Hell trembled at my deep-commanding spells,
Fiends frown'd to see a man their over-match;
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast.
But now the braves' of Bacon have an end,
Europe's conceit of Bacon hath an end,
His seven years' practice sorteth to ill end:
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end,
I will appoint thee fatal to some end.
Villain, avoid! get thee from Bacon's sight!
Vagrant, go roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth!

Miles. Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service?

Bacon. My service, villain! with a fatal curse, That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.

Miles. "Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb, The more the fox is cursed, the better he fares. God be with you, sir: I'll take but a book in my hand, a wide-sleeved gown on my back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion.

Bacon. Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,

Until they do transport thee quick to hell:
For Bacon shall have never merry day,
To lose the fame and honour of his head.

[Exeunt.

Enter the EMPEROR, the KING Of Castile, KinG HENRY, ELINOR, PRINCE EDWARD, LACY, and RALPH SIMNELL.

Emp. Now, lovely prince, the prince of Albion's How fare the Lady Elinor and you? [wealth, What, have you courted and found Castile fit To answer England in equivalence? Will't be a match 'twixt bonny Nell and thee? P. Edw. Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,

And not lie fetter'd in fair Helen's looks?

Or Phoebus 'scape those piercing amorets?
That Daphne glanced at his deity?
Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze,
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down?
Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we gree.

K. Hen. What, madam, hath my son found grace or no?

Elin. Seeing, my lord, his lovely counterfeit,3 And hearing how his mind and shape agreed, I came not, troop'd with all this warlike train, Doubting of love, but so affectionate,

As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.

K. of Cast. A match, my lord; these wantons needs must love:

Men must have wives, and women will be wed: Let's haste the day to honour up the rites.

Ralph. Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell? K. Hen. Ay, Ralph: how then?

Ralph. Marry, Harry, follow my counsel: send for Friar Bacon to marry them, for he'll so conjure him and her with his necromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst they live. K. of Cast. But hearest thou, Ralph, art thou content to have Elinor to thy lady?

Ralph. Ay, so she will promise me two things. K. of Cast. What's that, Ralph ?

Ralph. That she will never scold with Ned, nor fight with me.-Sirrah Harry, I have put her down with a thing unpossible.

K. Hen. What's that, Ralph? Ralph. Why, Harry, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her

hands? no': but when egg-pies grow on appletrees, then will thy grey_mare prove a bag-piper.

Emp. What say the Lord of Castile and the Earl of Lincoln, that they are in such earnest and secret talk?

K. of Cast. I stand, my lord, amazed at his talk, How be discourseth of the constancy

Of one surnam'd, for beauty's excellence,
The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.

K. Hen. 'Tis true, my lord, 'tis wondrous for to hear;

Her beauty passing Mars's paramour,
Her virgin's right as rich as Vesta's was.
Lacy and Ned have told me miracles.

K. of Cast. What says Lord Lacy? shall she
be his wife?

Lacy. Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.May it please your highness give me leave to post To Fressingfield, I'll fetch the bonny girl, And prove, in true appearance at the court, What I have vouchèd often with my tongue.

K. Hen. Lacy, go to the 'querry of my stable, And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn: Hie thee to Fressingfield, and bring home the lass; And, for her fame flies through the English coast, If it may please the Lady Elinor, One day shall match your excellence and her.

Elin. We Castile ladies are not very coy; Your highness may command a greater boon: And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl With being partner of his marriage-day.

P. Edw. Gramercy, Nell, for I do love the lord, As he that's second to myself in love.

Ralph. You love her?-Madam Nell, never believe him you, though he swears he loves you. Elin. Why, Ralph?

Ralph. Why, his love is like unto a tapster's glass that is broken with every touch; for he loved the fair maid of Fressingfield once out of all ho.'-Nay, Ned, never wink upon me; I care not, I.

K. Hen. Ralph tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.

But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield;
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemn marriage-day will be at hand.
Lacy. I go, my lord.

[Exit.

Emp. How shall we pass this day, my lord? K. Hen. To horse, my lord; the day is passing fair,

We'll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer. Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.

[Exeunt.

Enter to FRIAR BACON in his cell, FRIAR BUNGAY. Bun. What means the friar that frolick'd it of late,

To sit as melancholy in his cell
As if he had neither lost nor won to-day?

Bacon. Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil'd,
My glory gone, my seven years' study lost!
The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.

