ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I.—The Court at Hampton House.
Enter King Henry the Third, the Emperor of Germany, the King of Castile, Elinor, and Vandermast.
K. Hen. Great men of Europe, monarchs of the West,
Ring'd with the walls of old Oceanus,
Whose lofty surge is like the battlements
That compass'd high-built Babel in with towers,—
Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave western kings,
To England's shore, whose promontory-cleeves
Show Albion is another little world;
Welcome says English Henry to you all;
Chiefly unto the lovely Elinor,
Who dar'd for Edward's sake cut through the seas,
And venture as Agenor's damsel through the deep,
To get the love of Henry's wanton son.
K. of Cast. England's rich monarch, brave Plantagenet,
The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds,
That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls,
Could not detain the beauteous Elinor;
But hearing of the fame of Edward's youth,
She dar'd to brook Neptunus' haughty pride,
And bide the brunt of froward Æolus:
Then may fair England welcome her the more.
Elin. After that English Henry by his lords
Had sent Prince Edward's lovely counterfeit,
A present to the Castile Elinor,
The comely portrait of so brave a man,
The virtuous fame discoursèd of his deeds,
Edward's courageous resolution,
Done at the Holy Land 'fore Damas'[190] walls,
Led both mine eye and thoughts in equal links,
To like so of the English monarch's son,
That I attempted perils for his sake.
Emp. Where is the prince, my lord?
K. Hen. He posted down, not long since, from the court,
To Suffolk side, to merry Framlingham,
To sport himself amongst my fallow deer:
From thence, by packets sent to Hampton House,
We hear the prince is ridden, with his lords,
To Oxford, in the académy there
To hear dispute amongst the learnèd men.
But we will send forth letters for my son,
To will him come from Oxford to the court.
Emp. Nay, rather, Henry, let us, as we be,
Ride for to visit Oxford with our train.
Fain would I see your universities,
And what learn'd men your académy yields.
From Hapsburg have I brought a learnèd clerk,
To hold dispute with English orators:
This doctor, surnam'd Jaques Vandermast,
A German born, pass'd into Padua,
To Florence and to fair Bologna,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans,
And, talking there with men of art, put down
The chiefest of them all in aphorisms,
In magic, and the mathematic rules:
Now let us, Henry, try him in your schools.
K. Hen. He shall, my lord; this motion likes me well.
We'll progress straight to Oxford with our trains,
And see what men our académy brings.—
And, wonder Vandermast, welcome to me:
In Oxford shalt thou find a jolly friar,
Call'd Friar Bacon, England's only flower:
Set him but non-plus in his magic spells,
And make him yield in mathematic rules,
And for thy glory I will bind thy brows,
Not with a poet's garland made of bays,
But with a coronet of choicest gold.
Whilst then we set to Oxford with our troops,
Let's in and banquet in our English court. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Street in Oxford.
Enter Ralph Simnell in Prince Edward's apparel; and Prince Edward, Warren, and Ermsby disguised.
Ralph. Where be these vacabond knaves, that they attend no better on their master?
P. Edw. If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.
Ralph. Sirrah Ned, I'll have no more post-horse to ride on: I'll have another fetch.
Erms. I pray you, how is that, my lord?
Ralph. Marry, sir, I'll send to the Isle of Ely for four or five dozen of geese, and I'll have them tied six and six together with whip-cord: now upon their backs will I have a fair field-bed with a canopy; and so, when it is my pleasure, I'll flee into what place I please. This will be easy.
War. Your honour hath said well: but shall we to Brazen-nose College before we pull off our boots?
Erms. Warren, well motioned; we will to the friar before we revel it within the town.—Ralph, see you keep your countenance like a prince.
Ralph. Wherefore have I such a company of cutting[191] knaves to wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against all mine enemies? have you not good swords and bucklers?
Enter Friar Bacon and Miles.
Erms. Stay, who comes here?
War. Some scholar; and we'll ask him where Friar Bacon is.
Bacon. Why, thou arrant dunce, shall I never make thee a good scholar? doth not all the town cry out and say, Friar Bacon's subsizer is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? why, thou canst not speak one word of true Latin.
Miles. No, sir? yes! what is this else? Ego sum tuus homo, "I am your man;" I warrant you, sir, as good Tully's phrase as any is in Oxford.
Bacon. Come on, sirrah; what part of speech is Ego?
Miles. Ego, that is "I"; marry, nomen substantivo.
