As it was lately plaid by the Prince Palatine his Seruants.

Made by Robert Greene, Master of Arts.


LONDON, Printed by ELIZABETH ALLDE dwelling neere Christ-Church. 1630.


Enter Edward the first, male contented with Lacy Earle of Lin­colne, Iohn Warren Earle of Sussex, and Ermsby Gen­tleman: Raph Simnell the Kings foole.
VVHY lookes my Lord like to a troubled skie,
When heauens bright shine, is shadowed with a fog:
Alate we ran the Deere and through the Iawnds
Stript with our Nagges the lofty frolicke Bucks,
That scudded fore the teisers like the wind,
Nere was the Deere of merry Fresingfield,
So lustily pull'd downe by iolly mates,
Nor sharde the Farmers such fat venizon,
So frankly dealt this hundred yeeres before:
Nor haue I seene my Lord more frolicke in the chace,
And now chang'd to a melancholy dumpe.
After the Prince got to the Keepers lodge
And had bin incond in the house a while:
Tossing of Ale and milke in countrie cannes,
Whether it was the Countries sweet content,
Or else the bonny Damsell fil'd vs drinke
That seem'd so stately in her stammell red:
Or that a qualme did crosse his stomacke then,
But straight he fell into his passions.
Sirra Raphe, what say you to your master,
Shall he thus all amort liue malecontent?
Hearest thou Ned? nay looke if he will speake to me.
What saist thou to me, Foole?

I pree thee tell me Ned, art thou in loue with the Keepers daughter?

How if I be, what then?
Why then sirra, Ile teach thee how to deceiue Loue.
How Raphe.

Marry sirra Ned, thou shalt put on my cap, and my coat, and my dagger, and I will put on thy cloaths, and thy sword, and so thou shalt be my foole.

And what of this?

Why so thou shalt beguile Loue, for Loue is such a proud scab, that he will neuer meddle with fooles nor children. Is not Raphes counsell good, Ned.

Tell me Ned Lacie, didst thou marke the mayd,
How liuely in her country weedes she look't?
A bonier wench all Suffolke cannot yeeld,
All Suffolke, nay all England holds none such.
Sirra, Will Ermsby, Ned is deceiued.
Why Raphe?

He sayes all England hath no such, and I say, and Ile stand to it, there is one better in Warwickeshire.

How prouest thou that Raphe?

Why is the Abbot a learned man, and hath he read many bookes, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning then thou to choose a bonny wench, yes warrant I thee by his whole Grammar.

A good reason Raphe.
I tell thee Lacie, that her sparkling eyes
Doe lighten forth sweet Loues alluring fire:
And in her tresses she doth fold the lookes
Of such a gaze vpon her golden haire,
Her bashfull white mixt with the mornings red,
Luna doth boast vpon her louely cheekes,
Her front is beauties table wherr she paints
The glories of her gorgious excellence:
Her teeth are shelues of precious Margarites,
Richly enclosed with ruddie curroll cleues.
Tush Lacie, she is beauties ouermatch,
[Page] If thou suruaist her curious imagerie.
I grant (my Lord) the Damsell is as faire,
As simple Suffolks homely townes can yeeld:
But in the Court be qainter Dames then she,
Whose faces are enricht with honors taint,
Whose beauties stand vpon the stage of fame,
And vaunt their trophies in the Court of Loue.
Ah Ned, but hadst thou watcht her as my selfe,
And seene the secret beauties of the maid,
Their courtly coinesse were but foolery.
Why how watcht you her my Lord?
When as she swept like Venus through the house,
And in her shape fast foulded vp my thoughts:
Into the Milk chouse went I with the maid,
And there amongst the cream-boles she did shine,
As Pallas, mongst her Princely huswiferie:
She turnd her smocke ouer her lilly armes,
And diued them into milke to run her cheese:
But whiter then the milke her cristall skin,
Checked with lines of Azur made her blush,
That Art or Nature durst bring for compare,
Ermsby if thou hadst seene as I did note it well,
How beauty plaid the huswife, how this girle
Like Lucrece laid her fingers to the worke,
Thou wouldst with Tarquine hazard Rome and all
To win the louely maid of Fresingfield.
Sirra Ned, wouldst faine haue her?
I Raphe.

Why Ned I haue laid the plot in my head, thou shalt haue her already.

Ile giue thee a new coat and learne me that.

Why sirra Ned, weell ride to Oxford to Fryer Bacon, oh hee is a braue scholler sirra, they say he is a braue Nigromancer, that he can make women of diuells, and he can iuggle cats into Costermongers.

And how then Raphe?

Mary sirra, thou shalt goe to him, and because thy fa­ther Harry shall not misse thee, he shall turne me to thee; and [Page] 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.

But how shall I haue the mayd?

Marry sirra, if thou be'st a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundayes she'le hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now sir when she comes into a great presse of peo­ple, for feare of the Cut-purse on a suddē she'l swap thee into her plackerd, then sirra being there, you may plead for your selfe.

Excellent policy.
But how if I be a wrought smocke?

Then she'le put thee into her chest and lay thee into Lauender, and vpon some good day she'le put thee on, and at night when you goe to bed, then being turn'd from a smocke to a man, you may make vp the match.

Wonderfully wisely counselled, Raphe.
Raphe shall haue a new Coate.
God thanke you when I haue it on my backe, Ned.
Lacie the foole hath laid a perfect plot,
For why our Country Margret is so coy,
And stands so much vpon her honest points,
That marriage or no market with the mayd:
Ermsby, it must be nigromanticke spels,
And charmes of Art that must inchaine her loue,
Or else shall Edward neuer win the girle,
Therefore my wags we'le horse vs in the morne,
And poast to Oxford to this iolly Fryer,
Bacon shall by his magicke doe this deed.
Content my Lord, and thats a speedy way
To weane these head-strong puppies from the teat.
I am vnknowne, not taken for the Prince,
They onely deeme vs frolicke Courtiers,
That reuell thus among our Lieges game:
Therefore I haue deuised a policy,
Lacie, thou knowst next Friday is St. Iames,
And then the Country flockes to Harlston faire,
Then will the Keepers daughter frolicke there,
And ouer-shine the troupe of all the maides,
That come to see, and to be seene that day.
[Page] Haunt thee disguis'd among the Countrie swaines,
Faine th'art a Farmers sonne, not farre from thence,
Espie her loues, and who she liketh best:
Coat him, and court her to controle 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,
Commends him, and sends fairings to her selfe,
Buy something worthy of her parentage,
Not worth her beauty, for Lacie, then the Faire
Affords no Iewell sitting for the mayd:
And when thou talkest of me, note if she blush,
Oh then she loues, but if her cheekes waxe pale,
Disdaine it is. Lacie, send how she fares,
And spare no time nor cost to win her loues.
I will, my Lord, so execute this charge,
As if that Lacie were in loue with her.
Send letters speedily to Oxford of the newes.

And sirra Lacie, buy me a thousand thousand million of fine bells.

What wilt thou doe with them, Raphe?

Mary euery time that Ned sighs for the Keepers daughter, Ile tye a bell about him, so within three or foure dayes I will send word to his father Harry, that his sonne and my master Ned is become Loues Morris dance.

Well, Lacie, looke with care vnto thy charge,
And I will haste to Oxford to the Fryer,
That he by Art, and thou by secret gifts,
Maist make me Lord of merry Fresingfield.
God send your Honour your hearts desire.
Enter Fryer Bacon, with Miles his poore scholer with bookes vnder his arme, with them Burden, Mason, Clement, three Doctors.
Miles, where are you?
Hic sum doctissime & reuerendissime Doctor.
Attulisti nos libros meos de Necromantia.
Ecce quam bonum & quam incundum habitare libros in vnum.
Now Masters of our Academick State,
That rule in Oxford Vice-roies in your place,
Whose heads containe Maps of the liberall Arts,
Spending your time in depth of learned skill,
Why flocke you thus to Bacons secret Cell,
A Fryer newly stalde in Brazennose,
Say whats your minde, that I may make reply.
Bacon, we heare, that song we haue suspect,
That thou art read in Magicks mystery,
In Piromancy, to diuine by flames,
To tell by Hadromaticke, ebbes and tides,
By Aeromancy, to discouer doubts,
To plaine out questions, as Apollo did.
Well Master Burden, what of all this?

Mary sir, he doth but fulfill by rehearsing of these names, the Fable of the Fox & the Grapes, that which is aboue vs, pertaines nothing to vs.

I tell thee Bacon, Oxford makes report,
Nay England, and the Court of Henry sayes,
Thart making of a brazen head by Art,
Which shall vnfold strange doubts and Aphorismes,
And read a Lecture in Philosophy,
And by the helpe of Deuils and ghastly fiends,
Thou meanst ere many yeeres or dayes be past,
To compasse England with a wall of brasse.
And what of this?

What of this, Master? why he doth speake 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 haue a copper nose.

Bacon, we come not greeuing at thy skill,
But ioying that our Academy yeelds
A man suppos'd the wonder of the world,
For if thy cunning worke these miracles,
England and Europe shall admire thy fame,
And Oxford shall in characters of brasse,
And statues, such as were built vp in Rome,
Eternize Fryer Bacon for his Art.
Then gentle Fryer, tell vs thy intent.
Seeing you come as friends vnto the Fryer,
Resolue you Doctors, Bacon can by bookes,
Make storming Boreas thunder from his caue,
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.
What Art can worke, the frolicke Fryer knowes,
And therefore will I turne my Magicke bookes,
And straine out Nigromancie to the deepe,
I haue contriu'd and fram'd a head of brasse,
(I made Belcephon hammer out the stuffe)
And that by Art shall read Philosophy,
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Caesars liu'd and raign'd 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,
The brazen walls fram'd by Semiramis,
Carued out like to the portall of the Sunne,
Shall not be such as rings the English strond:
From Douer to the market place of Rye.
Is this possible?
Ile bring ye two or three witnesses.
What be those?

Marry sir, three or foure as honest Deuils, and good companions as any be in hell.

No doubt but Magicke may doe much in this,
For he that reads but Mathemoticke rules,
Shall finde conclusions, that auaile to worke
Wonders that passe the common sence of men.
But Bacon roues a bow beyond his reach,
And tels of more then Magicke can performe:
Thinking to get a fame by fooleries,
Haue I not past as farre in state of schooles,
[Page] And read of many secrets? yet to thinke.
That heads of brasse can vtter any voyce,
Or more to tell of deepe Philosophy,
This is a Fable Aesope had forgot.
Burden, thou wrongst me in detracting thus,
Bacon loues not to stuffe himselfe with lyes:
But tell me fore these Doctors if thou date,
Of certaine questions I shall moue to thee.
I will, aske what thou can.

Mary sir, hee'le straight bee on your pick packe to know whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy.


Were you not yesterday Master Burden at Henly vpon Themes?

I was, what then?
What booke studyed you thereon all night?
I, none at all, I read not there a line.
Then Doctors, Fryer Bacons Art knowes nought.

What say you to this, Master Burden, doth hee not touch you?

I passe not of his friuolous speeches.

Nay Master Burden, my master ere hee hath done with you, will turne you from a Doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that he will leaue you no more learning in you then is in Balams Asse.

