACON
Miles, where are you?
MILES
Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor.
BACON
Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?
MILES
Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in
unum!
BACON
Now, makers of our academic state
That rule in Oxford, viceroys 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 friar newly stall'd in Brazen-nose?
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
pyromancy, to divine by flames;
To
tell, by hydromatic, ebbs and tides;
By
aeromancy 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,
Thou'rt 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 mean'st, ere many years or days be past,
To compass England with a wall of brass.
BACON
And what
of this?
MILES
What
of this, master! Why, he
doth speak mystically; for he knows, if your skill fail to make a
brazen head, yet Mother Waters' strong ale will fit his turn to make
him have a copper nose.
CLEMENT
Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill,
But joying that our academy yields
A man suppos'd the wonder of the world.
For if thy cunning work these miracles,
England and Europe shall admire thy fame,
And Oxford shall in characters of brass,
And statues, such as were built up in Rome,
Etern'ise 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 contriv'd and fram'd a head of brass
(I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff),
And that by art shall read philosophy.
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Casars liv'd and reign'd in Rome,
With all the legions Europe doth contain,
They should not touch a grass of English ground.
The work that Ninus rear'd at Babylon,
The brazen walls fram'd by Semiramis,
Carv'd out like to the portal of the sun,
Shall not be such as rings the English strand
From Dover to the market-place of Rye.
BURDEN
Is this possible?
MILES
I'll bring ye two 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 pass'd as far in state of schools,
And read 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 Æsop had forgot.
BACON
Burden, 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 straight be on your pick-back, to know whether the feminine
or the masculine gender be most worthy.
BACON
Were
you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the Thames?
BACON
What book studied you thereon all night?
BURDEN
I! None
at all; I read not there a line.
BACON
Then, doctors, Friar Bacon's art knows naught.
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 learn'd Burden's skill is deep,
And sore he doubts of Bacon's cabalism,
I'll show you why he haunts to Henley oft.
Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air,
But there to spend the night in alchemy,
To multiply with secret spells of art--
Thus private steals he learning from us all.
To prove my sayings true, I'll show you straight
The book he keeps at Henley for himself.
MILES
Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed.
BACON
Masters,
Stand still, fear not, I'll show you but his book.
Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!
A
devil appears carrying a
woman (with a shoulder of
mutton in her hand, smoking from the spit)
whom he
sets
down in their
midst.
MILES
Oh,
master, cease your
conjuration, or you spoil all; for here s a she-devil come with a
shoulder of mutton on a spit. You have marred the devil's supper; but
no doubt he thinks our college fare is slender, and so hath sent you
his cook with a shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed.
WOMAN
O, where am I, or what's become of me?
BACON
What art thou?
WOMAN
Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.
BACON
How cam'st thou here?
WOMAN
As I was in the kitchen 'mongst the maids,
Spitting the meat 'gainst supper for my guests,
A motion mov'd me to look forth of door.
No sooner had I pried into the yard,
But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence,
And mounted me aloft unto the clouds.
As in a trance I thought nor feared naught,
Nor know I where or whither I was ta'en,
Nor where I am nor what these persons be.
BACON
No? Know you not Master Burden?
WOMAN
O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.
What, Master Burden! 'twas but yesternight
That you and I at Henley play'd 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,
Think'st thou that Bacon's necromantic skill
Cannot perform his head and wall of brass,
When he can fetch thine hostess in such post!
MILES
I'll
warrant you, master, if
Master Burden could conjure as well as you, he would have his book
every night from Henley 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 miss'd,
You shall to Henley to cheer up your guests
'Fore supper gin. Burden, bid her adieu;
Say farewell to your hosless 'fore she goes.
Sirrah, away, and set her safe at home.
WOMAN
Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henley?
BURDEN
The devil take thee and Henley too.
The devil vanishes with the
woman.
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 Brazen-nose
Is under him, and he the master there,
So surely shall this head of brass be fram'd,
And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms;
And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar,
But I will circle England round with brass.
MILES
So be it et
nunc et semper; amen.
SCENE III
Fressingfield
Fair; Margaret
and Joan come in with Thomas, Richard and other countrymen, all very
gay. Amongst them is Lacy, disguised as a farmer.
THOMAS
By
my troth, Margaret, here's a
weather is able to make a man call his father whoreson. If this
weather hold, we shall have hay good cheap, and butter and cheese at
Harleston will 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 turn'd our butter to the salt,
And
set our cheese safely upon the racks,
Then
let our fathers prize it as they please.
We
country sluts of merry Fressingfield
Come
to buy needless naughts, to make us fine,
And
look that young men should be frank this day,
And
court us with such fairings as they can.
Phoebus is blithe, and frolic looks from heaven,
As when he courted lovely Semele,
Swearing the pedlars shall have empty packs,
If that fair weather may make chapmen buy.
LACY
But, lovely Peggy, Semele is dead,
And therefore Phoebus 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,
Too soothe me up with such smooth flattery.
But learn of me, your scoff's too broad before.
Well, Joan, our beauties must abide their jests;
We serve the turn in jolly Fressingfield.
JOAN
Margaret, a farmer's daughter for a farmer's son!
I warrant you, the meanest of us both
Shall have a mate to lead us from the church.
But, Thomas, what's the news? What, in a dump?
Give me your hand, we are near a pedlar's shop;
Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.
THOMAS
Faith, Joan, 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.
MARGARET
Whence
are you, sir! Of Suffolk? For your terms
Are finer than the common sort of men.
LACY
Faith,
lovely girl, I am of Beccles by,
Your
neighbour, not above six miles from hence,
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 revell'd in your father's house,
And fill'd his lodge with cheer and venison,
'Tired in green. He sent you this rich purse,
His token that he help'd you run your cheese,
And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself.
LACY
You forget yourself:
Women are often weak in memory.
MARGARET
O,
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.
JOAN
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 Beccles? I
pray, how doth Goodman Cob? My father bought a horse of him. I'll tell
you, Margaret, a were good to be a gentleman's jade, for of all things
the foul hilding could not abide a dung-cart.
MARGARET
How
different is this farmer from the rest
That
erst as yet have pleas'd my wandering sight!
His
words are witty, quicken'd with a smile,
His
courtesy gentle, smelling of the court;
Facile and debonair in all his deeds;
Proportion'd as was Paris, when, in grey,
He courted Œnon in the vale by Troy.
Great lords have come and pleaded for my love:
Who but the Keeper's lass of Fressingfield?
And yet methinks this farmer's jolly son
Passeth the proudest that hath pleas'd mine eye.
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, Joan and Thomas, shall we to the fair?
You, Beccles man, will not forsake us now?
LACY
Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.
MARGARET
Well, if you chance to come by Fressingfield,
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.
LACY
Gramercies,
Peggy; look for me ere long.
SCENE IV
King
Henry the Third enters
with the Emperor, the King of Catsile, Princess Elinor, and Dr. Jaques
Vandermast, a German magician.
KING HENRY
Great men
of Europe, monarchs of the west,
Ring'd
with the walls of old Oceanus,
Whose
lofty surge is like the battlements
That compass'd high-built Babel in with towers,
Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave western kings,
To England's shore, whose promontory cleeves
Show Albion is another little world.
Welcome says English Henry to you all;
Chiefly unto the lovely Elinor,
Who dar'd for Edward's sake cut through the seas,
And venture as Agenor's damsel through the deep,
To get the love of Henry's wanton son.
KING OF CASTILE
England's rich monarch, brave Plantagenet,
The Pyren Mounts, swelling above the clouds,
That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls,
Could not detain the beauteous Elinor.
But hearing of the fame of Edward's youth,
She dar'd to brook Neptunus' haughty pride,
And bide the brunt of froward Æolus:
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 Castile 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 monarch's son,
That I attempted perils for his ease.
EMPEROR
Where is the prince, my lord?
KING HENRY
He posted
down, not long since, from the court,
To
Suffolk side, to merry Framlingham,
To
sport himself amongst my fallow deer.
From thence, by packets sent to Hampton house,
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.
EMPEROR
Nay, rather, Henry, let us, as we be,
Ride for to visit Oxford with our train.
Fain would I see your universities,
And what learn'd men your academy yields.
From Hapsburg have I brought a learned clerk
To hold dispute with English orators--
This doctor, surnam'd Jaques Vandermast,
A German born, pass'd into Padua,
To Florence and to fair Bologna,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans,
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.
KING HENRY
He shall,
my lord; this motion likes me well.
We'll
progress straight to Oxford with our trains,
And
see what men our academy brings.
And,
wonder Vandermast, welcome to me;
In
Oxford shall thou find a jolly friar,
Call'd
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 poet's garland made of bays,
But
with a coronet of choicest gold.