Bacon. How prove you that?
Miles. Why, sir, let him prove himself an 'a will; I can be heard, felt and understood.
Bacon. O gross dunce! [Beats him.
P. Edw. Come, let us break off this dispute between these two.—Sirrah, where is Brazen-nose College?
Miles. Not far from Coppersmith's Hall.
P. Edw. What, dost thou mock me?
Miles. Not I, sir, but what would you at Brazen-nose?
Erms. Marry, we would speak with Friar Bacon.
Miles. Whose men be you?
Erms. Marry, scholar, here's our master.
Ralph. Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrel?
Miles. Then here's good game for the hawk; for here's the master-fool, and a covey of coxcombs: one wise man, I think, would spring you all.
P. Edw. Gog's wounds! Warren, kill him.
War. Why, Ned, I think the devil be in my sheath; I cannot get out my dagger.
Erms. Nor I mine: swones,[192] Ned, I think I am bewitched.
Miles. A company of scabs! the proudest of you all draw your weapon, if he can.—[Aside]. See how boldly I speak, now my master is by.
P. Edw. I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut
And conjur'd fast by magic in my sheath,
Villain, here is my fist.
[Strikes Miles a box on the ear.
Miles. O, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered!
Ralph. Ned, strike him; I'll warrant thee by mine honour.
Bacon. What! means the English prince to wrong my man?
P. Edw. To whom speakest thou?
Bacon. To thee.
P. Edw. Who art thou?
Bacon. Could you not judge, when all your swords grew fast,
That Friar Bacon was not far from hence?
Edward, King Henry's son and Prince of Wales,
Thy fool disguis'd cannot conceal thyself:
I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earl,
Else Friar Bacon had but little skill.
Thou com'st in post from merry Fressingfield,
Fast-fancied[193] to the Keeper's bonny lass,
To crave some succour of the jolly friar:
And Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, hast thou left,
To treat fair Margaret to allow thy loves;
But friends are men, and love can baffle lords;
The earl both woos and courts her for himself.
War. Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all.
Erms. Apollo could not utter more than this.
P. Edw. I stand amaz'd to hear this jolly friar,
Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts:—
But, learnèd Bacon, since thou know'st the cause
Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield,
Help, friar, at a pinch, that I may have
The love of lovely Margaret to myself,
And, as I am true Prince of Wales, I'll give
Living and lands to strength thy college state.
War. Good friar, help the prince in this.
Ralph. Why, servant Ned, will not the friar do it?—Were not my sword glued to my scabbard by conjuration, I would cut off his head, and make him do it by force.
Miles. In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.
Erms. What, doctor, in a dump! tush, help the prince,
And thou shalt see how liberal he will prove.
Bacon. Crave not such actions greater dumps than these?
I will, my lord, strain out my magic spells;
For this day comes the earl to Fressingfield,
And 'fore that night shuts in the day with dark,
They'll be betrothèd each to other fast.
But come with me; we'll to my study straight,
And in a glass prospective[194] I will show
What's done this day in merry Fressingfield.
P. Edw. Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy pain.
Bacon. But send your train, my lord, into the town:
My scholar shall go bring them to their inn;
Meanwhile we'll see the knavery of the earl.
P. Edw. Warren, leave me:—and, Ermsby, take the fool:
Let him be master and go revel it,
Till I and Friar Bacon talk awhile.
War. We will, my lord.
Ralph. Faith, Ned, and I'll lord it out till thou comest; I'll be Prince of Wales over all the black-pots[195] in Oxford. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Friar Bacon's Cell.
Friar Bacon and Prince Edward go into the study.[196]
Bacon. Now, frolic Edward, welcome to my cell;
Here tempers Friar Bacon many toys,
And holds this place his consistory-court,
Wherein the devils plead homage to his words.
Within this glass prospective thou shalt see
This day what's done in merry Fressingfield
'Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln Earl.
P. Edw. Friar, thou glad'st me: now shall Edward try
How Lacy meaneth to his sovereign lord.
Bacon. Stand there and look directly in the glass.
Enter Margaret and Friar Bungay.[197]
What sees my lord?
P. Edw. I see the Keeper's lovely lass appear,
As brightsome as the paramour of Mars,
Only attended by a jolly friar.
Bacon. Sit still, and keep the crystal in your eye.
Mar. But tell me, Friar Bungay, is it true,
That this fair, courteous, country swain,
Who says his father is a farmer nigh,
Can be Lord Lacy, Earl of Lincolnshire?
