THE HONORABLE HISTORIE of frier Bacon, and frier Bongay. (continued 2)
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Enter Lacie, Warrain, Ermsbie, booted and spurd.
Lacie. Come on, my wags, weere near the keepers lodge. Heere have I oft walkt in the watrie meades, 40 And chatted with my lovely Marg[a]ret. Warraine. Sirha Ned, is not this the keeper? Lacie. Tis the same. Ermsbie. The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him; a nunne, my lord. 45 Lacie. Keeper, how farest thou? holla, man, what cheere? How doth Peggie, thy daughter and my love? Keeper. Ah, good my lord! O, wo is me for Pegge! See where she stands clad in her nunnes attire, Readie for to be shorne in Framingham: 50 She leaves the world because she left[1552] your love. Oh, good my lord, perswade her if you can! Lacie. Why, how now, Margret! what, a malecontent? A nunne? what holy father taught you this, To taske your selfe to such a tedious life 55 As die a maid? twere injurie to me, To smother up such bewtie in a cell. Margret. Lord Lacie, thinking of thy[1553] former[1554] misse, How fond the prime of wanton yeares were spent In love (Oh, fie upon that fond conceite, 60 Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!), I leave both love and loves content at once, Betaking me to him that is true love, And leaving all the world for love of him. Lacy. Whence, Peggie, comes this metamorphosis? 65 What, shorne a nun, and I have from the court Posted with coursers to convaie thee hence To Windsore, where our mariage shalbe kept! Thy wedding robes are in the tailors hands. Come, Peggy, leave these peremptorie vowes. 70 Margret. Did not my lord resigne his interest, And make divorce 'twixt Marg[a]ret and him? Lacie. Twas but to try sweete Peggies constancie. But will fair Margret leave her love and lord? Margret. Is not heavens joy before earths fading blisse, 75 And life above sweeter than life in love? Lacy. Why,[1555] then, Margret will be shorne a nun? Marg. Margret hath made a vow which may not be revokt. Warraine. We cannot stay, my lord;[1555] and if she be so strict, Our leisure graunts us not to woo a fresh. 80 Ermsby. Choose you, fair damsell,—yet the choise is yours,— Either a solemne nunnerie or the court, God or Lord Lacie: which[1556] contents you best, To be a nun or els Lord Lacies wife? Lacie. A good motion.—Peggie, your answer must be short. Margret. The flesh is frayle: my lord doth know it well 86 That when he comes with his inchanting face, What so ere betyde, I cannot say him nay. Off goes the habite of a maidens heart, And, seeing fortune will, faire Fremingham, 90 And all the shew of holy nuns, farewell! Lacie, for me, if he wilbe my lord. Lacie. Peggie, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.[1557] Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king Staies for to marry matchles Ellinour, 95 Until 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? Keeper. As if[1558] the English king had given The parke and deere of Frisingfield to me. 100 Erms. I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a broune study? War. To see the nature of women; that be they never so neare God, yet they love to die in a mans armes. Lacie. What have you fit for breakefast? We have hied And posted all this night to Frisingfield.[1559] 106 Mar. Butter and cheese, and humbl[e]s[1560] of a deere, Such as poore keepers have within their lodge.[1559] Lacie. And not a bottle of wine? Margret. Weele find one for my lord. 110 Lacie. Come, Sussex, ... lets[1561] in: we shall have more, For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.[1559] [Exeunt.]
[Scene Fifteenth. Frier Bacons cell.]
Enter a Devill[1562] to seeke Miles.
Devill. How restles are the ghosts of hellish spirites, When everie charmer with his magick spels Cals us from nine-fold trenched Phlegethon,[1563] To scud and over-scoure the earth in post Upon the speedie wings of swiftest winds! 5 Now Bacon hath raisd me from the darkest deepe, To search about the world for Miles his man, For Miles, and to torment his lasie bones For careles watching[1564] of his Brazen-head. See where he comes: Oh, he is mine. 10
Enter Miles with a gowne and a corner cap.
Miles. A scholler, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had bene made a botlemaker when I was made a scholler; for I can get neither to be a deacon, reader,[1565] nor schoolemaister, no, not the clarke of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith, my head is as full of Latine as an egs full of oatemeale: thus I am tormented, that the devil and Frier Bacon haunts me.—Good Lord, heers one of my maisters devils! Ile goe speake to him.—What, Maister Plutus, how chere you?
Devill. Doost thou know me? 19
Miles. Know you, sir! why, are not you one of my maisters devils, that were wont to come to my maister, Doctor Bacon, at Brazennose?
Devil. Yes, marry, am I.
