Chapter VII: Act V: Scene I.83 (2)

_Booby._ Father, do you see this man? You (380) little think he ’ll
run a mile or two for such a cake, or pass[118] for a pudding. I tell
you, father, he has kept such a begging of me for a piece of this
cake! Whoo! he comes upon me with “a superfantial substance, and the
foison[119] of (385) the earth,” that I know not what he means. If
he came to me thus, and said, “My friend Booby,” or so, why, I could
spare him a piece with all my heart; but when he tells me how God
hath enriched me above other fellows (390) with a cake, why, he makes
me blind and deaf at once. Yet, father, here is a piece of cake for
you, as hard as the world goes.[120] [_Gives cake._]

_Erest._ Thanks, son, but list to me;
He shall be deaf when thou shalt not see. 395
Farewell, my son: things may so hit,
Thou mayst have wealth to mend thy wit.

_Cor._ Farewell, father, farewell; for I must make haste after my
two-hand sword that is gone before. _Exeunt omnes._ 400

_Enter_ SACRAPANT _in his study._

_Sac._ The day is clear, the welkin bright and grey,
The lark is merry and records[121] her notes;
Each thing rejoiceth underneath the sky,
But only I, whom heaven hath in hate,
Wretched and miserable Sacrapant. 405
In Thessaly was I born and brought up;
My mother Meroe hight,[122] a famous witch,
And by her cunning I of her did learn
To change and alter shapes of mortal men.
There did I turn myself into a dragon, 410
And stole away the daughter to the king,
Fair Delia, the mistress of my heart;
And brought her hither to revive the man
That seemeth young and pleasant to behold,
And yet is aged, crooked, weak, and numb. 415
Thus by enchanting spells I do deceive
Those that behold and look upon my face;
But well may I bid youthful years adieu.
_Enter_ DELIA _with a pot in her hand._
See where she comes from whence my sorrows grow!
How now, fair Delia! where have you been? 420

_Del._ At the foot of the rock for running water, and gathering roots
for your dinner, sir.

_Sac._ Ah, Delia, fairer art thou than the running water, yet harder
far than steel or adamant! 425

_Del._ Will it please you to sit down, sir?

_Sac._ Ay, Delia, sit and ask me what thou wilt,
Thou shalt have it brought into thy lap.

_Del._ Then, I pray you, sir, let me have the best meat from the King
of England’s table, (430) and the best wine in all France, brought in
by the veriest knave in all Spain.

_Sac._ Delia, I am glad to see you so pleasant.
Well, sit thee down.—
Spread, table, spread, 435
Meat, drink, and bread,
Ever may I have
What I ever crave,
When I am spread,
For meat for my black cock, 440
And meat for my red.
_Enter a_ Friar _with a chine of beef and a pot of wine._
Here, Delia, will ye fall to?

_Del._ Is this the best meat in England?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What is it? 445

_Sac._ A chine of English beef, meat for a king and a king’s
followers.

_Del._ Is this the best wine in France?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What wine is it? 450

_Sac._ A cup of neat wine of Orleans, that never came near the
brewers in England.

_Del._ Is this the veriest knave in all Spain?

_Sac._ Yea.

_Del._ What, is he a friar? 455

_Sac._ Yea, a friar indefinite, and a knave infinite.

_Del._ Then, I pray ye, Sir Friar, tell me before you go, which is
the most greediest Englishman? 460

_Fri._ The miserable and most covetous usurer.

_Sac._ Hold thee there, friar. (_Exit_ Friar.) But, soft!
Who have we here? Delia, away, be gone!
_Enter the_ Two Brothers.
Delia, away! for beset are we.—
But heaven or hell shall rescue her for me. 465
[_Exeunt_ DELIA _and_ SACRAPANT.]

_1 Bro._ Brother, was not that Delia did appear,
Or was it but her shadow that was here?

_2 Bro._ Sister, where art thou? Delia, come again!
He calls, that of thy absence doth complain.—
Call out, Calypha, that she may hear, 470
And cry aloud, for Delia is near.

_Echo._ Near.

_1 Bro._ Near! O, where? Hast thou any tidings?

_Echo._ Tidings.

_2 Bro._ Which way is Delia, then; or that, or this? 475

_Echo._ This.

_1 Bro._ And may we safely come where Delia is?

_Echo._ Yes.

_2 Bro._ Brother, remember you the white bear of England’s wood? 480

“Start not aside for every danger,
Be not afeard of every stranger;
Things that seem are not the same.”