Masters, for that learned Burdens skill is deepe,
And sore he doubts of Bacons Cabalisme:
Ile shew you why he haunts to Henly oft,
Not Doctors for to taste the fragrant aire:
But there to spend the night in Al [...]umy,
To multiply with secret spels of Art.
Thus priuat steales he learning from vs all,
To proue my saying true, Ile shew you straight,
The booke he keepes at Henly for himselfe.
Nay, now my master goes to coniuration, take heede.

Masters, stand still, feare not, Ile shewe you but his booke.

[Page] Here hee coniures.

Per omnes deos infernales Belcephon.

Enter a woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a Deuid.

Oh master cease your coniuration, or you spoile all, for her's a she deuill come with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, you haue marde the deuils supper, but no doubt he thinkes our Colledge fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cooke with a shoulder of mutton to make it exceed.

Oh where am I, or whats become of me?
What art thou?
Hostesse at Henly, mistresse of the Bell.
How camest thou here?
As I was in the kitchen mongst the maids,
Spitting the meate against supper for my guesse:
A motion moued me to looke forth of dore,
No sooner had I pryed into the yard.
But straight a whirlewind hoisted me from thence,
And mounted me aloft vnto the cloudes:
As in a trance I thought nor feared nought,
Nor know I where or whither I was tane:
Nor where I am, nor what these persons be.
No, know you not master Burden?
Oh yes good sir, he is my daily guest.
What, master Burden, 'twas but yesternight,
That you and I at Henly plaid at cardes.

I know not what we did, a poxe of all coniuring Fryers.


Now iolly Fryer tell vs, is this the booke that Burden is so carefull to looke on?

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 poste?

Ile warrant you, Master, if Master Burden could con­iure as well as you, he would haue his booke euery night from Henly to study on at Oxford.

Burden, what are you mated by this frolicke Fryer?
Looke how he droops, his guilty conscience
Driues him to bash and makes his hostesse blush.
Well Mistris for I will not haue you mist,
You shall to Henly to cheere vp your guests
Fore supper ginne. Burden, bid her adew,
Say farewell to your hostesse fore she goes,
Sirra away, and set her safe at home.
Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henly?
Exeunt Hostesse and the Deuill.
The Deuill take thee and Henly too.
Master, shall I make a good motion?
Whats that?

Mary sir, now that my hostesse is gone to prouide supper, coniure another spirit, and send Doctor Burden flying after.

Thus Rulers of our Academicke State,
You haue seene the Fryer frame his Art by proofe:
And as the Colledge called Brazen-nose,
Is vnder him, and the Master there:
So surely shall this head of brasse be fram'd,
And yeeld forth strange and vncoth Aphorismes:
And Hell and Heccate shall faile the Fryer,
But I will circle England round with brasse.
So be it, & nunc & semper, Amen.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Margaret the faire mayd of Fresingfield, with Thomas and Ione, and other clownes: Lacie disguised in Country apparell.

By my troth, Margret, here's a wether is able to make a man call his father whorson, if this wether hold, we shall [Page] haue hay good chape, and butter and cheese at Harlston will beare no price.

Thomas, maids when they come to see the faire
Count not to make a cope for dearth of hay,
When we haue turn'd our butter to the salt,
And set our cheese vpon the rackes.
Then let our fathers prise it as they please,
We Countrie sluts of merry Fresingfield,
Come to buy needlesse noughts to make vs fine,
And looke that young-men should be francke this day,
And court vs with such fairings as they can.
Phoebus is blithe and, frolicke, lookes from heauen,
As when he courted louely Semele:
Swearing the Pedlers shall haue empty packs,
If that faire weather may make chapmen buy.
But louely Peggy Semele is dead,
And therefore Phoebus from his Palace pries,
And seeing such a sweet and seemely saint,
Shewes all his glory for to court your selfe.
This is a fairing gentle sir indeed,
To sooth me vp with such smooth flatterie,
But learne of me, your scoffe's to broad before:
Well Ione, our beauties must abide their iests,
We serue the turne in iolly Fresingfield.
Margret, a Farmers daughter for a Farmers sonne,
I warrant you the meanest of vs both,
Shall haue a mate to leade vs from the Church:
But Thomas, whats the newes? what in a dumpe?
Giue me your hand, we are neere a Pedlers shop,
Out with your purse, we must haue fairings now.

Faith Ione and shall, Ile bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the Tauern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.

All this while Lacie whispers Margret in the eare.

Whence are you sir, of Suffolke? for your tearmes are finer then the common sort of men.

Faith louely girle, I am of Beckles by,
Your neighbour not aboue six miles from hence,
A Famers sonne that neuer was so quaint,
But that he could doe courtesie to such Dames:
But trust me Margret I am sent in charge,
From him that reueld in your fathers house,
And fild his Lodge with cheere and venison,
Tyred in greene, he sent you this rich purse:
His token that he helpt you run your cheese,
And in the milkehouse chatted with your selfe.
To me? you forget your selfe.
Women are often weake in memory.
Oh pardon sir, I call to minde the man,
Twere little manners to refuse his gift,
And yet I hope he sends it not for loue:
For we haue little leisure to debate of that.

What, Margret, blush not, maides must haue their loues.


Nay by the masse she lookes pale as if she were angrie.


Sirra are you of Beckles? I pray how doth goodman Cob? my father bought a horse of him, Ile tell you Margret, a were good to be a Gentlemans iade, for of all things the foule hilding could not abide a dung-cart.

How different is this Farmer from the rest,
That carst as yet hath pleas'd my wandring sight
His words are witty, quickened with a smile,
His courtesie gentle, smelling of the Court,
Facill and debonaire in all his deeds,
Proportion'd as was Paris, when in gray,
He courted Aenon in the vale by Troy.
Great Lords haue come and pleaded for my loue,
Who but the Keepers Lasse of Fresingfield?
And yet me thinkes this Farmers ioylly sonne,
Passeth the proudest that hath pleas'd mine eye.
But Peg disclose not that thou art in loue,
[Page] And shew as yet no signe of loue to him,
Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy loue:
Keepe that to thee till time doth serue thy turne,
To shew the griefe wherein they heart doth burne.
Come Ione and Thomas, shall we to the Faire,
You Beckles man will not forsake vs now.
Not whilst I may haue such quaint girles as you.
Well if you chance to come by Fresingfield,
Make but a stept into the Keepers Lodge,
And such poore fare as Woodmen can affoord,
Butter and cheese, creame, and fat venizon,
You shall haue store, and welcome therewithall.
Gramarcies Peggie, looke for me ere long.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Henry the third, the Emperour, the King of Castile, Elinor his daughter, Iaques Vandermast a Germane.
Great men of Europe, Monarkes of the West,
Ring'd with the walls of old Oceanus,
Whose lofty surges like the battlements,
That compast high built Babell in with Towres,
Welcome my Lords, welcome braue westerne Kings,
To Englands shore, whose promontory cleeues,
Shewes Albion is another little world,
Welcome sayes English Henry to you all,
Chiefly vnto the louely Eleonor,
Who darde for Edwards sake cut through the seas,
And venture as Agenors Damsell through the deepe,
To get the loue of Henries wanton son.
Englands rich Monarke braue Plantagenet,
The Pyren mounts swelling aboue the clouds,
That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls,
Could not detaine the beautious Eleanor,
But hearing of the same of Edwards youth,
She darde to brooke Neptunus haughty pride,
And bide the brunt of froward Eolus,
[Page] Then may faire England welcome her the more.
After that English Henry by his Lords,
Had sent Prince Edwards louely counterfeit,
A present to the Castile Elinor,
The comly pourtrait of so braue a man,
The vertuous fame discoursed of his deeds,
Edwards couragious resolution,
Done at the holy Land fore Damas walls,
Led both mine eye and thoughts in equall links,
To like so of the English Monarchs sonne,
That I attempted perils for his sake.
Where is the Prince, my Lord?
He posted downe, not long since from the Court,
To Suffolke side, to merry Fremingham,
To sport himselfe amongst my fallow Deere,
From thence by packets sent to Hampton house,
We heare the Prince is ridden with his Lords,
To Oxford in the Academy there,
To heare dispute amongst the learned men:
But we will send forth letters for my sonne,
To will him come from Oxford to the Court.
Nay rather Henry, let vs as we be,
Ride for to visit Oxford with our traine,
Faine would I see your Vniuersities,
And what learned men your Academy yeelds,
From Haspurg haue I brought a learned Clerke,
To hold dispute with English Orators.
This Doctor surnam'd Iaques Vandermast,
A Germane borne, past into Padua,
To Florence, and to faire Bolonia,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans,
And talking there with men of Art, put downe
The chiefest of them all in Aphorismes,
In Magicke, and the Mathematike rules,
Now let vs Henry trie him in your Schooles.
He shall my Lord, this motion likes me well,
[Page] Weele progresse straight to Oxford with our traines,
And see what men our Academy brings.
And wonder Ʋandermast welcome to me,
In Oxford shalt thou finde a iolly Fryer,
Cald Fryer Bacon, Englands only flowre,
Set him but Non-plus in his magicke spels,
And make him yeeld in Mathematicke rules,
And for thy glory I will bind thy browes,
Not with a Poets Garland made of Bayes,
But with a Coronet of choicest gold,
Whilst then we sit to Oxford with our troupes,
Lets in and banquet in our English Court.
Enter Raphe Simnell in Edwards apparell, Edward, Warren, Ermsby, disguised.

Where be these vagabond knaues, that they attend no better on their master?


If it please your Honour, we are ready at an inch.


Sirra Ned, Ile haue no more poste-horse to ride on,

Ile haue another fetch.

I pray you how is that, my Lord?


Mary sir, Ile send to the Ile of Eely for foure or fiue dozen of Geese, and Ile haue them tide sixe and sixe together with whip-cord. Now vpon their backs will I haue a faire field bed, with a Canopy, and so when it is my pleasure, Ile slee into what place I please; this will be easie.


Your honour hath said well, but shall we to Brazen­nose Colledge before we pull off our bootes.

Warren, well motioned, we will to the Fryer
Before we reuell it within the towne.
Raphe, see you keepe your countenance like a Prince.

Wherefore haue I such a company of cutting knaues to wait vpon me, but to keepe & defend my countenance against all mine enemies? haue you not good swords and bucklers?

Enter Bacon and Miles.

Stay, who comes here?


Some Scholer, and we'le aske him where Fryer Ba­con is.


Why thou arrant dunce, shall I neuer make thee good scholer, doth not all the Towne crie out, and say, Fryer Bacons subsiser is the greatest block-head in all Oxford? why thou canst not speake one word of true Latine.


No sir, yes what is this else; Ego sum tuiu homo, I am your man, I warrant you sir, as good Tullies phrase as any is in Oxford.


Come sirra, what patt of speech is Ego.


Ego, that is I, mary nomen substantino.


How proue you that?


Why sir, let him proue himselfe and a will, I can be heard felt and vnderstood.


Oh grosse dunce.

Here beate him.

Come let vs breake off this dispute between these two. Sirra, where is Brazen-nose Colledge?


Not farre from Copper-smiths hall.


What doest thou mocke me?


Nor I sir, but what would you at Brazen-nose?


Mary we would speake with Fryer Bacon.


Whose men be you?


Mary scholler, here's our master.


Sirra, I am the master of these good-fellowes, maist thou not know me to be a Lord by my reparrell?


Then here's good game for the hawke, for here's the master foole, and a couie of Cockscombes, one wise man I think would spring you all.


Gogs wounds Warren kill him.


