[Scene First.[1262] _In, or near, Fremingham_]
_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD[1263] _malcontented, with_ LACY _earle of
Lincoln_, JOHN WARREN _earle of Sussex, and_ ERMSBIE _gentleman_: RAPH
SIMNELL _the kings foole_.
_Lacie._ Why lookes my lord like to a troubled skie,
When heavens bright shine is shadow'd with a fogge?
Alate[1264] we ran the deere, and through the lawndes
Stript[1265] with our nagges the loftie frolicke bucks
That scudded fore the teisers[1266] like the wind: 5
Nere was the deere of merry Fresingfield
So lustily puld down by jolly mates,
Nor sharde the farmers such fat venison,
So franckly dealt, this hundred yeares before;
Nor have[1267] I seene my lord more frolicke in the chace; 10
And now[1268]--changde to a melancholie dumpe?
_Warren._ After the prince got to the keepers lodge,
And had been jocand in the house awhile,
Tossing of[1269] ale and milke in countrie cannes:
Whether it was the countries sweete content, 15
Or els the bonny damsell fild us drinke
That seemd so stately in her stammell[1270] red,
Or that a qualme did crosse his stomacke then,--
But straight he fell into his passions.
_Ermsbie._ Sirra Raphe, what say you to your maister, 20
Shall he thus all amort[1271] live malecontent?
_Raphe._ Heerest thou, Ned?--Nay, looke if hee will speake to
me!
_Edward._ What sayst thou to me, foole?
_Raphe._ I preethee, tell me, Ned, art thou in love with the keepers
daughter? 26
_Edward._ How if I be, what then?
_Raphe._ Why, then, sirha, Ile teach thee how to deceive Love.
_Edward._ How, Raphe?
_Raphe._ Marrie sirha Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my
coat and my dagger,[1272] and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword:
and so thou shalt be my foole. 32
_Edward._ And what of this?
_Raphe._ Why, so thou shalt beguile Love; for Love is such a
proud scab, that he will never meddle with fooles nor children. Is
not Raphes counsel good, Ned? 36
_Edward._ Tell me, Ned Lacie, didst thou marke the mayd,
How lively[1273] in her country-weedes she lookt?
A bonier wench all Suffolke cannot yeeld:--
All Suffolke! nay, all England holds none such. 40
_Raphe._ Sirha Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.
_Ermsbie._ Why, Raphe?
_Raphe._ He saies all England hath no such, and I say, and Ile
stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.
[The honourable historie of Frier Bacon[1279]]
_Warren._ How proovest thou that, Raphe? 45
_Raphe._ Why, is not the abbot a learned man, and hath red
many bookes, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than
thou to choose a bonny wench? yes, I warrant thee, by his whole
grammer.
_Ermsby._ A good reason, Raphe. 50
_Edward._ I tell the[e], Lacie, that her sparkling eyes
Doe lighten forth sweet Loves alluring fire;
And in her tresses she doth fold the lookes
Of such as gaze upon her golden haire;
Her bashfull white, mixt with the mornings red, 55
Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheekes;
Her front is Beauties table,[1274] where she paints
The glories of her gorgious excellence;
Her teeth are shelves of pretious margarites,
Richly enclosed with ruddie curroll cleves.[1275] 60
Tush, Lacie, she is Beauties overmatch,
If thou survaist her curious imagerie.[1276]
_Lacie._ I grant, my lord, the damsell is as faire
As simple Suffolks homely towns can yeeld:
But in the court be quainter[1277] dames than she, 65
Whose faces are enricht with honours taint,[1278]
Whose bewties stand upon the stage of fame,
And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love.
_Edw._ Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watcht her as my self,
And seene the secret bewties of the maid, 70
Their courtly coinesse were but foolery.
_Ermsbie._ Why, how watcht you her, my lord?
_Edward._ When as she swept like Venus through the house,--
And in her shape fast foulded up my thoughtes,--
Into the milkhouse went I with the maid, 75
And there amongst the cream-boles she did shine
As Pallace 'mongst her princely huswiferie:
She turnd her smocke over her lilly armes,
And divd them into milke to run her cheese;
But, whiter than the milke, her cristall skin, 80
Checked with lines of azur, made her blush[1280]
That art or nature durst bring for compare.