_1 Bro._ Brother,
Why do we not, then, courageously enter? 485

_2 Bro._ Then, brother, draw thy sword and follow me.

_Re-enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer: it lightens and thunders; the_ Second Brother _falls down._

_1 Bro._ What, brother, dost thou fall?

_Sac._ Ay, and thou too, Calypha.
_The_ First Brother _falls down. Enter_ Two Furies.
_Adeste, dæmones!_ Away with them:
Go carry them straight to Sacrapanto’s cell, 490
There in despair and torture for to dwell.
[_Exeunt_ Furies _with the_ Two Brothers.]
These are Thenores’ sons of Thessaly,
That come to seek Delia their sister forth;
But, with a potion I to her have given,
My arts have made her to forget herself. 495
_Removes a turf, and shows a light in a glass._
See here the thing which doth prolong my life,
With this enchantment I do any thing;
And till this fade, my skill shall still endure,
And never none shall break this little glass,
But she that ’s neither wife, widow, nor maid. 500
Then cheer thyself; this is thy destiny,
Never to die but by a dead man’s hand. _Exit._

_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight, and_ [ERESTUS] _the old man at the cross._

_Eum._ Tell me, Time,
Tell me, just Time, when shall I Delia see?
When shall I see the loadstar of my life? 505
When shall my wand’ring course end with her sight,
Or I but view my hope, my heart’s delight? [_Seeing Erestus._]
Father, God speed! If you tell fortunes, I pray, good father, tell me
mine.

_Erest._ Son, I do see in thy face 510
Thy blessed fortune work apace.
I do perceive that thou hast wit;
Beg of thy fate to govern it,
For wisdom govern’d by advice,
Makes many fortunate and wise. 515
Bestow thy alms, give more than all,
Till dead men’s bones come at thy call.
Farewell, my son! Dream of no rest,
Till thou repent that thou didst best. _Exit._

_Eum._ This man hath left me in a labyrinth: 520
He biddeth me give more than all,
Till dead men’s bones come at my call;
He biddeth me dream of no rest.
Till I repent that I do best. [_Lies down and sleeps._]

_Enter_ WIGGEN, COREBUS,[123] Churchwarden, and Sexton.

_Wig._ You may be ashamed, you whoreson (525) scald Sexton and
Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shameless faces of yours,
to let a poor man lie so long above ground unburied. A rot on you
all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow when
he is gone! 530

_Church._[124] What, would you have us to bury him, and to answer it
ourselves to the parish?

_Sex._ Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest run on
in the quarter’s accounts, and put it down for one of your good 535
deeds, o’ God’s name! for I am not one that curiously stands upon
merits.

_Cor._ You whoreson, sodden-headed sheep’s-face, shall a good fellow
do less service and more honesty to the parish, and will you not, 540
when he is dead, let him have Christmas burial?

_Wig._ Peace, Corebus! As sure as Jack was Jack, the frolic’st
franion amongst you, and I, Wiggen, his sweet sworn brother, Jack
shall have his funerals, or some of them shall lie (545) on God’s
dear earth for it, that’s once.[125]

_Church._ Wiggen, I hope thou wilt do no more than thou dar’st answer.

_Wig._ Sir, sir, dare or dare not, more or less, answer or not
answer, do this, or have this. 550

_Sex._ Help, help, help!

WIGGEN _sets upon the parish with a pike-staff_:[126] EUMENIDES _awakes and comes to them._

_Eum._ Hold thy hands, good fellow.

_Cor._ Can you blame him, sir, if he take Jack’s part against this
shake-rotten parish that will not bury Jack? 555

_Eum._ Why, what was that Jack?

_Cor._ Who, Jack, sir? Who, our Jack, sir? As good a fellow as ever
trod upon neat’s-leather.

_Wig._ Look you, sir; he gave fourscore (560) and nineteen mourning
gowns to the parish when he died, and because he would not make them
up a full hundred, they would not bury him: was not this good dealing?

_Church._ O Lord, sir, how he lies! He was (565) not worth a
halfpenny, and drunk out every penny; and now his fellows, his
drunken companions, would have us to bury him at the charge of the
parish. An we make many such matches, we may pull down the steeple,
sell (570) the bells, and thatch the chancel. He shall lie above
ground till he dance a galliard about the church-yard, for Steven
Loach.

_Wig. Sic argumentaris, Domine_ Loach;—“an we make many such
matches, we may (575) pull down the steeple, sell the bells, and
thatch the chancel!”—in good time, sir, and hang yourselves in the
bell-ropes, when you have done. _Domine, opponens præpono tibi hanc
quœstionem_, whether will you have the (580) ground broken or your
pates broken first? For one of them shall be done presently, and to
begin mine,[127] I’ll seal it upon your coxcomb.

