Chapter IX: Act V: Scene I.83 (4)

_Lam._ Let pass the country wealth, as flocks and kine, 65
And lands that wave with Ceres’ golden sheaves,
Filling my barns with plenty of the fields;
But, Peggy, if thou wed thyself to me,
Thou shalt have garments of embroid’red silk,
Lawns, and rich net-works for thy head-attire: 70
Costly shall be thy fair habiliments,
If thou wilt be but Lambert’s loving wife.

_Mar._ Content you, gentles, you have proffer’d fair,
And more than fits a country maid’s degree;
But give me leave to counsel me a time, 75
For fancy blooms not at the first assault;
Give me but ten days’ respite, and I will reply,
Which or to whom myself affectionates.

_Ser._ Lambert, I tell thee, thou’rt importunate;
Such beauty fits not such a base esquire: 80
It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.

_Lam._ Think’st thou with wealth to overreach me?
Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves.
I dare thee, coward, to maintain this wrong,
At dint of rapier, single in the field. 85

_Ser._ I’ll answer, Lambert, what I have avouch’d.——
Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve. _Exit._

_Lam._ I’ll follow.—Peggy, farewell to thyself;
Listen how well I’ll answer for thy love. _Exit._

_Mar._ How Fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns, 90
And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight!
Love is my bliss, and love is now my bale.
Shall I be Helen in my froward[241] fates,
As I am Helen in my matchless hue,
And set rich Suffolk with my face afire? 95
If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy,
The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown
Would check the pride of these aspiring squires.
Before the term of ten days be expired,
Whenas they look for answer of their loves, 100
My lord will come to merry Fressingfield,
And end their fancies and their follies both:
Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.

_Enter a_ Post _with a letter and a bag of gold._

_Post._ Fair lovely damsel, which way leads this path?
How might I post me unto Fressingfield? 105
Which footpath leadeth to the Keeper’s lodge?

_Mar._ Your way is ready, and this path is right;
Myself do dwell hereby in Fressingfield,
And if the Keeper be the man you seek,
I am his daughter: may I know the cause? 110

_Post._ Lovely, and once beloved of my lord,—
No marvel if his eye was lodg’d so low,
When brighter beauty is not in the heavens,—
The Lincoln Earl hath sent you letters here,
And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold. 115
Sweet, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.

_Mar._ The scrolls that Jove sent Danaë,
Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnish’d gold,
Were not more welcome than these lines to me.
Tell me, whilst that I do unrip the seals, 120
Lives Lacy well? How fares my lovely lord?

_Post._ Well, if that wealth may make men to live well.

_Mar._ (_reads_) _The blooms of the almond-tree grow in a night,
and vanish in a morn; the flies hœmeræ,[242] fair Peggy, take life
with the sun,_ (125) _and die with the dew; fancy that slippeth in
with a gaze, goeth out with a wink; and too timely[243] loves have
ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grief, and my folly,
who at Fressingfield loved that which time hath taught me to be but
mean_ (130) _dainties. Eyes are dissemblers, and fancy is but queasy;
therefore know, Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish lady to be my wife,
chief waiting-woman to the Princess Elinor; a lady fair, and no less
fair than thyself, honourable and wealthy. In_ (135) _that I forsake
thee, I leave thee to thine own liking: and for thy dowry I have sent
thee an hundred pounds; and ever assure thee of my favour, which
shall avail thee and thine much._

_Farewell. Not thine, nor his own,_ (140) _EDWARD LACY_.

Fond Ate, doomer of bad-boding fates,
That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks,
Didst thou enchant my birth-day with such stars
As light’ned mischief from their infancy? 145
If heavens had vow’d, if stars had made decree,
To show on me their froward influence,
If Lacy had but lov’d, heavens, hell, and all
Could not have wrong’d the patience of my mind.

_Post._ It grieves me, damsel; but the earl is forc’d 150
To love the lady by the king’s command.

_Mar._ The wealth combin’d within the English shelves,
Europe’s commander, nor the English king,
Should not have mov’d the love of Peggy from her lord.