Bun. Bacon hath built foundation of his fame
So surely on the wings of true report,
With acting strange and uncouth miracles,
As this cannot infringe what he deserves.
Bacon. Bungay, sit down, for by prospective
skill

I find this day shall fall out ominous:
Some deadly act shall 'tide me ere I sleep;
But what and wherein, little can I guess.

1 out of all ho-out of all bounds or measure; probably from the notion of calling in or restraining a sporting dog or hawk, with a call or ho, or from calling after a person to stop him.-NAKES.

Now, my youths, what would you have? First Schol. Sir, we are Suffolk men and neighbouring friends;

Our fathers in their countries lusty squires; Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell, And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates, Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends. Bacon. To what end is all this?

Second Schol. Hearing your worship kept within your cell

A glass prospective, wherein men might see Whatso their thoughts or hearts' desire could wish,

We come to know how that our fathers fare.

Bacon. My glass is free for every honest man. Sit down, and you shall see ere long, how Or in what state your friendly fathers live. Meanwhile, tell me your names.

First Schol. Mine Lambert.

Second Schol. And mine Serlsby.

Bacon. Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy. Enter LAMBERT and SERLSBY with rapiers and duggers.1

Lam. Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like

a man:

Thou'rt worthy of the title of a squire,
That durst, for proof of thy affection

And for thy mistress' favour, prize2 thy blood. Thou know'st what words did pass at Fressingfield,

Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook: Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts, Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die.

Ser. Thou seest I single thee the field,3" And what I spake, I'll maintain with my sword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. An if thou kill me, think I have a son, That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall, Who will revenge his father's blood with blood. Lam. And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy son, And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine: But draw thy rapier, for we'll have a bout.

Bacon. Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass,

And tell me if you can discern your sires.

First Schol. Serlsby, 'tis hard; thy father offers wrong,

To combat with my father in the field.
Second Schol. Lambert, thou liest, my father's
is th' abuse,

And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.
Bun. How goes it, sirs?

First Schol. Our fathers are in combat hard by
Fressingfield.

Bacon. Sit still, my friends, and see the event. Lam. Why stand'st thou, Serlsby? doubt'st thou of thy life?

A veney, man! fair Margaret craves so much.

Ser. Then this for her.
First Schol. Ah, well thrust!
Second Schol. But mark the ward.

[LAMBERT and SERLSBY stab each other. Lam. Oh, I am slain! [Dies. Ser. And I,-Lord have mercy on me! [Dies. First Schol. My father slain!-Serlsby, ward

that.

Second Schol. And so is mine!-Lambert, I'll quite thee well.

[The Two Scholars stab each other, and die. Bun. O strange stratagem!

Bacon. See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead!

Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre:
This glass prospective worketh many woes;
And therefore seeing these brave lusty Brutes,
These friendly youths, did perish by thine art,
End all thy magic and thine art at once.
The poniard that did end the fatal lives,
Shall break the cause efficiat1 of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That necromancy did infuse the crystal with.
[Breaks the glass.

Bun. What means learn'd Bacon thus to break his glass?

Bacon. I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore
That ever Bacon meddled in this art.
The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells,
The fearful tossing in the latest night,
Of papers full of necromantic charms,
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb and strange pentageron;
The wresting of the holy name of God,
As Sother, Eloim, and Adonai,

Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton,
With praying to the fivefold powers of heaven,
Are instances that Bacon must be damn'd
For using devils to countervail his God.-
Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair:
Sins have their salves, repentance can do much :
Think Mercy sits where Justice holds her seat,
And from those wounds those bloody Jews did
pierce,

Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of high Jehovah's ire,
And make thee as a new-born babe from sin.-
Bungay, I'll spend the remnant of my life
In pure devotion, praying to my God
That He would save what Bacon vainly lost.
[Exeunt.

Enter MARGARET in nun's apparel, the Keeper, and their Friend.

Keeper. Margaret, be not so headstrong in these

VOWS:

Oh, bury not such beauty in a cell,
That England hath held famous for the hue!
Thy father's hair, like to the silver blooms
That beautify the shrubs of Africa,
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forego his lovely Margaret.

Mar. Ah! father, when the harmony of heaven
Soundeth the measures of a lively faith,
The vain illusions of this flattering world
Seem odious to the thoughts of Margaret.
I lovèd once,-Lord Lacy was my love;
And now I hate myself for that I lov'd,
And doted more on him than on my God,-
For this I scourge myself with sharp repents.
But now the touch of such aspiring sins
Tells me all love is lust but love of heaven;
That beauty used for love is vanity:

The world contains naught but alluring baits,

Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts.
To shun the pricks of death I leave the world,
And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss,
To live in Framlingham a holy nun,
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed;
And for to wish all maids to learn of me
To seek heaven's joy before earth's vanity.
Friend. And will you, then, Margaret, be shorn
a nun, and so leave us all?

Mar. Now farewell world, the engine of allwoe!
Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ!
Adieu to dainty robes! this base attire
Better befits an humble mind to God
Than all the show of rich habiliments.
Love, O love! and, with fond love, farewell
Sweet Lacy, whom I lovèd once so dear!
Ever be well, but never in my thoughts,
Lest I offend to think on Lacy's love:
But even to that, as to the rest, farewell!

Enter LACY, WARREN, and ERMSBY, booted and spurred.

Lacy. Come on, my wags, we're near the
Keeper's lodge.

Here have I oft walk'd in the watery meads,
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.

War. Sirrah Ned, is not this the Keeper?
Lacy. 'Tis the same.

Erm. The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton1 to him; a nun, my lord.

Lacy. Keeper, how far'st thou? holla, man, what cheer?

How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?
Keeper. Ah, good my lord! Oh, woe is me for
Peggy!

See where she stands clad in her nun's attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham:

She leaves the world because she left your love.
Oh, good my lord, persuade her if you can!

Lacy. Why, how now, Margaret! what! a malcontent?

A nun? what holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life
As die a maid? 'twere injury to me,
To smother up such beauty in a cell.

Mar. Lord Lacy, thinking of my former 'miss,2
How fond the prime of wanton years were spent
In love (oh, fie upon that fond conceit,
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!),
I leave both love and love's content at once,
Betaking me to Him that is true love,

And leaving all the world for love of Him. Lacy. Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis?

What! shorn a nun, and I have from the court Posted with coursers to convey thee hence

To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept! Thy wedding-robes are in the tailor's hands. Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows.

Mar. Did not my lord resign his interest, And make divorce 'twixt Margaret and him? Lacy. 'Twas but to try sweet Peggy's constancy. But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord? Mar. Is not heaven's joy before earth's fading bliss,

And life above sweeter than life in love?

Lacy. Why, then, Margaret will be shorn a nun?
Mar. Margaret

Hath made a vow which may not be revok'd. War. We cannot stay, my lord; an if she be so strict,

Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh. Erms. Choose you, fair damsel, yet the choice is yours,

Either a solemn nunnery or the court,

God or Lord Lacy: which contents you best,
To be a nun, or else Lord Lacy's wife?

Lacy. A good notion.-Peggy, your answer must be short.

Mar. The flesh is frail: my lord doth know it well,

That when he comes with his enchanting face,
Whate'er betide, I cannot say him nay.

Off goes the habit of a maiden's heart,
And, seeing fortune will, fair Framlingham,
And all the show of holy nuns farewell!
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.

Lacy. Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry matchless Elinor,
Until I bring thee richly to the court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.-
How say's thou, Keeper? art thou glad of this?
Keep. As if the English king had given
The park and deer of Fressingfield to me.

Erm. I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a brown study?

War. To see the nature of women; that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man's arms.

Lacy. What have you fit for breakfast? We

have hied

Devil. How restless are the ghosts of hellish sprites,

When every charmer with his magic spells
Calls us from ninefold-trenched Phlegethon,
To scud and over-scour the earth in post
Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds!
Now Bacon hath raised me from the darkest deep,
To search about the world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones
For careless watching of his Brazen Head.
See where he comes: Oh, he is mine.

Enter MILES in a gown and a corner-cap. Miles. A scholar, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had been made a bottle-maker when I was made a scholar; for I can get neither to be a deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith, my head is as full of Latin as an egg's full of oatmeal: thus I am tormented, that the devil and Friar Bacon haunt me.-Good Lord, here's one of my master's devils! I'll go speak to him. -What, Master Plutus, how cheer you?

Dev. Dost thou know me?

Miles. Know you, sir! why, are not you one of my master's devils, that were wont to come to my master, Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose? Dev. Yes, marry, am I.

Miles. Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times at my master's, and yet I had never the manners to make you drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to

1 umbles-i.e. the inward parts of a deer, a hunting term; of these was umble pie made.

the statute. I warrant you, he's as yeomanly a man as you shall see: mark you, masters, here's a plain honest man, without welt or guard. But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hell?

Dev. Ay, marry: how then?