_Eum._ Hold thy hands, I pray thee, good fellow;
be not too hasty. 585

_Cor._ You capon’s face, we shall have you turned out of the parish
one of these days, with never a tatter to your arse; then you are in
worse taking than Jack.

_Eum._ Faith, and he is bad enough. This (590) fellow does but the
part of a friend, to seek to bury his friend. How much will bury him?

_Wig._ Faith, about some fifteen or sixteen shillings will bestow him
honestly.

_Sex._ Ay, even thereabouts, sir. 595

_Eum._ Here, hold it, then:—[_aside._] and I have left me but one
poor three half-pence. Now do I remember the words the old man spake
at the cross, “Bestow all thou hast,” and this is all, “till dead
men’s bones come (600) at thy call.”—Here, hold it [_gives money_];
and so farewell.

_Wig._ God, and all good, be with you, sir! [_Exit_ EUMENIDES.] Nay,
you cormorants, I’ll bestow one peal of[128] Jack at mine own 605
proper costs and charges.

_Cor._ You may thank God the long staff and the bilbo-blade crossed
nor your coxcomb.—Well, we’ll to the church-stile[129] and have a
pot, and so trill-lill. [_Exit with_ WIGGEN.] 610

_Church._}
_Sex._ } Come, let’s go. _Exeunt._

_Fan._ But, hark you, gammer, me thinks this Jack bore a great sway
in the parish.

_Madge._ O, this Jack was a marvellous (615) fellow! he was but a
poor man, but very well beloved. You shall see anon what this Jack
will come to.

_Enter the_ Harvest-men _singing, with women in their hands._

_Fro._ Soft! who have we here? Our amorous harvesters. 620

_Fan._ Ay, ay, let us sit still, and let them alone.

_Here they begin to sing, the song doubled._

Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping,
To reap our harvest-fruit!
And thus we pass the year so long, 625
And never be we mute _Exeunt the_ Harvest-men.

_Enter_ HUANEBANGO _and_ COREBUS, _the clown._

_Fro._ Soft! who have we here?

_Madge._ O, this is a choleric gentleman! All you that love your
lives, keep out of the smell of his two-hand sword. Now goes he to
the (630) conjurer.

_Fan._ Methinks the conjurer should put the fool into a juggling-box.

_Huan._ Fee, fa, fum,
Here is the Englishman,— 635
Conquer him that can,—
Come for his lady bright,
To prove himself a knight,
And win her love in fight.

_Cor._ Who-haw, Master Bango, are you (640) here? Hear you, you had
best sit down here, and beg an alms with me.

_Huan._ Hence, base cullion! Here is he that commandeth ingress
and egress with his weapon, and will enter at his voluntary, 645
whosoever saith no.

_A voice and flame of fire_; HUANEBANGO _falleth down._

_Voice._ No.

_Madge._ So with that they kissed, and spoiled the edge of as good a
two-hand sword as ever God put life in. Now goes Corebus in, spite 650
of the conjurer.

_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] the Conjurer _and_ [Two Furies].

_Sac._ Away with him into the open fields,
To be a ravening prey to crows and kites:
[HUAN. _is carried out by the_ Two Furies.]
And for this villain, let him wander up and down,
In naught but darkness and eternal night. 655

_Strikes_ COREBUS _blind._

_Cor._ Here hast thou slain Huan, a slashing knight,
And robbed poor Corebus of his sight. _Exit._

_Sac._ Hence, villain, hence!—Now I have unto Delia
Given a potion of forgetfulness,
That, when she comes, she shall not know her brothers. 660
Lo, where they labour, like to country-slaves,
With spade and mattock, on this enchanted ground!
Now will I call her by another name;
For never shall she know herself again,
Until that Sacrapant hath breath’d his last. 665
See where she comes.

_Enter_ DELIA.

Come hither, Delia, take this goad; here hard
At hand two slaves do work and dig for gold:
Gore them with this, and thou shalt have enough. _Gives her a goad._

_Del._ Good sir, I know not what you mean. 670

_Sac._ [_aside._] She hath forgotten to be Delia,
But not forgot the same she should forget;
But I will change her name.—
Fair Berecynthia, so this country calls you,
Go ply these strangers, wench; they dig for gold. _Exit._ 675

_Del._ O heavens, how
Am I beholding to this fair young man!
But I must ply these strangers to their work:
See where they come.