_Post._ What answer shall I return to my lord? 155

_Mar._ First, for thou cam’st from Lacy whom I lov’d,—
Ah, give me leave to sigh at every thought!—
Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent,
For Margaret’s resolution craves no dower.
The world shall be to her as vanity; 160
Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, despair:
For I will straight to stately Framlingham,
And in the abbey there be shorn a nun,
And yield my loves and liberty to God.
Fellow, I give thee this, not for the news, 165
For those be hateful unto Margaret,
But for thou ’rt Lacy’s man, once Margaret’s love.

_Post._ What I have heard, what passions I have seen,
I’ll make report of them unto the earl.

_Mar._ Say that she joys his fancies be at rest, 170
And prays that his misfortune may be hers. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XI.][244]

_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _drawing the curtains with a white stick, a book in his hand, and a lamp lighted by him; and the_ Brazen Head, _and_ MILES _with weapons by him._

_Bacon._ Miles, where are you?

_Miles._ Here, sir.

_Bacon._ How chance you tarry so long?

_Mil._ Think you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no
furniture? I warrant (5) you, sir, I have so armed myself that if all
your devils come, I will not fear them an inch.

_Bacon._ Miles,
Thou know’st that I have dived into hell,
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends; 10
That with my magic spells great Belcephon
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell;
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-form’d Luna hid her silver looks,
Trembling upon her concave continent, 15
When Bacon read upon his magic book.
With seven years’ tossing necromantic charms,
Poring upon dark Hecat’s principles,
I have fram’d out a monstrous head of brass,
That, by the enchanting forces of the devil, 20
Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And girt fair England with a wall of brass.
Bungay and I have watch’d these threescore days,
And now our vital spirits crave some rest.
If Argus liv’d, and had his hundred eyes, 25
They could not over-watch Phobetor’s night.
Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon’s weal:
The honour and renown of all his life
Hangs in the watching of this Brazen Head;
Therefore I charge thee by the immortal God, 30
That holds the souls of men within his fist,
This night thou watch; for ere the morning-star
Sends out his glorious glister on the north,
The head will speak: then, Miles, upon thy life,
Wake me; for then by magic art I’ll work 35
To end my seven years’ task with excellence.
If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye,
Then farewell Bacon’s glory and his fame!
Draw close the curtains, Miles: now, for thy life,
Be watchful, and— _Here he falleth asleep_. 40

_Miles._ So; I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and ’t is
no marvel, for Bungay on the days, and he on the nights, have watched
just these ten and fifty days: now this is the night, and ’tis my
task, and no more. Now, (45) Jesus bless me, what a goodly head it
is! and a nose! you talk of _nos autem glorificare_; but here’s a
nose that I warrant may be called _nos autem populare_ for the people
of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, (50) sir, I
will set me down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to wake
me, if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call you
out of your _memento_.... Passion o’God, I have almost broke my pate!
Up, Miles, to (55) your task; take your brown-bill[245] in your hand;
here’s some of your master’s hobgoblins abroad.

_ With this a great noise. The_ Head _speaks._

_The Brazen Head._ Time is!

_Miles._ Time is! Why, Master Brazen-head, have you such a capital
nose, and answer (60) you with syllables, “Time is”? Is this all my
master’s cunning, to spend seven years’ study about “Time is”? Well,
sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon. Well,
I’ll watch you as narrowly as ever you were (65) watched, and I’ll
play with you as the nightingale with the slow-worm; I’ll set a prick
against my breast. Now rest there, Miles. Lord have mercy upon me,
I have almost killed myself! [_A great noise._] Up, Miles; list how
(70) they rumble.

_The Brazen Head._ Time was!

_Miles._ Well. Friar Bacon, you spent your seven-years’ study well,
that can make your head speak but two words at once, “Time (75) was.”
Yea, marry, time was when my master was a wise man, but that was
before he began to make the Brazen Head. You shall lie while[246]
your arse ache, an your head speak no better. Well, I will watch, and
walk up and down, (80) and be a peripatetian and a philosopher of
Aristotle’s stamp. [_A great noise._] What, a fresh noise? Take thy
pistols in hand, Miles.

_Here the_ Head _speaks, and a lightning flashes forth, and a hand appears that breaks down the_ Head _with a hammer._

_The Brazen Head._ Time is past!

_Miles._ Master, master, up! Hell’s broken (85) loose! Your head
speaks; and there’s such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all
Oxford is up in arms. Out of your bed, and take a brown-bill in your
hand; the latter day is come. 90

_Bacon._ Miles, I come. O, passing warily watch’d!
Bacon will make thee next himself in love.
When spake the head?