Why Ned, I thinke the deuill be in my sheath, I can­not get out my dagger.


Nor I mine, Swones Ned, I thinke I am bewitcht.


A company of Scabbes, the proudest of you all draw your weapon if he can.

[Page] See how boldly I speake now my master is by.
I striue in vaine, but if my sword by shut,
And coniured fast by magicke in my sheath,
Villaine here is my fist.
Strike him a boxe on the eare.

Oh I beseech you coniure his hand too, that he may not lift his armes to his head, for he is light-finger'd.

Ned strike him, Ile warrant thee by mine honour.
What meanes the English Prince to wrong my man?
To whom speakest thou?
To thee.
Who art thou?
Could you not iudge when all your swords grew fast,
That Fryer Bacon was not farre from hence,
Edward King Henries sonne, and Prince of Wales,
Thy foole disguis'd cannot conceale thy selfe,
I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earle,
Else Fryer Bacon had but little skill.
Thou comest in poast from merry Fresingfield,
Fast fancied to the Keepers bonny Lasse,
To craue some succour of the iolly Fryer,
And Lacy Earle of Lincolne hast thou left,
To treat faire Margret to allow thy loues:
But friends are men, and Loue can baffle Lords.
The Earle both wooes and courts her for himselfe.
Ned, this is strange, the Fryer knoweth all.
Apollo could not vtter more then this.
I stand amazed to heare this iolly Fryer,
Tell euen the very secrets of my thoughts:
But learned Bacon since thou knowest the cause,
Why I did poast so fast from Fresingfield,
Helpe Fryer at a pinch, that I may haue
The loue of louely Margret to my selfe,
And as I am true Prince of Wales, Ile giue
Liuing and lands to strength thy Colledge state.
Good Fryer helpe the Prince in this.

Why seruant Ned, will not the Fryer doe it? Were not my sword glued to my scabberd by coniuration, I would cut off his head and make him doe it by force.


In faith my Lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike, they are so fast coniured that we shall neuer see them.

What Doctor in a dumpe? tush helpe the Prince,
And thou shalt see how liberall he will proue,
Craue not such actions, greater dumps then these,
I will my Lord straine out my magicke spels,
For this day comes the Earle of Fresingfield;
And fore that night shuts in the day with darke,
They 'le be betrothed each to other fast:
But come with me, weele to my study straight,
And in a glasse prospectiue I will shew
What's done this day in merry Fresingfield.
Gramercies Bacon, I will quite thy paine.
But send your traine, my Lord, into the Towne,
My scholler shall goe bring them to their Inne:
Meane while weele see the knauery of the Earle.
Warren, leaue me and Ermsby, take the foole,
Let him be master, and goe reuell it,
Till I and Fryer Bacon talke a while.
We will, my Lord.

Faith Ned, and Ile Lord it out till thou commest, Ile be Prince of Wales ouer all the blacke pots in Oxford.

Bacon and Edward gos into the study.
Now frolicke Edward, welcome to my Cell,
Here tempers Fryer Bacon many toyes:
And hold this place his Consistory Court,
Wherein the deuils pleade homage to his words,
Within this glasse prospectiue thou shalt see
This day what's done in merry Fresingfield,
Tvvixt louely Peggis and the Lincolne Earle.
Fryer, thou gladst me, now shall Edward trie,
How Lacy meaneth to his Soueraigne Lord.
Stand there and looke directly in the glasse.
Enter Margret and Fryer Bungay.
What sees my Lord?
I see the Keepers louely lasse appeare,
As bright-sunne as the Paramour of Mars,
Onely attended by a iolly Fryer.
Sit still and keepe the cristall in your eye.
But tell me Fryer Bungay, is it true,
That this faire courteous Country Swaine,
Who sayes his father is a Farmer nye,
Can be Lord Lacy Earle of Lincolnshire.
Peggie 'tis true, 'tis Lacy for my life:
Or else mine Art and cunning both doe faile,
Left by Prince Edward to procure his loues:
For he in greene that holpe to run your cheese,
Is sonne to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.
Be what he will, his lure is but for lust.
But did Lord Lacie like poore Margret,
Or would he daine to wed a Countrie Lasse?
Fryer, I would his humble hand-maid be,
And for great wealth, quite him with courtesie.
Why Margret dost loue him?
His personage like the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well auouch to shadow Hellens cape:
His wit is quicke and ready in conceit,
As Greece affoorded in her chiefest prime
Courteous, ah Fryer full of pleasing smiles,
Trust me I loue too much; to tell thee more,
Suffice to me he is Englands Paramour.
Hath not each eye that viewd thy pleasing face,
Surnamed thee faire mayd of Fresingfield?
Yes Bungay, and would God the louely Earle
[Page] Had that in esse, that so many sought.
Feare not, the Fryer will not be behind,
To shew his cunning to entangle Loue.
I thinke the Fryer courts the bonny wench,
Bacon, me thinkes he is a lustie churle.
Now looke, my Lord.
Enter Lacy.
Gogs wounds Bacon, here comes Lacy.
Sit still my Lord, and marke the Comedy.
Here's Lacy, Margret, step aside a while.
Daphne the Damsell, that caught Phoebus fast,
And lockt him in the brightnesse of her lookes,
Was not so beautious in Apollo's eyes,
As is faire Margret to the Lincolne Earle,
Recant thee: Lacy, thou art put in trust,
Edward thy Soueraignes son hath chosen thee
A secret friend to court her for himselfe:
And darest thou wrong thy Prince with trecherie▪
Lacy, Loue makes no exception of a friend,
Nor deemes it of a Prince, but as a man:
Honour bids me controll him in his lust,
His wooing is not for to wed the girle,
But to intrap her and beguile the lasse:
Lacy, thou louest, then brooke not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy Princes frowne:
For dye, then see her liue disgrac'd.
Come, Fryer, I will shake him from his dumpes,
How cheere you sir, a penny for your thought:
Your early vp, pray God it be the neere,
What 'are come from Beckles in a morne so soone?
Thus watchfull are such men as liue in loue,
Whose eyes brooke broken slumbers for their sleepe.
I tell thee, Peggie, since last Harlston faire,
My minde hath felt a heape of passions.
A trusty man that court it for your friend,
Woo you still for the Courtier all in greene?
I maruell that he sues not for himselfe.
Peggie, I pleaded first to get your grace for him:
But when mine eyes suruaid your beautious lookes,
Loue like a wagge, straight dined into my heart,
And there did shrine the Idea of your selfe:
Pittie me though I be a Farmers sonne,
And measure not my riches, but my loue.
You are very hasty for to garden well,
Seeds must haue time to sprout before they spring,
Loue ought to creepe as doth the dyals shade,
For timely ripe, is rotten too too soone.
Deus hic, roome for a merry Fryer,
What, youth of Beckles, with the Keepers Lasse?
'Tis well, but tell me here you any newes,
No, Fryer, what newes.
Heare you not how the Purseuants doe poast,
With Proclamations through each Country towne?
For what, gentle Fryer? tell the newes.
Dwelst thou in Beckles, & hear'st not these newes?
Lacy the Earle of Lincolne is late fled
From Windsor Court, disguised like a Swaine,
And lurkes about the Country here vnknowne.
Henry suspects him of some treachery,
And therefore doth proclaime in euery way,
That who can take the Lincolne Earle, shall haue
Paid in the Exchequer twenty thousand Crownes.
The Earle of Lin [...]olne? Fryer, thou art mad,
It was some other, thou mistakest the man:
The Earle of Lincolne? why it cannot be.
Yes, very well my Lord, for you are he,
The Keepers daughter tooke you prisoner,
Lord Lacy yeeld, Ile be your gailor once.
How familiar they be, Bacon.
Sit still, and marke the sequell of their loues.
Then am I double prisoner to thy selfe,
Peggie, I yeeld, but are these newes in iest?
In iest with you, but earnest vnto me:
For why, these wrongs doe wring me at the heart,
Ah how these Earles and Noble-men of birth,
Flatter and faine to forge poore womens ill!
Beleeue me, Lasse, I am the Lincolne Earle,
I not deny, but tyred thus in rags,
I liued disguisd to win faire Peggies loue.
What loue is there where wedding ends not loue?
I meant, faire girle, to make thee Lacies wife.
I little thinke that Earles will stoop so low.
Say, shall I make thee Countesse ere I sleepe?
Handmaid vnto the Earle so please himselfe:
A wife in name, but seruant in obedience.
The Lincolne Countesse, for it shall be so,
Ile plight the bands and seale it with a kisse.
Gogs wounds, Bacon, they kisse, Ile stab them.
Oh hold your hands (my Lord) it is the glasse.
Coller to see the traitors gree so well,
Made me thinke the shadowes substances.
'Twere a long Poinard, my Lord, to reach betweene
Oxford and [...]resingfield, but sit still and see more.
Well, Lord of Lincolne, if your loues be knit,
And that your tongues and thoughts doe both agree:
To auoid insuing iarres, Ile hamper vp the match,
Ile take my Portace forth, and wed you here,
Then goe to bed and scale vp your desires.
Fryer, content, Peggie how like you this?
What likes my Lord, is pleasing vnto me.
Then hand-fast hand, and I will to my booke.
What sees my Lord now?
Bacon, I see the Louers hand in hand,
The Fryer ready with his Portace there,
To wed them both, then am I quite vndone,
Bacon, helpe now, if ere thy magicke seru'd,
[Page] Bacon, helpe now, if ere thy magicke seru'd,
Helpe, Bacon, stop the marriage now,
If Deuils or Nigromancie may suffice,
And I will giue thee fortie thousand Crownes.
Feare not, my Lord, Ile stop the iolly Frier,
For mumbling vp his orisons this day.
Why speak'st not Bungay? Frier, to thy booke.
Bungay is mute, crying, Hud, hud.
How lookest thou, Frier, as a man distraught,
Reft of thy sences, Bungay? shew by signes
If thou be dumbe, what passion holdeth thee.
He's dumbe indeed: Bacon hath with his Deuils
Inchanted him, or else some strange disease,
Or Apoplexie hath possest his lungs:
But, Peggie, what he cannot with his booke,
We'le twixt vs both vnite it vp in heart.
Else let me die (my Lord) a miscreant.
Why stands Frier Bacon so amaz'd?
I haue struk him dumb, my Lord, & if your honor please:
Ile fetch this Bungay straightway from Fresingfield,
And he shall dine with vs is Oxford here.
Bacon, doe that, and thou contentest me.
Of courtesie, Margret, let vs lead the Frier
Vnto thy fathers lodge, to comfort him
With broths to bring him from this haplesse trance.
Or else my Lord, we were passing vnkinde
To leaue the Frier so in his distresse.
Enter a Deuill, and carry Bungay on his backe.
O helpe, my Lord, a Deuill, a Deuill, my Lord,
Looke how he carries Bungay on his backe:
Let's hence, for Bacons spirits be abroad.
Bacon, I laugh to see the iolly Fryer
Mounted vpon the Deuill, and how the Earle
Flees with his bonny lasse for feare.
Assoone as Bungay is at Brazen-nose,
I will in poast hie me to Fresingfield,
And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere it be long.
So be it, my Lord, but let vs to our dinner:
For ere we haue taken our repast awhile,
We shall haue Bungay brought to Brazen-nose.
Enter three Doctors, Burden, Mason, Clement.
Now that we are gathered in the Regent house,
It sits vs talke about the long repaire,
For he troop't with all the Westerne Kings,
That lye alongst the Dansick Seas by East,
North by the clime of frostie Germany,
The Almaine Monarke, and the Scocon Duke,
Castile, and louely Ellinor, with him,
Haue in their iests resolued for Oxford Towne.
We must lay plots for stately Tragedies,
Strange Comicke showes, such as proud Rossius
Vaunted before the Romane Emperours.
To welcome all the Westerne Potentates,
But more the King by letters hath fore-told,
That Fredericke the Almaine Emperour,
Hath brought with him a Germane of esteeme,
Whose surname is Don Iaques Ʋandermast,
Skilfull in Magicke and those secret arts.
Then must we all make sute vnto the Fryer,
To Frier Bacon, that he vouch this taske,
And vndertake to counteruaile in skill
The Germane, else there's none in Oxford can
Match and dispute with learned Ʋandermast.
Bacon, if he will hold the German play,
[Page] We'le teach him what an English Frier can doe:
The Deuill I thinke dare not dispute with him.
Indeed mas Doctor, he pleasured you,
In that he brought your hostesse with her spit,
From Henly, posting vnto Brazen-nose.
A vengeance on the Frier for his paines,
But leauing that, let's to Bacon straight,
To see if he will take this taske in hand.

Stay! what rumour is this? The towne is vp in a mutiny, what hurly burly is this?

Enter a Constable, with Raphe, Warren, Ermsby, and Miles.

Nay masters, if you were ne'r so good, you shall before the Doctors to answer your misdemeanour.


Whats the matter, fellow?


Mary sir, here's a company of Rufflers, that drin­king in the Tauerne, haue made a great brawle, and almost kild the Vintner.

Salue, Doctor Burden, this lubberly Lurden,
Ill shapt and ill faced, disdain'd and disgraced,
What he tels vnto vobis, mentitur de nobis.
Who is the master and chiefe of this crue?
Ecce asinum mundi, figura retundi,
Neat, sheat and sine, as briske as a cup of wine.
What are you?

I am, father Doctor, as a man would say, the Belwea­ther of this company, these are my Lords, and I the Prince of Wales.

Are you Edward the Kings sonne?

Sirra Miles, bring hither the Tapster that drew the wine, & I warrant when they see how soundly I haue broke his head, thei'le say 'twas done by no lesse man then a Prince.

I cannot beleeue that this is the Prince of Wales.
And why so, sir?
For they say the Prince is a braue & a wise Gentleman.
Why, and thinkest thou, Doctor, that he is not so?
[Page] Dar'st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so louely and so braue a Youth?
Whose face shining with many a sugred smile,
Bewrayes that he is bred of princely race.
And yet, master Doctor, to speake like a Proctor,
And tell vnto you, what is veriment and true,
To cease off this quarrell; looke but on his apparell,
Then marke but my talis, he is great Prince of Walis,
The cheefe of our gregis, and filius Regis,
Then ware what is done, for he is Henries white sonne.

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 Niniuersity with a faire wind, to the Bankeside in Southwarke, how saist thou Ned Warraine, shall I not doe it?


Yes my good Lord, and if it please your Lordship, I will gather vp all your old pantophles, and with the corke, make you a Pinnis of fiue hundred tunne, that shall serue the turne maruellous well, my Lord.


And I my Lord will haue Pioners to vndermine the Towne, that the very Gardens and Orchards be carryed away for your Summer walkes.

And with scientia and great diligentia,
Will coniure and charme, to keepe you from harme,
That vtrum horum manis, your very great nauis,
Like Bartlets ship, from Oxford doe skip,
With Colledges and schooles, full loaden with fooles,
Quid dices ad hoc, worshipfull Domine Dawcocke?
Why harebraind Courtiers, are you drunke or mad,
To taunt vs vp with such scurrilitie?
Deeme you vs men of base and light esteeme,
To bring vs such a fop for Henries sonne?
Call out the Beadles and conuay them hence
Straight to Bocardo, let the Roisters lie
Close clapt in bolts, vntill their wits be tame.
Why, shall we to prison my Lord?
What saist, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence?
No, no, out with your blades, and hamper these Iades,
Haue a fiurt and a crash, now reuell dash,
And teach these Sacerdos, that the Bocardos,
Like Pezzants and clues, are meet for themselues.
To the prison with them, Constable.
Well (Doctors) seeing I haue sported me,
With laughing at these mad and merry wagges,
Know that Prince Edward is at Brazen-nose,
And this, attired like the Prince of Wales,
Is Raphe, King Henries only loued foole,
I, Earle of Essex, and this Ermsby,
One of the priuie Chamber to the King,
Who while the Prince with Frier Bacon staies,
Haue reuel'd in Oxford as you see.
My Lord, pardon vs, we knew not what you were▪
But Courtiers may make greater scapes then these,
Wilt please your Honour dine with me to day?

I will, master Doctor, and satisfie the Vintner for his hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him all this fore­noone the Prince of Wales.


I will, sir.


And vpon that I will lead the way, onely I will haue Miles goe before me, because I haue heard Henry say, that wise­dome must goe before Maiestie.

Exeunt omnes.
Enter Prince Edward with his poinard in his hand, Lacy and Margret.
Lacie, thou canst not shroud thy traitrous thoughts,
Nor couer, as did Cassius, all his wiles,
For Edward hath an eye that lookes as farre,
As Lincaeus from the shores of Grecia.
Did not I sit in Oxford by the Fryer,
And see thee court the maid of Fresingfield,
[Page] Sealing thy flattering fancies with a kisse?
Did not proud Bungay draw his portasse forth,
And ioyning hand in hand, had married you,
If Frier Bacon had not strooke him dumbe,
And mounted him vpon a spirits backe,
That we might chat at Oxford with the Frier?
Traytor, what answer'st? Is not all this true?
Truth all, my Lord, and thus I make reply,
At Harlstone Faire there courting for your Grace,
When as mine eye suruaid her curious shape,
And drew the beautious glory of her lookes,
To diue into the center of my heart,
Loue taught me that your Honour did but iest,
That Princes were in fancy but as men,
How that the louely maid of Fresingfield
Was fitter to be Lacies wedded wife,
Then Concubine vnto the Prince of Wales.
Iniurious Lacy, did I loue thee more
Then Alexander his Hephestion?
Did I vnfold the passions of my loue,
And locke them in the clozet of thy thoughts?
Wert thou to Edward second to himselfe,
Sole friend, and partner of his secret loues;
And could a glaunce of fading beauty breake
Th'inchained fetters of such priuat friends?
Base coward, false, and too effeminate,
To be corriuall with a Prince in thoughts!
From Oxford haue I posted since I dinde,
To quite a Traitor 'fore that Edward sleepe?
'Twas I, my Lord, not Lacy stept awry:
For oft he sued and courted for your selfe,
And still woo'd for the Courtier all in greene:
But I, whom fancy made but ouer-fond,
Pleaded my selfe with lookes as if lou'd,
I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,
And still bewitcht lou'd Lacie with my lookes,
[Page] My heart with sighes, mine eyes pleaded with teares,
My face held pitty and content at once,
And more I could not cypher out by signes,
But that I lou'd Lord Lacy with my heart:
Then worthy Edward, measure with thy minde,
If womens fauours will not force men fall,
If beauty, and if darts of piercing loue,
Is not of force to bury thoughts of friends.
I tell thee, Peggie, I will haue thy loues,
Edward, or none shall conquer Margret;
In Frigats bottom'd with rich S [...]thin planks,
Topt with the lofty Firs of Libanon,
Stem'd and incast with burnisht Iuory,
And ouer-laid with plates of Persian wealth,
Like Thetis shalt thou wanton on the waues,
And draw the Dolphins to thy louely eyes,
To dance Lauoltas in the purple streames,
Sirens with harpes and siluer Psalteries,
Shall wait with musicke at thy Frigots stem,
And entertaine faire Margret with her layes;
England and Englands wealth shall wait on thee,
Brittaine shall bend vnto her Princes loue,
And doe due homage to thine Excellence,
If thou wilt be but Edwards Margret.
Pardon, my Lord, if Ioues great Royalty
Sent me such presents as to Danae,
If Phoebus tyed in Latonas webs,
Come courting from the beauty of his lodge,
The dulcet tunes of frolicke Mercurie,
Not all the wealth heauens treasury affords,
Should make me leaue Lord Lacy, or his loue.
I haue learn'd at Oxford then this point of schooles,
Ablata causa, tollitur effectus.
Lacy, the cause, that Margret cannot loue,
Nor fixe her liking on the English Prince.
Take him away, and then the effects will faile.
[Page] Villaine, prepare thy selfe: for I will bathe
My poinard in the bosome of an Earle.
Rather then liue, and misse faire Margrets loue,
Prince Edward, stop not at the fatall doome,
But stab it home, end both my loues and life.
Braue Prince of Wales, honour'd for Royall deeds,
Twere sinne to staine faire Venus courts with blood,
Loues conquest ends, my Lord, in courtesie,
Spare Lacy, gentle Edward, let me dye,
For so both you and he doe cease your loues.
Lacie shall die as Traitor to his Lord.
I haue deserued it, Edward, act it well.
What hopes the Prince to gaine by Lacies death?
To end the loues 'twixt him and Margaret.
Why, thinks King Henries son that Margrets loue
Hangs in th' vncertaine ballance of proud Time,
That death shall make a discord of our thoughts?
No, stab the Earle, and 'fore the morning Sun
Shall vaunt him thrice ouer the lofty East,
Margret will meet her Lacy in the heauens.
If ought betides to louely Margret,
That wrongs or wrings her honour from content,
Europes rich wealth, nor Englands Monarchie,
Should not allure Lacy to ouer-liue.
Then Edward, short my life, and end her loues.
Rid me, and keepe a friend worth many loues.
Nay, Edward, keepe a loue worth many friends.
And if thy mind be such as fame hath blaz'd,
Then Princely Edward, let vs both abide
The fatall resolution of thy rage,
Banish thou fancie, and imbrace reuenge,
And in one toombe knit both our carkases,
Whose hearts were linked in one perfect loue,
Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales,
Who at Damasco beat the Sarazens,
And broughtst home triumph on thy Lances point?
[Page] And shall thy plumes be puld by Ʋenus downe?
Is't princely to disseuer Louers loues?
Leaue, Ned, and make a vertue of this fault,
And further Peg and Lacy in their loues;
So in subduing fancies passion,
Conquering thy selfe, thou get'st the richest spoile.
Lacy, rise vp. Faire Peggis, here's my hand,
The Prince of Wales hath conquered all his thoughts,
And all his loues he yeelds vnto the Earle.
Lacy, enioy the maid of Fresingfield,
Make her thy Lincolne Countesse at the Church.
And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet,
Will giue her to thee frankly for thy wife.
Humbly I take her of my Soueraigne,
As if that Edward gaue me Englands right,
And rich't me with the Albion Diadem.
And doth the English Prince meane true?
Will he vouchsafe to cease his former loues,
And yeeld the title of a Country maid,
Vnto Lord Lacy?
I will, faire Peggie, as I am true Lord.
Then Lordly Sir, whose conquest is as great,
In conquering loue, as Casars victories,
Margret as milde and humble in her thoughts,
As was Aspatia vnto Cyrus selfe,
Yeelds thanks, and next Lord Lacy, doth inshrine
Edward the second secret in her heart.
Gramercy, Peggie, now that vowes are past,
And that your loues are not to be reuolt:
Once, Lacy, friends againe, come, we will poast
To Oxford: for this day the King is there,
And brings for Edward Castile Ellinor.
Peggie, I must goe see and view my wife;
I pray God I like her as I loued thee.
Beside, Lord Lincolne, we shall heare dispute,
Twixt Fryer Bacon, and learned Vandermast,
[Page] Peggy, we'le leaue you for a weeke or two.
As it please Lord Lacy: but loues foolish looks
Thinke footsteps miles, and minutes to be houres.
Ile hasten, Peggie, to make short returne.
But please your Honour goe vnto the Lodge,
We shall haue Butter, Cheese, and Venison.
And yesterday I brought for Margret,
A lusty bottle of neat Clarret wine:
Thus can we feast and entertaine your Grace.
'Tis cheere, Lord Lacy, for an Emperour,
If he respect the person and the place.
Come, let vs in, for I will all this night
Ride poast vntill I come to Bacons cell.
Enter Henry, Emperour, Castile, Ellinor, Vander­mast, Bungay.
Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford Schooles
Are richly seated neere the Riuer side:
The mountaines full of fat and fallow Deere,
The battling pastures laid with Kine and Flocks,
The Towne gorgeous with high built Colledges,
And Schollers seemely in their graue attire,
Learned in searching the principles of Art.
What is thy iudgement, Iaques Ʋandermast?
That Lordly are the buildings of the Towne,
Spatious the roomes, and full of pleasant walkes:
But for the Doctors, how that they be learned,
It may be meanely, for ought I can heare.
I tell thee, Germane, Haspurge holds none such,
None read so deepe, as Oxenford containes,
There are within our Academicke state,
Men that may lecture it in Germany,
To all the Doctors of your Belgicke Scholes.
Stand to him, Bungay, charme this Vandermast,
And I will vse thee as a Royall King.
Wherein darest thou dispute with me?
In what a Doctor and a Fryer can.
Before rich Europes Worthies put thou forth
The doubtfull question vnto Ʋandermast.
Let it be this, Whether the spirits of Piromancy or
Geomancy, be most predominant in Magicke?
I say, of Piromancy.
And I of Geomancy.
The Cabbalists that write of Magicke spels,
As Hermes, Melchre, and Pythagoras,
Affirme that 'mongst the quadruplicity
Of elementall essence, Terra is but thought,
To be a punctum squared to the rest:
And that the compasse of ascending elements
Exceed in bignesse as they doe in height;
Iudging the concaue Circle of the Sunne,
To hold the rest in his Circumference;
If then, as Hermes sayes, the fire be great'st,
Purest, and onely giueth shapes to spirits:
Then must these Demones that haunt that place,
Be euery way superiour to the rest.
I reason not of elementall shapes,
Nor tell I of the concaue latitudes,
Noting their essence, nor their quality,
But of the spirits that Piromancy calls,
And of the vigour of the Geomanticke Fiends.
I tell thee, Germane, Magicke hants the grounds,
And those strange Negromanticke spels,
That worke such shewes and wondring in the world,
Are acted by those Geomanticke sprites,
That Hermes calleth Terrae silij.
The fierie spirits are but transparent shades,
That lightly passe as Heralds to beare newes,
But earthly Fiends cloz'd in the lowest deepe,
Disseuer mountaines, if they be but char'd,
Being more grosse and massie in their power.
Rather these earthly Geomantike spirits,
Are dull and like the place where they remaine:
For when proud Lucifer fell from the heauens,
The spirits and Angels that did sin with him,
Retain'd their locall essence as their faults,
All subiects vnder Lunas Continent,
The which offended lesse, hang in the fire,
And second faults did rest within the aire,
But Lucifer and his proud-hearted fiends,
Were throwne into the Center of the earth,
Hauing lesse vnderstanding then the rest,
As hauing greater sinne, and lesser grace.
Therefore such grosse and earthly spirits doe serue,
For Iuglers, Witches, and vild Sorcerers,
Whereas the Piromanticke Genij,
Are mighty, swift, and of farre reaching power.
But grant that Geomancie hath most force,
Bungay, to please these mighty Potentates,
Proue by some instance what thy Art can doe.
I will.
Now English Harry, here begins the game,
We shall see sport betweene these learned men.
What wilt thou doe?
Shew thee the Tree leau'd with refined gold,
Whereon the fearefull Dragon held his seate,
That watcht the Garden cald Hesperides,
Subdued and wonne by conquering Hercules.
Well done.
Here Bungay coniures, and the Tree appeares with the Dragon shooting fire.
What say you Royall Lordlings to my Fryer?
Hath he not done a point of cunning skill?
Ech Scholler in the Negromanticke spels
Can doe as much as Bungay hath perform'd.
[Page] But as Alemenas bastard rais'd this Tree,
So will I raise him vp as when he liued,
And cause him pull the Dragon from his seate,
And teare the branches piecemeale from the roote,
Hercules, Prodi, Prodi, Hercules.
Hercules appeares in his Lyous skin.
Quis me vult?
Ioues bastard sonne, thou Libian Heroules,
Pull off the sprigs from off the Hesperian Tree,
As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.
Hercules. Fiat.
Here he begins to breake the branches.
Now Bungay, if thon canst by Magicke charme
The Fiend, appearing like great Hercules,
From pulling downe the branches of the Tree,
Then art thou worthy to be counted learned.
I cannot.
Cease Hercules, vntill I giue thee charge.
Mighty Commander of this English Ile,
Henrie, come from the stout Plantagenets,
Bungay is learned enough to be a Fryer:
But to compare with Iaques Vandermast,
Oxford and Cambridge must goe seeke their Celles,
To find a man to match him in his Art.
I haue giuen non-plus to the Paduans,
To them of Sien, Florence, and Bologna,
Rheims, Louain, and faire Roterdam,
Franckford, Lutrech, and Orleance:
And now must Henrie, if he doe me right,
Crowne me with Lawrell, as they all haue done.
Enter Bacon.
All haile to this Royall Company,
[Page] That sit to heare and see this strange dispute:
Bungay, how standst thou as a man amaz'd?
What, hath the Germane acted more then thou?
What art thou that questionst thus?
Men call me Bacon.
Lordly thou look'st, as if that thou wert learn'd?
Thy countenance, as if science held her seate
Betweene the circled arches of thy browes.
Now Monarks, hath the Germane found his match?
Bestirre thee Iaques, take not now the foile,
Lest thou doest lose, what foretime thou didst gaine.
Bacon, wilt thou dispute?
No, vnlesse he were more learn'd then Vandermast.
For yet tell me, what hast thou done?
Rais'd Hercules to ruinate that tree,
That Bungay mounted by his Magicke spels.
Set Hercules to worke.
Now Hercules, I charge thee to thy taske,
Pull off the golden branches from the roote.
I dare not. Seest thou not great Bacon here,
Whose frowne doth act more then thy Magicke can?
By all the Thrones, and Dominations,
Vertues, Powers, and mightie Hierarchies,
I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.
Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belzephon,
And rules Asmenoth guider of the North:
Binds me from yeelding vnto Vandermast.
How now, Ʋandermast, haue you met with your match?
Neuer before was't knowne to Ʋandermast,
That men held Deuils in such obedient awe.
Bacon doth more then Art, or else I faile.
Why, Vandermast, art thou ouercome?
Bacon dispute with him, and try his skill;
I come not, Monarks, for to hold dispute
With such a Nouice as is Vandermast;
I came to haue your Royalties to dine
[Page] With Fryer Bacon here in Brazen-nose;
And, for this Germane troubles but the place,
And holds the Audience with a long suspence,
Ile send him to his Academie hence.
Thou Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise,
Transport the Germane vnto Haspurge straight,
That he may learne by trauell 'gainst the Springs,
More secret doomes and Aphorismes of Art,
Vanish the Tree, and thou away with him.
Exit the spirit with Vandermast, and the Tree.
Why, Bacon, whither doest thou send him?
To Haspurge, there your Highnesse at returne,
Shall finde the Germane in his Study safe.
Bacon, thou hast honoured England with thy skill,
And made faire Oxford famous by thine Art,
I will be English Henry to thy selfe.
But tell me, shall we dine with thee to day?
With me, my Lord; and while I fit my cheere,
See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you:
Gracious as the morning-starre of heauen.
Enter Edward, Lacie, Warren, Ermsby.
Is this Prince Edward, Henries Royall sonne?
How martiall is the figure of his face!
Yet louely and beset with Amorets.
Ned, where hast thou beene?
At Framingham, my Lord, to trye your Buckes,
If they could scape the teisers or the toile:
But hearing of these Lordly Potentates
Landed, and progrest vp to Oxford towne,
I posted to giue entertaine to them,
Cheefe to the Almaine Monarke, next to him,
And ioynt with him, Castile, and Saxonie,
[Page] Are welcome as they may be to the English Court.
Thus for the men. But see, Ʋenus appeares,
Or one that ouermatcheth Ʋenus in her shape,
Sweet Ellinor, beauties high-swelling pride,
Rich natures glorie, and her wealth at once:
Faire of all faires, welcome to Albion,
Welcome to me, and welcome to thine owne,
If that thou dain'st the welcome from my selfe.
Martiall Plantagenet, Henries high-minded sonne,
The marke that Ellinor did count her aime,
I lik't thee 'fore I saw thee; now I loue,
And so as in so short time I may:
Yet so, as time shall neuer breake that so,
And therefore so accept of Ellinor.
Feare not, my Lord, this couple will agree,
If loue may creepe into their wanton eyes:
And therefore, Edward, I accept thee here,
Without suspence, as my adopted sonne.
Let me that ioy in these consorting greets,
And glory in these honours done to Ned,
Yeeld thankes for all these fauours to my sonne,
And rest a true Plantagenet to all.
Enter Miles with a cloth and trenchers, and salt.

Saluete omnes Reges, that gouerne your Greges, in Saxony, and Spaine, in England, and in Almaine: for all this frolicke rable must I couer the table, with trenchers, salt, and cloth, and then looke for your broth.


What pleasant fellow is this?


Tis, my Lord, Doctor Bacons poore Scholler.


My master hath made me sewer of these great Lords, and (God knowes) I am as seruiceable at a table, as a Sow is vnder an Apple tree: 'tis no matter, their cheere shall not be great, and therefore what skils where the salt stand before or behinde?

These Schollers know more skill in Axiomes,
How to vse quips and sleights of Sophistrie,
Then for to couer courtly for a King.
Enter Miles with a messe of pottage and broth, and after him Bacon.

Spill, sir? why, doe you thinke I neuer carried two-penny chop before in my life? By your leaue, Nobile decus, for here comes Doctor Bacons pecus, being in his full age, to car­ry a messe of pottage.