Ermsbie,[1281] if thou hadst seene, as I did note it well,
How Bewtie plaid the huswife, how this girle,
Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the worke, 85
Thou wouldst with Tarquine hazard Roome and all
To win the lovely mayd of Fresingfield.
_Raphe._ Sirha Ned, wouldst faine have her?
_Edward._ I,[1282] Raphe.
_Raphe._ Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in my head; thou shall
have her alreadie. 91
_Edward._ Ile give thee a new coat, and[1282] learne me that.
_Raphe._ Why, sirra Ned, weel ride to Oxford to Frier Bacon:
oh, he is a brave scholler, sirra; they say he is a brave nigromancer,
that he can make women of devils, and hee can juggle cats into
costermongers. 96
_Edward._ And how then, Raphe?
_Raphe._ Marry, sirrha, thou shalt go to him: and because[1283] thy
father Harry shall not misse thee, hee shall turne me into thee; and
Ile to the court, and Ile prince it out; and he shall make thee either
a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smocke. 101
_Edward._ But how shall I have the mayd?
_Raphe._ Marry, sirha, if thou beest a silken purse full of gold,
then on Sundaies sheele hang thee by her side, and you must not
say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great prease[1284] of
people, for feare of the cut-purse, on a sodaine sheele swap[1285]
thee into her plackerd,[1286] then, sirrha, being there, you may
plead for your selfe. 108
_Ermsbie._ Excellent pollicie!
_Edward._ But how if I be a wrought smocke? 110
_Raphe._ Then sheele put thee into her chest and lay thee into
lavender, and upon some good day sheele put thee on, and at night
when you go to bed, then being turnt from a smocke to a man, you
may make up the match.
_Lacie._ Wonderfully wisely counselled, Raphe. 115
_Edward._ Raphe shall have a new coate.
_Raphe._ God thanke you when I have it on my backe, Ned.
_Edward._ Lacie, the foole hath laid a perfect plot;
For why our countrie Margret is so coy,
And standes so much upon her honest pointes, 120
That marriage, or no market with the mayd.
Ermsbie, it must be nigroma[n]ticke spels
And charmes of art that must inchaine her love,
Or else shall Edward never win the girle.
Therefore, my wags, weele horse us in the morne, 125
And post to Oxford to this jolly frier:
Bacon shall by his magicke doe this deed.
_Warren._ Content, my lord; and thats a speedy way
To weane these head-strong puppies from the teat.
_Edward._ I am unknowne, not taken for the prince; 130
They onely deeme us frolicke courtiers,
That revell thus among our lieges game,--
Therefore I have devis'd a pollicie:
Lacie, thou knowst next Friday is S. James,[1287]
And then the country flockes to Harlston[1288] faire: 135
Then will the keepers daughter frolicke there,
And over-shine the troupe of all the maids
That come to see and to be seene that day.
Haunt thee disguisd among the countrie-swaines,
Feign thart a farmers sonne, not far from thence, 140
Espie her loves, and who she liketh best:
Coat[1289] him, and court her, to controll the clowne;
Say that the courtier tyred all in greene,
That helpt her handsomly to run her cheese,
And fild her fathers lodge with venison, 145
Commends him, and sends fairings to herselfe.
Buy some thing worthie of her parentage,
Not worth her beautie; for, Lacie, then the faire
Affoords no jewell fitting for the mayd:
And when thou talkest of me, note if she blush: 150
Oh then she loves; but if her cheekes waxe pale,
Disdaine it is. Lacie, send how she fares,
And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.
_Lacie._ I will, my lord, so execute this charge
As if that Lacie were in love with her. 155
_Edward._ Send letters speedily to Oxford of the newes.
_Raphe._ And, sirha Lacie, buy me a thousand thousand million
of fine bels.
_Lacie._ What wilt thou do with them, Raphe? 159
_Raphe._ Mary, every time that Ned sighs for the keepers daughter,
Ile tie a bell about him: and so within three or foure daies I will
send word to his father Harry, that his sonne, and my maister Ned,
is become Loves morris dance.[1290]
_Edward._ Well, Lacie, look with care unto thy charge,
And I will haste to Oxford to the frier, 165
That he by art and thou by secret gifts
Maist make me lord of merrie Fresingfield.
_Lacie._ God send your honour your[1291] harts desire. _Exeunt._
[Scene Second. _Frier Bacons cell at Brazennose_]
_Enter Frier_ BACON, _with_ MILES, _his poore scholer, with bookes
under his arme; with them_ BURDEN, MASON, CLEMENT, _three Doctors_.