Bun. Peggy, 'tis true, 'tis Lacy for my life,
Or else mine art and cunning both do fail,
Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves;
For he in green, that holp you run your cheese,
Is son to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.
Mar. Be what he will, his lure is but for lust:
But did Lord Lacy like poor Margaret,
Or would he deign to wed a country lass,
Friar, I would his humble handmaid be,
And for great wealth quite him with courtesy.
Bun. Why, Margaret, dost thou love him?
Mar. His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well avouch to shadow Helen's rape:
His wit is quick and ready in conceit,
As Greece afforded in her chiefest prime:
Courteous, ah friar, full of pleasing smiles!
Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more;
Suffice to me he's England's paramour.
Bun. Hath not each eye that view'd thy pleasing face
Surnamèd thee Fair Maid of Fressingfield?
Mar. Yes, Bungay, and would God the lovely earl
Had that in esse, that so many sought.
Bun. Fear not, the friar will not be behind
To show his cunning to entangle love.
P. Edw. I think the friar courts the bonny wench;
Bacon, methinks he is a lusty churl.
Bacon. Now look, my lord.
Enter Lacy disguised as before.
P. Edw. Gog's wounds, Bacon, here comes Lacy!
Bacon. Sit still, my lord, and mark the comedy.
Bun. Here's Lacy, Margaret, step aside awhile.
[Retires with Margaret.
Lacy. Daphne, the damsel that caught Phœbus fast,
And lock'd him in the brightness of her looks,
Was not so beauteous in Apollo's eyes
As is fair Margaret to the Lincoln Earl.
Recant thee, Lacy, thou art put in trust:—
Edward, thy sovereign's son, hath chosen thee,
A secret friend, to court her for himself,
And dar'st thou wrong thy prince with treachery?—
Lacy, love makes no exception of a friend,
Nor deems it of a prince but as a man.
Honour bids thee control him in his lust;
His wooing is not for to wed the girl,
But to entrap her and beguile the lass.
Lacy, thou lov'st; then brook not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy prince's frown:
For better die, than see her live disgrac'd.
Mar. Come, friar, I will shake him from his dumps.—
[Comes forward.
How cheer you, sir? a penny for your thought:
You're early up, pray God it be the near.[198]
What, come from Beccles in a morn so soon?
Lacy. Thus watchful are such men as live in love,
Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep.
I tell thee, Peggy, since last Harleston fair
My mind hath felt a heap of passions.
Mar. A trusty man, that court it for your friend:
Woo you still for the courtier all in green?—
[Aside.] I marvel that he sues not for himself.
Lacy. Peggy, I pleaded first to get your grace for him;
But when mine eyes survey'd your beauteous looks,
Love, like a wag, straight div'd into my heart,
And there did shrine the idea of yourself.
Pity me, though I be a farmer's son,
And measure not my riches, but my love.
Mar. You are very hasty; for to garden well,
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring:
Love ought to creep as doth the dial's shade,
For timely ripe is rotten too-too soon.
Bun. [coming forward]. Deus hic; room for a merry friar!
What, youth of Beccles, with the Keeper's lass?
'Tis well; but tell me, hear you any news.
Mar. No, friar: what news?
Bun. Hear you not how the pursuivants do post
With proclamations through each country-town?
Lacy. For what, gentle friar? tell the news.
Bun. Dwell'st thou in Beccles, and hear'st not of these news?
Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln, is late fled
From Windsor court, disguisèd like a swain,
And lurks about the country here unknown.
Henry suspects him of some treachery,
And therefore doth proclaim in every way,
That who can take the Lincoln Earl shall have,
Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns.
Lacy. The Earl of Lincoln! friar, thou art mad:
It was some other; thou mistak'st the man:
The Earl of Lincoln! why, it cannot be.
Mar. Yes, very well, my lord, for you are he:
The Keeper's daughter took you prisoner:
Lord Lacy, yield, I'll be your gaoler once.
P. Edw. How familiar they be, Bacon!
Bacon. Sit still, and mark the sequel of their loves.
Lacy. Then am I double prisoner to thyself:
Peggy, I yield; but are these news in jest?
Mar. In jest with you, but earnest unto me;
For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart.
Ah, how these earls and noblemen of birth
Flatter and feign to forge poor women's ill.
Lacy. Believe me, lass, I am the Lincoln Earl:
I not deny but, 'tirèd thus in rags,
I liv'd disguis'd to win fair Peggy's love.