_Miles._ When spake the head! Did not you say that he should tell
strange principles of (95) philosophy? Why, sir, it speaks but two
words at a time.

_Bacon._ Why, villain, hath it spoken oft?

_Miles._ Oft! ay, marry, hath it, thrice; but in all those three
times it hath uttered but (100) seven words.

_Bacon._ As how?

_Miles._ Marry, sir, the first time he said “Time is,” as if Fabius
Cumentator should have pronounced a sentence; [the second (105) time]
he said, “Time was”; and the third time, with thunder and lightning,
as in great choler, he said, “Time is past.”

_Bacon._ ’Tis past indeed. Ah, villain! time is past:
My life, my fame, my glory, all are past.— 110
Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruin’d down,
Thy seven years’ study lieth in the dust:
Thy Brazen Head lies broken through a slave
That watch’d, and would not when the head did will.—
What said the head first? 115

_Miles._ Even, sir, “Time is.”

_Bacon._ Villain, if thou hadst call’d to Bacon then,
If thou hadst watch’d, and wak’d the sleepy friar,
The Brazen Head had uttered aphorisms,
And England had been circled round with brass: 120
But proud Asmenoth, ruler of the north,
And Demogorgon, master of the fates,
Grudge that a mortal man should work so much.
Hell trembled at my deep-commanding spells,
Fiends frown’d to see a man their over-match; 125
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast.
But now the braves of Bacon hath an end,
Europe’s conceit of Bacon hath an end,
His seven years’ practice sorteth to ill end:
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end, 130
I will appoint thee to some fatal end.
Villain, avoid! get thee from Bacon’s sight!
Vagrant, go roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagaboud on earth!

_Miles._ Why, then, sir, you forbid me your service? (135)

_Bacon._ My service, villain! with a fatal curse,
That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.

_Miles._ ’Tis no matter, I am against you with the old proverb,—The
more the fox is cursed,[247] the better he fares. God be with you, 140
sir. I ’II take but a book in my hand, a wide-sleeved gown on my
back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion.

_Bacon._ Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,
Until they do transport thee quick to hell; 145
For Bacon shall have never merry day,
To lose the fame and honour of his head. _Exeunt._

[SCENE XII.][248]

_Enter the_ EMPEROR, _the_ KING OF CASTILE, KING HENRY, ELINOR, PRINCE EDWARD, LACY, _and_ RALPH [SIMNELL].

_Emp._ Now, lovely prince, the prime of Albion’s wealth,
How fare the Lady Elinor and you?
What, have you courted and found Castile fit
To answer England in equivalence? 4
Will’t be a match ’twixt bonny Nell and thee?

_P. Edw._ Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece,
And not lie fettered in fair Helen’s looks?
Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorets
That Daphne glanced at his deity?
Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze, 10
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down?
Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we gree.

_K. Hen._ What, madam, hath my son found grace or no?

_Elin._ Seeing, my lord, his lovely connterfeit,
And hearing how his mind and shape agreed, 15
I come not, troop’d with all this warlike train,
Doubting of love, but so affectionate
As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.

_K. of Cast._ A match, my lord; these wantons needs must love:
Men must have wives, and women will be wed. 20
Let’s haste the day to honour up the rites.

_Ralph._ Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?

_K. Hen._ Ay, Ralph: how then?

_Ralph._ Marry, Harry, follow my counsel: send for Friar Bacon
to marry them, for he’ll (25) so conjure him and her with his
necromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst
they live.

_K. of Cast._ But hearest thou, Ralph, art thou content to have
Elinor to thy lady? 30

_Ralph._ Ay, so she will promise me two things.

_K. of Cast._ What’s that, Ralph?

_Ralph._ That she will never scold with Ned, nor fight with
me.—Sirrah Harry, I have put her down with a thing impossible. 35

_K. Hen._ What’s that, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Why, Harry, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold
her tongue and her hands? No: but when egg-pies grows on apple-trees,
then will thy grey mare prove a (40) bagpiper.

_Emp._ What say the Lord of Castile and the Earl of Lincoln, that
they are in such earnest and secret talk?