_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?
_Miles._ _Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor._
_Bacon._ _Attulisti nos_[1292] _libros meos de necromantia?_
_Miles._ _Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare_[1293] _libros in
unum!_
_Bacon._ Now, maisters of our academicke state, 5
That rule in Oxford, Vizroies in your place,
Whose heads containe maps of the liberall arts,
Spending your time in deapth of learned skill,
Why flocke you thus to Bacons secret cell,
A frier newly stalde in Brazennose? 10
Say whats your mind, that I may make replie.
_Burden._ Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect,
That thou art read in magicks mysterie:
In piromancie, to divine by flames;
To tell, by hadromaticke[1294] ebbes and tides; 15
By aeromancie to discover doubts,
To plaine out questions, as Apollo did.
_Bacon._ Well, Maister Burden, what of all[1295] this?
_Miles._ Marie, sir, he doth but fulfill, by rehearsing of these
names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes: that which is above
us pertains nothing to us. 21
_Burden._ I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report,
Nay, England, and the court of Henrie saies,
Th' art making of a brazen head by art,
Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorismes, 25
And read a lecture in philosophie;
And, by the helpe of divels and ghastly fiends,
Thou meanst, ere many yeares or daies be past,
To compasse England with a wall of brasse.
_Bacon._ And what of this? 30
_Miles._ What of this, maister! why, he doth speak mystically:
for he knowes, if your skill faile to make a brazen head, yet Mother
Waters strong ale will fit his turne to make him have a copper-nose.
_Clement._ Bacon, we come not greeving at thy skill,
But joieing that our académie yeelds 35
A man supposde the woonder of the world:
For if thy cunning worke these myracles,
England and Europe shall admire thy fame,
And Oxford shall in characters of brasse,
And statues, such as were built up in Rome, 40
Eternize Frier Bacon for his art.
_Mason._ Then, gentle Frier, tell us thy intent.
_Bacon._ Seeing you come as friends unto the frier,
Resolve you, doctors, Bacon can by bookes
Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave, 45
And dimme faire Luna to a darke eclipse.
The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell,
Trembles when Bacon bids him, or his fiends,
Bow to the force of his pentageron.[1296]
What art can worke, the frolicke frier knowes; 50
And therefore will I turne my magicke bookes,
And straine out nigromancie to the deepe.
I have contrivd and framde a head of brasse,
(I made Belcephon[1297] hammer out the stuffe)
And that by art shall read Philosophie: 55
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Cæsars livd and raignd in Rome,
With all the legions Europe doth containe,
They should not touch a grasse of English ground;
The worke that Ninus reard at Babylon, 60
The brazen walles framde by Semiramis,
Carvd out like to the portall of the sunne,
Shall not be such as rings the English strond
From Dover to the market-place of Rie.
_Burden._ Is this possible? 65
_Miles._ Ile bring ye t[w]o or three witnesses.
_Burden._ What be those?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, three or foure as honest divels and good
companions as any be in hell.
_Mason._ No doubt but magicke may doe much in this; 70
For he that reades but mathematicke[1298] rules
Shall finde conclusions that availe to work
Wonders that passe the common sense of men.
_Burden._ But Bacon roves[1299] a bow beyond his reach,
And tels of more than magicke can performe, 75
Thinking to get a fame by fooleries.
Have I not past as farre in state of schooles,
And red of many secrets? yet to thinke
That heads of brasse can utter any voice,
Or more, to tell of deepe philosophie, 80
This is a fable Æsop had forgot.
_Bacon._ Burden, thou wrongst me in detracting thus;
Bacon loves not to stuffe himselfe with lies.
But tell me fore these doctors, if thou dare,
Of certaine questions I shall move to thee. 85
_Burden._ I will: aske what thou can.
_Miles._ Marrie, sir, heele straight be on your pickpacke to knowe
whether the feminine or the masculin gender be most worthie.
_Bacon._ Were you not yesterday, Maister Burden, at Henly upon the
Thembs? 90
_Burden._ I was: what then?
_Bacon._ What booke studied you thereon all night?
_Burden._ I! none at all; I red not there a line.
_Bacon._ Then, doctors, Frier Bacons art knowes nought.
_Clement._ What say you to this, Maister Burden? doth hee not
touch you? 96
_Burden._ I passe not of his frivolous speeches.