_Enter the_ Two Brothers _in their shirts, with spades, digging_.

_1 Bro._ O brother, see where Delia is! 680

_2 Bro._ O Delia,
Happy are we to see thee here!

_Del._ What tell you me of Delia, prating swains?
I know no Delia, nor know I what you mean.
Ply you your work, or else you ’re like to smart. 685

_1 Bro._ Why, Delia, know’st thou not thy brothers here?
We come from Thessaly to seek thee forth;
And thou deceiv’st thyself, for thou art Delia.

_Del._ Yet more of Delia? Then take this, and smart.
[_Pricks them with the goad._]
What, feign you shifts for to defer your labour? 690
Work, villains, work; it is for gold you dig.

_2 Bro._ Peace, brother, peace: this vild[130] enchanter
Hath ravisht Delia of her senses clean,
And she forgets that she is Delia.

_1 Bro._ Leave, cruel thou, to hurt the miserable.— 695
Dig, brother, dig, for she is hard as steel.

_Here they dig, and descry a light [in a glass] under a little hill._

_2 Bro._ Stay, brother; what hast thou descried?

_Del._ Away, and touch it not; ’tis something that
My lord hath hidden there. _Covers the light again._

_Re-enter_ SACRAPANT.

_Sac._ Well said![131] thou plyest these pioners[132] well— 700
Go get you in, you labouring slaves. [_Exeunt the_ Two Brothers.]
Come, Berecynthia, let us in likewise,
And hear the nightingale record her notes. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ ZANTIPPA, _the curst daughter, to the Well_ [_of Life_], _with a pot in her hand._

_Zan._ Now for a husband, house, and home: God send a good one or
none, I pray God! (705) My father hath sent me to the well for the
water of life, and tells me, if I give fair words, I shall have a
husband. But here comes

_Enter_ [CELANTA], _the foul wench, to the Well for water with a pot in her hand._

Celanta, my sweet sister. I ’ll stand by and hear what she says. 710

_Cel._ My father hath sent me to the well for water, and he tells me,
if I speak fair, I shall have a husband, and none of the worst. Well,
though I am black,[133] I am sure all the world will not forsake me;
and, as the old proverb (715) is, though I am black, I am not the
devil.

_Zan._ Marry-gup with a murrain,[134] I know wherefore thou speakest
that: but go thy ways home as wise as thou camest, or I ’ll set thee
home with a wanion.[135] 720

_Here she strikes her pitcher against her sister’s, and breaks them both, and then exit._

_Cel._ I think this be the curstest quean in the world. You see what
she is, a little fair, but as proud as the devil, and the veriest
vixen that lives upon God’s earth. Well, I ’ll let her alone, and go
home and get another pitcher, and, (725) for all this, get me to the
well for water. _Exit._

_Enter two Furies out of the Conjurer’s cell and lay_ HUANEBANGO _by the Well of Life_ [_and then exeunt_.] _Re-enter_ ZANTIPPA _with a pitcher to the well_.

_Zan._ Once again for a husband; and, in faith, Celanta, I have got
the start of you; belike husbands grow by the well-side. Now my
father says I must rule my tongue. Why, alas, (730) what am I, then?
A woman without a tongue is as a soldier without his weapon. But
I ’ll have my water, and be gone.

_Here she offers to dip her pitcher in, and a_ Head _speaks in the well_.

_Head._ Gently dip, but not too deep.
For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 735
Fair maiden, white and red,
Stroke me smooth, and comb my head,
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.[136]

_Zan._ What is this?
“Fair maiden, white and red, 740
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head.
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread”?
“Cockell” callest thou it, boy? Faith, I ’ll
give you cockell-bread.

_She breaks her pitcher upon the_ Head: _then it thunders and lightens; and_ HUANEBANGO, _who is deaf and cannot hear, rises up_.

_Huan._ Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida, flortos: 745
Dub dub-a-dub, bounce, quoth the guns, with a sulphurous
huff-snuff:[137]
Wakt with a wench, pretty peat, pretty love, and my sweet
pretty pigsnie,[138]
Just by thy side shall sit surnamed great Huanebango:
Safe in my arms will I keep thee, threat Mars or thunder Olympus.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Foh, what greasy groom (750) have we here? He looks
as though he crept out of the backside of the well, and speaks like a
drum perisht at the west end.