Whilst
then we set to Oxford with our troops,
Let
's in and banquet in our English court.
SCENE V
At Oxford, Ralph Simnel, the
fool, in the Prince's clothes,
lords it over Prince Edward, Warren and Ermsby, who are disguised as
his servants.
RALPH
Where be these vagabond knaves, that they attend no
better on their master?
PRINCE 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.
ERMSBY
I pray you, how is that, my lord?
RALPH
Marry,
sir, I'll send to the Isle
of Ely for four or five dozen of geese, and I'll have them tied six and
six together with whip cord. 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 Brazen-nose College before we
pull off our boots? Warren, well motion'd; we will to the friar
before we revel it within the town. Ralph,
see you keep your countenance like a prince.
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?
ERMSBY
Stay, who comes here?
WARREN
Some scholar; and we'll ask him where Friar Bacon is.
Friar Bacon
and Miles
approach.
BACON
Why, thou
arrant dunce, shall I
never make thee a good scholar? Doth not all the town cry out and say,
Friar Bacon's subsizer is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? Why,
thou canst not speak one word of true Latin.
MILES
No, sir?
Yet, 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 an 'a will; I can be
heard, felt, and understood.
PRINCE EDWARD
Come, let us break off this dispute between these
two. Sirrah, where is Brazen-nose College?
MILES
Not far
from Coppersmith's Hall.
PRINCE EDWARD
What,
dost thou mock me?
MILES
Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazen-nose?
ERMSBY
Marry, we would speak with Friar Bacon.
MILES
Whose men be you?
ERMSBY
Marry,
scholar, here's our master.
RALPH
Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou
not know me to be a lord by my reparrel?
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.
PRINCE EDWARD
Gog's wounds! Warren, kill him.
WARREN
Why, Ned, I think the devil be in my sheath; I cannot get
out my dagger.
ERMSBY
Nor I
mine! 'Swones, 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.
PRINCE
EDWARD
I Strive
in vain; but if my sword be shut
And
conjur'd fast by magic in my sheath,
Villain,
here is my fist.
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?
PRINCE EDWARD
To whom speak'st thou?
BACON
To thee.
PRINCE EDWARD
Who art
thou?
BACON
Could you not judge when all your swords grew fait,
That Friar Bacon was not far from hence;
Edward, King Henry's son and Prince of Wales,
Thy fool disguis'd cannot conceal thyself.
I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earl,
Else Friar Bacon had but little skill.
Thou com'st in post from merry Fressingfield,
Fast-fancied to the Keeper's bonny lass,
To crave some succour of the jolly friar.
And Lacy, Earl 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 woos and courts her for himself.
WARREN
Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all.
ERMSBY
Apollo could not utter more than this.
PRINCE EDWARD
I stand amaz'd to hear this jolly friar
Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts.
But, learned Bacon, since thou know'st the cause
Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield,
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 is all alike; they are so
fast conjured that we shall never see them.
ERMSBY
What, 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 Fressingfield,
And
'fore that night shuts in the day with dark,
They'll
be betrothed each to other fast.
But
come with me; we'll to my study straight,
And in a glass prospective I will show
What's done this day in merry Fressingfield.
PRINCE 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.
Meanwhile
we'll see the knavery of the earl.
PRINCE EDWARD
Warren, leave me; and, Ermsby, take the fool;
Let him be master, and go revel it,
Till I and Friar Bacon talk awhile.
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.
The
fool, Warren, Ermsby and Miles go out,
while the Prince accompanies Friar Bacon.
SCENE VI
Friar Bacon enters his study with Prince Edward. He
leads him up to the magic mirror.
BACON
Now, frolic Edward, welcome to my cell;
Here tempers Friar Bacon many toys,
And holds this place his consistory-court,
Wherein the devils plead homage to his words.
Within this glass prospective thou shalt see
This day what's done in merry Fressingfield
'Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln Earl.
PRINCE EDWARD
Friar, thou glad'st me: now shall Edward try
How Lacy meaneth to his sovereign Lord.
BACON
Stand there and look directly in the glass.
As
the Prince gazes into the glass, he
sees the figures of Margaret and Friar
Bungay, in earnest
conversation.
What sees my lord?
PRINCE EDWARD
I see the Keeper's lovely lass appear,
As brightsome as the paramour of Mars,
Only attended by a jolly friar.
BACON
Sit still, and keep the crystal in your eye.
The figures begin to
speak.
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 Lacy, Earl of Lincolnshire?
BUNGAY
Peggy, 'tis true, 'tis Lacy for my life,
Or else mine art and cunning both do 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 Lacy like poor Margaret,
Or would he deign to wed a country lass,
Friar, I would his humble handmaid be,
And for great wealth quite him with courtesy.
BUNGAY
Why, Margaret, dost
thou love him?
MARGARET
His personage, like
the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well avouch to shadow Helen's rape.
His wit is 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's England's paramour.
BUNGAY
Hath not each eye
that view'd thy pleasing face
Surnamed thee Fair Maid of Fressingfield?
MARGARET
Yes, Bungay; and
would God the lovely earl
Had that in esse that so many sought.
BUNGAY
Fear not, the friar will not be
behind
To show his cunning to entangle love.
PRINCE EDWARD
I think the friar
courts the bonny wench--
Bacon, methinks he is a lusty churl.
BACON
Now look, my lord.
The figure of Lacy appears in
the
glass.
PRINCE EDWARD
Gog's wounds, Bacon, here comes
Lacy!
BACON
Sit still, my lord, and mark the
comedy.
BUNGAY
Here's Lacy,
Margaret; step aside awhile.
He draws Margaret to one side.
LACY
Daphne, the damsel
that caught Phoebus fast,
And lock'd him in the brightness of her looks,
Was not so beauteous in Apollo's eyes
As is fair Margaret to the Lincoln Earl.
Recant thee, Lacy, thou art put in trust:
Edward, thy sovereign's son, hath chosen thee,
A secret friend, to court her for himself,
And dar'st thou wrong thy prince with treachery?
Lacy, love makes no exception of a friend,
Nor deems it of a prince but as a man.
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.
Lacy, thou lov'st, then brook not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy prince's frown--
For better die than see her live disgrac'd.
MARGARET
Come, friar, I will
shake him from his dumps.
How cheer you, sir; A penny for your thought.
You 're early up, pray God it be
the near.
What, come from Beccles in th' morn so soon?
LACY
Thus watchful are
such men as live in love,
Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep.
I tell thee, Peggy, since last Harleston fair
My mind hath felt a heap of passions.
MARGARET
A trusty man, that court it for
your friend;
Woo you still for the courtier all in green?
I marvel
that he sues not for himself.
LACY
Peggy,
I pleaded first to
get your grace for him;
But when mine eyes
survey'd your beauteous looks,
Love, like a wag,
straight div'd into my heart,
And there did shrine
the idea of yourself.
Pity me, though I be
a farmer's son,
And measure not my
riches, but my love.
MARGARET
You are very hasty;
for to garden well,
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring.
Love ought to creep as doth the dial's shade,
For timely ripe is rotten too' too soon.
BUNGAY
Deus hic; room
for a merry friar!
What, youth of
Beccles, with the Keeper's lass?
'Tis well; but tell
me, hear you any news?
LACY
No, friar: what news?
BUNGAY
Hear you not how the
pursuivants do post
With proclamations through each country-town?
LACY
For what, gentle
friar? Tell the news.
BUNGAY
Dwell'st thou in Beccles, and
hear'st not of these news?
Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln, is late fled
From Windsor court, disguised like a swain,
And lurks about the country here unknown.
Henry suspects him of some treachery,
And therefore doth proclaim in every way
That who can take the Lincoln Earl shall have,
Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns.
LACY
The Earl of Lincoln!
Friar, thou art mad.
It was some other; thou mistak'st the man.
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 Lacy, yield, I'll be your gaoler once.
PRINCE EDWARD
How familiar they be, Bacon!
BACON
Sit still, and mark the sequel of
their loves.
LACY
Then am I double
prisoner to thyself.
Peggy, I yield. But are these news in jest?
MARGARET
In jest with you,
but earnest unto me;
For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart.
Ah, how these earls and noblemen of birth
Flatter and feign to forge poor women's ill!
LACY
Believe me, lass, I
am the Lincoln Earl.
I not deny but,
'tired thus in rags,
I liv'd disguis'd to
win fair Peggy's love.
MARGARET
What love is there
where wedding ends not love?
LACY
I mean, fair girl, to make thee
Lacy's wife.
MARGARET
I little think that earls
will stoop so low.
