I will appoint thee fatal[1505] to some end.
Villaine, avoid! get thee from Bacons sight!
Vagrant, go rome and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth! 115
Miles. Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service?
Bacon. My service, villaine, with a fatall curse,
That direfull plagues and mischiefe fall on thee. 118
Miles. Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb,—The more the fox is curst,[1506] the better he fares. God be with you, sir: Ile take but a booke in my hand, a wide sleeved gowne on my backe, and a crowned cap[1507] on my head, and see if I can want promotion.
Bacon. Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy wearie steps,
Untill they doe transport thee quicke to hell: 125