Resolve you, doctors, _Bacon_ can by books
Make storming _Boreas_ thunder from his cave,
And dim fair _Luna_ to a dark Eclipse.
The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell,
Trembles, when _Bacon_ bids him, or his fiends,
Bow to the force of his Pentageron.
What art can work, the frolic friar knows,
And therefore will I turn my Magic books,
And strain out Necromancy to the deep.
I have contrived and framed a head of brass
(I made _Belcephon_ hammer out the stuff),
And that by art shall read Philosophy:
And I will strengthen _England_ by my skill,
That if ten _Caesars_ lived and reigned in _Rome_,
With all the legions _Europe_ doth contain,
They should not touch a grasse of English ground:
The work that _Ninus_ reared at _Babylon_,
The brazen walls framed by _Semiramis_,
Carved out like to the portal of the sun,
Shall not be such as rings the _English_ strand
From _Dover_ to the market place of _Rye_.
R. GREENE. _The Honourable History of
Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay._