Act 5 — [Scene I.][148]

Lacy. Why looks my lord like to a troubled sky When heaven’s bright shine is shadow’d with a fog? Alate[149] we ran the deer, and through the lawns Stripp’d[150] with our nags the lofty frolic bucks That scudded ’fore the teasers[151] like the wind. Ne’er was the deer of merry Fressingfield6 So lustily pull’d down by jolly mates, Nor shar’d the farmers such fat venison, So frankly dealt, this hundred years before; Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase,10 And now—chang’d to a melancholy dump. War. After the prince got to the Keeper’s lodge, And had been jocund in the house awhile, Tossing off ale and milk in country cans, Whether it was the country’s sweet content,15 Or else the bonny damsel fill’d us drink, That seem’d so stately in her stammel[152] red, Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,— But straight he fell into his passions. Erms. Sirrah Ralph, what say you to your master?20 Shall he thus all amort[153] live malcontent?

P. Edw. Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid, 40 How lively in her country-weeds she look’d? A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield:— All Suffolk! nay, all England holds none such. Ralph. Sirrah Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived. Erms. Why, Ralph? 45 Ralph. He says all England hath no such, and I say, and I ’ll stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire. War. How provest thou that, Ralph? Ralph. Why is not the abbot a learned man, 50 and hath read many books, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? Yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammar. Erms. A good reason, Ralph.55 P. Edw. I tell thee, Lacy, that her sparkling eyes Do lighten forth sweet love’s alluring fire; And in her tresses she doth fold the looks Of such as gaze upon her golden hair;60 Her bashful white, mix’d with the morning’s red, Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks; Her front is beauty’s table, where she paints The glories of her gorgeous excellence; Her teeth are shelves of precious marguerites,[154] Richly enclos’d with ruddy coral cliffs.65 Tush, Lacy, she is Beauty’s over-match. If thou survey’st her curious imagery.[155] Lacy. I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair As simple Suffolk’s homely towns can yield; But in the court be quainter dames than she,70 Whose faces are enrich’d with honour’s taint,[156] Whose beauties stand upon the stage of Fame, And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love. P. Edw. Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watch’d her as myself, And seen the secret beauties of the maid,75 Their courtly coyness, were but foolery. Erms. Why, how watch’d you her, my lord? P. Edw. Whenas she swept like Venus through the house. And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts, Into the milk-house went I with the maid,80 And there amongst the cream-bowls she did shine As Pallas ’mongst her princely huswifery, She turn’d her smock over her lily arms, And div’d them into milk to run her cheese; But, whiter than the milk, her crystal skin,85 Checked with lines of azure, made her blush[157] That art or nature durst bring for compare. Ermsby, if thou hadst seen, as I did note it well, How Beauty play’d the huswife, how this girl, Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work,90 Thou wouldst, with Tarquin, hazard Rome and all To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield. Ralph. Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her? P. Edw. Ay, Ralph. Ralph. Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in95 my head; thou shalt have her already. P. Edw. I’ll give thee a new coat, an learn me that. Ralph. Why, Sirrah Ned, we’ll ride to Oxford to Friar Bacon. O, he is a brave scholar,100 sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers. P. Edw. And how then, Ralph? Ralph. Marry, sirrah, thou shalt go to105 him: and because thy father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and I’ll to the court, and I’ll prince it out; and he shall make thee either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock.110 P. Edw. But how shall I have the maid? Ralph. Marry, sirrah, if thou be’st a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundays she’ll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great115 press of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she’ll swap thee into her plackerd;[158] then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself. Erms. Excellent policy!120 P. Edw. But how if I be a wrought smock? Ralph. Then she’ll put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day she’ll put thee on; and at night when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock125 to a man, you may make up the match. Lacy. Wonderfully wisely counselled, Ralph. P. Edw. Ralph shall have a new coat. Ralph. God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned.130 P. Edw. Lacy, the fool hath laid a perfect plot; For-why[159] our country Margaret is so