Miles. Good Lord, M[aister] Plutus, I have seene you a thousand times at my maisters, and yet I had never the manners to make you drinke. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute.[1566]—I warrant you, hees as yeomanly a man as you shall see: marke you, maisters, heers a plaine honest man, without welt or garde.[1566]—But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hel?
Devil. I, marry: how then? 30
Miles. Faith, tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not good tipling-houses there? may not a man have a lustie fier there, a pot of good ale, a paire of cardes, a swinging peece of chalke,[1567] and a browne toast that will clap a white wastcoat[1568] on a cup of good drinke? 35
Devil. All this you may have there.
Miles. You are for me, freinde, and I am for you. But I pray you, may I not have an office there?
Devil. Yes, a thousand: what wouldst thou be? 39
Miles. By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit my selfe. I know hel is a hot place, and men are mervailous drie, and much drinke is spent there; I would be a tapster.
Devil. Thou shalt.
Miles. Theres nothing lets me from going with you, but that tis a long journey, and I have never a horse. 45
Devil. Thou shalt ride on my backe.[1569]
Miles. Now surely her[e]s a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure[1570] his friend, will not stick to make a jade of him self.—But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.
Dev. Whats that? 50
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 tis no matter, Ile prevent it.
[Stoops.]
Dev. What doest? 55
Miles. Mary, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or els uneasie, Ile put you to a false gallop; Ile make you feele the benefit of my spurs.
Dev. Get up upon my backe.
Miles. O Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back!
Exeunt: [the Devil] roaring.
[Scene Sixteenth. At Court.]
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 dove on it;[1571] Ermsby with a crowne and sceptre; the Queene; [Princess Elinor] with the faire Maide of Fresingfield on her left hand; Henry; Bacon; with other Lords attending.
Edward. 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 perpetuall homage to yourselves, Yeelding these honours unto Ellinour. 5 Henrie. Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet, That rules and swayes the Albion diademe, With teares discovers these conceived joyes, And vows requitall if his men at armes, The wealth of England, or due honours done 10 To Ellinor, may quite his favourites.[1572] But all this while what say you to the dames That shine like to the christall lampes of heaven? Emperour. If but a third were added to these two, They did surpasse those gorgeous images 15 That gloried Ida with rich beauties wealth. Mar. Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee Must yeeld her horisons to mighty Jove For lifting up his handmaide to this state; Brought from her homely cottage to the court, 20 And grasde with kings, princes, and emperours, To whom (next to the noble Lincolne earle) I vow obedience, and such humble love As may a handmaid to such mighty men. P. Elin. Thou martiall man that wears the Almaine crown, 25 And you the western potentates of might, The Albian princesse, English Edwards wife, Proud that the lovely star of Fresingfield, Fair Margret, Countess to the Lincoln earle, Attends on Ellinour,—gramercies, lord, for her,— 30 Tis I give thankes for Margret, to you all, And rest for her due bounden to your selves. Henrie. Seeing the marriage is solemnized,[1573] Lets march in triumph to the royall feast.— But why stands Frier Bacon here so mute? 35 Bacon. Repentant for the follies of my youth, That magicks secret mysteries misled, And joyfull that this royall marriage Portends such blisse unto this matchless realme. Hen. Why, Bacon, what strange event shall happen to this land? Or what shall grow from Edward and his queene? 41 Bacon. I find by deep praescience[1574] of mine art, Which once I tempred in my secret cell, That here where Brute did build his Troynovant, From forth the royall garden of a king 45 Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud, Whose brightnesse shall deface proud Phœbus' flowre, And over-shadow Albion with her leaves. Till then Mars shall be master of the field, But then the stormy threats of war shall cease: 50 The horse shall stamp as carelesse of the pike, Drums shall be turn'd to timbrels of delight; With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich The strond that gladded wandring Brute to see, And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves 55 That gorgeous beautifies this matchlesse flower: Apollos helletropian[1575] then shall stoope, And Venus hyacinth shall vaile[1576] her top; Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up, And Pallas bay shall bash her brightest greene; 60 Ceres carnation, in consort with those, Shall stoope and wonder at Dianas rose. Henrie. This prophecie is mysticall.— But, glorious commanders[1577] of Europas love, That make faire England like that wealthy ile 65 Circled with Gihen and swift[1578] Euphrates, In royallizing Henries Albion With presence of your princely mightinesse,— Lets[1579] march: the tables all are spred, And viandes, such as Englands wealth affords, 70 Are ready set to furnish out the bords. You shall have welcome, mighty potentates: It rests to furnish up this royall feast, Only your hearts be frolicke; for the time Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance. 75 Thus glories England over all the west. [Exeunt omnes.]
Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utiie dulci.