_Huan._ O, that I might,—but I may not, woe
to my destiny therefore!—[139]
Kiss that I clasp! but I cannot. Tell me, my destiny, wherefore? 755

_Zan._ [_aside._] Whoop! now I have my dream. Did you never hear so
great a wonder as this? Three blue beans in a blue bladder, rattle,
bladder, rattle.

_Huan._ [_aside._] I ’ll now set my countenance, (760) and to
her in prose, it may be, this rim-ram-ruff[140] is too rude an
encounter.—Let me, fair lady, if you be at leisure, revel with your
sweetness, and rail upon that cowardly conjurer, that hath cast me,
or congealed me (765) rather, into an unkind sleep, and polluted my
carcass.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Laugh, laugh, Zantippa; thou hast thy fortune, a
fool and a husband under one.

_Huan._ Truly, sweet-heart, as I seem, (770) about some twenty years,
the very April of mine age.

_Zan._ [_aside._] Why, what a prating ass is this!

_Huan._ Her coral lips, her crimson chin,
Her silver teeth so white within, 775
Her golden locks, her rolling eye,
Her pretty parts, let them go by,
Heigh-ho, hath wounded me,
That I must die this day to see!

_Zan._ By Gogs-bones, thou art a flouting (780) knave. “Her coral
lips, her crimson chin”! ka,[141] wilshaw!

_Huan._ True, my own, and my own because mine, and mine because mine,
ha, ha! Above a thousand pounds in possibility, and things 785
fitting thy desire in possession.

_Zan._ [_aside._] The sot thinks I ask of his lands. Lob[142] be your
comfort, and cuckold be your destiny!—Hear you, sir; an if you will
have us, you had best say so betime. 790

_Huan._ True, sweet-heart, and will royalize thy progeny with my
pedigree. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ EUMENIDES, _the wandering knight_.

_Eum._ Wretched Eumenides, still unfortunate,
Envied by fortune and forlorn by fate,
Here pine and die, wretched Eumenides, 795
Die in the spring, the April of my age!
Here sit thee down, repent what thou hast done:
I would to God that it were ne’er begun!

_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are well overtaken, sir.

_Eum._ Who ’s that? 800

[_G. of_] _Jack._ You are heartily well met, sir.

_Eum._ Forbear, I say; who is that which pincheth me?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Trusting in God, good Master Eumenides, that
you are in so good health as (805) all your friends were at the
making hereof, God give you good morrow, sir! Lack you not a neat,
handsome, and cleanly young lad, about the age of fifteen or sixteen
years, that can run by your horse, and, for a need, make (810) your
mastership’s shoes as black as ink? How say you, sir?

_Eum._ Alas, pretty lad, I know not how to keep myself, and much less
a servant, my pretty boy; my state is so bad. 815

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Content yourself, you shall not be so ill a master
but I ’ll be as bad a servant. Tut, sir, I know you, though you know
not me. Are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can, sir, that came
from a strange place (820) in the land of Catita, where Jack-an-apes
flies with his tail in his mouth, to seek out a lady as white as
snow and as red as blood? Ha, ha! have I touched you now?

_Eum._ [_aside._] I think this boy be a (825) spirit.—How knowest
thou all this?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, are not you the man, sir, deny it if you can,
sir, that gave all the money you had to the burying of a poor man,
and but one three half-pence left in your (830) purse? Content you,
sir, I ’ll serve you, that is flat.

_Eum._ Well, my lad, since thou art so impor[tu]nate, I am content
to entertain thee, not as a servant, but a copartner in my journey,
(835) But whither shall we go? for I have not any money more than one
bare three half-pence.

_G._ [_of_] _Jack._ Well, master, content yourself, for if my
divination be not out, that shall be spent at the next inn or
alehouse we come (840) to: for, master, I know you are passing
hungry; therefore I ’ll go before and provide dinner until that you
come; no doubt but you ’ll come fair and softly after.

_Eum._ Ay, go before; I ’ll follow thee. 845

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But do you hear, master? Do you know my name?

_Eum._ No, I promise thee, not yet.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, I am Jack. _Exit._

_Eum._ Jack! Why, be it so, then. 850

_Enter the_ HOSTESS _and_ JACK, _setting meat on the table: and Fiddlers come to play_. EUMENIDES _walketh up and down, and will eat no meat_.

_Host._ How say you, sir? Do you please to sit down?

_Eum._ Hostess, I thank you, I have no great stomach.

