Exit Lacie.
Emperour. How shall we passe this day, my lord?
Henrie. To horse, my lord; the day is passing faire,
Weele flie the partridge, or go rouse the deere. 80
Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.
Exeunt.
[Scene Thirteenth. Frier Bacons cell.]
Enter Frier Bacon with Frier Bungay to his cell.
Bungay. What meanes the frier that frolickt it of late,
To sit as melancholie in his cell[1518]