Miles. Faith, 'tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not good tippling-houses there? May not a man have a lusty fire there, a pot of good ale, a pair of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good drink?

Dev. All this you may have there. Miles. You are for me, friend, and I am for you. But, I pray you, may I not have an office there?

Dev. Yes, a thousand: what wouldst thou be? Miles. By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I know hell is a hot place, and men are marvellous dry, and much drink is spent there; I would be a tapster.

Dev. Thou shalt.

Miles. There's nothing lets me from going with you, but that 'tis a long journey, and I have never a horse.

Dev. Thou shalt ride on my back.

Miles. Now surely here's a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure his friend, will not stick to make a jade of himself.-But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you. Dev. What's that?

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

Dev. An amble.

Miles. "Tis well; but take heed it be not a trot: but no matter, I'll prevent it.

Dev. What dost?

[Puts on spurs. Miles. Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or else uneasy, I'll put you to a false gallop; I'll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.

Dev. Get up upon my back.

[MILES mounts on the Devil's back. Miles. O Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back! [Exeunt, the devil roaring. Enter the EMPEROR with a pointless sword; next the KING OF CASTILE carrying a sword with a point; LACY carrying the globe; PRINCE EDWARD; WARREN carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it; ERMSBY with a crown and sceptre; PRINCESS ELINOR with MARGARET Countess of Lincoln on her left hand; KING HENRY, BACON, and Lords attending.

P. Edw. Great potentates, earth's miracles for state,

Think that Prince Edward humbles at your feet,
And, for these favours, on his martial sword
He vows perpetual homage to yourselves,
Yielding these honours unto Elinor.

K. Hen. Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet,
That rules and sways the Albion diadem,
With tears discovers these conceived joys,
And vows requital, if his men-at-arms,
The wealth of England, or due honours done
To Elinor, may quite his favourites.
But all this while what say you to the dames
That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven?
Emp. If but a third were added to these two,
They did surpass those gorgeous images
That gloried Ida with rich beauty's wealth.

Mar. "Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee
Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove
For lifting up his handmaid to this state;
Brought from her homely cottage to the court,
And grac'd with kings, princes, and emperors,
To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl)
I vow obedience, and such humble love
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.
P. Elin. Thou martial man that wears the
Almain crown,

And you the western potentates of might,
The Albion princess, English Edward's wife,
Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield,
Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl,
Attends on Elinor,-gramercies, lord, for her,-
"Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all,
And rest for her due bounden to yourselves.

K. Hen. Seeing the marriage is solemnisèd,
Let's march in triumph to the royal feast.-
But why stands Friar Bacon here so mute?

Bacon. Repentant for the follies of my youth,
That magic's secret mysteries misled,
And joyful that his royal marriage
Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm.
K. Hen. Why, Bacon,

What strange event shall happen to this land?
Or what shall grow from Edward and his queen?
Bacon. I find by deep prescience of mine art,
Which once I temper'd in my secret cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant,
From forth the royal garden of a king
Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud,
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phoebus'
flower,

And overshadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field,
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease:
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike,
Drums shall be turn'd to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich
The strand that gladded wandering Brute to see,
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these
leaves

That gorgeous beautify this matchless flower:
Apollo's heliotropion then shall stoop,
And Venus' hyacinth shall vail3 her top;
Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up,
And Pallas' bay shall 'bash her brightest green;
Ceres' carnation, in consórt with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana's rose.

K. Hen. This prophecy is mystical.-
But, glorious commanders of Europa's love,
That make fair England like that wealthy isle
Circled with Gihon and first Euphrates,
In royalizing Henry's Albion

With presence of your princely mightiness,-
Let's march: the tables all are spread,
And viands, such as England's wealth affords,
Are ready set to furnish out the boards.
You shall have welcome, mighty potentates:
It rests to furnish up this royal feast,
Only your hearts be frolic; for the time
Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance:*
Thus glories England over all the west.

[Exeunt omnes.

Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci.

I find, &c.-an obvious compliment to Queen Elizabeth, but not half so fulsome and extravagant as many at the conclusion of plays acted previous to her death. -DODSLEY (ed. 1825).

2 Brutus, grandson of Eneas, the fabulous founder of New Troy or London.

3 vail-lower; Fr. avaler, to descend, let down, aval, down: Lat. ad, to, vallis, a valley.

4 jouissance, Fr.-enjoyment.

5 Omme tulit. &c.-Green's favourite motto, from Horace's Ars Poet., 343. He who mixes the useful with the agreeable carries the applause of all.'