_Bacon._ Now, frolick Edward, welcome to my cell;
Heere tempers Frier Bacon many toies,
And holds this place his consistorie court,
Wherein the divels pleads[1337] homage to his words.
Within this glasse prospective thou shall see 5
This day whats done in merry Fresingfield
Twixt lovely Peggie and the Lincolne earle.
_Edward._ Frier, thou gladst me: now shall Edward trie
How Lacie meaneth to his soveraigne lord.
_Bacon._ Stand there and looke directly in the glasse. 10
_Enter_ MARGARET _and_ FRIER BUNGAY.[1338]
What sees my lord?
_Edward._ I see the keepers lovely lasse appeare,
As bright-sunne[1339] as the parramour of Mars,
Onely attended by a jolly frier.
_Bacon._ Sit still, and keepe the cristall in your eye. 15
_Margret._ But tell me, Frier Bungay, is it true
That this fair[1340] courtious countrie swaine,
Who saies his father is a farmer nie,
Can be Lord Lacie, Earle of Lincolnshire?
_Bun._ Peggie, tis true, tis Lacie for my life, 20
Or else mine art and cunning both doth faile,
Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves;
For he in greene, that holpe you runne your cheese,
Is sonne to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.
_Margret._ Be what he will, his lure is but for lust: 25
But did Lord Lacie like poor Marg[a]ret,
Or would he daine to wed a countrie lasse,[1341]
Frier, I would his humble handmayd be,
And for great wealth quite him with courtesie.
_Bungay._ Why, Margret, doest thou love him? 30
_Margret._ His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well avouch to shadow[1342] Hellen's scape:[1343]
His wit is quicke and readie in conceit,
As Greece affoorded in her chiefest prime.
Courteous, ah Frier, full of pleasing smiles! 35
Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more;
Suffice to me he is Englands parramour.[1344]
_Bun._ Hath not ech eye that viewd thy pleasing face
Surnamed thee Faire Maid of Fresingfield?
_Margret._ Yes, Bungay; and would God the lovely earle 40
Had that in _esse_ that so many sought.
_Bungay._ Feare not, the frier will not be behind
To shew his cunning to entangle love.
_Edward._ I thinke the frier courts the bonny wench:[1345]
Bacon, me thinkes he is a lustie churle. 45
_Bacon._ Now looke, my lord.
_Enter_ LACIE.
_Edward._ Gogs wounds, Bacon, heere comes Lacie![1346]
_Bacon._ Sit still, my lord, and marke the commedie.
_Bungay._ Heeres Lacie, Margret; step aside awhile.
[_They withdraw._]
_Lacie_ [_solus_]. Daphne, the damsell that caught Phæbus fast, 50
And lockt him in the brightnesse of her lookes,
Was not so beautious in Appollos eyes
As is faire Margret to the Lincolne earle;--
Recant thee, Lacie--thou art put in trust.
Edward, thy soveraignes sonne, hath chosen thee, 55
A secret friend, to court her for himself,
And darest thou wrong thy prince with trecherie?--
Lacie, love makes no exception[1347] of a friend,
Nor deemes it of a prince but as a man.
Honour bids thee controll[1348] him in his lust; 60
His wooing is not for to wed the girle,
But to intrap her and beguile the lasse.
Lacie, thou lovest, then brooke not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy prince's frowne;[1349]
For better[1350] die than see her live disgracde. 65
_Margret._ Come, Frier, I will shake him from his dumpes.--
[_Advancing._]
How cheere you, sir? a penie for your thought!
Your early up, pray God it be the neere.[1351]
What, come from Beckles in a morne so soone?
_Lacie._ Thus watchfull are such men as live in love, 70
Whose eyes brooke broken slumbers for their sleepe.
I tell thee, Peggie, since last Harlston faire
My minde hath felt a heape of passions.
_Mar._ A trustie man, that court it for your friend:
Woo you still for the courtier all in greene?-- 75
[_Aside._] I marvell that he sues not for himselfe.
