But, Peggie, what he cannot with his booke,
Weel twixt us both unite it up in heart.
Margret. Els let me die, my lord, a miscreant. 160
Edward. Why stands Frier Bungay[1364] so amazd?
Bacon. I have strook him dum, my lord; &, if your honor please,[1365]
Ile fetch this Bungay straightway from Fresingfield,[1365]
And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.
Edward. Bacon, doe that, and thou contentest me. 165
Lacie. Of courtesie, Margret, let us lead the frier
Unto thy fathers lodge, to comfort him