LACY
Say shall I make
thee countess ere I sleep?
MARGARET
Handmaid unto the
earl, so please himself:
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
LACY
The Lincoln Countess, for
it shall be so;
I'll plight the bands, and seal it with a kiss.
He takes her in his
arms.
PRINCE EDWARD
Gog's wounds, Bacon,
they kiss! I'll slay them.
BACON
O, hold your hands,
my lord, it is the glass!
PRINCE EDWARD
Choler to see the traitors gree
so well
Made me to think the shadows substances.
BACON
'Twere a long
poniard, my lord, to reach between Oxford and Fressingfield; 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.
LACY
Friar, content. Peggy, how like
you this?
MARGARET
What likes my lord
is pleasing unto me.
BUNGAY
Then hand'fast hand, and I
will to my book.
They
join
hands.
BACON
What sees my lord
now?
PRINCE 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
e'er thy magic serv'd;
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.
The lovers
wait anxiously for Bungay
to begin, but he stands tongue-tied,
mumbling
hud,
hud.
LACY
Why speak'a not, Bungay? Friar,
to thy book.
MARGARET
How look'st thou, friar, as
a man distraught
Reft of thy senses, Bungay? Show by signs,
If thou be dumb, what passion holdeth thee.
LACY
He's dumb indeed. Bacon hath with
his devils
Enchanted him, or else some strange disease
Or apoplexy hath possess'd his lungs.
But, Peggy, what he cannot with his book,
We'll twixt us both unite it up in heart.
MARGARET
Else let me die, my lord, a
miscreant.
PRINCE EDWARD
Why stands Friar Bungay so amaz'd?
BACON
I have struck him dumb, my lord;
and if your honour please,
I'll fetch this Bungay straight from Fressingfield,
And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.
PRINCE EDWARD
Bacon, do that, and thou
contentest me.
LACY
Of courtesy, Margaret, let us
lead the friar
Unto thy father's lodge, to comfort him
With broths to bring him from this helpless trance.
MARGARET
Or else, my lord, we were passing
unkind
To leave this friar so in his distress.
A
devil appears in the glass and
carries off Bungay on his
back.
O, help, my lord! A devil, a
devil, my lord!
Look how he carries Bungay on his back!
Let's hence, for Bacon's spirits be abroad.
The
figures in the glass disappear.
PRINCE EDWARD
Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly
friar
Mounted upon the devil, and how the earl
Flees with his bonny lass for fear.
As soon as Bungay is at Brazen-nose,
And I have chatted with the merry friar,
I will post hie me to Fressingfield,
And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere't be long.
SCENE
VII
In
the Regent-house at Oxford, the Doctors, Burden,
Mason, and Clement, discuss the
preparations necessary
for the ruyal visitors.
MASON
Now that we are gather'd in the
Regent-house,
It fits us talk about the king's repair,
For he, trooped with all the western kings,
That lie along the Dantzic seas by east,
North by the clime of frosty Germany,
The Almain monarch, and the Saxon duke,
Castile and lovely Elinor with him,
Have in their jests resolv'd for Oxford town.
BURDEN
We must lay plots of stately
tregedies,
Strange comic shows, such as proud Roscius
Vaunted before the Roman emperors,
To welcome all the western potentates.
CLEMENT
But more; the king by letters
hath foretold
That Frederick, the Almain emperor,
Hath brought with him a German of esteem,
Whose surname is Don Jacques Vandermast,
Skilful in magic and those secret arts.
MASON
Then must we all
make suit unto the friar,
To Friar Bacon, that he vouch this task,
And undertake to countervail in skill
The German; else there 's none in Oxford can
Match and dispute with learned Vandermast.
BURDEN
Bacon, if he will
hold the German play,
Will teach him what
an English friar can do--
The devil, I think,
dare not dispute with him.
CLEMENT
Indeed, Mas Doctor,
he displeasur'd you,
In that he brought your hostess with her spit,
From Henley, posting unto Brazen-nose.
BURDEN
A vengeance on the friar for his
pains!
But leaving that, let's hie to Bacon straight,
To see if he will take this task in hand.
CLEMENT
Stay, what rumour is
this? The town is up in a mutiny: what hurry-burly is this!
The
Constable appears, leading in the
fool amiably drunk; Warren, Ermsly
and
Miles
follow.
CONSTABLE
Nay, masters, if you
were ne'er 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 turners, that, drinking in the tavern, have made a great
brawl and almost killed the vintner.
MILES
Salve, Doctor
Burden!
This lubberly lurden
Ill-shap'd and ill-fac'd,
Disdain'd and disgrac'd,
What he tells unto volis
Mentitur de novus.
BURDEN
Who is the master
and chief of this crew?
MILES
Ecce asinam mundi
Figura rotundi,
Neat, sheat, and fine,
As brisk as a cup of wine.
RALPH
I am, father
doctor, as a man would say, the bell-wether 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 soundly 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 and a wise gentleman.
WARREN
Why, and think'st
then, doctor, that he is not so?
Dar'st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so lovely and so brave a youth!
ERMSBY
Whose face, shining
with many a sugar'd 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 chief of our gegis,
And filius regis:
Then ware what is done,
For he is Henry's white son.
RALPH
Doctors, whose
doting night-caps
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 niniversity with a fair wind
to the Bankside in Southwark. How sayest thou, Ned Warren, 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 ton, that shall serve the
turn marvellous well, my lord.
ERMSBY
And I, my lord, will
have
pioners 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 Barclay's ship,
From Oxford do skip
With colleges and
schools,
Full-loaden with
fools.
Quid dicis ad hoc,
Worshipful Domine
Dawcock?
CLEMENT
Why, hare-brain'd
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 beadles
and convey them hence
Straight to Bocardo:
let the roisters lie
Close clapt in
bolts, until their wits be tame.
ERMSBY
Why, shall we to
prison, my lord?
RALPH
What sayest, Miles,
shall I honour the prison with my presence!
MILES
No, no; out with your blades,
And hamper these jades;
Have a Hurt and a crash,
Now play revel-dash,
And teach these sacerdos
That the Bocardos,
Like peasants 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 Brazen-nose,
And this, attired like the Prince of Wales,
Is Ralph, King Henry's only loved fool;
I, Earl of Sussex, and this Ermsby,
One of the privy-chamber to the king;
Who, while the prince with Friar Bacon stays,
Have revell'd it in Oxford as you see.
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.
SCENE VIII
Prince Edward, having ridden
post to Fressingfield, meets the lovers. He draws his dagger.
PRINCE EDWARD
Lacy, thou canst not
shroud thy traitorous thoughts,
Nor cover, as did
Cassius, all thy wiles;
For Edward hath an
eye that looks as far
As Lynceus from the
shores of Græcia.
Did not I sit in
Oxford by the friar,
And see thee court
the maid of Fressingfield,
Sealing thy
flattering fancies with a kiss!
Did not proud Bungay
draw his portace forth,
And joining hand in
hand had married you,
If Friar Bacon had
not struck him dumb,
And mounted him upon
a spirit's back,
That we might chat
at Oxford with the friar?
Traitor, what
answer'st! Is not all this true?
LACY
Truth all, my lord;
and thus I make reply.
At Harleston Fair,
there courting for your grace,
Whenas mine eye
survey'd her curious shape,
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 Fressingfield
Was fitter to be
Lacy's wedded wife
Than concubine unto
the Prince of Wales.
PRINCE EDWARD
Injurious Lacy, did I love thee
more
Than Alexander his Hephæstion?
Did I unfold the passions of my love,
And lock them in the closet of thy thoughts?
Wert thou to Edward second to himself,
Sole friend, and partner of his secret loves!
And could a glance
of fading beauty break
Th' enchained fetters of such private friends?
Base coward, false, and too effeminate
To be co-rival with a prince in thoughts!
From Oxford have I posted since I din'd,
To quite a traitor 'fore that Edward sleep.
MARGARET
'Twas I, my lord,
not Lacy, slept awry.
For oft he sued and
courted for yourself,
And still woo'd for
the courtier all in green;
But I, whom fancy
made but over-fond,
Pleaded myself with
looks as if I lov'd.
I fed mine eye with
gazing on his face,
And still bewitch'd
lov'd Lacy with my looks;
My heart with sighs,
mine eyes pleaded with tears,
My face held pity
and content at once,
And more I could not
cipher-out by signs,
But that I lov'd
Lord Lacy with my heart.
Then, worthy Edward,
measure with thy mind
If women's favours
will not force men fall;
If beauty, and if
darts of piercing love,
Are not offered to
bury thoughts of friends.
PRINCE EDWARD
I tell thee, Peggy, I will have
thy loves;
Edward or none shall conquer Margaret.