_Lacie._ Peggie, I pleaded first to get your grace for him;
But when mine eies survaid your beautious lookes,
Love, like a wagge, straight dived into my heart,
And there did shrine the Idea[1352] of your selfe. 80
Pittie me, though I be a farmers sonne,
And measure not my riches, but my love.
_Margret._ You are verie hastie; for to garden well,
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring
Love ought to creepe as doth the dials shade, 85
For timely[1353] ripe is rotten too too[1354] soone.
_Bungay_ [_advancing_]. _Deus hic_; roome for a merrie frier!
What, youth of Beckles, with the keepers lasse?
Tis well; but tell me, heere you any newes?
_Margret._[1355] No, Frier: what newes? 90
_Bungay._ Heere you not how the pursevants do post
With proclamations through ech country towne?
_Lacie._ For what, gentle frier? tell the newes.
_Bun._ Dwelst thou in Beckles, & heerst not of these news?
Lacie, the Earle of Lincolne, is late fled 95
From Windsor court, disguised like a swaine,
And lurkes about the countrie heere unknowne.
Henrie suspects him of some trecherie,
And therefore doth proclaime in every way,
That who can take the Lincolne earle shall have, 100
Paid in the Exchequer, twentie thousand crownes.
_Lacie._ The Earle of Lincoln! Frier, thou art mad:
It was some other; thou mistakest the man.
The earle of Lincolne! why, it cannot be.
_Margret._ Yes, verie well, my lord, for you are he: 105
The keepers daughter tooke you prisoner.
Lord Lacie, yeeld, Ile be your gailor once.
_Edward._ How familiar they be, Bacon!
_Bacon._ Sit still, and marke the sequell of their loves.
_Lacie._ Then am I double prisoner to thy selfe: 110
Peggie, I yeeld. But are these newes in jest?[1356]
_Margret._ In jest with you, but earnest unto me;
For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart.
Ah, how these earles and noble men of birth
Flatter and faine to forge poore womens ill! 115
_Lacie._ Beleeve me, lasse, I am the Lincolne earle:
I not denie but, tyred thus in rags,
I lived disguisd to winne faire Peggies love.
_Margret._ What love is there where wedding ends not love?
_Lacie._ I meant,[1357] faire girle, to make thee Lacies wife. 120
_Margret._ I litle thinke that earles wil stoop so low.
_Lacie._ Say shall I make thee countesse ere I sleep?
_Margret._ Handmaid unto the earle, so please him selfe:
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
_Lacie._ The Lincolne countesse, for it shalbe so: 125
Ile plight the bands, and seale it with a kisse.
_Edward._ Gogs wounds, Bacon, they kisse! Ile stab them.
_Bacon._ Oh, hold your handes, my lord, it is the glasse!
_Edward._ Coller to see the traitors gree so well
Made me[1358] thinke the shadowes substances. 130
_Bacon._ Twere a long poinard, my lord, to reach betweene
Oxford and Fresingfield; but sit still and see more.[1359]
_Bungay._ Well, Lord of Lincolne, if your loves be knit,
And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree,
To avoid insuing jarres, Ile hamper up the match: 135
Ile take my portace[1360] forth and wed you heere.
Then go to bed and scale up your desires.
_Lacie._ Frier, content.--Peggie, how like you this?
_Margret._ What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.
_Bungay._ Then hand-fast hand, and I wil to my booke. 140
_Bacon._ What sees my lord now?
_Edward._ Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand,
The frier readie with his portace there
To wed them both: then am I quite undone.
Bacon, helpe now, if e'er thy magicke servde!-- 145
Helpe, Bacon; stop the marriage now,
If divels or nigromancie may suffice,
And I will give thee fortie thousand crownes.
_Bacon._ Feare not, my lord, Ile stop the jolly frier
For[1361] mumbling up[1362] his orisons this day. 150
_Lacie._ Why speakst not, Bungay? Frier, to thy booke.