_Host._ Pray, sir, what is the reason your (855) master is so
strange? Doth not this meat please him?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Yes, hostess, but it is my master’s fashion to pay
before he eats; therefore, a reckoning, good hostess. 860

_Host._ Marry, shall you, sir, presently. _Exit._

_Eum._ Why. Jack, what dust thou mean? Thou knowest I have not any
money; therefore, sweet Jack, tell me what shall I do?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Well, master, look in your (865) purse.

_Eum._ Why, faith, it is a folly, for I have no money.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, look you, master; do so much for me. 870

_Eum._ [_looking into his purse._] Alas, Jack, my purse is full of
money!

[_G. of_] _Jack._ “Alas,” master! does that word belong to this
accident? Why, methinks I should have seen you cast away your cloak,
(875) and in a bravado dance a galliard round about the chamber. Why,
master, your man can teach you more wit than this.
[_Re-enter_ Hostess.]
Come, hostess, cheer up my master.

_Host._ You are heartily welcome; and if it (880) please you to
eat of a fat capon, a fairer bird, a finer bird, a sweeter bird, a
crisper bird, a neater bird, your worship never eat of.

_Eum._ Thanks, my fine, eloquent hostess.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But hear you, master, one (885) word by the way.
Are you content I shall be halves in all you get in your journey?

_Eum._ I am. Jack, here is my hand.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, I ask no more.

_Eum._ Come, hostess, receive your money; (890) and I thank you for
my good entertainment. [_Gives money._]

_Host._ You are heartily welcome, sir.

_Eum._ Come, Jack, whither go we now?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, to the conjurer’s presently. 895

_Eum._ Content, Jack.—Hostess, farewell. _Exeunt._

_Enter_ COREBUS [_blind_], _and_ CELANTA, _the foul wench, to the Well for water_.

_Cor._ Come, my duck, come: I have now got a wife. Thou art fair, art
thou not?

_Cel._ My Corebus, the fairest alive; make no doubt of that. 900

_Cor._ Come, wench, are we almost at the well?

_Cel._ Ay, Corebus, we are almost at the well now. I ’ll go fetch
some water; sit down while I dip my pitcher in.

_Voice._ Gently dip, but not too deep, 905
For fear you make the golden beard to weep.

_A_ Head _comes up with ears of corn, and she combs them into her lap_.

Fair maiden, white and red,
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head.
And thou shalt have some cockell-bread.

_A_ [Second] Head _comes up full of gold; she combs it into her lap_.[143]

[_Sec. Head._] Gently dip, but not too deep, 910
For fear thou make the golden beard to weep.
Fair maid, white and red,
Comb me smooth, and stroke my head,
And every hair a sheaf shall be,
And every sheaf a golden tree. 915

_Cel._ O, see, Corebus, I have comb’d a great deal of gold into my
lap, and a great deal of corn!

_Cor._ Well said,[144] wench! now we shall have just enough. God
send us coiners to coin our (920) gold. But come, shall we go home,
sweet-heart?

_Cel._ Nay, come, Corebus, I will lead you.

_Cor._ So, Corebus, things have well hit;
Thou hast gotten wealth to mend thy wit.
_Exeunt._

_Enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _and_ [EUMENIDES] _the wandering knight_.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Come away, master, come. 925

_Eum._ Go along. Jack, I ’ll follow thee. Jack, they say it is good
to go cross-legged, and say his prayers backward; how sayest thou?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Tut, never fear, master; let me alone. Here sit you
still; speak not a word; (930) and because you shall not be enticed
with his enchanting speeches, with this same wool I ’ll stop your
ears: and so, master, sit still, for I must to the conjurer. _Exit._

_Enter_ [SACRAPANT] _the Conjurer to the wandering knight._

_Sac._ How now! What man art thou that sits so sad? 935
Why dost thou gaze upon these stately trees
Without the leave and will of Sacrapant?
What, not a word but mum? Then, Sacrapant,
Thou art betray’d.

_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _invisible, and takes off_ SACRAPANT’S _wreath from his head, and his sword out of his hand._

What hand invades the head of Sacrapant? 940
What hateful Fury doth envy my happy state?
Then, Sacrapant, these are thy latest days.
Alas, my veins are numb’d, my sinews shrink.
My blood is pierc’d, my breath fleeting away.
And now my timeless date is come to end! 945
He in whose life his actions hath[145] been so foul,
Now in his death to hell descends his soul. _He dieth._

[_G. of_] _Jack._ O, sir, are you gone? Now I hope we shall have some
other coil.—Now, master, how like you this? The conjurer he is 950
dead, and vows never to trouble us more. Now get you to your fair
lady, and see what you can do with her.—Alas, he heareth me not all
this while; but I will help that.