_K. of Cast._ I stand, my lord, amazed at his talk, 45
How he discourseth of the constancy
Of one surnam’d, for beauty’s excellence,
The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.

_K. Hen._ ’Tis true, my lord, ’tis wondrous for to hear;
Her beauty passing Mars’s paramour, 50
Her virgin’s right as rich as Vesta’s was,
Lacy and Ned hath told me miracles.

_K. of Cast._ What says Lord Lacy? Shall she be his wife?

_Lacy._ Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.—
May it please your highness give me leave to post 55
To Fressingfield. I’ll fetch the bonny girl,
And prove, in true appearance at the court,
What I have vouched often with my tongue.

_K. Hen._ Lacy, go to the ’querry of my stable,
And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn; 60
Hie thee to Fressingfield, and bring home the lass;
And, for her fame flies through the English coast,
If it may please the Lady Elinor,
One day shall match your excellence and her.

_Elin._ We Castile ladies are not very coy; 65
Your highness may command a greater boon:
And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl
With being partner of his marriage-day.

_P. Edw._ Gramercy, Nell, for I do love the lord,
As he that’s second to myself in love. 70

_Ralph._ You love her?—Madam Nell, never believe him you, though he
swears he loves you.

_Elin._ Why, Ralph?

_Ralph._ Why, his love is like unto a tapster’s glass that is broken
with every touch; for (75) he loved the fair maid of Fressingfield
once out of all ho.[249]—Nay, Ned, never wink upon me; I care not, I.

_K. Hen._ Ralph tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.— 80
But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield;
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemn marriage-day will be at hand.

_Lacy._ I go, my lord. _Exit._

_Emp._ How shall we pass this day, my lord? 85

_K. Hen._ To horse, my lord; the day is passing fair,
We’ll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer.
Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.
_Exeunt._

[SCENE XIII.][250]

_Enter_ FRIAR BACON _with_ FRIAR BUNGAY _to his cell._

_Bun._ What means the friar that frolick’d it of late,
To sit as melancholy in his cell
As if he had neither lost nor won to-day?

_Bacon._ Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil’d,
My glory gone, my seven years’ study lost! 5
The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.

_Bun._ Bacon hath built foundation of his fame
So surely on the wings of true report,
With acting strange and uncouth miracles, 10
As this cannot infringe what he deserves.

_Bacon._ Bungay, sit down, for by prospective skill
I find this day shall fall out ominous:
Some deadly act shall ’tide me ere I sleep;
But what and wherein little can I guess. 15
My mind is heavy, whatsoe’er shall hap.

_Enter two Scholars, sons to Lambert and Serlsby. Knock._

_Bacon._ Who ’s that knocks?

_Bun._ Two scholars that desire to speak with you.

_Bacon._ Bid them come in.—
Now, my youths, what would you have? 20

_First Schol._ Sir, we are Suffolk-men and neighbouring friends;
Our fathers in their countries lusty squires;
Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates,
Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends. 25

_Bacon._ To what end is all this?

_Second Schol._ Hearing your worship kept within your cell
A glass prospective, wherein men might see
Whatso their thoughts or hearts’ desire could wish,
We come to know how that our fathers fare. 30

_Bacon._ My glass is free for every honest man.
Sit down, and you shall see ere long, how
Or in what state your friendly fathers live.
Meanwhile, tell me your names.

_First Schol._ Mine Lambert. 35

_Second Schol._ And mine Serlsby.

_Bacon._ Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.

_Enter_ LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY _with rapiers and daggers_.

_Lam._ Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man:
Thou’rt worthy of the title of a squire,
That durst, for proof of thy affection 40
And for thy mistress’ favour, prize[251] thy blood.
Thou know’st what words did pass at Fressingfield,
Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook:
Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts,
Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die. 45

_Ser._ Thou see’st I single [meet] thee [in] the field,
And what I spake, I’ll maintain with my sword.
Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out.
An if thou kill me, think I have a son,
That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall, 50
Who will revenge his father’s blood with blood.

_Lam._ And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy,
That dares at weapon buckle with thy son,
And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine.
But draw thy rapier, for we’ll have a bout. 55

_Bacon._ Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass,
And tell me if you can decern your sires.

_First Schol._ Serlsby, ’tis hard; thy father offers wrong.
To combat with my father in the field.

_Second Schol._ Lambert, thou liest, my father’s is th’ abuse, 60
And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.