_Miles._ Nay, Master Burden, my maister, ere hee hath done with
you, will turne you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so
small, that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaams
asse. 101
_Bacon._ Maisters, for that learned Burdens skill is deepe,
And sore he doubts of Bacons cabalisme,
I'll shew you why he haunts to Henly oft:
Not, doctors, for to tast the fragrant aire, 105
But there to spend the night in alcumie,
To multiplie with secret spels of art;
Thus privat steales he learning from us all.
To proove my sayings true, Ile shew you straight
The booke he keepes at Henly for himselfe. 110
_Miles._ Nay, now my maister goes to conjuration, take heed.
_Bacon._ Maisters,[1300] stand still, feare not, Ile shewe you but his
booke.
_Here he conjures._
_Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!_ 114
_Enter a_ Woman _with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a_ Devill.
_Miles._ Oh, maister, cease your conjuration, or you spoile all;
for heeres a shee divell come with a shoulder of mutton on a spit:
you have mard the divels supper; but no doubt hee thinkes our
colledge fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cooke with a
shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed.
_Hostesse._ Oh, where am I, or whats become of me? 120
_Bacon._ What art thou?
_Hostesse._ Hostesse at Henly, mistresse of the Bell.
_Bacon._ How camest thou heere?
_Hostesse._ As I was in the kitchen mongst the maydes,
Spitting the meate against[1301] supper for my guesse,[1301] 125
A motion mooved me to looke forth of dore.
No sooner had I pried into the yard,
But straight a whirlewind hoisted me from thence,
And mounted me aloft unto the cloudes.
As in a trance I thought nor feared nought, 130
Nor know I where or whether I was tane,
Nor where I am, nor what these persons be.
_Bacon._ No? know you not Maister Burden?
_Hostesse._ O yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.--
What, Maister Burden! twas but yesternight 135
That you and I at Henly plaid at cardes.
_Burden._ I knowe not what we did.--A poxe of all conjuring
friars!
_Clement._ Now, jolly Frier, tell us, is this the booke
That Burden is so carefull to looke on?[1302] 140
_Bacon._ It is.--But, Burden, tell me now,
Thinkest thou that Bacons nicromanticke skill
Cannot performe his head and wall of brasse,
When he can fetch thine hostesse in such post? 144
_Miles._ Ile warrant you, maister, if Maister Burden could conjure
as well as you, hee would have his booke everie night from Henly
to study on at Oxford.
_Mason._ Burden, what, are you mated by this frolicke frier?--
Looke how he droops; his guiltie conscience
Drives him to bash,[1303] and makes his hostesse blush. 150
_Bacon._ Well, mistres, for I wil not have you mist,
You shall to Henly to cheere up your guests
Fore supper ginne.--Burden, bid her adew;
Say farewell to your hostesse fore she goes.--
Sirha, away, and set her safe at home. 155
_Hostesse._ Maister Burden, when shall we see you at Henly?[1304]
_Exeunt_ HOSTESSE _and the_ Devill.
_Burden._ The devill take thee and Henly too.
_Miles._ Maister, shall I make a good motion?
_Bacon._ Whats that? 159
_Miles._ Marry, sir, nowe that my hostesse is gone to provide supper,
conjure up another spirite, and send Doctor Burden flying after.
_Bacon._ Thus, rulers of our accademicke state,
You have seene the frier frame his art by proofe;
And as the colledge called Brazennose
Is under him, and he the Maister[1305] there, 165
So surely shall this head of brasse be framde,
And yeelde forth strange and uncoth aphorismes;
And Hell and Heccate[1306] shall faile the frier,
But I will circle England round with brasse.
_Miles._ So be it, _et nunc et semper. Amen._ _Exeunt omnes._ 170
[Scene Third. _Harlston Faire._]
_Enter_ MARGRET, _the faire mayd of Fresingfield, with_ THOMAS,
[RICHARD] _and_ JONE, _and other clownes_; LACIE _disguised in
countrie apparell._
_Thomas._ By my troth, Margret, heeres a wether is able to make
a man call his father whorson: if this wether hold, wee shall have hay
good cheape, and butter and cheese at Harlston will beare no price.
_Margret._ Thomas, maides, when they come to see the faire,
Count not to make a cope[1307] for dearth of hay: 5
When we have turnd our butter to the salt,
And set our cheese safely[1308] upon the rackes,
Then let our fathers prise[1309] it as they please.