In frigates bottom'd with rich Sethin planks,
Topt with the lofty firs of Lebanon,
Stemm'd and incas'd with burnish'd ivory,
And overpaid with plates of Persian wealth,
Like Thetis shall thou wanton on the waves,
And draw the dolphins to thy lovely eyes,
To dance lavoltas in the purple streams.
Sirens, with harps and silver psalteries,
Shall wait with music at thy frigate's stem,
And entertain fair Margaret with their lays.
England and England's wealth shall wait on thee;
Britain shall bend unto her prince's love,
And do due homage to
thine excellence,
If thou wilt be but Edward's Margaret.
MARGARET
Pardon, my lord; if
Jove's great royalty
Sent me such
presents as to Danaë;
If Phœbus, 'tired in
Latona's webs,
Came courting from
the beauty of his lodge;
The dulcet tunes of
frolic Mercury,
Nor all the wealth
heaven's treasury affords,
Should make me leave
Lord Lacy or his love.
PRINCE EDWARD
I have learn'd at
Oxford, then, this point of schools--
Abata causa,
tollitur effectus:
Lacy, the cause that
Margaret cannot love
Nor fix her liking
on the English Prince,
Take him away, and
then th' effects will fail.
Villain, prepare
thyself; for I will bathe
My poniard in the
bosom of an earl.
LACY
Rather than live,
and miss fair Margaret's love,
Prince Edward, stop not at the fatal doom,
But stab it home: end both my loves and life.
MARGARET
Brave Prince of
Wales, honour'd for royal deeds,
'Twere sin to stain fair Venus' courts with blood;
Love's conquest ends, my lord, in courtesy.
Spare Lacy, gentle Edward; let me die,
For so both you and he do cease your loves.
PRINCE EDWARD
Lacy shall die as a traitor to
his lord.
LACY
I have deserv'd it, Edward;
act it well.
MARGARET
What hopes the
prince to gain by Lacy's death?
PRINCE EDWARD
To end the loves
'twixt him and Margaret.
MARGARET
Why, thinks King
Henry's son that Margaret's love
Hangs in th' uncertain balance of proud time!
That death shall make a discord of our thoughts!
No, slay the earl, and, 'fore the morning sun
Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east,
Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
LACY
If aught betides to
lovely Margaret
That wrongs or
wrings her honour from content,
Europe's rich wealth
nor England's monarchy
Should not allure
Lacy to over-live.
Then, Edward, short
my life, and end her loves.
MARGARET
Rid me, and keep a
friend worth many loves.
LACY
Nay, Edward, keep a
love worth many friends.
MARGARET
And if thy mind be
such as fame hath blaz'd,
Then, princely Edward, let us both abide
The fatal resolution of thy rage.
Banish thou fancy, and embrace revenge,
And in one tomb knit both our carcases,
Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love.
PRINCE EDWARD
Edward, art thou that famous
Prince of Wales
Who at Damasco beat the Saracens,
And brought'st home
triumph on thy lance's point,
And shall thy plumes
be pull'd by Venus down;
Is't princely to
dissever lovers' leagues,
To part such friends
as glory in their loves?
Leave, Ned, and make
a virtue of this fault,
And further Peg and
Lacy in their loves.
So in subduing
fancy's passion,
Conquering thyself,
thou gett'st the richest spoil.
Lacy, rise up.
Fair Peggy, here 's my hand:
The Prince of Wales hath
conquer'd all his thoughts,
And all his loves he yields unto the earl.
Lacy, enjoy the maid of Fressingfield;
Make her thy Lincoln Countess at the church,
And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet,
Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife.
LACY
Humbly I take her of
my sovereign,
As if that Edward
gave me England's right,
And rich'd 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 Lacy?
PRINCE EDWARD
I will, fair Peggy, as I am
true lord.
MARGARET
Then, lordly sir,
whose conquest is as great,
In conquering love,
as Caesar's victories,
Margaret, as mild
and humble in her thoughts
As was Aspasia unto
Cyrus self,
Yields thanks, and,
next Lord Lacy, doth enshrine
Edward the second secret in
her heart.
PRINCE EDWARD
Gramercy, Peggy! Now the vows are
past,
And that your loves are not to be revolt,
Once, Lacy, friends again. Come, we will post
To Oxford; for this day the king is there,
And brings for Edward Castile Elinor.
Peggy, I must go see and view my wife;
I pray God I like her as I loved thee.
Beside, Lord Lincoln, we shall hear dispute
'Twixt Friar Bacan and learn'd Vandermast.
MARGARET
As it please Lord Lacy; but
love's foolish looks
Think footsteps miles and minutes to be hours.
LACY
I'll hasten, Peggy, to make short
return.
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 we can feast and entertain your grace.
PRINCE EDWARD
'Tis cheer, Lord Lacy, for an
emperor,
If he respect the person and the place.
Come, let us in; for I will all this night
Ride post until I come to Bacon's cell.
SCENE
IX
King
Henry, with the Emperor, the King of Castile
and the Princess Elinor, have
reached Oxford;
Vandermast and Friar Bungay
follow.
EMPEROR
Trust me, Plantagenet, the Oxford
schools
Are richly seated near the river-side.
The mountains full of fat and fallow deer,
The battling pastures lade with kind 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 judgment, Jaques 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 hear.
BUNGAY
I tell thee, German, Hapsburg
holds none such,
None read so deep as Oxenford contains.
There are withon our academic state
Men that may lecture it in Germany
To all the doctors of your Belgic schools.
KING HENRY
Stand to him, Bungay, charm this
Vandermast,
And I will use thee as a royal king.
King
Henry and his guests take their seats to
listen to the disputations of
the two doctors.
VANDERMAST
Wherein dar'st thou to dispute
with me?
BUNGAY
In what a doctor and a frair can.
VANDERMAST
Before rich Europe's worthies put
thou forth
The doubtful question unto Vandermast.
BUNGAY
Let it be this--Whether the
spirits of pyromancy or geomancy be most predominant in magic?
VANDERMAST
I say, of pyromancy.
BUNGAY
And I, of geomancy.
VANDERMAST
The cabalists, that
write of magic spells,
As Hermes, Melchie,
and Pythagoras,
Affirm that, 'mongst
the quadruplicity
Of elemental
essence, terra is but thought
To be a punctum squared
to the rest;
And that the compass
of ascending elements
Exceed in bigness as
they do in height;
Judging the concave
circle of the sun
To hold the rest in
his circumference.
If, then, as Hermes
says, the fire be greatest,
Purest, and only
giveth shape to spirits,
Then must these
dæmones that haunt that place
Be every way
superior to the rest.
BUNGAY
I reason not of
elemental shapes,
Nor tell I of the
concave latitudes,
Noting their essence
nor their quality,
But of the spirits
that pyromancy calls,
And of the vigour of
the geomantic fiends
I tell thee, German,
magic haunts the ground,
And those strange
necromantic spells,
That work such shows
and wondering in the world,
Are acted by those
geomantic spirits
That Hermes calleth terræ
filii.
The fiery spirits
are but transparent shades,
That lightly pass as
heralds to bear news;
But earthly fiends,
clos'd in the lowest deep,
Dissever mountains,
if they be but charg'd,
Being more gross and
massy in their power.
VANDERMAST
Rather these earthly
geomantic spirits
Are dull and like
the place where they remain;
For when proud Lucifer fell
from the heavens,
The spirits and
angels that did sin with him,
Retain'd their local essence as their faults,
All subject under Luna's continent.
They which offended less hung 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 vile sorcerers;
Whereas the pyromantic genii
Are mighty, swift, and of far-reaching power.
But grant that geomancy hath most force;
Bungay, to please these mighty potentates,
Prove by some instance what thy art can do.
BUNGAY
I will.
EMPEROR
Now, English Harry,
here begins the game;
We shall see sport between these learned men.
VANDERMAST
What wilt thou do?
BUNGAY
Show thee the tree,
leav'd with refined gold,
Whereon the fearful
dragon held his seat,
That watch'd the
garden call'd Hesperides,
Subdued and won by
conquering Hercules.
Bungay
utters his spell and a
golden tree
rises from the ground, with a dragon
in its branches,
spitting out fire. Friar
Bungay steps back and
Vandermast
comes
forward.
VANDERMAST
Well done!
KING HENRY
What say you, royal
lordlings, to my friar?
Hath he not done a point of cunning skill?
VANDERMAST
Each scholar in the
necromantic spells
Can do as much as Bungay hath perform'd!
But as Alcmena's bastard raz'd this tree,
So will I raise him up as when he liv'd,
And cause him pull the dragon from his seat,
And tear the branches piecemeal from the root.