_Bun._ How goes it, sirs?

_First Schol._ Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield.

_Bacon._ Sit still, my friends, and see the event.

_Lam._ Why stand’st thou, Serlsby? Doubt’st thou of thy life? 65
A veney,[252] man! fair Margaret craves so much.

_Ser._ Then this for her.

_First Schol._ Ah, well thrust!

_Second Schol._ But mark the ward.

[LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY] _fight and kill each other_.

_Lam._ O, I am slain! 70

_Ser._ And I,—Lord have mercy on me!

_First Schol._ My father slain!—Serlsby, ward that.

_Second Schol._ And so is mine!—Lambert,
I’ll quite thee well.

_The two_ Scholars _stab each other_ [_and die_].

_Bun._ O strange stratagem!

_Bacon._ See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead!— 75
Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre:
This glass prospective worketh many woes;
And therefore seeing these brave lusty Brutes,[253]
These friendly youths, did perish by thine art,
End all thy magic and thine art at once. 80
The poniard that did end the fatal[254] lives,
Shall break the cause efficient of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That necromancy did infuse the crystal with.
_Breaks the glass._

_Bun._ What means learn’d Bacon thus to break his glass? 85

_Bacon._ I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore
That ever Bacon meddled in this art.
The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells,
The fearful tossing in the latest night
Of papers full of necromantic charms, 90
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb and strange pentagonon;
The wresting of the holy name of God,
As Soter, Eloim, and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton, 95
With praying to the five-fold powers of heaven,
Are instances that Bacon must be damn’d
For using devils to countervail his God.—
Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair:
Sins have their salves, repentance can do much: 100
Think Mercy sits where Justice holds her seat,
And from those wounds those bloody Jews did pierce,
Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of high Jehovah’s ire, 105
And make thee as a new-born babe from sin.—
Bungay, I’ll spend the remnant of my life
In pure devotion, praying to my God
That he would save what Bacon vainly lost.
_Exeunt._

[SCENE XIV.][255]

_Enter_ MARGARET _in nun’s apparel, the_ Keeper, _her father, and their_ Friend.

_Keeper._ Margaret, be not so headstrong in these vows:
O, bury not such beauty in a cell,
That England hath held famous for the hue!
Thy father’s hair, like to the silver blooms
That beautify the shrubs of Africa, 5
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forgo his lovely Margaret.

_Mar._ Ah, father, when the harmony of heaven
Soundeth the measures of a lively faith,
The vain illusions of this flattering world 10
Seem odious to the thoughts of Margaret.
I loved once,—Lord Lacy was my love;
And now I hate myself for that I lov’d,
And doted more on him than on my God;
For this I scourge myself with sharp repents. 15
But now the touch of such aspiring sins
Tells me all love is lust but love of heavens;
That beauty us’d for love is vanity:
The world contains naught but alluring baits,
Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts. 20
To shun the pricks of death, I leave the world,
And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss,
To live in Framlingham a holy nun,
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed;
And for to wish all maids to learn of me 25
To seek heaven’s joy before earth’s vanity.

_Friend._ And will you, then, Margaret, be shorn a nun, and so leave
us all?

_Mar._ Now farewell world, the engine of all woe!
Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ! 30
Adieu to dainty robes! This base attire
Better befits an humble mind to God
Than all the show of rich habiliments.
Love—O love! and, with fond love, farewell
Sweet Lacy, whom I loved once so dear! 35
Ever be well, but never in my thoughts,
Lest I offend to think on Lacy’s love:
But even to that, as to the rest, farewell!

_Enter_ LACY, WARREN, _and_ ERMSBY, _booted and spurred_.

_Lacy._ Come on, my wags, we’re near the Keeper’s lodge.
Here have I oft walk’d in the watery meads, 40
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.

_War._ Sirrah Ned, is not this the Keeper?

_Lacy._ ’Tis the same.

_Erm._ The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton[256] to him: a nun, my
lord. 45

_Lacy._ Keeper, how far’st thou? Holla, man, what cheer?
How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?

_Keeper._ Ah, good my lord! O, woe is me for Peggy!
See where she stands clad in her nun’s attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framlingham; 50
She leaves the world because she left your love.
O, good my lord, persuade her if you can!