We countrie sluts of merry Fresingfield
Come to buy needlesse noughts to make us fine, 10
And looke that yong men should be francke[1310] this day,
And court us with such fairings as they can.
Phœbus is blythe, and frolicke lookes from heaven,
As when he courted lovely Semele,[1311]
Swearing the pedlers shall have emptie packs, 15
If that faire wether may make chapmen buy.
_Lacie._ But, lovely Peggie, Semele is dead,
And therefore Phœbus from his pallace pries,
And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint,
Shewes all his glories for to court your selfe. 20
_Margret._ This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed,
To sooth me up with such smooth flatterie;
But learne of me, your scoffe's[1312] to[o] broad before.--
Well, Jone, our bewties[1313] must abide their jestes;
We serve the turne in jolly Fresingfield. 25
_Jone._ Margret,[1314] a farmers daughter for a farmers son:
I warrant you, the meanest of us both
Shall have a mate to lead us from the church.
But, Thomas, whats the newes? what, in a dumpe?
Give me your hand, we are neere a pedlers shop,-- 30
Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.
_Thomas._ Faith, Jone, and shall: Ile bestow a fairing on you, and
then we will to the tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.
_All this while_ LACIE _whispers_ MARGRET _in the eare._
_Margret._ Whence are you, sir? of Suffolke? for your tearmes
Are finer than the common sort of men.[1315] 35
_Lacie._ Faith, lovely girle, I am of Beckles[1316] by,
Your neighbour, not above six miles from hence,
A farmers sonne, that never was so quaint[1317]
But that he could do courtesie to such dames.
But trust me, Margret, I am sent in charge 40
From him that reveld in your fathers house,
And fild his lodge with cheere and venison,
'Tyred in green; he sent you this rich purse,
His token that he helpt you run your cheese,
And in the milkhouse chatted with your selfe. 45
_Margret._ To me? You forget your selfe.[1318]
_Lacie._ Women are often weake in memorie.
_Margret._ Oh, pardon sir, I call to mind the man:
Twere little manners to refuse his gift,
And yet I hope he sends it not for love; 50
For we have little leisure to debate of that.[1319]
_Jone._ What, Margret! blush not: mayds must have their loves.
_Thomas._ Nay, by the masse, she lookes pale as if she were
angrie. 54
_Richard._ Sirha, are you of Beckls? I pray, how dooth Goodman Cob?
my father bought a horse of him.--Ile tell you Margret, a were good
to be a gentlemans jade, for of all things the foule hilding could
not abide a doongcart.
_Margret_ [_aside_]. How different is this farmer from the rest
That earst as yet hath pleasd my wandring sight! 60
His words are wittie, quickened with a smile,
His courtesie gentle, smelling of the court;
Facill and debonaire in all his deeds;
Proportiond as was Paris, when, in gray,
He courted Ænon in the vale by Troy. 65
Great lords have come and pleaded for my love:
Who but the keepers lasse of Fresingfield?
And yet me thinks this farmers jolly sonne
Passeth the prowdest that hath pleasd mine eye.
But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love, 70
And shew as yet no sign of love to him,
Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love;
Keepe that to thee till time doth serve thy turne,
To shew the greefe wherein thy heart doth burne.--
Come, Jone and Thomas, shall we to the faire?-- 75
You, Beckls man, will not forsake us now?
_Lacie._ Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.
_Margret._ Well, if you chaunce to come by Fresingfield,
Make but a step into the keepers lodge,[1320]
And such poore fare as woodmen can affoord, 80
Butter and cheese, creame and fat venison,
You shall have store, and welcome therewithall.
_Lacie._ Gramarcies, Peggie; looke for me eare long.
_Exeunt omnes._
[Scene Fourth. _The Court at Hampton House._]
_Enter_ HENRY _the third, the_ EMPEROUR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE,
ELINOR, _his daughter,_ JAQUES VANDERMAST _a Germaine_.
_Henrie._ Great men of Europe, monarks of the West,
Ringd with the walls of old _Oceanus_,
Whose loftie surge is[1321] like the battelments
That compast high built Babell in with towers,--
Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave westerne kings, 5
To Englands shore, whose promontorie cleeves
Shewes Albion is another little world:
Welcome says English Henrie to you all;
Chiefly unto the lovely Eleanour,
Who darde for Edwards sake cut through the seas, 10
And venture as Agenors damsell through the deepe,[1322]
To get the love of Henries wanton sonne.