coy, And stands so much upon her honest points, That marriage or no market with the maid. Ermsby, it must be necromantic spells135 And charms of art that must enchain her love, Or else shall Edward never win the girl. Therefore, my wags, we’ll horse us in the morn. And post to Oxford to this jolly friar:140 Bacon shall by his magic do this deed. War. Content, my lord; and that’s a speedy way To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat. P. Edw. I am unknown, not taken for the prince; They only deem us frolic courtiers, That revel thus among our liege’s game;145 Therefore I have devis’d a policy. Lacy, thou know’st next Friday is Saint James’,[160] And then the country flocks to Harleston fair; Then will the Keeper’s daughter frolic there, And over-shine the troop of all the maids150 That come to see and to be seen that day. Haunt thee disguis’d among the country-swains, Feign thou ’rt a farmer’s son, not far from thence, Espy her loves, and who she liketh best; Cote[161] him, and court her, to control[162] the clown;155 Say that the courtier tired all in green. That help’d her handsomely to run her cheese, And fill’d her father’s lodge with venison, Commends him, and sends fairings to herself. Buy something worthy of her parentage,160 Not worth her beauty; for, Lacy, then the fair Affords no jewel fitting for the maid. And when thou talk’st of me, note if she blush; O, then she loves: but if her cheeks wax pale, Disdain it is. Lacy, send how she fares,165 And spare no time nor cost to win her loves. Lacy. I will, my lord, so execute this charge As if that Lacy were in love with her. P. Edw. Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news. Ralph. And, Sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand170 thousand million of fine bells. Lacy. What wilt thou do with them, Ralph? Ralph. Marry, every time that Ned sighs for the Keeper’s daughter, I’ll tie a bell about him; and so within three or four days I will send175 word to his father Harry that his son and my master Ned is become Love’s morris-dance. P. Edw. Well, Lacy, look with care unto thy charge, And I will haste to Oxford to the friar, That he by art and thou by secret gifts180 Mayst make me lord of merry Fressingfield. Lacy. God send your honour your heart’s desire. Exeunt. [Scene II.][163] Enter Friar Bacon, with Miles his poor Scholar, with books under his arm; with them Burden, Mason, and Clement, three Doctors. Bacon. Miles, where are you? Miles. Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor. Bacon. Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?5 Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare libros in unum! Bacon. Now, masters of our academic state, That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place, Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts,10 Spending your time in depth of learned skill, Why flock you thus to Bacon’s secret cell, A friar newly stall’d in Brazen-nose? Say what’s your mind, that I may make reply. Burd. Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect,15 That thou art read in magic’s mystery; In pyromancy, to divine by flames; To tell, by hydromatic, ebbs and tides; By aeromancy to discover doubts. To plain out questions, as Apollo did.20 Bacon. Well, Master Burden, what of all this? Miles. Marry, sir, he doth but fulfil, by rehearsing of these names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes; that which is above us pertains nothing to us.25 Burd. I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report, Nay, England, and the court of Henry says, Thou ’rt making of a brazen head by art, Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms, And read a lecture in philosophy;30 And, by the help of devils and ghastly fiends, Thou mean’st, ere many years or days be past, To compass England with a wall of brass. Bacon. And what of this? Miles. What of this, master! Why, he doth35 speak mystically; for he knows, if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet Mother Waters’ strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a copper nose. Clem. Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill,40 But joying that our académy yields A man suppos’d the wonder of the world; For if thy cunning work these miracles, England and Europe shall admire thy fame, And Oxford shall in characters of brass,45 And statues, such as were built up in Rome, Etérnize Friar Bacon for his art. Mason. Then, gentle friar, tell us thy intent. Bacon. Seeing you come as friends unto the friar, Resolve you,[164] doctors, Bacon can by books50 Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave, And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse. The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell, Trembles when Bacon bids him or his fiends Bow to the force of his pentagonon.