_Pulls the wool out of the ears of_ EUMENIDES.

_Eum._ How now. Jack! What news? 955

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Here, master, take this sword, and dig with it at
the foot of this hill.

EUMENIDES _digs, and spies a light [in a glass]._

_Eum._ How now, Jack! What is this?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Master, without this the conjurer could do nothing;
and so long as this (960) light lasts, so long doth his art endure,
and this being out, then doth his art decay.

_Eum._ Why, then, Jack, I will soon put out this light.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Ay, master, how? 965

_Eum._ Why, with a stone I ’ll break the glass, and then blow it out.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ No, master, you may as soon break the smith’s anvil
as this little vial; nor the biggest blast that ever Boreas blew
cannot (970) blow out this little light; but she that is neither
maid, wife, nor widow. Master, wind this horn, and see what will
happen.

EUMENIDES _winds the horn. Here enters_ VENELIA, _and breaks the glass, and blows out the light, and goeth in again._

So, master, how like you this? This is she that ran madding in the
woods, his betrothed love (975) that keeps the cross; and now, this
light being out, all are restored to their former liberty. And now,
master, to the lady that you have so long looked for.

_The_ GHOST OF JACK _draweth a curtain, and there_ DELIA _sitteth asleep._

_Eum._ God speed, fair maid, sitting alone,—there (980) is once; God
speed, fair maid,—there is twice; God speed, fair maid,—that is
thrice.

_Del._ Not so, good sir, for you are by.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Enough, master, she hath (985) spoke; now I will
leave her with you. [_Exit._]

_Eum._ Thou fairest flower of these western parts,
Whose beauty so reflecteth in my sight
As doth a crystal mirror in the sun;
For thy sweet sake I have crost the frozen Rhine;[146] 990
Leaving fair Po, I sail’d up Danuby
As far as Saba, whose enhancing streams
Cut twixt the Tartars and the Russians;
These have I crost for thee, fair Delia:
Then grant me that which I have su’d for long. 995

_Del._ Thou gentle knight, whose fortune is so good
To find me out and set my brothers free,
My faith, my heart, my hand I give to thee.

_Eum._ Thanks, gentle madam; but here comes Jack: thank him, for he
is the (1000) best friend that we have.

_Re-enter_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK, _with a head in his hand._

How now. Jack! What hast thou there?

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Marry, master, the head of the conjurer.

_Eum._ Why, Jack, that is impossible; he (1005) was a young man.

[_G. of_] _Jack_. Ah, master, so he deceived them that beheld him!
But he was a miserable, old, and crooked man, though to each man’s
eye he seemed young and fresh; for, (1010) master, this conjurer took
the shape of the old man that kept the cross, and that old man was in
the likeness of the conjurer. But now, master, wind your horn.

EUMENIDES _winds his horn. Enter_ VENELIA, _the_ Two Brothers, _and_ [ERESTUS] _he that was at the cross._

_Eum._ Welcome, Erestus! welcome, fair Venelia! 1015
Welcome, Thelea and Calypha both!
Now have I her that I so long have sought;
So saith fair Delia, if we have your consent.

_1 Bro._ Valiant EUMENIDES, thou well deservest
To have our favours; so let us rejoice 1020
That by thy means we are at liberty.
Here may we joy each in other’s sight,
And this fair lady have her wandering knight.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ So, master, now ye think you have done; but I must
have a saying to (1025) you. You know you and I were partners, I to
have half in all you got.

_Eum._ Why, so thou shalt. Jack.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Why, then, master, draw your sword, part your lady,
let me have half of (1030) her presently.

_Eum._ Why, I hope. Jack, thou dost but jest. I promised thee half I
got, but not half my lady.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ But what else, master? (1035) Have you not gotten
her? Therefore divide her straight, for I will have half; there is no
remedy.

_Eum._ Well, ere I will falsify my word unto my friend, take her all.
Here, Jack, I’ll (1040) give her thee.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Nay, neither more nor less, master, but even just
half.

_Eum._ Before I will falsify my faith unto my friend, I will divide
her. Jack, thou shalt (1045) have half.

_1 Bro._ Be not so cruel unto our sister, gentle knight.

_2 Bro._ O, spare fair Delia! She deserves no death. 1050

_Eum._ Content yourselves; my word is passed to him.—Therefore
prepare thyself, Delia, for thou must die.

_Del._ Then farewell, world! Adieu, Eumenides!