_Castile._ Englands rich monarch, brave Plantagenet.
The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds,
That ward the welthie Castile in with walles, 15
Could not detaine the beautious Eleanour;
But, hearing of the fame of Edwards youth,
She darde to brooke _Neptunus_ haughtie pride,
And bide the brunt of froward Eolus:
Then may faire England welcome her the more. 20
_Elinor._ After that English Henrie by his lords
Had sent Prince Edwards lovely counterfeit,
A present to the Castile Elinor,
The comly pourtrait of so brave a man,
The vertuous fame discoursed of his deeds, 25
Edwards couragious resolution,
Done at the Holy Land fore Damas[1323] walles,
Led both mine eye and thoughts in equall links,
To like so of the English monarchs sonne,
That I attempted perrils for his sake. 30
_Emperour._ Where is the prince, my lord?
_Henrie._ He posted down, not long since, from the court,
To Suffolke side, to merrie Fremingham,[1324]
To sport himselfe amongst my fallow deere;
From thence, by packets sent to Hampton[1324] house, 35
We heare the prince is ridden with his lords
To Oxford, in the academie there
To heare dispute amongst the learned men.
But we will send foorth letters for my sonne,
To will him come from Oxford to the court. 40
_Empe._ Nay, rather, Henrie, let us, as we be,
Ride for to visite Oxford with our traine.
Faine would I see your universities,
And what learned men your academie yields.
From Haspurg[1325] have I brought a learned clarke 45
To hold dispute with English orators:
This doctor, surnamde Jaques Vandermast,
A Germaine borne, past into Padua,
To Florence and to fair Bolonia,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans, 50
And, talking there with men of art, put downe
The chiefest of them all in aphorismes,[1326]
In magicke, and the mathematicke rules:
Now let us, Henrie, trie him in your schooles.
_Henrie._ He shal, my lord; this motion likes me wel. 55
Weele progresse straight to Oxford with our trains,
And see what men our academie bringes.--
And, woonder Vandermast, welcome to me:
In Oxford shalt thou find a jollie frier,
Cald Frier Bacon, Englands only flower: 60
Set him but non-plus in his magicke spels,
And make him yeeld in mathematicke rules,
And for thy glorie I will bind thy browes,
Not with a poets garland[1327] made of baies,
But with a coronet of choicest gold. 65
Whilst then we set[1328] to Oxford with our troupes,
Lets in and banquet in our English court. _Exit._
[Scene Fifth. _A Street in Oxford._]
_Enter_ RAPHE SIMNELL _in Edwardes apparell_; EDWARD, WARREN, ERMSBY,
_disguised._
_Raphe._ Where be these vacabond knaves, that they attend no
better on their master?
_Edward._ If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.[1329]
_Raphe._ Sirrha Ned, Ile have no more post horse to ride on: Ile
have another fetch.[1330] 5
_Ermsbie._ I pray you, how is that, my lord?
_Raphe._ Marrie, sir, Ile send to the Ile of Eely for foure or five
dozen of geese, and Ile have them tide six and six together with
whipcord: now upon their backes will I have a faire field bed with
a canapie; and so, when it is my pleasure, Ile flee into what place I
please. This will be easie. 11
_Warren._ Your honour hath said well: but shall we to Brasennose
Colledge before we pull off our bootes?
_Ermsbie._ Warren, well motion'd; wee will to the frier
Before we revell it within the towne.-- 15
Raphe, see that you keepe your countenance like a prince.
_Raphe._ Wherefore have I such a companie of cutting[1331] knaves
to wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against
all mine enemies? have you not good swords and bucklers?
_Enter_ BACON _and_ MILES.
_Ermsbie._ Stay, who comes heere? 20
_Warren._ Some scholler; and weele aske him where Frier Bacon is.
_Bacon._ Why, thou arrant dunce, shal I never make thee good
scholler? doth not all the towne crie out and say, Frier Bacons
subsiser is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? why, thou canst
not speake one word of true Latine. 25
_Miles._ No, sir? Yes.[1332] What is this els? _Ego sum tuus homo_, 'I
am your man'; I warrant you, sir, as good Tullies phrase as any is
in Oxford.