[165]55 What art can work, the frolic friar knows; And therefore will I turn my magic books, And strain out necromancy to the deep. I have contriv’d and fram’d a head of brass (I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff),60 And that by art shall read philosophy; And I will strengthen England by my skill, That if ten Cæsars liv’d and reign’d in Rome, With all the legions Europe doth contain, They should not touch a grass of English ground.65 The work that Ninus rear’d at Babylon, The brazen walls fram’d by Semiramis, Carv’d out like to the portal of the sun, Shall not be such as rings the English strand From Dover to the market-place of Rye.70 Burd. Is this possible? Miles. I’ll bring ye two or three witnesses. Burd. What be those? Miles. Marry, sir, three or four as honest devils and good companions as any be in hell. 75 Mason. No doubt but magic may do much in this; For he that reads but mathematic rules Shall find conclusions that avail to work Wonders that pass the common sense of men. Burd. But Bacon roves[166] a bow beyond his reach,80 And tells of more than magic can perform, Thinking to get a fame by fooleries. Have I not pass’d as far in state of schools, And read of many secrets? Yet to think That heads of brass can utter any voice,85 Or more, to tell of deep philosophy,— This is a fable Æsop had forgot. Bacon. Burden, thou wong’st me in detracting thus; Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies. But tell me ’fore these doctors, if thou dare,90 Of certain questions I shall move to thee. Burd. I will: ask what thou can. Miles. Marry, sir, he’ll straight be on your pick-pack,[167] to know-whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy. 95 Bacon. Were you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the Thames? Burd. I was; what then? Bacon. What book studied you thereon all night? 100 Burd. I! none at all; I read not there a line. Bacon. Then, doctors, Friar Bacon’s art knows naught. Clem. What say you to this, Master Burden? Doth he not touch you? Burd. I pass not of[168] his frivolous speeches. 105 Miles. Nay, Master Burden, my master, ere he hath done with you, will turn you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaam’s ass. 110 Bacon. Masters, for that learned Burden’s skill is deep, And sore he doubts of Bacon’s cabalism, I’ll show you why he haunts to Henley oft: Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air, But there to spend the night in alchemy, 115 To multiply with secret spells of art; Thus private steals he learning from us all. To prove my sayings true, I’ll show you straight The book he keeps at Henley for himself. Miles. Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed. 120 Bacon. Masters, stand still, fear not, I’ll show you but his book. Here he conjures. Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon! Enter a Woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a Devil. Miles. O master, cease your conjuration, or you spoil all; for here’s a she-devil come 125 with a shoulder of mutton on a spit. You have marr’d the devil’s supper; but no doubt he thinks our college fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cook with a shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed. 130 Hostess. O, where am I, or what’s become of me? Bacon. What art thou? Hostess. Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell. Bacon. How camest thou here? Hostess. As I was in the kitchen ’mongst the maids, 135 Spitting the meat ’gainst supper for my guests, A motion[169] mov’d me to look forth of door: No sooner had I pried into the yard, But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence, And mounted me aloft unto the clouds. 140 As in a trance, I thought nor feared naught, Nor know I where or whither I was ta’en, Nor where I am nor what these persons be. Bacon. No? Know you not Master Burden? Hostess. O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.— 145 What, Master Burden! ’t was but yesternight That you and I at Henley play’d at cards. Burd. I know not what we did.—A pox of all conjuring friars! Clem. Now, jolly friar, tell us, is this the book 150 That Burden is so careful to look on? Bacon. It is.—But, Burden, tell me now, Think’st thou that Bacon’s necromantic skill Cannot perform his head and wall of brass, When he can fetch thine hostess in such post? 155 Miles. I’ll warrant you, master, if Master Burden could conjure as well as you, he would have his hook every night from Henley to study on at Oxford. Mason. Burden, 160 What, are you mated[170] by this frolic friar?— Look how he droops; his guilty conscience Drives him to bash,[171] and makes his hostess blush. Bacon. Well, mistress, for I will not have you miss’d. You shall to Henley to cheer up your guests 165 ’Fore supper gin.—Burden, bid her adieu; Say farewell to your hostess ’fore she goes.— Sirrah, away, and set her safe at home.

Bacon. Thus, rulers of our academic state, You have seen the friar frame his art by proof; And as the college called Brazen-nose Is under him, and he the master there, 180 So surely shall this head of brass be fram’d, And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms, And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar. But I will circle England round with brass.