Hercules! Prodi, prodi, Hercules!
By the side
of the tree, appears the
figure of Hercules,wearing his lion's
skin.
HERCULES
Quis me vult?
VANDERMAST
Jove's bastard son,
thou Libyan Hercules,
Pull off the sprigs from off th' Hesperian tree,
As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.
HERCULES
Fiat.
Hercules
begins to tear down the
branches from Bungay's golden tree.
VANDERMAST
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.
VANDERMAST
Cease, Hercules,
until I give thee charge.
Mighty commander of
this English isle,
Henry, come from the stout
Plantagenets,
Bungay is learn'd
enough to be a friar;
But to compare with Jaques Vandermast,
Oxford and Cambridge must go seek their cells
To find a man to match him in his art.
I have given non-plus to the Paduans,
To them of Sien, Florence, and Bologna,
Rheims, Louvain, and fair Rotterdam,
Frankfort, Utretcht, and Orleans:
And now must Henry, if he do me right,
Crown me with laurel, as they all have done.
Friar
Bacon
enters.
BACON
All hail to this
royal company,
That sit to hear and see this strange dispute!
Bungay, how stands't thou as a man amaz'd.
What, hath the German acted more than thou?
VANDERMAST
What art thou that
questions thus?
BACON
Men call me Bacon.
VANDERMAST
Lordly thou look'st,
as if that thou wert learn'd;
Thy countenance as if science held her seat
Between the circled arches of thy brows.
KING HENRY
Now, monarchs, hath
the German found his match.
EMPEROR
Bestir thee, Jaques,
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
learn'd than Vandermast--
For yet, tell me,
what hast thou done?
VANDERMAST
Rais'd Hercules to
ruinate that tree
That Bungay mounted
by his magic spells.
BACON
Set Hercules to work.
VANDERMAST
Now, Hercules, I
charge thee to thy task; Pull off the golden branches from the root.
HERCULES
I dare not. See'st
thou not great Bacon here,
Whose frown doth act more than thy magic can?
Vandermast
goes up to Hercules and utters
his conjurations more
vehemently.
VANDERMAST
By all the thrones
and dominations,
Virtues, powers, and mighty hierarchies,
I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.
HERCULES
Bacon, that
bridles headstrong Belcephon,
And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north,
Binds me from yielding unto Vandermast.
KING HENRY
How now, Vandermast,
have you met with your match?
VANDERMAST
Never before was't
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 came not,
monarchs, for to hold dispute
With such a novice as is Vandermast;
I came to have your royalties to dine
With Friar Bacon here in Brazen-nose.
And, for this German troubles but the place,
And holds this audience with a long suspense,
I'll send him to his academy hence.
Thou Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise,
Transport the German unto Hapsburg straight,
That he may learn by travail, 'gainst the spring,
More secret dooms and aphorisms of art.
Vanish the tree, and thou away with him!
Hercules
siezes Vandermast with one hand
and the tree with the other, and
all vanish.
EMPEROR
Why, Bacon, whither
dost thou send him?
BACON
To Hapsburg: there
your highness at return
Shall find the German in his study safe.
KING HENRY
Bacon, thou hast
honour'd 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 today?
BACON
With me, my lord;
and while I fit my cheer,
See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you,
Gracious as is the morning-star of heaven.
Friar Bacon
takes his leave as Prince
Edward enters accompanied by Lacy,
Warren
and
Ermsby.
EMPEROR
Is this Prince
Edward, Henry's royal son?
How martial is the figure of his face!
Yet lovely and beset with amorets.
KING HENRY
Ned, where hast thou
been?
PRINCE EDWARD
At Framlingham, my
lord, to try your bucks
If they could scape
the teasers or the toil.
But hearing of these
lordly potentates,
Landed, and
progress'd up to Oxford town,
I ported to give
entertain to them--
Chief to the Almain
monarch; next to him,
And joint with him,
Castile and Saxony
Are welcome as they
may be to the English court.
Thus for the men:
but see, Venus appears,
Or one that
overmatcheth Venus in her shape!
Sweet Elinor, beauty's high-swelling pride,
Rich nature's glory and her wealth at once,
Fair of all fairs, welcome to Albion;
Welcome to me, and welcome to thine own,
If that thou deign'st the welcome from myself.
ELINOR
Martial Plantagenet,
Henry's high-minded son,
The mark that Elinor did count her aim,
I lik'd thee 'fore I saw thee; now I love,
And so as in so short a time I may;
Yet so as time shall never break that so,
And therefore so accept of Elinor.
KING OF 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 suspence, as my adopted son.
KING 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.
Miles shuffles in, a napkin
over his shoulder, carrying
a tablecloth, trenchers and a saltcellar.
MILES
Salvete, omnes
reges,
That govern your greges
In Saxony and Spain,
In England and in
Almain!
For all this frolic
rabble
Must I cover the
table
With trenchers,
salt, and cloth;
And then look for
your broth.
EMPEROR
What pleasant fellow is this?
KING 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?
He
goes out
again.
KING OF CASTILE
These scholars
know more skill in axioms,
How to use quips and sleights of sophistry,
Than for to cover courtly for a king.
Miles
returns carrying a
bowl
of pottage; Friar Bacon
follows.
MILES
Spill, sir? Why, do
you think I never carried twopenny 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 reign.
And therefore, Henry, place these potentates,
And bid them fall unto their frugal cates.
EMPEROR
Presumptuous friar!
What, scoff 'st thou at a king?
What, dost thou taunt us with thy peasants' fare,
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 thee long.
KING HENRY
By Henry's honour,
and the royal faith
The English monarch beareth to his friend,
I knew not of the friar's feeble fare,
Nor am I pleas'd he entertains you thus.
BACON
Content thee,
Frederick, for I show'd these 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.
He whips up the pottage and
runs off
with
it.
BACON
I tell thee,
monarch, all the German peers
Could not afford thy entertainment such,
So royal and so full of majesty,
As Bacon will present to Frederick.
The basest waiter that attends thy cups
Shall be in honours greater than thyself;
And for thy cates, rich Alexandria drugs,
Fetch'd by carvels from Egypt's richest streights,
Found in the wealthy strand of Africa,
Shall royalise the table of my king.
Wines richer than th' Egyptian courtesan
Quaff'd to Augustus' kingly countermarch,
Shall be carous'd in English Henry's feast.
Candy shall yield the richest of her canes;
Persia, down her Volga by canoes,
Send down the secrets of her spicery.
The Afric dates, mirabolans of Spain,
Conserves and suckets from Tiberias,
Cates from Judaea, choicer than the lamp
That fired Rome with sparks of gluttony,
Shall beautify the board for Frederick--
And therefore grudge not at a friar's feast.
He leads
the way out; his guests follow.
SCENE X
At Fressingfield, two farmers,
Lambert and Serlsby approach the Keeper together, to ask for Margaret's
hand in marriage.
LAMBERT
Come, frolic Keeper of our
liege's game,
Whose table spread hath ever venison
And jacks of wine to welcome passengers,
Know I'm in love with jolly Margaret,
That overshines 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 wife—
And I can spend five hundred marks a year.
SERLSBY
I am the lands-lord,
Keeper, of thy holds,
By copy all thy living lies in me;
Laxfield did never see me raise my due.
I will enfeoff fair Margaret in all,
So she will take her to a lusty squire.
KEEPER
Now, courteous
gentles, if the Keeper's girl
Hath pleas'd 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.
The Keeper goes into the
house.
LAMBERT
Content, Keeper;
send her unto us.
Why, Serlsby, is thy wife so lately dead,
Are all thy loves so lightly passed over,
As thou canst wed before the year be out?
SERLSBY
I live not, Lambert,
to content the dead,
Nor was I wedded but for life to her.
The grave ends and begins a married state.
Margaret
comes
out.
LAMBERT
Peggy, the lovely flower of
all towns,
Suffolk's fair Helen, and rich England's star,
Whose beauty,
temper'd with her huswifery,
Makes England talk of merry Fressingfield!
SERLSBY
I cannot trick it up
with poesies,
Nor paint my passions with comparisons;
Nor tell a tale 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 a country squire,
I will enfeoff thee, Margaret, in all.
I cannot flatter; try me, if thou please.
MARGARET
Brave neighbouring
squires, the stay of Suffolk's clime,
A keeper's daughter
is too base in gree
To match with men
accounted of such worth.
But might I not
displease, I would reply.
LAMBERT
Say, Peggy; naught
shall make us discontent.
MARGARET
Then, gentles, note
that love hath little stay,
Nor can the flames
that Venus sets on fire
Be kindled but by
fancy's motion.