EUMENIDES _offers to strike, and_ [_the_ GHOST OF] JACK _stays him._

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Stay, master; it is sufficient (1055) I have tried
your constancy. Do you now remember since you paid for the burying of
a poor fellow?

_Eum._ Ay, very well, Jack.

[_G. of_] _Jack._ Then, master, thank that (1060) good deed for this
good turn; and so God be with you all! _Leaps down in the ground._

_Eum._ Jack, what, art thou gone? Then farewell. Jack!—
Come, brothers, and my beauteous Delia,
Erestus, and thy dear Venelia, 1065
We will to Thessaly with joyful hearts.

_All._ Agreed: we follow thee and Delia.

_Exeunt all_ [_except_ FROLIC, FANTASTIC, _and_ MADGE].

_Fan._ What, gammer, asleep?

_Madge._ By the mass, son, ’t is almost day; and my windows shut at
the cock’s-crow. 1070

_Fro._ Do you hear, gammer? Methinks this Jack bore a great sway
amongst them.

_Madge._ O, man, this was the ghost of the poor man that they kept
such a coil to bury; and that makes him to help the wandering 1075
knight so much. But come, let us in: we will have a cup of ale and a
toast this morning, and so depart.[147]

_Fan._ Then you have made an end of your tale, gammer? 1080

_Madge._ Yes, faith: when this was done, I took a piece of bread and
cheese, and came my way; and so shall you have, too, before you go,
to your breakfast. [_Exeunt._]

THE HONOURABLE HISTORY OF FRIAR BACON AND FRIAR BUNGAY

BY ROBERT GREENE

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING HENRY THE THIRD.
EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his son.
EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
KING OF CASTILE.
LACY, Earl of Lincoln.
WARREN, Earl of Sussex.
ERMSBY, a gentleman.
RALPH SIMNELL, the King’s Fool.
FRIAR BACON.
MILES, Friar Bacon’s poor scholar.
FRIAR BUNGAY.
JAQUES VANDERMAST, a German.
BURDEN, }
MASON, } Doctors of Oxford.
CLEMENT,}
LAMBERT,} gentlemen.
SERLSBY,}
Two Scholars, their sons.
The Keeper of Fressingfield.
THOMAS, } farmers’ sons.
RICHARD, }
Constable.
A Post.
Lords, Country Clowns, &c.

ELINOR, daughter to the King of Castile.
MARGARET, the Keeper’s daughter of Fressingfield.
JOAN, a country wench.
Hostess of the Bell at Henley.

A DEVIL.
Spirit in the shape of HERCULES.
A dragon shooting fire.]

[SCENE I.][148]

_Enter_ PRINCE EDWARD _malcontented, with_ LACY, WARREN, ERMSBY, _and_ RALPH SIMNELL.

_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 Fressingfield 6
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?

_Ralph._ Hearest thou, Ned?—Nay, look if he will speak to me!

_P. Edw._ What say’st thou to me, fool?

_Ralph._ I prithee, tell me, Ned, art thou in (25) love with the
Keeper’s daughter?

_P. Edw._ How if I be, what then?

_Ralph._ Why, then, sirrah, I’ll teach thee how to deceive Love.

_P. Edw._ How, Ralph? (30)

_Ralph._ Marry, Sirrah Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and
my dagger, and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword; and so thou
shalt be my fool.

_P. Edw._ And what of this? 35

_Ralph._ Why, so thou shalt beguile Love: for Love is such a proud
scab, that he will never meddle with fools nor children. Is not
Ralph’s counsel good, Ned?

_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 in (95) 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 to (105) 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 great (115) 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 smock (125) 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 spells 135
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 maids 150
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 thousand (170) 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
send (175) 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 gifts 180
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 doth (35) 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 books 50
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.

_Hostess._ Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henley? 170

_Exeunt_ Hostess _and_ Devil.

_Burd._ The devil take thee and Henley too.

_Miles._ Master, shall I make a good motion?

_Bacon._ What’s that?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, now that my hostess is gone to provide supper,
conjure up another (175) spirit, and send Doctor Burden flying after.

_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.

_Miles._ So be it _et nunc et semper_, amen. _Exeunt._ 185

[SCENE III.][172]

_Enter_ MARGARET, _the fair maid of Fressingfield, and_ JOAN; THOMAS, [RICHARD,] _and other_ Clowns; _and_ LACY _disguised in country apparel._

_Thom._ By my troth, Margaret, here’s a weather is able to make a man
call his father “whoreson”: if this weather hold, we shall have hay
good cheap, and butter and cheese at Harleston will hear no price. 5