_Lacy._ Why, how now, Margaret! What, a malcontent?
A nun? What holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life 55
As die a maid? ’T were injury to me,
To smother up such beauty in a cell.

_Mar._ Lord Lacy, thinking of thy former miss,
How fond[257] the prime of wanton years were spent
In love (O, fie upon that fond conceit, 60
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!),
I leave both love and love’s content at once,
Betaking me to Him that is true love,
And leaving all the world for love of Him.

_Lacy._ Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis? 65
What, shorn a nun, and I have from the court
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence
To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept!
Thy wedding-robes are in the tailor’s hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows. 70

_Mar._ Did not my lord resign his interest,
And make divorce ’twixt Margaret and him?

_Lacy._ ’T was but to try sweet Peggy’s constancy.
But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord?

_Mar._ Is not heaven’s joy before earth’s fading bliss, 75
And life above sweeter than life in love?

_Lacy._ Why, then, Margaret will be shorn a nun?

_Mar._ Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revok’d.

_War._ We cannot stay, my lord; an if she be so strict,
Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh. 80

_Erms._ Choose you, fair damsel, yet the choice is yours,—
Either a solemn nunnery or the court,
God or Lord Lacy. Which contents you best,
To be a nun or else Lord Lacy’s wife?

_Lacy._ A good motion.—Peggy, your answer must be short. 85

_Mar._ The flesh is frail: my lord doth know it well,
That when he comes with his enchanting face,
Whatsoe’er betide, I cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit of a maiden’s heart,
And, seeing fortune will, fair Framlingham, 90
And all the show of holy nuns, farewell!
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.

_Lacy._ Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry matchless Elinor, 95
Until I bring thee richly to the court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.—
How say’st thou, Keeper? Art thou glad of this?

_Keep._ As if the English king had given
The park and deer of Fressingfield to me. 100

_Erm._ I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a brown study?

_War._ To see the nature of women; that be they never so near God,
yet they love to die in a man’s arms. 105

_Lacy._ What have you fit for breakfast? We have hied
And posted all this night to Fressingfield.

_Mar._ Butter and cheese, and umbles of a deer,
Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.

_Lacy._ And not a bottle of wine? 110

_Mar._ We’ll find one for my lord.

_Lacy._ Come, Sussex, let us in: we shall have more,
For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.
_Exeunt._

[SCENE XV.][258]

_Enter a_ Devil _to seek_ MILES.

_Dev._ How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits,
When every charmer with his magic spells
Calls us from nine-fold-trenched Phlegethon,
To scud and over-scour the earth in post
Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds! 5
Now Bacon hath rais’d me from the darkest deep,
To search about the world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones
For careless watching of his Brazen Head.
See where he comes. O, he is mine! 10

_Enter_ MILES _with a gown and a corner-cap_.

_Miles._ A scholar, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had been made a
bottle-maker when I was made a scholar; for I can get neither to be a
deacon, reader, nor schoolmaster, no, not the clerk of a parish. Some
call me dunce; (15) another saith, my head is as full of Latin as an
egg ’s full of oatmeal. Thus I am tormented, that the devil and Friar
Bacon haunts me.—Good Lord, here’s one of my master’s devils! I’ll
go speak to him.—What, Master Plutus, (20) how cheer you?

_Dev._ Dost thou know me?

_Miles._ Know you, sir! Why, are not you one of my master’s
devils, that were wont to come to my master, Doctor Bacon, at 25
Brazen-nose?

_Dev._ Yes, marry, am I.

_Miles._ Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times
at my master’s, and yet I had never the manners to make you 30
drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the
statute.—I warrant you, he’s as yeomanly a man as you shall see:
mark you, masters, here ’s a plain honest man, without welt or
guard.[259] But I pray you, sir, (35) do you come lately from hell?

_Dev._ Ay, marry: how then?

_Miles._ Faith, ’tis a place I have desired long to see. Have you not
good tippling-houses there? May not a man have a lusty fire there,
a (40) pot of good ale, a pair[260] of cards, a swinging piece of
chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat[261] on a
cup of good drink?

_Dev._ All this you may have there.

_Miles._ You are for me, friend, and I am for (45) you. But I pray
you, may I not have an office there?

_Dev._ Yes, a thousand. What wouldst thou be?