Then pardon,
gentles, if a maid's reply
Be doubtful while I
have debated with myself,
Who, or of whom,
love shall constrain me like.
SERLSBY
Let it be me; and trust me,
Margaret,
The meads environ'd with the silver streams,
Whose battling pastures fatteneth all my flocks,
Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool
As Lemnster cannot yield more finer stuff,
And forty kine with fair and burnish'd heads,
With Grouting 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 sheaves,
Filling my barns
with plenty of the fields;
But, Peggy, if thou
wed thyself to me,
Thou shalt have
garments of embroider'd silk,
Lawns, and rich
networks for thy head-attire--
Cosily shall be thy
fair habiliments,
If thou wilt be but
Lambert's loving wife.
MARGARET
Content you,
gentles, you have proffer'd fair,
And more than fits a country maid's degree.
But give me leave to counsel me a time,
For fancy blooms not at the first assault;
Give me but ten days' respite, and I will reply,
Which or to whom myself affectionates.
SERLSBY
Lambert, I tell
thee, thou'rt importunate;
Such beauty fits not such a base esquire--
It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.
LAMBERT
Think'st thou
with wealth to
overreach me?
Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves.
I dare
thee, coward, to maintain this wrong,
At dint of rapier, single in the
field.
SERLSBY
I'll answer,
Lambert, what I have avouch'd.
Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve.
He
strides
away.
LAMBERT
I'll follow. Peggy,
farewell to thyself;
Listen how well I'll answer for thy love.
He
follows
Serlsby.
MARGARET
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 froward fates,
As I am Helen in my matchless hue,
And set rich Suffolk with my face afire?
If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy,
The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown
Would check the pride of these aspiring squires.
Before the term of ten days be expir'd,
Whenas they look for answer of their loves,
My lord will come to merry Fressingfield,
And end their fancies and their follies both.
Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.
A
postboy
enters.
POSTBOY
Fair lovely damsel,
which way leads this path?
How might I post me unto Fressingfield?
Which footpath leadeth to the Keeper's lodge?
MARGARET
Your way is ready,
and this path is right.
Myself do dwell hereby in Fressingfield;
And if the Keeper be the man you seek,
I am his daughter -- may I know the cause!
POSTBOY
Lovely, and once beloved of my
lord;
No marvel if his eye was lodg'd so low,
When brighter beauty is not in the heavens.
The Lincoln Earl hath sent you letters here,
And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold.
Sweet, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.
He gives her a letter and a
bag.
MARGARET
The scrolls that
Jove sent Danaë,
Wrapt in rich closures of fine
burnish'd gold,
Were not more
welcome than these lines to me,
Tell me, whilst that I do unrip the seals,
Lives Lacy well! How fares my lovely lord?
POSTBOY
Well, if that wealth
may make men to live well.
MARGARET
The blooms
of the
almond tree grow in a night, and vanish in a morn; the flies
hæmeræ, 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 write this as thy grief,
and my folly, who at Fressingfeld loved that which time hath taught me
to be but mean dainties. Eyes are dissemblers, and fancy is but queasy;
therefore know, Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish lady to be my wife,
chief waiting woman to the Princess Elinor; a lady fair, and no less
fair than thyself, honourable and wealthy. In 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 wrapp'st proud fortune in thy snaky locks,
Didst thou enchant my birth'day with such stars
As lighten'd mischief from their infancy?
If heavens had vow'd, if stars had made decree,
To show on me their froward influence,
If Lacy had but lov'd, heavens, hell, and all,
Could not have wrong'd the patience of my mind.
POSTBOY
It grieves me,
damsel; but the earl is forced
To love the lady by the king's command.
MARGARET
The wealth combin'd
within the English shelves,
Europe's commander,
nor the English king,
Should not have mov'd the love of
Peggy from her lord.
POSTBOY
What answer shall I
return to my lord?
MARGARET
First, for thou
cam'st from Lacy whom I lov'd --
Ah, give me leave to
sigh at every thought! --
Take thou, my
friend, the hundred pounds he sent;
For Margaret's
resolution craves no dower.
The world shall be
to her as vanity;
Wealth, trash; love,
hate; pleasure, despair:
For I will straight
to stately Framlingham,
And in the abbey
there be shorn a nun,
And yield my loves
and liberty to God.
Fellow, I give thee
this, not for the news,
For those be hateful
unto Margaret,
But for thou'rt
Lacy's man, once Margaret's love.
POSTBOY
What I have heard,
what passions I have seen,
I'll make report of them unto the earl.
MARGARET
Say that she joys his fancies be
at rest,
And prays that his misfortune may be hers.
Very late at
night, Friar
Bacon waits in his study at Oxford for the long-expected moment when
the Brazen Head shall at last speak. He is worn out with continuous
watching, and lies on his bed, with his magic staff in his hand and a
lighted lamp by his side. Miles, having been ordered to continue the
watch while his mailer takes a rest, bustles about collecting weapons.
He comes in with two pistols stuck in his belt, and a brown bill in his
hand. The Brazen Head, on a pedestal, stands in the centre of the study.
BACON
Miles, where are you?
MILES
Here, sir.
BACON
How chance you tarry
so long?
MILES
Think you that
the watching of
the Brazen Head craves no furniture! I warrant you, sir, I have so
armed myself that if all your devils come, I will not fear them an inch.
BACON
Miles,
Thou knowst that I have dived into hell,
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends;
That with my magic spells great Belcephon
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell;
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-form'd Luna hid her silver looks,
Trembling upon her concave continent,
When Bacon read upon his magic book.
With seven years' tossing necromantic charms,
Poring upon dark Hecat's principles,
I have fram'd out a monstrous head of brass,
That, by the enchanting forces of the devil,
Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And girt fair England with a wall of brass.
Bungay and I have watch'd these threescore days,
And now our vital spirits crave some rest.
If Argus liv'd, and had his hundred eyes,
They could not over-watch Phobetor's night.
Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon's weal.
The honour and renown of all his life
Hangs in the watching of this Brazen Head;
Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God,
That holds the souls of men within His fist,
This night thou watch; for ere the morning-star
Sends out his glorious glister on the north,
The head will speak! Then, Miles, upon thy life,
Wake me; for then by
magic art I'll work
To end my seven years' task with excellence.
If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye,
Then farewell Bacon's glory and his fame!
Draw close the curtains, Miles: now, for thy life,
Be watchful, and . . .
MILES
So; I thought
you would talk
yourself asleep anon; and 'tis no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and
he on the nights, have 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
populare for
the people of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons; now,
sir, I will set me down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to
wake me, if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head,
I would call you out of your memento. Passion o' God, I have
almost broke my pate! Up, Miles, to your task; take your brown-bill in
your hand; here's some of your master's hobgoblins abroad.
THE BRAZEN HEAD
TIME is.
MILES
Time is! Why, Master Brazen-head,
have you such a capital nose, and answer you with syllables, Time
is ! Is this all my master's cunning, to spend seven years' study
about
Time is? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better orations
of
it anon: well, I'll watch you as narrowly as ever you were watched, and
I'll play with you as the nightingale with the slow-worm; I'll set a
prick against my breast. Now rest there, Miles. Lord have mercy upon
me, I have almost killed myself! Up, Miles; list how they rumble.
THE BRAZEN HEAD
TIME WAS.
MILES
Well, Friar
Bacon, you have spent
your seven years' study well, that can make your head speak but two
words at once, Time was.Yea, marry, time was when my master was a
wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brazen Head. You
shall lie while your arse ache an your Head speak no better. Well, I
will watch, and walk up and down, and be a peripatetian and a
philosopher of Aristotle's stamp. What, a fresh noise? Take thy pistols
in hand, Miles.
THE BRAZEN HEAD
TIME is PAST.
Then there
is a flash of lightning and a
hand appears, which breaks the Head
with
a
hammer.
MILES
Master, master,
up! Hell's broken
loose; your Head speaks; and there's such a thunder and lightning, that
I warrant all Oxford is up in arms. Out of your bed, and take a
brown-bill in your hand; the latter day is come.
BACON
Miles, I come.
O, passing warily watched! Bacon will make thee next himself in love.
When spake the Head?
MILES
When spake the
Head! Did not you
say that he should tell strange principles of philosophy? Why, sir, it
speaks but two words at a time.
BACON
Why, villain, hath it spoken oft?
MILES
Oft! Ay, marry, hath it, thrice;
but in all those three times it hath uttered but seven words.
BACON
As how!
MILES
Marry, sir, the
first time he
said Time is, as if Fabius Cummentator should have pronounced a
sentence; the second time he said Time was; and the third time,
with thunder and lightning, as in great choler, he said, Time is
past.