Lordlings, admire not if your cheere be this,
For we must keepe our Academicke fare,
No riot where Philosophy doth raigne:
And therefore, Henry, place these Potentates,
And bid them fall vnto their frugall cates.
Presumptuous Fryer, what, scoft'st thou at a King?
What, doest thou taunt vs with thy peazants fare,
And giues vs cates fit for Country Swaines?
Henrie, proceeds this iest of thy consent,
To twit vs with a pittance of such price?
Tell me, and Fredericke will not grieue thee long.
By Henries honour and the Royall faith
The English Monarke beareth to his friend,
I knew not of the Fryers feeble fare,
Nor am I pleas'd he entertaines you thus.
Content thee, Frederick, for I shewd thee cates,
To let thee see how schollers vse to feede:
How little meate refines our English wits.
Miles take away, and let it be thy dinner.
Mary sir, I will, this day shall be a festiuall day with me:
For I shall exceed in the highest degree.
Exit Miles.
I tell thee, Monarke, all the Germane Peeres
Could not afford thy entertainment such,
So Royall and so full of Maiestie,
[Page] As Bacon will present to Fredericke,
The Basest waiter that attends thy cups,
Shall be in honours greater then thy selfe:
And for thy cates rich Alexandria drugges,
Fetcht by Carueils from Aegypts richest straights:
Found in the wealthy strond of Affrica,
Shall Royallize the table of my King,
Wines richer then the Gyprian Courtisan
Quaft to Augustus Kingly countermatch,
Shalbe carrowst in English Henries feasts:
Candy shall yeeld the richest of her canes,
Persia downe her Volga by Canows,
Send downe the secrets of her spicerie.
The Africke Dates, mirabiles of Spaine,
Conserues, and Suckets from Tiberias,
Cates from Iudea choiser then the lampe
That siered Rome with sparkes of gluttony,
Shall beautifie the boord for Fredericke,
And therefore grudge not at a Fryers feast.
Enter two Gentlemen, Lambert, and Serlsby, with the Keeper.
Come frolicke, Keeper of our Lieges game,
Whose table spred hath euer Venison,
And lacks of wine to welcome passengers.
Know I am in loue with iolly Margret,
That ouer-shines our Damsels, as the Moone
Darkneth the brightest sparkles of the night,
In Laxfield here my land and liuing lies,
Ile make thy daughter ioynter of it all,
So thou consent to giue her to my wife,
And I can spend fiue hundred markes a yeere.
I am the Lands-lord Keeper of thy holds,
By coppy all thy liuing lies in me.
Laxfield did neuer see me raise my due,
I will infeoffe Margret in all,
[Page] So she will take her to a lusty Squire.
[...] Keeper. Now courteous Gentles, if the Keepers girle
Hath pleas'd the liking fancy of you both,
And with her beauty hath subdued your thoughts,
'Tis doubtfull to decide the question.
It ioyes me that such men of great esteeme,
Should lay their liking on this base estate,
And that her state should grow so fortunate,
To be a wife to meaner men then you.
But sith such Squires will stoope to Keepers fee,
I will t'auoyd displeasure of you both,
Call Margret forth, and she shall make her choise.
Content, Keeper, send her vnto vs.
Why, Serlsby, is thy wife so lately dead?
Are all thy loues so lightly passed ouer,
As thou canst wed before the yeere be out?
I liue not, Lambert, to content the dead,
Nor was I wedded but for life to her,
The graue ends, and begins a married state.
Enter Margret.
Peggie, the louely flowers of all townes,
Suffolks faire Hellen, and rich Englands star,
Whose beauty tempered with her huswifrie,
Makes England talke of merry Fresingfield.
I cannot tricke it vp with poesies,
Nor paint my passions with comparisons,
Nor tell a tale of Phoebus and his loues,
But this beleeue me, Laxfield here is mine,
Of ancient rent seuen hundred pounds a yeere,
And if thou canst but loue a Country Squire,
I will infeoffe thee, Margret, in all,
I cannot slatter, trie me if thou please.
Braue neighb'ring Squires, the stay of Suffolks clime,
A Keepers daughter is too base in gree
[Page] To match with men accounted of such worth:
But might I not displease, I would reply.
Lambert. Say, Peggie, nought shall make vs discontent.
Then Gentiles, note that loue hath little stay,
Nor can the flames that Ʋenus sets on fire,
Be kindled but by fancies motion,
Then pardon, Gentiles, if a maids reply
Be doubtfull, while I haue debated with my selfe,
Who, or of whom loue shall constraine me like.
Let it be me, and trust me, Margret,
The meads inuironed with siluer streames,
Whose battling pastures fatten all my flockes,
Yeelding forth fleeces stapled with such wooll,
As Lempster cannot yeeld more finer stuffe,
And forty kine with faire and burnisht heads,
With strouting dugs that puggle to the ground,
Shall serue thy dary if thou wed with me.
Let passe the Country wealth, as flocks and kine,
And lands that waue with Ceres golden sheaues,
Filling my barnes with plenty of the fields:
But, Peggie, if thou wed thy selfe to me,
Thou shalt haue garments of imbrodred silke,
Lawnes, and rich net-works for thy head attire,
Costly shall be thy faire habilliments,
If thou wilt be but Lamberts louing wife.
Content you, Gentles, you haue proffered faire,
And more then fits a Country maids degree:
But giue me leaue to counsaile me a time,
For fancie bloomes not at the first assault;
Giue me but ten dayes respit, and I will reply,
Which or to whom my selfe affectionates.
Lambert, I tell thee, thou art importunate,
Such beauty fits not such a base Esquire:
It is for Serlsby to haue Margret.
Thinkst thou with wealth to ouer-reach me,
Serlsby? I scorne to brooke thy Country braues.
[Page] I dare thee, Coward, to maintaine this wrong,
At dint of Rapier single in the field
Ile answere Lambert what I haue auoucht.
Margret, farewell, another time shall serue.
Exit Serlsby.
Ile follow. Peggie, farewell to thy selfe,
Listen how well Ile answer for thy loue.
Exit Lambert.
How Fortune tempers lucky happes with frownes,
And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight!
Loue is my blisse, and loue is now my bale.
Shall I be Hellen in my forward fates,
As I am Hellen in my matchlesse hue,
And set rich Suffolke with my face a fire?
If louely Lacy were but with his Peggie,
The cloudy darkenesse of his bitter frowne
Would checke the pride of these aspiring Squires,
Before the terme of ten dayes be expired,
When as they looke for answer of their loues,
My Lord will come to merry Fresingfield,
And end their fancies, and their follies both;
Till when, Peggie be blithe and of good cheere.
Enter a Poast with a letter and a bag of gold.
Faire louely Damsell, which way leads this path?
How might I poast me vnto Fresingfield?
Which footpath leadeth to the Keepers Lodge?
Your way is ready, and this path is right,
My selfe doe dwell hereby in Fresingfield;
And if the Keeper be the man you seeke,
I am his daughter: may I know the cause?
Louely and once beloued of my Lord,
No maruell if his eye was lodg'd so low,
When brighter beauty is not in the heauens,
The Lincolne Earle hath sent you Letters here,
And with them, iust an hundred pounds in gold.
Sweet bonny wench, read them, and make reply.
The scrowles that loue sent Danaë,
Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnisht gold,
Were not more welcome then these lines to me.
Tell me, whilst that I doe vnrip the scales,
Liues Lacy well, how fares my louely Lord?
Well, if that wealth may make men to liue well.
The letter, and Margret reades it.

THe bloomes of the Almond tree grow in a night, & vanish in a morne, the flies Haemerae (faire Peggie) take life with the Sunne, and die with the dew, fancy that slippeth in with a gaze, goeth out with a winke; and too timely loues, haue euer the shortest length. I write this as thy greife, and my folly, who at Fresingfield lou'd that which time hath taught me to be but meane dainties, eyes are dissemblers, and fancie is but queasie, therefore know, Margret, I haue chosen a Spanish La­dy to be my wife, chiefe wayting-woman to the Princesse Elli­nor, a Lady faire, and no lesse faire then thy selfe, honorable and wealthy, in that I forsake thee, I leaue thee to thine owne li­king, and for thy dowry I haue sent thee an hundred pounds, & euer assure thee of my fauour, which shall auaile thee and thine much. Farewell. Not thine, nor his owne.

Edward Lacy.
Fond Atae, doomer of bad boasting fates,
That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks,
Didst thou inchant my birth-day with such stars,
As lightned mischiefe from their infancy?
If heauens had vowd, if stars had made decree,
To shew in me their froward influence,
If Lacy had but lou'd, heauens, hell and all,
Could not haue wrong'd the patience of my minde.
It grieues me, Damsell, but the Earle is forst
To loue the Lady, by the Kings command.
The wealth combinde within the English shelues,
[Page] Europes Commander, nor the English King,
Should not haue mou'd the loue of Peggie from her Lord.
What answere shall I returne to my Lord?
First, for thou camst from Lacy whom I lou'd,
Ah, giue me leaue to sigh at euery thought,
Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent:
For Margrets resolution craues no dower;
The world shall be to her as vanity,
Wealth, trash; loue, hate; pleasure, de spaire:
For I will straight to stately Fremingham,
And in the Abby there be shorne a Nun,
And yeeld my loues and liberty to God.
Fellow, I giue thee this, not for the newes,
For those be hatefull vnto Margret,
But for th'art Lacees man, once Margrets loue.
What I haue heard, what passions I haue seene,
Ile make report of them vnto the Earle.
Exit Poast.
Say, that she ioyes his fancies be at rest,
And prayes that his misfortunes may be hers.
Enter Fryer Bacon drawing the courtaines with a white sticke, a booke in his hand, and a lampe lighted by him, and the brazen head, and Miles, with weapons by him.

Miles, where are you?


Here, sir.


How chance you tarry so long?


Thinke you that the watching of the brazen head craues no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I haue so armed my selfe, that if all your deuils doe come, I will not feare them an inch.

Miles, thou knowst that I haue diued into hell,
And sought the darkest palaces of the Fiends,
That with my Magicke spels great Belzephon
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell,
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-form'd L [...]a hid her siluer lookes;
[Page] Trembling vpon her concaue continent,
When Bacon read vpon his Magicke booke,
With seuen yeeres tossing Nigromanticke charmes,
Poring vpon darke Hecats principles,
I haue fram'd out a monstrous head of brasse,
That by th'inchanting forces of the Deuill,
Shall tell out strange and vncoth Aphorismes,
And girt faire England with a wall of brasse.
Bungay and I haue watcht these threescore dayes,
And now our vitall spirits craue some rest,
If Argos liu'd and had his hundred eyes,
They could not ouer-watch Phobeters night,
Now Miles, in thee rests Fryers Bacons weale,
The honour and renowne of all his life,
Hangs in the watching of this brazen-head;
Therefore I charge thee by the immortall God,
That holds the soules of men within his fist,
This night thou watch; for ere the morning starre
Sends out his glorious glister on the North,
The head will speake; then (Miles) vpon thy life,
Wake me: for then by Magicke Art Ile worke,
To end my seuen yeeres taske with excellence,
If that a winke but shut thy watchfull eye,
Then farewell Bacons glory and his fame,
Draw close the curtaines, Miles, now for thy life,
Be watchfull and
Here he falleth asleepe.

So, I thought you would talke your selfe asleepe anon, and 'tis no maruell, for Bungay on the dayes, and hee on the nights, haue watcht iust these ten and fifty dayes, now this is the night, and 'tis my taske and no more. Now Iesus blesse me, what a goodly head it is, & a nose! You talke of nos autem glori­ficare; but here's a nose, that I warrant may be cal'd nos autem po­pelares for the people of the parish. Well I am furnished with weapons, now sir, I will set me downe by a post, and make it as good as a watch-man to wake me if I chance to slumber.

[Page] I thought, goodman head, I would call you out of your moment [...] passion a God, I haue almost broke my pate: Vp, Milet, to your taske, take your browne bill in your hand, heres some of your masters Hobgoblins abroad. With this, a great noise.

The Head speakes.

Time is.


Time is. Why, Master Brazen-head, haue you such a capitall nose, and answer you with sillables, Time is? is this all my masters cunning, to spend seuen yeeres studie about Time is? Well, sir, it may be, we shall haue some orations of it anon; well, Ile watch you as narrowly as euer you were watcht, and Ile play with you as the Nightingale with the Slow-worme, Ile set a pricke against my brest; now rest there, Miles, Lord haue mercy vpon me, I haue almost kild my selfe: vp, Miles, list how they rumble.


Time was.


Well, Frier Bacon, you haue spent your seuen yeeres study well, that can make your Head speake but two words at once, Time was: yea mary, time was when my Master was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brazen-head. You shall lye while you arse ake, and your Head speake no better: well, I will watch and walke vp and downe, and be a Peripatetian and a Philosopher of Aristotles stampe. What, a fresh noyse? Take thy Pistols in hand, Miles.

Here the Head speakes, and a lightning flasheth forth and a hand appeares that breaketh downe the Head with a hammer.

Time is past.


Master, master, vp, hell's broken loose, your head speakes, and there's such a thunder and lightning, that I war­rant, all Oxford is vp in armes; out of your bed, take a browne bill in your hand, the latter day is come.

Miles, I come. O passing warily watcht;
Bacon will make thee next himselfe in loue.
When spake the Head?

When spake the Head? did not you say that he should tell strange principles of Philosophy? Why sir, it speakes but two words at a time.


Why villaine, hath it spoken oft?


Oft, I mary hath it thrice: but in all those three times it hath vttered but seuen words.


As how?


Mary sir, the firs time he said, Time is, as if Fabuis Commentator should haue pronounst a sentence: he said, Time was: and the third time with thunder and lightning, as in great choler, he said, Time is past.

Tis past indeed. A villaine, time is past:
My life, my fame, my glory, all are past:
Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruin'd downe,
Thy seuen yeeres study lieth in the dust:
Thy Brazen-head lies broken through a slaue
That watcht, and would not when the Head did will.
What said the Head first?
Euen, Time is.
Villaine, if thou hadst cald to Bacon then,
If thou hadst watcht and wakte the sleepy Fryer,
The Brazen-head had vttered Aphorismes,
And England had beene circled round with brasse:
But proud Astmeroth, ruler of the North,
And Demegorgon, master of the Fates,
Grudge that a mortall man should doe so much.
Hell trembled at my deepe commanding spels,
Fiends frownd to see a man their ouer-match,
Bacon might boast more then a man might boast:
But now the braues of Bacon haue an end,
Europes conceit of Bacon hath an end:
His seuen yeeres practice sorteth to ill end:
And villaine, sith my glorie hath an end,
[Page] I will appoint thee fatall to some end.
Villaine, auoid, get thee from Bacons sight:
Vagrant, goe rome and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth.
Why then, sir, you forbid me your seruice.
My seruice, villaine? with a fatall curse,
That dire full plagues and mischiefe fall on thee.

Tis no matter, I am against you with the old prouerb, The more the Foxe is curst, the better he fares. God be with you, sir, Ile take but a booke in my hand, a wide sleeued gowne on my backe, and a crowned cap on my head, and see If I can want promotion.

Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,
Vntill they doe transport thee quicke to hell:
For Bacon shall haue neuer merry day,
To lose the same and honour of his Head.
Enter Emperour, Castile, Henry, Ellinor, Edward, Lacie, Raphe.
Now louely Prince, the Prince of Albions wealth,
How fares the Lady Ellinor and you?
What, haue you courted and found Castile fit,
To answere England in equiuolence?
Wilt be a match twixt bonny Nell and thee?
Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,
And not lye fettered in faire Hellens lookes?
Or Phoebus scape those piercing amorits,
That Daphne glanced at his deitie?
Can Edward then sit by a flame and freeze,
Whose heat puts Hellen and faire Daphne downe?
Now Monarks, aske the Lady if we gree
What, Madam, hath my sonne found grace or no?
Seeing my Lord his louely counterfeit,
And hearing how his minde and shape agreed,
I come not, troopt with all this warlike traine,
[Page] Doubting of loue, but so affectionate,
As Edward hath in England what he wonne in Spaine.
A match, my Lord, these wantons needs must loue:
Men must haue wiues, and women must be wed,
Let's haste the day to honour vp the rites.
Sirra Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?
I, Raphe, how then?

Mary Harry, follow my counsell, send for Fryer Ba­con to marry them, for heele so coniure him and her with his Nigromancy, that they shall loue together like Pigge & Lambe whilest they liue.


But hearst thou, Raphe, art thou content to haue Elli­nor to thy Lady?


I, so she will promise me two things.


Whats that, Raphe?


That she will neuer scold with Ned, nor sight with me, Sirra Harry, I haue put her downe with a thing vnpossible.


Whats that, Raphe?


Why Harry, didst thou euer see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her hands? no: but when egge-pyes grow on Apple-trees, then will thy gray Mare proue a Bag-piper.


What sayes the Lord of Castile and the Earle of Lincolne, that they are in such earnest and secret talke?

I stand, my Lord, amazed at his talke?
How he discourseth of the constancy
Of one surnam'd for beauties excellence,
The faire maid of Fresingfield.
Tis true, my Lord, tis wondrous for to heare,
Her beautie passing Marses Paramour:
Her virgins right as rich as Ʋestas was,
Lacy and Ned haue told me miracles.
What sayes Lord Lacy? shall she be his wife?
Or else Lord Lacy is vnfit to liue.
May it please your Highnesse giue me leaue to poast
To Fresingfield, Ile fetch the bonny girle,
[Page] And proue in true apparance at the Court,
What I haue vouched often with my tongue.
Lacy, goe to the Quiry of my Stable,
And take such Coursers as shall fit thy turne,
Hie thee to Fresingfield, and bring home the Lasse,
And, for her fame flies through the English coast,
If it may please the Lady Ellinor,
One day shall match your Excellence and her.
We Castile Ladies are not very coy,
Your Highnesse may command a greater boone:
And glad were I to grace the Lincolne Earle
With being partner of his marriage day.
Gramercy, Nell, for I doe loue the Lord,
As he that's second to my selfe in loue.

You loue her? Madam Nell, neuer beleeue him you, though he sweares he loues you.


Why Raphe?


Why, his loue is like vnto a Tapsters glasse that is broken with euery tutch; for he loued the faire maid of Fre­singfield once out of all hoe; nay Ned, neuer winke vpon me, I care not, I.

Raphe tels all, you shall haue a good Secretary of him.
But, Lacy, haste thee poast to Fresingfield:
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemne marriage day will be at hand.
I goe, my Lord.
Exit Lacy.
How shall we passe this day, my Lord?
To horse, my Lord, the day is passing faire,
Weele flie the Partridge, or goe rouze the Deere.
Follow, my Lords, you shall not want for sport.
Enter Fryer Bacon with Fryer Bungay, to his Cell.
What meanes the Fryer that frolickt it of late,
To sit as melancholy in his Cell,
[Page] As if he had neither lost nor wonne to day?
Ah Bungay, my brazen-head is spoil'd,
My glory gone, my seuen yeeres study lost:
The fame of Bacon bruted through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deepe disgrace.
Bacon hath built foundation on his fame,
So surely on the wings of true report,
With acting strange and vncoth miracles,
As this cannot infringe what he deserues.
Bungay, sit downe, for by prospectiue skill,
I find this day shall fall out ominous,
Some deadly act shall betide me ere I sleepe:
But what and wherein little can I gesse.
My minde is heauy whatsoere shall hap.
Enter two Schollers, sonnes to Lambert and Serlsby. Knocke.
Who's that knockes?
Two Schollers that desire to speake with you.
Bid thē come in. Now, my youths, what would you haue?
1. Scholler.
Sir, we are Suffolke men & neighbouring friends,
Our fathers in their Countries lusty Squires,
Their lands adioyne, in Crack field mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield, we are Colledge mates,
Sworne brothers; as our fathers liue as friends.
To what end is all this?
2. Scholler.
Hearing your worship kept within your Cell
A glasse prospectiue wherein men might see,
What so their thoughts or hearts desire could wish,
We come to know how that our fathers fare.
My glasse is free for euery honest man.
Sit downe, and you shall see ere long,
How or in what state your friendly fathers liue,
Meane while tell me your names.
Mine Lambert.
3. Scholler.
And mine Serlsby.
Bungay, I smell there will be a Tragedy.
Enter Lambert and Serlsby, with Rapiers and Daggers.
Serlsby, thou hast kept thine houre like a man,
Th'art worthy of the title of a Squire:
That durst for proofe of thy affection,
And for thy mistresse fauour prize thy blood;
Thou knowst what words did passe at Fresingfield,
Such shamelesse braues as manhood cannot brooke:
I, for I skorne to beare such pearcing taunts,
Prepare thee, Serlsby, one of vs will die.
Thou seest I single thee the field,
And what I spake, Ile maintaine with my sword:
Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out.
And if thou kill me, thinke I haue a sonne,
That liues in Oxford in the Brodgates hall,
Who will reuenge his fathers blood with blood.
And Serlsby, I haue there a lusty boy,
That dares at weapon buckle with thy sonne,
And liues in Brodgates too as well as thine;
But draw thy Rapier: for weele haue a bout.
Now lusty yonkers, looke within the glasse,
And tell me if you can discerne your sires.
1. Schol.
Serlsby, tis hard, thy father offers wrong,
To combat with my father in the field.
2. Schol.
Lambert, thou liest, my fathers is the abuse,
And thou shalt finde it, if my father haue harme.
How goes it, sirs?
1. Schol.
Our fathers are in combat hard by Fresingfield.
Sit still, my friends, and see the euent.
Why standst thou, Serlsby, doubtst thou of thy life?
A veny, man, faire Margret craues so much.
Then this for her.
1. Scholler.
Ah, well thrust.
2. Scholler.
But marke the ward.
Oh, I am slaine.
And I, Lord haue mercy on me.
1. Scholler.
My father slaine, Serlsby ward that.
The two Schollers stab one another.
2. Scholler.
And so is mine, Lambert, Ile quite thee well.
O strange stratagem!
See, Fryer, where the fathers both lye dead.
Bacon, thy magicke doth effect this massacre:
This glasse prospectiue worketh many woes,
And therefore seeing these lusty Brutes,
These friendly youths did perish by thine Art.
End all thy magicke and thine Art at once:
The poniard that did end the fatall liues,
Shall breake the cause efficiat of their woes,
So fade the glasse, and end with it the showes,
That Nigromancy did infuse the christall with.
He breakes the glasse.
What meanes learned Bacon thus to breake his glasse?
I tell thee, Bungay, it repeuts me sore,
That euer Bacon meddled in this Art,
The houres I haue spent in Piromanticke spels,
The fearefull tossing in the latest night,
Of papers full of Nigromanticke charmes,
Coniuring and adiuring Deuils and Fiends,
With Stole and Albe, and strange Pentaganon,
The wresting of the holy Name of God,
As Sother, Eloim, and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton,
With praying to the fiue-fold powers of heauen,
Are instances that Bacon must be damn'd,
For vsing Deuils to counteruaile his God.
[Page] Yet, Bacon, cheere thee, drowne not in despaire,
Sinnes haue their salues, repentance can doe much:
Thinke mercy sits where Iustice holds her seate,
And from those wounds those bloody Iewes did pierce▪
Which by thy magicke oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of hie Iehouahs ire,
And make thee as a new-borne babe from sinne.
Bungay, Ile spend the remnant of my life
In pure deuotion, praying to my God,
That he would saue what Bacon vainly lost.
Enter Margret in Nuns apparell, Keeper, her father, and their friend.
Margret, be not so head-strong in these vowes.
Oh bury not such beauty in a Cell:
That England hath held famous for the hue.
Thy fathers haire like to the siluer bloomes:
That beautifies the shrubs of Affrica
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forgoe his louely Margret.
A father, when the harmony of heauen
Soundeth the measures of a liuely faith:
The vaine Illusions of this flattering world,
Seeme odious to the thoughts of Margret.
I loued once, Lord Lacy was my loue,
And now I hate my selfe for that I lou'd,
And doated more on him than on my God:
For this I scourge my selfe with sharpe repents;
But now the touch of such a spiring sinnes
Tels me, all loue is lust, but loue of heauens:
That beauty vsde for loue is vanity,
The world containes nought but alluring baites:
Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts,
To shun the pricks of death, I leaue the world,
[Page] And vow to meditate on heauenly blisse,
To liue in Fremingham a holy Nunne,
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed:
And for to wish all maides to learne of me,
To seeke heauens ioy before earths vanity.