_Bacon._ Come on, sirha; what part of speech is _Ego_?
_Miles._ _Ego_, that is 'I'; marrie, _nomen substantivo_. 30
_Bacon._ How proove you that?
_Miles._ Why, sir, let him proove himselfe and a will; 'I' can
be hard, felt, and understood.
_Bacon._ O grosse dunce!
_Here beate him._
_Edw._ Come, let us breake off this dispute between these two.--Sirha,
where is Brazennose Colledge? 36
_Miles._ Not far from Copper-smithes Hall.
_Edward._ What, doest thou mocke me?
_Miles._ Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazennose?
_Ermsbie._ Marrie, we would speak with Frier Bacon. 40
_Miles._ Whose men be you?
_Ermsbie._ Marrie, scholler, heres our maister.
_Raphe._ Sirha, I am the maister of these good fellowes; mayst
thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrell? 44
_Miles._ Then heeres good game for the hawke; for heers the
maister foole and a covie of cocks combs: one wise man, I thinke,
would spring you all.
_Edward._ Gogs wounds! Warren, kill him.
_Warren._ Why, Ned, I think the devill be in my sheath; I cannot
get out my dagger. 50
_Ermsbie._ Nor I mine: swones, Ned, I think I am bewitcht.
_Miles._ A companie of scabbes! the proudest of you all drawe
your weapon if he can.--
See how boldly I speake, now my maister is by. [_Aside._]
_Edward._ I strive in vaine; but if my sword be shut 55
And conjur'd fast by magicke in my sheath,
Villaine, heere is my fist.
_Strikes him a box on the eare._
_Miles._ Oh, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not
lift his armes to his head, for he is light fingered!
_Raphe._ Ned, strike him; Ile warrant thee by mine honour. 60
_Bacon._ What meanes the English prince to wrong my man?
_Edward._ To whom speakest thou?
_Bacon._ To thee.
_Edward._ Who art thou?[1333]
_Bacon._ Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast, 65
That Frier Bacon was not farre from hence?
Edward, King Henries sonne and Prince of Wales,
Thy foole disguisd[1334] cannot conceale thy self:
I know both Ermsbie and the Sussex earle,
Els Frier Bacon had but little skill. 70
Thou comest in post from merrie Fresingfield,
Fast fancied to the keepers bonny lasse,
To crave some succour of the jolly frier:
And Lacie, Ear[l]e of Lincolne, hast thou left
To treat fair Margret to allow thy loves; 75
But friends are men, and love can baffle lords;
The earl both woes and courtes her for himselfe.
_Warren._ Ned, this is strange; the frier knoweth al.
_Ermsbie._ Appollo could not utter more than this.
_Edward._ I stand amazed to heare this jolly frier 80
Tell even the verie secrets of my thoughts.--
But, learned Bacon, since thou knowest the cause
Why I did post so fast from Fresingfield,
Helpe, Frier, at a pinch, that I may have
The love of lovely Margret to my selfe, 85
And, as I am true Prince of Wales, Ile give
Living and lands to strength thy colledge state.
_Warren._ Good Frier, helpe the prince in this.
_Raphe._ Why, servant Ned, will not the frier doe it? Were not
my sword glued to my scabberd by conjuration, I would cut off his
head, and make him do it by force. 91
_Miles._ In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all
alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.
_Ermsbie._ What, doctor, in a dumpe! tush, helpe the prince,
And thou shalt see how liberall he will proove. 95
_Bacon._ Crave not such actions greater dumps than these?
I will, my lord, straine out my magicke spels;
For this day comes the earle to Fresingfield,
And fore that night shuts in the day with darke,
Theile be betrothed ech to other fast. 100
But come with me; weele to my studie straight,
And in a glasse prospective I will shew
Whats done this day in merry Fresingfield.
_Edward._ Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy paine.
_Bacon._ But send your traine, my lord, into the towne: 105
My scholler shall go bring them to their inne:
Meane while weele see the knaverie of the earle.
_Edward._ Warren, leave me:--and, Ermsbie, take the foole;
Let him be maister, and go revell it,
Till I and Frier Bacon talke a while. 110
_Warren._ We will, my lord.
_Raphe._ Faith, Ned, and Ile lord it out till thou comest:
Ile be Prince of Wales over all the blacke pots[1335] in Oxford.
_Exeunt._
[Scene Sixth. _Frier Bacons cell in Brazennose._]