Mar. What love is there where wedding ends not love?
Lacy. I meant, fair girl, to make thee Lacy's wife.
Mar. I little think that earls will stoop so low.
Lacy. Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep?
Mar. Handmaid unto the earl, so please himself:
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
Lacy. The Lincoln Countess, for it shall be so:
I'll plight the bands and seal it with a kiss.
P. Edw. Gog's wounds, Bacon, they kiss! I'll stab them.
Bacon. O, hold your hands, my lord, it is the glass.
P. Edw. Choler to see the traitors gree so well
Made me think the shadows substances.
Bacon. 'Twere a long poniard, my lord, to reach between
Oxford and Fressingfield; but sit still and see more.
Bun. Well, Lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit,
And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree,
To avoid ensuing jars, I'll hamper up the match.
I'll take my portace[199] forth, and wed you here:
Then go to bed and seal up your desires.
Lacy. Friar, content.—Peggy, how like you this?
Mar. What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.
Bun. Then hand-fast hand, and I will to my book.
Bacon. What sees my lord now?
P. Edw. Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand,
The friar ready with his portace there
To wed them both: then am I quite undone.
Bacon, help now, if e'er thy magic serv'd;
Help, Bacon; stop the marriage now,
If devils or necromancy may suffice,
And I will give thee forty thousand crowns.
Bacon. Fear not, my lord, I'll stop the jolly friar
For mumbling up his orisons this day.
Lacy. Why speak'st not, Bungay? Friar to thy book.
[Bungay is mute, crying "Hud, hud."
Mar. How look'st thou, friar, as a man distraught?
Reft of thy senses, Bungay? show by signs
If thou be dumb, what passion holdeth thee.
Lacy. He's dumb indeed. Bacon hath with his devils
Enchanted him, or else some strange disease
Or apoplexy hath possess'd his lungs:
But, Peggy, what he cannot with his book
We'll 'twixt us both unite it up in heart.
Mar. Else let me die, my lord, a miscreant.
P. Edw. Why stands Friar Bungay so amaz'd?
Bacon. I have struck him dumb, my lord; and, if your honour please
I'll fetch this Bungay straightway from Fressingfield,
And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.
P. Edw. Bacon, do that, and thou contentest me.
Lacy. Of courtesy, Margaret, let us lead the friar
Unto thy father's lodge, to comfort him
With broths, to bring him from this hapless trance.
Mar. Or else, my lord, we were passing unkind
To leave the friar so in his distress.
Enter a Devil, who carries off Bungay on his back.
O, help, my lord! a devil, a devil, my lord!
Look how he carries Bungay on his back!
Let's hence, for Bacon's spirits be abroad.
[Exit with Lacy.
P. Edw. Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly friar
Mounted upon the devil, and how the earl
Flees with his bonny lass for fear.
As soon as Bungay is at Brazen-nose,
And I have chatted with the merry friar,
I will in post hie me to Fressingfield,
And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere't be long.
Bacon. So be it, my lord: but let us to our dinner;
For ere we have taken our repast awhile,
We shall have Bungay brought to Brazen-nose.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—The Regent House at Oxford.
Enter Burden, Mason, and Clement.
Mason. Now that we are gathered in the Regent House,
It fits us talk about the king's repair;
For he, troop'd with all the western kings,
That lie along'st the Dantzic seas by east,
North by the clime of frosty Germany,
The Almain monarch and the Saxon duke,
Castile and lovely Elinor with him,
Have in their jests resolv'd for Oxford town.
Burd. We must lay plots of stately tragedies,
Strange comic shows, such as proud Roscius
Vaunted before the Roman Emperors,
To welcome all the western potentates.
Clem. But more; the king by letters hath foretold
That Frederick, the Almain emperor,
Hath brought with him a German of esteem,
Whose surname is Don Jaques Vandermast,
Skilful in magic and those secret arts.
Mason. Then must we all make suit unto the friar,
To Friar Bacon, that he vouch this task,
And undertake to countervail in skill
The German; else there's none in Oxford can
Match and dispute with learnèd Vandermast.
Burd. Bacon, if he will hold the German play,
Will teach him what an English friar can do:
The devil, I think, dare not dispute with him.
Clem. Indeed, Mas doctor, he [dis]pleasur'd you,
In that he brought your hostess, with her spit,
From Henley, posting unto Brazen-nose.