BACON
'Tis past indeed.
Ah, villain! time is past.
My life, my fame, my
glory, all are past.
Bacon,
The turrets of thy
hope are ruin'd down,
Thy seven years'
study lieth in the dust.
Thy Brazen Head lies
broken through a slave,
That watch'd, and
would not when the Head did will.
What said the Head
first?
MILES
Even, sir, Time is.
BACON
Villain, if thou
hadst call'd to Bacon then,
If thou hadst
watch'd, and wak'd the sleepy friar,
The Brazen Head had
utter'd aphorisms,
And England had been
circled round with brass.
But proud Asmenoth,
ruler of the north,
And Demogorgon,
master of the fates,
Grudge that a mortal
man should work so much.
Hell trembled at my deep
commanding spells,
Fiends frown'd to
see a man their overmatch;
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast!
But now the braves of Bacon have an end,
Europe's conceit of Bacon hath an end,
His seven years' practice sorteth to ill end--
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end,
I will appoint thee to some fatal end.
Villain, avoid! Get thee from Bacon's sight!
Vagrant, go roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth!
MILES
Why, then, sir, you
forbid me your service?
BACON
My service, villain,
with a fatal curse,
That direful plagues
and mischief fall on thee.
MILES
'Tis no matter,
I am against you
with the old proverb--The more the fox is 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.
Miles goes
out, leaving his master gazing
broke-heartedly at the fragments of the
Brazen
Head.
SCENE XII
King
Henry, the Emperor, and the King of Castile, Princess
Elinor and Prince Edward enter; Lacy and the fool follow them.
EMPEROR
Now, lovely prince,
the prime of Albion's wealth,
How fare the Lady
Elinor and you?
What, have you
courted and found Castile fit
To answer England in
equivalence?
Will't be a match
'twixt bonny Nell and thee?
PRINCE EDWARD
Should Paris enter
in the courts of Greece,
And not lie fetter'd in fair Helen's looks?
Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorets
That Daphne glanced at his deity!
Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze,
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down?
Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we gree.
KING HENRY
What, madam, hath my
son found grace or no?
ELINOR
Seeing, my lord, his
lovely counterfeit,
And hearing how his
mind and shape agreed,
I came not, troop'd
with all this warlike train,
Doubting of love,
but so affectionate,
As Edward hath in
England what he won in Spain.
KING OF CASTILE
A match, my lord;
these wantons needs must love!
Men must have wives, and women will be wed--
Let's haste the day to honour up the rites.
RALPH
Sirrah Harry, shall Ned
marry Nell?
KING HENRY
Ay, Ralph; how then?
RALPH
Marry, Harry,
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.
KING OF CASTILE
But hearest thou,
Ralph, art thou content to have Elinor to thy lady?
RALPH
Ay, so she will
promise me two things.
KING OF 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.
KING HENRY
What's that, Ralph?
RALPH
Why, Harry,
didst thou ever see
that a woman could both hold her tongue and her hands? No: but when
egg-pies grow on apple-trees, then will thy grey mare prove a bag-piper.
EMPEROR
What says the
Lord of Castile and the Earl of Lincoln, that they are in
such earnest and secret talk?
KING OF CASTILE
I stand, my
lord, amazed at his talk,
How he discourseth of the constancy
Of one surnam'd, for beauty's excellence,
The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.
KING HENRY
'Tis true, my lord, 'tis wondrous
for to hear;
Her beauty passing Mars's paramour,
Her virgin's right as rich as Vesta's was.
Lacy and Ned hath told me miracles.
KING OF CASTILE
What says Lord Lacy?
Shall she be his wife?
LACY
Or else Lord Lacy is
unfit to live.
May it please your
highness give me leave to post
To Fressingfield;
I'll fetch the bonny girl,
And prove, in true appearance at the court,
What I have vouched often with my tongue.
KING HENRY
Lacy, go to the
'querry of my stable,
And take such
coursers as shall fit thy turn.
Hie thee to
Fressingfield, and bring home the lass;
And, for her fame
flies through the English coast,
If it may please the
lady Elinor,
One day shall match
your excellence in her.
ELINOR
We Castile ladies
are not very coy;
Your highness may command a greater boon,
And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl
With being partner of his marriage-day.
PRINCE EDWARD
Gramercy, Nell, for
I do love the lord,
As he that's second to thyself in love.
RALPH
You love her? Madam Nell, never
believe him, though he swears he loves you.
ELINOR
Why, Ralph?
RALPH
Why, his love
is like unto a
tapper's glass that is broken with every touch; for he loved the fair
maid of Fressingfield once out of all ho--Nay, Ned, never wink upon me;
I care not, I.
KING HENRY
Ralph tells all; you
shall have a good secretary of him.
But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield;
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemn marriage-day will be at hand.
LACY
I go, my lord.
Lacy
withdraws.
EMPEROR
How shall we pass
this day, my lord?
KING HENRY
To horse, my lord; the day is
passing fair,
We'll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer.
Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.
SCENE XIII
Friar Bacon sits
brooding and disconsolate in his cell. Friar Bungay comes in.
BUNGAY
What means the friar that
frolick'd it of late,
To sit as melancholy
in his cell
As if he had neither
lost nor won to-day?
BACON
Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is
spoil'd,
My glory gone, my seven years' study lost!
The fame of Bacon,
bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.
BUNGAY
Bacon hath built
foundation of 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 'tide me ere I sleep;
But what and wherein little can I guess.
BUNGAY
My mind is heavy,
whatsoe'er shall hap.
A knocking
is heard: Bungay goes to
the
door and opens
it.
BACON
Who's that knocks?
BUNGAY
Two scholars that
desire to speak with you.
BACON
Bid them come in.
Two scholars
enter.
Now, my youths, what would you have?
FIRST SCHOLAR
Sir, we are Suffolk-men and
neighbouring friends;
Our fathers in their countries lusty squires;
Their lands adjoin--in Cratfield mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates,
Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends.
BACON
To what end is all this?
SECOND SCHOLAR
Hearing your worship
kept within your cell
A glass prospective, wherein men might see
Whatso their thoughts or hearts' desire could wish,
We come to know how that our fathers fare.
BACON
My glass is free for
every honest man.
Sit down, and you
shall see ere long,
How, or in what
state your friendly fathers live.
Meanwhile, tell me
your names.
FIRST SCHOLAR
Mine Lambert!
SECOND SCHOLAR
And mine, Serlsby.
BACON
Bungay, I smell
there will be a tragedy.
They sit
and gaze into the glass. Soon appear
the figures of the elder Lambert and Serlsby,
each carrying a rapier and
dagger.
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, prize thy blood.
Thou know'st what words did pass at Fressingfield,
Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook.
Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts,
Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die.
SERLSBY
Thou see'st I single meet
thee in the field
And what I spake, I'll maintain with my sword.
Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out.
An if thou kill me, think I have a son,
That lives in Oxford
in the Broadgates-hall,
Who will revenge his father's blood with blood.
LAMBERT
And, Serlsby, I have
there a lusty boy,
That dares at weapon buckle with thy son,
And lives in Broadgates too, is well as thine.
But draw thy rapier, for we'll have a bout.
BACON
Now, lusty younkers,
look within the glass,
And tell me if you can discern your sires.
FIRST SCHOLAR
Serlsby, 'tis hard;
thy father offers wrong
To combat with my father in the Seld.
SECOND SCHOLAR
Lambert, thou liest,
my father's is th' abuse,
And thou shall find it, if my father harm.
BUNGAY
How goes it, sirs?
FIRST SCHOLAR
Our fathers are in
combat hard by Fressingfield.
BACON
Sit still, my
friends, and see the event.
LAMBERT
Why stand'st thou,
Serlsby' Doubt'st thou of thy life!
A veney, man! fair Margaret craves so much.
SERLSBY
Then this for her.
FIRST SCHOLAR
Ah, well thrust!
SECOND SCHOLAR
But mark the ward.
Lambert and
Serlsby stab each other,
and fall mortally
wounded.
LAMBERT
O, I am slain!
SERLSBY
And, I--Lord have
mercy on me!
They
die.
FIRST SCHOLAR
My father slain!
Serlsby, ward that.
SECOND SCHOLAR
And so is mine!
Lambert, I'll quite thee well.
The scholars jump up
with
daggers
drawn and
kill
each
other.
BUNGAY
O strange stratagem!
BACON
See, friar, where
the fathers both lie dead!
Bacon, thy 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 their fatal lives,
Shall break the cause efficiat of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That necromancy did infuse the crystal with.
He draws the poniard from
Lambert's
body, and with it
shatters the
glass.