And will you then, Margret, be shorne a Nunne, and so leaue vs all?

Now farewell world, the engin of all woe,
Farewell to friends and father, welcome Christ:
Adieu to dainty robes, this base attire
Better befits an humble minde to God,
Then all the shew of rich habilliments.
Loue, oh Loue, and with fond Loue farewell,
Sweet Lacy, whom I loued once so deare,
Euer be well, but neuer in my thoughts,
Lest I offend to thinke on Lacies loue:
But euen to that as to the rest, farewell.
Enter Lacy, Warrain, Ermsby, booted and spurd.
Come on my wags, we're neere the Keepers Lodge,
Here haue I oft walkt in the watry Meades,
And chatted with my louely Margret.
Sirra Ned, is not this the Keeper?
Tis the same,
The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him, a Nunne, my Lord.
Keeper, how farest thou holla man, what cheere,
How doth Peggie thy daughter and my loue?
Ah, good my Lord! oh, woe is me for Pegge,
See where she stands clad in her Nunnes attire,
Ready for to be shorne in Fremigham:
She leaues the world, because she left your loue,
Oh good my Lord, perswade her if you can.
Why how now Margret, what a malecontent,
A Nunne? what holy father taught you this,
To taske your selfe to such a tedious life,
[Page] As dye a maid? 'twere iniury to me,
To smother vp such beauty in a Cell.
Lord Lacy, thinking of thy forme misse,
How fond the prime of wanton yeeres were spent
In loue, Oh fie vpon that fond conceite,
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye,
I leaue both loue and loues content at once,
Betaking me to him that is true loue,
And leauing all the world for loue of him.
Whence, Peggie, comes this Metamorphosis?
What, shorne a Nunne, and I haue from the Court
Poasted with coursers to conuay thee hence,
To Windsore, where our marriage shall be kept?
Thy wedding robes are in the Taylors hands.
Come, Peggie, leaue these peremptory vowes.
Did not my Lord resigne his interest,
And make diuorce twixt Margret and him?
'Twas but to trye sweet Peggies constancy:
But will faire Margret leaue her loue and Lord?
Is not heauens ioy before earths fading blisse?
And life aboue sweeter then life in loue?
Why then, Margret will be shorne a Nun.
Margret hath made a vow, which may not be reuokt.
We cannot stay, my Lord, and if she be so strict,
Our leisure graunts vs not to woo afresh.
Choose you, faire Damsell, yet the choise is yours,
Either a solemne Nunnery, or the Court,
God, or Lord Lacy, which contents you best,
To be a Nun, or else Lord Lacies wife?
A good motion. Peggie, your answere must be short.
The flesh is frayle, my Lord doth know it well,
That when he comes with his inchanting face,
Whatsoere betide, I cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit of a maidens heart,
And seeing fortune will, faire Fremingham,
And all the shew of holy Nuns, farewell,
[Page] Lacy for me, if he will be my Lord.
Peggie, thy Lord, thy loue, thy husband,
Trust me, by truth of Knighthood, that the King
Stayes for to marry matchlesse Ellinor,
Vntill I bring thee richly to the Court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.
How saist thou Keeper, art thou glad of this?
As if the English King had giuen
The Parke and Deere of Fresingfield to me.

I pray thee my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a browne study?


To see the nature of women, that be they neuer so neere God, yet they loue to dye in a mans armes.


What haue you fit for breakefast? we haue hied and poasted all this night to Fresingfield.

Butter and cheese, and humbles of a Deere,
Such as poore Keepers haue within their Lodge.
And not a bottle of wine?
Weele find one for my Lord.

Come, Sussex, let's in, wee shall haue more, for shee speakes least, to hold her promise sure.

Enter a Deuill to seeke Miles.
How restlesse are the ghosts of hellish sprites,
When euery Charmer with his Magicke spels
Cals vs from nine-fold trenched Phlegiton,
To scud and ouer-scoure the earth in poast,
Vpon the speedy wings of swiftest winds?
Now Bacon hath raisd me from the darkest deepe,
To search about the world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones,
For carelesse watching of his brazen-head.
See where he comes: Oh he is mine.
Enter Miles with a gowne and a corner cap.

A Scholler, quoth you, mary sir, I would I had been [Page] made a bottle-maker, when I was made a scholler; for I can get neither to be a Deacon, Reader, nor Schoole-master; no, not the Clarke of a Parish; some call me dunce: another saith, my head is as full of Latine, as an eg's full of oate-meale: thus I am tormented, that the Deuill and Frier Bacon haunts me. Good Lord, here's one of my masters Deuils▪ Ile goe speake to him: what master Plutus, how cheere you?


Doost thou know me?


Know you, sir, why are not you one of my masters Deuils, that were wont to come to my master Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose?


Yes mary am I.


Good Lord, M. Plutus, I haue seene you a thousand times at my masters, and yet I had neuer the manners to make you drinke; but sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the state; I warrant you, he's as yeomanly a man, as you shall see, marke you masters, here's a plain honest man, without welt or gard; but I pray you sir, doe you come lately from hell?


I mary, how then?


Faith, tis a place I haue desired long to see, haue you not good tippling houses there? may not a man haue a lusty fire there, a pot of good Ale, a paire of cardes, a swinging peece of chalke, and a browne toast that will clap a white wastcoat on a cup of good drinke?


All this you may haue there.


You are for me, friend, and I am for you: but I pray you, may I not haue an office there?


Yes, a thousand: what wouldst thou be?


By my troth, sir, in a place, where I may profit my selfe. I know hell is a hot place, and men are maruellous dry, and much drinke is spent there; I would be a Tapster.


Thou shalt,


There's nothing lets me from going with you, but that tis a long iourney, and I haue neuer a horse.


Thou shalt ride on my backe.


Now surely here's a courteous deuill, that for to plea­sure [Page] his friend, will not sticke to make a Iade of himselfe: but I pray you goodman friend, let me moue a question to you.


What's that?


I pray you, whether is your pace a trot or an amble?


An amble.

Tis well, but take heed it be not a trot,
But tis no matter, Ile preuent it.

What doest?


Mary, friend, I put on my spurs: for if I find your pace either a trot, or else vneasie, Ile put you to a false gallop, Ile make you feele the benefit of my spurs.


Get vp vpon my backe.


Oh Lord, here's euen a goodly maruell, when a man rides to hell on the Deuils backe.

Exeunt roaring.
Enter the Emperour with a pointlesse sword, next, the King of Castile, carrying a sword with a point, Lacy carrying the Globe, Edward Warraine carrying a rod of gold with a Doue on it, Ermsby with a Crowne and Scepter, the Queene with the faire maide of Fresing field on her left hand, Henry, Bacon, with other Lords atten­ding.
Great Potentates, earths miracles for state,
Thinke that Prince Edward humbles at your feet,
And for these fauours on his martiall sword,
He vowes perpetuall homage to your selues,
Yeelding these honours vnto Ellinour.
Gramercies, Lordings, old Plantagenet,
That rules and swayes the Albion Diademe,
With teares discouers these conceiued ioyes,
And vowes requitall, if his men at armes,
The wealth of England, or due honours done
To Ellinor, may quite his Fauorites.
But all this while what say you to the Dames,
That shine like to the christall lampes of heauen?
If but a third were added to these two,
[Page] They did surpasse those gorgeous Images,
That gloried Ida with rich beauties wealth.
Tis I, my Lords, who humbly on my knee,
Must yeeld her horisons to mighty Ioue,
For lifting vp his handmaide to this state,
Brought from her homely cottage to the Court,
And graste with Kings, Princes and Emperours,
To whom (next to the noble Lincolne Earle)
I vow obedience, and such humble loue,
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.
Thou martiall man, that weares the Almaine Crown,
And you the Westerne Potentates of might,
The Albian Princesse [...] English Edwards wife,
Proud that the louely star of Fresingfield,
Faire Margret, Countesse to the Lincolne Earle,
Attends on Ellinour: gramercies, Lord, for her▪
Tis I giue thankes for Margret to you all,
And rest for her due bounden to your selues.
Seeing the marriage is solemnized,
Let's march in triumph to the Royall feast.
But why stands Fryer Bacon here so mute?
Repentant for the follies of my youth,
That Magicks secret mysteries misled,
And ioyfull that this Royall marriage
Portends such blisse vnto this matchlesse Realme.
Why, Bacon, what strange euent shall happē to this Lād?
Or what shall grow from Edward and his Queene?
I find by deepe praescience of mine Art,
Which once I tempred in my secret Cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynouant,
From forth the Royall Garden of a King,
Shall flourish out so rich and faire a bud,
Whose brightnesse shall deface proud Phoebus flowre,
And ouer-shadow Albion with her leaues.
Till then, Mars shall be master of the field,
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease,
[Page] The horse shall stampe as carelesse of the pike,
Drums shall be turn'd to timbrels of delight,
With wealthy fauours, plenty shall enrich
The strond that gladded wandring [...] to see,
And peace from heauen shall harbour in these leaues,
That gorgeous beautifies this matchlesse flower,
Apollos Hellitropian then shall stoope,
And Ʋenus hyacinth shall vaile her top,
Iuno shall shut her Gilliflowers vp,
And Pallas Bay shall bash her brightest greene▪
Ceres carnation in confort with those,
Shall stoope and wonder at Diana's Rose.
This Prophesie is mysticall,
But glorious Commanders of Europa's loue,
That makes faire England like that wealthy Ile,
Circled with Gihen▪ and first Euphrates,
In Royallizing Henries Albion,
With presence of your prin [...]ely mightinesse,
Let's march, the tables all are spred,
And viandes such as Englands wealth affords,
Are ready set to furnish out the bords,
You shall haue welcome, mighty Potentates,
It rests to furnish vp this Royall Feast,
Only your hearts be frolicke: for the time
Craues that we taste of nought but iouysance.
Thus glories England ouer all the West.
Exeunt omnes.
Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit vtile dulci.

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