Burd. A vengeance on the friar for his pains!
But leaving that, let's hie to Bacon straight,
To see if he will take this task in hand.
Clem. Stay, what rumour is this? the town is up in a mutiny: what hurly-burly is this?
Enter a Constable, with Ralph Simnell, Warren, Ermsby, still disguised as before, and Miles.
Cons. Nay, masters, if you were ne'er so good, you shall before the doctors to answer your misdemeanour.
Burd. What's the matter, fellow?
Cons. Marry, sir, here's a company of rufflers,[200] that, drinking in the tavern, have made a great brawl, and almost killed the vintner.
Miles. Salve, Doctor Burden![201]
This lubberly lurden,
Ill-shap'd and ill-fac'd,
Disdain'd and disgrac'd,
What he tells unto vobis
Mentitur de nobis.
Burd. Who is the master and chief of this crew?
Miles. Ecce asinum mundi
Figura rotundi,
Neat, sheat, and fine,
As brisk as a cup of wine.
Burd. [to Ralph]. What are you?
Ralph. I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the bell-wether of this company: these are my lords, and I the Prince of Wales.
Clem. Are you Edward, the king's son?
Ralph. Sirrah Miles, bring hither the tapster that drew the wine, and, I warrant, when they see how soundly I have broke his head, they'll say 'twas done by no less man than a prince.
Mason. I cannot believe that this is the Prince of Wales.
War. And why so, sir?
Mason. For they say the prince is a brave and a wise gentleman.
War. Why, and think'st thou, doctor, that he is not so?
Dar'st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so lovely and so brave a youth?
Erms. Whose face, shining with many a sugar'd smile,
Bewrays that he is bred of princely race.
Miles. And yet, master doctor,
To speak like a proctor,
And tell unto you
What is veriment and true:
To cease of this quarrel,
Look but on his apparel;
Then mark but my talis,
He is great Prince of Walis,
The chief of our gregis,
And filius regis:
Then 'ware what is done,
For he is Henry's white[202] son.
Ralph. Doctors, whose doting night-caps are not capable of my ingenious dignity, know that I am Edward Plantagenet, whom if you displease, will make a ship that shall hold all your colleges, and so carry away the university with a fair wind to the Bankside in Southwark.—How sayest thou, Ned Warren, shall I not do it?
War. Yes, my good lord; and, if it please your lordship, I will gather up all your old pantofles,[203] and with the cork make you a pinnace of five hundred ton, that shall serve the turn marvellous well, my lord.
Erms. And I, my lord, will have pioners to undermine the town, that the very gardens and orchards be carried away for your summer walks.
Miles. And I, with scientia
And great diligentia,
Will conjure and charm,
To keep you from harm;
That utrum horum mavis,
Your very great navis,
Like Barclay's ship,[204]
From Oxford do skip
With colleges and schools,
Full-loaden with fools.
Quid dicis ad hoc,
Worshipful Domine Dawcock?[205]
Clem. Why, hare-brain'd courtiers, are you drunk or mad,
To taunt us up with such scurrility?
Deem you us men of base and light esteem,
To bring us such a fop for Henry's son?—
Call out the beadles and convey them hence
Straight to Bocardo:[206] let the roisters lie
Close clapt in bolts, until their wits be tame.
Erms. Why, shall we to prison, my lord?
Ralph. What sayest, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence?
Miles. No, no: out with your blades,
And hamper these jades;
Have a flurt and a crash,
Now play revel-dash,
And teach these sacerdos
That the Bocardos,
Like peasants and elves,
Are meet for themselves.
Mason. To the prison with them, constable.
War. Well, doctors, seeing I have sported me
With laughing at these mad and merry wags,
Know that Prince Edward is at Brazen-nose,
And this, attirèd like the Prince of Wales,
Is Ralph, King Henry's only lovèd fool;
I, Earl of Sussex, and this Ermsby,
One of the privy-chamber to the king;
Who, while the prince with Friar Bacon stays,
Have revell'd it in Oxford as you see.
Mason. My lord, pardon us, we knew not what you were:
But courtiers may make greater scapes than these.
Wilt please your honour dine with me to-day?
War. I will, Master doctor, and satisfy the vintner for his hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him all this forenoon the Prince of Wales.
Mason. I will, sir.
Ralph. And upon that I will lead the way; only I will have Miles go before me, because I have heard Henry say that wisdom must go before majesty. [Exeunt.