BUNGAY
What means learn'd Bacon
thus to break his glass?
BACON
I tell thee, Bungay,
it repents me sore
That ever Bacon
meddled in this art.
The hours I have
spent in pyromantic spells,
The fearful tossing
in the latent night
Of papers full of
necromantic charms,
Conjuring and
abjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb
and strange pentageron;
The wresting of the
holy name of God,
As Sother, Eloim,
and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and
Tetragrammaton;
With praying to the
five-fold powers of heaven,
Are instances that
Bacon must be damn'd
For using devils to
countervail his God.
Yet, Bacon, cheer
thee, drown not in despair;
Sins have their
salves, repentance can do much.
Think Mercy sits
where Justice holds her seat,
And from those
wounds those bloody Jews did pierce,
Which by thy magic
oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee
the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of
high Jehovah's ire,
And make thee as a
new-born babe from sin.
Bungay, I'll spend
the remnant of my life
In pure devotion,
praying to my God
That He would save what Bacon
vainly lost.
SCENE XIV
At
Fressingfeld, Margaret is
about to enter the convent. She comes in wearing her nun's garb,
followed by her father, the Keeper, and a friend.
KEEPER
Margaret, be not so headstrong in
these vows.
O, bury not such beauty in a cell,
That England hath held famous for the hue!
Thy father's hair, like to the silver blooms
That beautify the
shrubs of Africa,
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forgo his lovely Margaret.
MARGARET
Ah, father, when the
harmony of heaven
Soundeth the
measures of a lively faith,
The vain illusions
of this flattering world
Seem odious to the
thoughts of Margaret.
I loved once--Lord
Lacy was my love;
And now I hate
myself for that I lov'd,
And doted more on
him than on my God--
For this I scourge
myself with sharp repents.
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
naught 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
Framlingham a holy nun,
Holy and pure in
conscience and in deed;
And for to wish all
maids to learn of me
To seek heaven's 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 habiliments.
Farewell, O love! and, with fond love, farewell
Sweet Lacy, 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!
As she
turns away from them, Lacy, Warren
and Ermsly, booted and spurred, approach.
LACY
Come on, my wags,
we're near the Keeper's lodge.
Here have I oft walk'd in the watery meads,
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.
WARREN
Sirrah Ned, is not
this the Keeper?
LACY
'Tis the same.
ERMSBY
The old lecher hath gotten
holy mutton to him--a nun, my lord.
LACY
Keeper, how far'st
thou? Holla, man, what cheer?
How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?
KEEPER
Ah, good my lord! O,
woe is me for Peggy!
See where she stands clad in her nun's attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham.
She leaves the world because she left your love.
O, good my lord, persuade her if you can!
LACY
Why, how now,
Margaret! What, a malcontent?
A nun! What holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life
As die a maid! 'Twere injury to me,
To smother up such beauty in a cell.
MARGARET
Lord Lacy, thinking of my former
miss,
How fond the prime
of wanton years were spent
In love (O, fie upon that fond conceit
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!)
I leave both love and love's content at once,
Betaking me to Him that is true love,
And leaving all the world for love of Him.
LACY
Whence, Peggy, comes
this metamorphosis?
What, shorn a nun, and I have from the court
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence
To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept!
Thy wedding robes are in the tailor's hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows.
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 heaven's joy
before earth's fading bliss,
And life above sweeter than life in love?
LACY
Why, then, Margaret,
will be shorn a nun?
MARGARET
Margaret
Hath made a vow
which may not be revok'd.
WARREN
We cannot stay, my lord; an if
she be so strict,
Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh.
ERMSBY
Choose you, fair damsel, yet the
choice is yours--
Either a solemn nunnery or the court,
God or Lord Lacy: which contents you best
To be a nun or else Lord Lacy's wife?
LACY
A good motion.
Peggy, your answer must be short.
MARGARET
The flesh is frail.
My lord doth know it well,
That when he comes
with his enchanting face,
Whate'er betide, I
cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit
of a maiden's heart,
And, seeing fortune
will, fair Framlingham,
And all the show of holy nuns, farewell!
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.
LACY
Peggy, thy lord, thy
love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth
of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry
matchless Elinor,
Until I bring thee
richly to the court,
That one day may
both marry her and thee.
How say'st thou,
Keeper? Art thou glad of this?
KEEPER
As if the English
king had given
The park and deer of
Fressingfield to me.
ERMSBY
I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex,
why art thou in a brown study?
WARREN
To see the nature of women;
that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man's arms.
LACY
What have you fit
for breakfast? We have hied
And posted all this night to Fressingfield.
MARGARET
Butter and cheese,
and umbles of a deer,
Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.
LACY
And not a bottle of
wine?
MARGARET
We'll find one for
my lord.
LACY
Come, Sussex, let us in--we shall
have more,
For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.
SCENE XV
How restless are the
ghosts of hellish sprites,
When every charmer
with his magic spells
Calls us from
ninefold-trenched Phlegethon,
To scud and
over-scour the earth in post
Upon the speedy
wings of swiftest winds!
Now Bacon hath
rais'd me from the darkest deep,
To search about the
world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to
torment his lazy bones
For careless
watching of his Brazen Head.
See where he comes:
O, he is mine.
He stands
aside as Miles wanders in,
wearing a scholar's cap and
gown.
MILES
A scholar, quoth you! Marry, sir,
I
would I had been made a bottle-maker when I was made a scholar; for I
can get neither to be a deacon, reader,
nor schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish. Some call me a dunce;
another saith my head is as full of Latin as an egg's full of
oatmeal--thus I am tormented, that the devil and Friar Bacon haunt
me.Good Lord, here's one of my master's devils! I'll go speak to him.
What, Master Plutus, how cheer you?
DEVIL
Dost thou know me?
MILES
Know you, sir! Why,
are not you one of my master's devils, that were wont to come to my
master, Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose?
DEVIL
Yes, marry, am I.
MILES
Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have
seen you a thousand times at my master's, and yet I had never the
manners to make you drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable
you are to the statute. I warrant you, he's as yeomanly a man as you
shall see; mark you, masters, here's a plain honest man, without welt
or guard. But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hell?
DEVIL
Ay, marry--how then?
MILES
Faith, 'tis a place I have
desired long to see-have you not good tippling-houses there? May not a
man have a lusty fire there, a pot of good ale, a pair of cards, a
swinging piece ot chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white
waistcoat on a cup of good drink?
DEVIL
All this you may
have there.
MILES
You are for me,
friend, and I am for you. But I pray you, may I not have an office
there!
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
marvellous dry, and much drink is spent there; I would be a tapster.
DEVIL
Thou shall.
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 here's a courteous
devil, that, for to pleasure his friend, will not slick 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.
He takes a
pair of spurs out of his
pocket and buckles them
on.
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
mounts on the devil's
back.
MILES
O Lord, here's even
a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back!
He digs his
spurs into his roaring steed,
and rides off in
triumph.
SCENE XVI
The weddings
having been
solemnized, there enter in procession the Emptror, with a pointless
sword; the King of Castile, carrying a sword with a point; Lacy,
bearing the globe; Warren, a rod of gold with a dove; Ermsby, the crown
and sceptre; Prince Edward and Princess Elinor, attended by Margaret,
now Countess of Lincoln; King Henry the Third; Friar Bacon in his
vestments; and the lords and ladies attending.
PRINCE 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.
KING HENRY
Gramercies,
lordings; old Plantagenet,
That rules and sways the Albion diadem,
With tears discovers these conceived joys,
And vows requital, if his men-at-arms,
The wealth of England, or due 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 grac'd with kings, princes, and emperors,
To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl)
I vow obedience, and such humble love
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.
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 Fressingfield,
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.
KING 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.
KING HENRY
Why, Bacon,
What strange event
shall happen to this land;
Or what shall grow from
Edward and his queen?
BACON
I find by deep
prescience of mine art,
Which once I
temper'd 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 Phœbus' flower,
And over-shadow
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 shall be
turn'd 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 those leaves
That gorgeous
beautify this matchless flower.
Apollo's
heliotropion then shall stoop,
And Venus' hyacinth
shall vail her top;
Juno shall shut her
gilliflowers up,
And Pallas' bay
shall 'bash her brightest green;
Ceres' carnation, in
consort with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana's
rose.
KING HENRY
This prophecy is
mystical.
But, glorious
commanders of Europa's love,
That make fair
England like that wealthy isle
Circled with Gihon
and swift Euphrates,
In royalizing
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 time
Craves that we taste
of naught but jouissance.
Thus glories England over
all the west.
Omne tulit punctum qui
miscuit
utile dulci.
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