_Miles._ By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I
know hell is a hot place, (50) and men are marvellous dry, and much
drink is spent there; I would be a tapster.

_Dev._ Thou shalt.

_Miles._ There ’s nothing lets me from going with you, but that ’tis
a long journey, and (55) I have never a horse.

_Dev._ Thou shall ride on my back.

_Miles._ Now surely here’s a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure
his friend, will not stick to make a jade of himself.—But I pray 60
you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.

_Dev._ What’s that?

_Miles._ I pray you, whether is your pace a trot or an amble? 65

_Dev._ An amble.

_Miles._ ’T is well; but take heed it be not a trot: but ’tis no
matter, I’ll prevent it.

_Dev._ What dost?

_Miles._ Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; (70) for if I find your
pace either a trot or else uneasy, I’ll put you to a false gallop;
I’ll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.

_Dev._ Get up upon my back. [MILES _mounts on the_ Devil’s _back_.]

_Miles._ O Lord, here’s even a goodly marvel, (75) when a man rides
to hell on the devil’s back! _Exeunt, roaring._

[SCENE XVI.][262]

_Enter the_ EMPEROR _with a pointless sword; next the_ KING OF CASTILE _carrying a sword with a point_; LACY _carrying the globe_; PRINCE EDWARD; WARREN _carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it_; ERMSBY _with a crown and sceptre_; _the_ QUEEN; [PRINCESS ELINOR] _with the Fair Maid of Fressingfield on her left hand_; KING HENRY; BACON.; _with other_ Lords _attending_.

_P. Edw._ Great potentates, earth’s miracles for state,
Think that Prince Edward humbles at your feet,
And, for these favours, on his martial sword
He vows perpetual homage to yourselves,
Yielding these honours unto Elinor. 5

_K. Hen._ Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet,
That rules and sways the Albion diadem,
With tears discovers these conceived joys,
And vows requital, if his men-at-arms,
The wealth of England, or due houours done 10
To Elinor, may quite his favourites.
But all this while what say you to the dames
That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven?

_Emp._ If but a third were added to these two,
They did surpass those gorgeous images 15
That gloried Ida with rich beauty’s wealth.

_Mar._ ’Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee
Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove
For lifting up his handmaid to this state,
Brought from her homely cottage to the court, 20
And grac’d with kings, princes, and emperors;
To whom (next to the noble Lincoln Earl)
I vow obedience, and such humble love
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.

_P. Elin._ Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown, 25
And you the western potentates of might,
The Albion princess, English Edward’s wife,
Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield,
Fair Margaret, Countess to the Lincoln Earl, 29
Attends on Elinor,—gramercies, lord, for her,—
’Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all,
And rest for her due bounden to yourselves.

_K. Hen._ Seeing the marriage is solémnized,
Let’s march in triumph to the royal feast.—
But why stands Friar Bacon here, so mute? 35

_Bacon._ Repentant for the follies of my youth,
That magic’s secret mysteries misled,
And joyful that this royal marriage
Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm.

_K. Hen._ Why, Bacon, 40
What strange event shall happen to this land?
Or what shall grow from Edward and his queen?

_Bacon._ I find by deep prescience of mine art,
Which once I temp’red in my secret cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant, 45
From forth the royal garden of a king
Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud[263]
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phœbus’ flower,
And over-shadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field, 50
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease:
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike,
Drums shall he turn’d to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich
The strand that gladded wand’ring Brute to see, 55
And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves
That gorgeous beautifies this matchless flower:
Apollo’s heliotropion then shall stoop,
And Venus’ hyacinth shall vail[264] her top;
Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up, 60
And Pallas’ bay shall ’bash her brightest green;
Ceres’ carnation, in consórt with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana’s rose.

_K. Hen._ This prophecy is mystical.—
But, glorious commanders of Europa’s love, 65
That make fair England like that wealthy isle
Circled with Gihon and [swift][265] Euphrates,
In royalizing Henry’s Albion
With presence of your princely mightiness,—
Let’s march: the tables all are spread, 70
And viands, such as England’s wealth affords,
Are ready set to furnish out the boards.
You shall have welcome, mighty potentates:
It rests to furnish up this royal feast,
Only your hearts be frolic; for the time 75
Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance.
Thus glories England over all the west.
_Exeunt omnes._

_Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci._

TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT

BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE