Appendix

Appendix

=A. Characters: their Sources.=--T. Warton, in 1785 (Milton's Poems on Several Occasions), pointed out that "the names of some of the characters as Sacrapant, Chorebus, and others, are taken from the Orlando Furioso." Peele quotes Ariosto freely near the end of Edward I. Storojenko (Grosart's Greene, I, 180) thinks the Sacrapant in Greene's Orlando Furioso "a very transparent parody of Tamburlaine." Mr. Fleay, with some daring, asserts that Huanebango is travestied from Huon o'Bordeaux, and is "palpably Harvey." Erestus, says the same authority, is from Kyd's Soliman and Perseda; "the play is evidently full of personal allusions, which time only can elucidate." Mr. Ward remarks that Jack is "namesake and rival of the immortal giant-killer." The classics, of course, are represented. Warton remarked that the story of Meroe could be found in Adlington's translation of Apuleius, 1566; but it is hardly necessary to go to such a source for the "White Bear of England's Wood."

=B. The Song of the Harvesters=--When the harvest-men enter again, and sing the song "doubled,"--as here,--it is evidently the same thing, a companion piece, only with reaping in place of sowing, and words to match:--

"Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping, To reap our harvest-fruit. And thus we pass the year so long, And never be we mute."

Is it too much, then, to assume that the present song is to be restored somewhat as follows?--

Lo here we come a-sowing, a-sowing, And sow sweet fruits of love. All that lovers be pray you for me,-- In your sweethearts well may it prove.

They would naturally enter with motions of sowing or of reaping, and the opening words would fit the action. Moreover, "In your sweethearts well may it prove" must refer to requital not for the act of sowing, but for the prayers invoked. These craft-songs were common enough. In Summer's Last Will and Testament the harvest-men sing an old folk-song of this kind, if one may judge by the Hooky, hooky of the refrain, said by one of the Dodsley editors (ed. 1825, IX, 41) to be heard still "in some parts of the kingdom." The curious in these matters may find valuable information about songs of labour in general, with imitative action and suitable refrains, in Bücher's Arbeit und Rhythmus, Abhandlungen d. phil.-hist. Classe d. königl. Sächsischen Gesell. d. Wissenschaften, Bd. XVII.

Additional Note--P. 368, l. 491, for 'church stile,' P. A. Daniel queries 'church ale'?--but see Overbury' Characters (Works, p. 145), "A Sexton": 'for at every church stile commonly ther's an ale-house.'

Robert Greene

HIS PLACE IN COMEDY

_A Monograph by G. E. Woodberry, Professor in Columbia University, New York._

GREENE'S PLACE IN COMEDY

OF the group of gifted college-bred men who had some part in the fashioning of Shakespearian drama and drew into their mortal lungs a breath of the element whose "air was fame," Greene has long been marked with unenviable distinction. He had the misfortune to try to darken with an early and single shaft the rising sun of Shakespeare; and he has stood out like a shadow against that dawning genius ever since. The mean circumstances of his Bohemian career, and the terribly brutal, Zolaesque scene of his death-chamber--the most repulsively gruesome in English literary annals--have sustained with a lurid light the unfavourable impression; and, were this really all, no one would have grudged oblivion the man's memory. The edition of his collected works, however, which Grosart gave to scholars, has enlarged general knowledge of Greene, and has permitted the formation of a more various image of his personality, a juster estimate of his literary temperament, and a clearer judgment concerning his position in the Elizabethan movement of dramatic imagination; and some few, even before this, had lifted up protestation against that ready damnation which seemed provided for him by his irreverence toward the undiscovered god of our idolatry who, then fleeting his golden days, seemed to this jaundiced eye "an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, ... the only Shake-scene in a country." Never were more unfortunate words for the "blind mouth" that uttered them. But there is more to know of Greene than this one speech; and though the occasion is not apt here for so complete a valuation of his character and temperament, his deeds and works, as is to be desired for truth's sake, yet it is needful to take some notice of his total personality as evinced in his novels, plays, poems, and pamphlets, in order to determine his relative station in the somewhat limited sphere of English comedy.

Marlowe is commonly regarded as the forerunner of the heroic strain in Shakespeare, with moulding influence on the imaginative habit of his younger fellow-workman in respect to that phase of his art; and Greene, who though he will never shine as a "morning-star" of the drama was at least a twin luminary with Marlowe, has been credited with occupying a similar position as the forerunner of Shakespeare with respect to the portrayal of vulgar life. It is hardly to be expected that an antithesis so convenient for the critics should be really matter-of-fact. The narrower distinct claim that the Clown in his successive reincarnations passed through the world of Greene's stage on his way from his old fleshly prison in the Vice of the primitive English play may require less argument; and in several other particulars it may appear that fore-gleams of the Shakespearian drama are discernible in Greene's works without drawing the consequence that Shakespeare was necessarily a pupil in every school that was open to him. Not to treat the matter too precisely, where precision is apt to be illusory even if attainable in appearance, was there not a plain growth of Greene as a man of letters closely attached to his time which will illustrate the general development of the age and its art, and naturally bring out those analogies between his work and Shakespeare's that have been thought of as formative elements in him by which his successor on the stage profited? The line of descent does not matter, on the personal side, if the general direction of progress be made out.

Greene was distinctively a man of letters. He was born with the native gift, and he put it to use in many ways. He tried all kinds of writing, from prose to verse, from song to sermon, and apparently with equal interest. He was college-bred and must have been of a scholarly and receptive temperament; he was variously read in different languages and subjects; and he began by being what he charged Shakespeare with being,--an adapter. His tales, like others of the time, must be regarded as in large measure appropriations from the fields of foreign fiction. Even as he went on and gained a freer hand for expression, he remained imitative of others, with occasional flashes of his own talent; and, dying young, he cannot be thought to have given his genius its real trial of thorough originality. In the main his work is derivative and secondary and represents or reflects literary tradition and example; he was still in the process of disencumbering himself of this external reliance when he was exhausted, and perished; and it is in those later parts of his work which show originality that he is attached to the Shakespearian drama. Slight examination will justify this general statement in detail. It is agreed that he drew his earlier novels from the stock-fiction, with its peculiar type of woman and its moral lesson; and he shows in these sensibility of imagination and grace of style. He was, more than has been thought, a stylist, a born writer; and this of itself would interest him in the euphuistic fashion, then coming to its height in Lyly; and besides he always kept his finger on the pulse of the time and was ambitious to succeed by pleasing the popular taste: he adopted euphuism temporarily, employing it in his own way. In the drama his play, Orlando Furioso, harks back to Ariosto, and it was when the stage rang with Tamburlaine that he brought out Alphonsus, King of Aragon, and when Doctor Faustus was on the boards that he followed with Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay; on Sidney's Arcadia succeeded his own Menaphon; and if James IV. with its Oberon preceded A Midsummer Night's Dream--which is undetermined--it was a unique inversion of the order which made Greene always the second and not the first. In view of this literary chronology it seems clear that in the start and well on into his career Greene was the sensitive and ambitious writer following where Italian tradition, contemporary genius, and popular acclaim blazed the way; and in so doing his individual excellence lay not in originality on the great scale, but in treatment, in his modification of the genre, in his individual style and manner and purport--in the virtues, that is to say, of an able, clever, variously equipped man of letters whose talent had not yet discovered the core of genius in itself.

It is observable, too, in the earlier period of his work, that in his treatment of his material so derived, he displays the qualities of the weaker, the less robust literary habit; he uses refinement, he is checked by his good taste, he strives for effects less violent, less sensational, less difficult in the sense that it requires less of the giant's strength to carry them off well. There is little, too, in this portion of his work which lets personality burn through the literary mould; that belongs to his late and stronger time. It is true that his novels have a moral in them for edification; but, although he had the preacher's voice, it is not here in the earlier tales that it is heard; it was the immemorial privilege of the Renaissance tale, however scandalous, to wear cowl and cassock. In the cardinal point of his delineation of female character, for which he is highly praised because of the purity and grace of the womanhood he presented, he follows the Renaissance convention, as it seems to me, but with refining and often true English touches--that ideal of Italian origin which is, on the whole, one of outline, of pale graciousness, of immobile or expressive beauty, pictorial; these women seem like lovely portraits which have stepped down out of a frame, and have only so much of life as an environment of light and air and silence can give them. Are they not, for example, as truly like Spenser's women--except where Spenser's are differentiated by doing "manly" parts--as they are prophetic of Shakespeare's simpler types? Greene, no doubt, incorporated in this ideal something of his own experience of noble and patient womanhood, possibly as he had known it in his wife, as Shakespeare embodied eternal reality in his creations; but it would not occur to me to believe that Shakespeare found a model for Ophelia or Imogen in the Lady Ida and Dorothea, any more than in Una and her sisters. All these before Shakespeare are of one family--they are the conventionalized Renaissance ideal variously modified and filled with richer artistic life; but in Shakespeare they pass into that clear luminous air where art and humanity are one thing. Greene should have our admiration for his sensibility to the type, for the appreciation with which he drew it, for the charm he thereby clothed his pages with; but as to there being a line of descent, that is altogether another thing; and in respect to Greene himself, his special female characterization imports the element of refinement in him, the trait of the less robust literary habit just spoken of. Similarly, he was of too sound taste to be long content to speak in the cut phrase of euphuism, and he soon laid the fashion off; and, in his afterplay on the Tamburlaine motive, it is a matter of debate whether he was parodying or rivalling Marlowe's large-languaged rhetoric, and, whichever he was doing, he was hampered by a better taste than his model, either laughing at it, or else without the giant's strength to succeed in the worser way, and to Doctor Faustus and Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, so far as they are compared, like remarks apply. Greene has his own virtues in all these instances, but they are not those of originating power, of creative overflow, of genius of the Elizabethan stripe; they live within the narrower circle of improvement through refined taste, or else of satirical protest or comparative failure due to the same trait.

The thought of refinement in connection with Greene, the stress laid upon it here, has not been commonly prominent in writings upon him, and is out of harmony with our traditional impression of him--the envious and dying profligate in his misery. Yet it is to be found not only in his early portraits of womanhood of the pure type (he afterward presented a baser one), nor in the fact often noted of the marked purity of his works; but more pervasively in his continuing taste, in those habits and choices in the literary field, those revolts and reforms, which show the steady rightness of the man in his self-criticism and his criticism of current successes. I seem to feel this innate refinement in the limpidity of single lines; but it is plain to every one in the lovely lyrics which have sung themselves into the hearts of all lovers of our poetry, those songs, found in all anthologies of English verse, which bear Greene's name. He was a gross man, living grossly, as all know; but it sometimes happens that in such fleshly natures--as, every one will at once think, in Ben Jonson--there is found this flower of delicacy, the very fragrance of the soul; and so it was with Greene, and the lyrics are the mortal sign of this inward grace. It belongs with this, as has been observed by several writers, that of all the men who preceded Shakespeare, Greene most lets the breath of the English country blow through his pages, and likes to lay his scene in some rural spot. He loved the country; and yet, here too, protest may well be made when it is said that in this he led the way for Shakespeare; surely all country paths were open to the Warwickshire lad in his own right; nor need the difference be allowed that the forest of Arden is a conventionalized nature, as one critic maintains, while Greene's is of the soil--that is to mistake art for convention; but to say even this one word in passing in behalf of Shakespeare's nature-reality is superfluous, except that it suggests the different road by which Shakespeare here, as well as in his dealing with madness, witchcraft, and fairyland (in all of which Greene is said to have taught him), went his own ways, irrespective of comrades of the time. In this love of the country which Greene had lies the key to the better man in him and to his own native distinctions. Beneath his literary temperament, which seems an educational and professional veneer that should finally drop away, is his genuine nature--the man he was; and, life going on to imminent wreck, it became clear in his later works that he was more and more engaged in contemporary life, in what he saw and knew, and that he took his material from these; he had written autobiographical sketches and accounts of low life and its characters, and he had displayed certain tendencies toward preaching and sympathies with the unredeemed masses of humanity, all somewhat miscellaneously, and without any other art than a strong prose style; but, at the end, is it not manifest that he had grown into realism as his material, and into an attitude of moral denunciation and popular sympathy in dealing with it, and is not this the significance of his collaboration with Lodge in A Looking-Glasse for London and England, and of his own unique George-a-Greene? All the earlier work seems to end, and new beginnings appear both in his renderings of contemporary realism, and in his most imaginative and various play, James IV.

The gradual substitution, then, as Greene came to his time of strength, of frank English realism for cultured Italian tradition and contemporary vital literary example, seems to be the true line of his growth. It shows distinctly in his choice of the English subject of Roger Bacon in place of Doctor Faustus, in his satire of certain aspects of court life, when he translated an Italian plot of Cinthio into apocryphal history as James IV., in his presentation of the state of London in collaboration with Lodge, and in the half-rebellious play of George-a-Greene. This is the imaginative and artistic side of what is practical in his pamphlets of personal repentance and cony-catching. Personally I seem to detect Puritanism morally in the one half, and Puritanism politically in the other half, of this late dramatic work; but it cannot be maintained that the case is certain. Apart from that, Greene was--what so few ever are, even in an Elizabethan environment--a humourist; and he used the old English comedy tradition as an element in his purely English work. The matter is so plain and comparatively so slight as to require the fewest words. In comedy specifically he gave examples, which he may be said to have first given in the sense that he gave them in an original or a developed form, of the court fool in Ralph, of the country bumpkin or crass fool in Miles, of the highly developed and wholly humanized Vice in Adam, of a special humouristic type (aptly characterized as the ancestor of Andrew Fairservice) in Andrew, otherwise not born till Sir Walter Scott's day, and of the true Shakespearian clown, the unmistakable one, in Slipper. Such was his definite service to comedy in respect to type; and criticism can only point it out, because the substance can be given only by reading the characters attentively. In regard to humour at large, it appears to me that in his hands, apart from linguistic felicity and wit, he presents a humour of situation tending toward pure farce, and a humour of intention tending toward pure satire of the social variety, and a humour of manners tending toward pure pleasantry as in the "Vail Staff" episode. The single link binding him with Shakespeare, in comedy is through the character of Slipper; and yet here, as in the other instances of female type, love of country scenes, and also in madness, witchcraft, and fairyland, I cannot believe that Shakespeare may not have arrived at his end--in this case, Launce--without necessarily being obliged to Greene for assistance. The bent toward contemporary realism, toward a well-languaged and winning clown, toward Englishry, which is another name for nature in human life and its setting, is plain in Greene; this was the running of the stream; but no larger inference follows from it in my mind than that Greene had worked out his growth, as Shakespeare in his apprenticeship also did, in similar directions, but that Greene had done it on national lines, whereas Shakespeare did it on universal lines, that Greene had done it in a practical, whereas Shakespeare did it in an ideal way, and that Greene had done it largely under personal conditions, being at war with his fate as a mere man, whereas Shakespeare did it as a human spirit above the reach of material vicissitude. What one owed to the other is an insignificant detail at best; what is important is to observe in Greene the advancing movement of the drama in moral intention, in higher characterization, in original phases of humanity, in humour of more body and intellect, in comedy and fantasy approaching the goal of the Elizabethan spirit. Greene, it must be acknowledged, opened some veins that no one followed up; some of his characters and much of his sympathies were his own in an unshared way; but his work of all kinds ended with him, and, so far as he was an explorer of the way, he was most like one who, in our own time, may be an experimenter in some new force--his name is not associated with scientific history, with new invention, with discovery, but such success as he had was because his eye was on the element which men of his craft were working out more thoroughly than he himself.

It is pleasant to close this brief note on one of the most unfortunate of men whom our literature remembers, with a kindlier appreciation of him than has hitherto obtained. The mere volume of his writings indicates great industry; the criticism of them witnesses our respect for his endowments, his taste, his fundamental manhood; the analysis of them shows improvement in himself, and the power of mastery over the material given him in the direction of the true progress of art in his day; the very violence of his fate or of his repentances suggests that the nature so ruined may have been of finer and better metal than those who died and made no such sign of conscious self-obstruction: there remain the ideal women, the clear-cut comedians, the lovely lyrics, to plead for him as an accomplisher of art; and, in view of this, may we not forget the unhappy incident that has made him like the flitting bat in the slow dawn of our golden poet, and remember the much that he, dying so young, at thirty-two, accomplished before the day of his disappointment, the night of his deserted solitude, and the tragic ignominy of his death?

G. E. WOODBERRY.

Robert Greene

THE HONORABLE HISTORIE OF FRIER BACON

Edited with Critical Essay and Notes by Charles Mills Gayley, LL.D., Professor in the University of California.

CRITICAL ESSAY

=Life.=[1137]--Robert Greene was born in Norwich of estimable parents, and "in his non-age" sent there to school. He was entered November 15, 1575, at St. John's, Cambridge. According to his Short Discourse, he was even then "in his first yeares." We may, therefore, date his birth about 1560. At the university he "light amongst wags" as lewd as himself, and was by them drawn, probably after he had taken his B.A., 1578, "to travell into Italy and Spaine," where he "practizde such villainie as is abhominable to declare." After his return (probably before Part I. of his Mamillia was entered for printing, October 3, 1580,--certainly by March 20, 1581, when his ballad of Youthe[1138] was registered), he "ruffeled out in silks" posing as "malcontent"; but having in 1583,[1139] "by degrees proceeded M.A.," he betook himself to London, where as "Author of Playes and penner of Love Pamphlets" none soon was better known "than Robin Greene." Perhaps he was in Cambridge, September 6, 1583, when the Second Part of Mamillia was registered, for it is dated "from my Studie in Clare hall." Till about August 13, 1584, he was writing similar tales; and, despite a dissolute habit, he maintained favour with some of honourable calling. His Planetomachia appeared in 1585; an edition of his Morando[1140] is licensed during the next year. Between 1584 and 1586 he visited his former home, made a fleeting effort at reform, married a "proper young woman" of Lincolnshire,[1141] had a son by her, "cast her off," and returned to London. Here he gave himself "wholly to the penning of plaies," which with "other trifling pamphlets" were henceforth his "chiefest stay of living." Both kinds brought him popularity and envy.[1142] In July, 1588, he was incorporated M.A. at Oxford. In February, 1589, this "arch play-making poet" steps forth in the rôle of patriot with his Spanish Masquerado; soon after with his Mourning Garment (S. R. November 2, 1590) in that of moralist. The didactic note had been already struck in The Royal Exchange, early in 1590, and the penitential in the Farewell to Follie (S. R. 1587; pub. 1591); but both prevail in Never Too Late,[1143] 1590. The disposition to serve the Commonwealth is further displayed in his series for the exposure of "coosnage," 1591-92. Whatever else he had written he now counts for "apples of Sodom." In July, 1592, he[1144] "canvazed" the brothers Harvey in his Quip for an Upstart Courtier, but of this we have only the eviscerated remains. Soon afterward he indulged in that memorable surfeit of pickled herring and Rhenish wine. The ensuing sickness at the shoemaker's in Dowgate,--Greene's friendless lot, "lousie circumstance," mistresse,[1145] bastard, and corpse,--Gabriel Harvey[1146] has embalmed with the foul peculiar juices of his spite. Those last weeks Greene spent writing his Groatsworth of Wit which is partly, and his Repentance which is wholly, autobiographical, to dissuade men from a like "carelesse course of life." He sent back their son to his wife; and the night of his death received "commendations" from her "whereat he greatly rejoiced," and wrote a pathetic farewell. That was September 3, 1592. Mrs. Isam, his hostess, garlanded the dead poet with bays; and he was laid in the New Churchyard, near Bedlam.

=Misapprehensions concerning Greene.=--On the title-page of Planetomachia, 1585, Greene subscribes himself "Student in Phisicke"; and from this it has been inferred by most of his biographers that he was then studying medicine. But for Greene, as for Chaucer and Gower, whom he diligently perused, 'phisicke' sometimes meant natural philosophy,[1147] and always included a grounding in 'astronomie.'[1148] The word is here used with reference to the 'magic natural' of his subject,--the book being a narrative dispute of astrological influences.

According to popular assertion, substantiated by the arguments of Dyce, Fleay, Grosart, and others, Greene was at one period a parson. Careful investigation convinces me that this assertion is untrue. Our dramatist cannot have been the Robert Greene who, as unus Capellanorum nostrorum Capellæ nostræ Regiæ, was in 1576 presented by Elizabeth to the rectory of Walkington in Yorkshire; for at that time he was but a freshman at Cambridge. Nor can he[1149] have been the Robert Greene who from June 19, 1584, to February 17, 1586, was Vicar of Tollesbury in Essex; because according to his own story,[1150] that period was covered by other events: to wit, the conviction of sin in St. Andrew's at Norwich (while he was yet "newly come from Italy," end of 1584 or beginning of 1585), a "motion" which vastly amused his "copesmates," but lasted "no longer than the present time"; the relapse; the marriage "soon after to a gentleman's daughter" (sometime in 1585); the brief sequel of "wickedness" during which he "spent up" his wife's marriage-money; the "casting off" of the wife; and the return to play-writing in London. This last, six years before his death; therefore in 1586. Such manner of life is not that of the Vicar of Tollesbury; nor is the recital that of Greene if he ever was vicar of anything.

Mr. Fleay[1151] attempts to identify Greene, as Robert the parson, with one Robert Persj or Rupert Persten of Leicester's troupe acting between December, 1585, and July, 1587, on the Continent. There is, however, no proof that Greene was with these "instrumentalists and acrobats"; nor is the name Persj or Persten, as it appears in the Danish and Saxon records, either the English name Parson or a translation of the calling of parson into Danish or German. Actor King became Koning and Konigk, and actor Pope, Pape and Pabst,--but Persj, Percy, Persten, or Preston was untranslatable. Indeed, if the argument proves anything, it proves too much. For if Mr. Fleay's Persten (or as he coerces it, Priester) is Greene, Vicar of Tollesbury, this Vicar must have been acting abroad three months of the period during which he was preaching at home;--a dual activity terminated, moreover, not by the vestry of Tollesbury, which would appear to have enjoyed this unusual programme, or by the bishop, but by the Vicar himself, whose resignation is recorded as "free and spontaneous."[1152]

It is certainly safer to accept Greene's own story and the publishers' records, which, taken together, show that his marital estate was a debauch with rare intervals of business activity. During this period Arbasto and the enlarged Morando were registered and Planetomachia was printed.

A writer of Greene's self-exhibitive temper would not have hesitated, and one of his didactic tendency could not have failed, to present the world with an account of an episode which, if it existed, was the most sensational of his moral experiences. But in none of his writings, autobiographical, or quasi-autobiographical, does Greene give even remote intimation of taking orders. On the contrary he speaks as a layman, and a very wicked layman, too; as one who from infancy was bred in sin, and who held aloof from God's ministers. So far was he from the possibility of orders that when, in his youth, "once and yet but once" he "sorrowed for his wickedness of life," his comrades could conceive of no huger joke in the world than to wish that he "might have a pulpit." Roberto of the Groatsworth, "whose life in most part agreed" with his, was never a minister, nor was either of Greene's other understudies, Philador and Francesco. In Greene's Vision, which, whether authentic or not, is contemporaneous, the advice given to our dramatist "Be a devine, my sonne," is dismissed as out of the question, though that consummation were most devoutly to be desired. None of his associates of later years[1153] betrays acquaintance with his ministerial career, not Nashe or Burbye or Dekker or Heywood or Chettle. None of his panegyrists. And of his enemies not even Gabriel Harvey.

We may therefore conclude that the famous passage in Martine Marsixtus which (with a context partly relative to Greene) announces that "every red-nosed minister is an author" does not apply to Greene, but to any "unauthorized author who serves a drunken man's humor," or that the insinuation has reference to some sobriquet born of Greene's paroxysms of pentitence and mourning pamphlets. And, indeed, a nickname may have attached itself to this wayward child of circumstance, as early as that critical period in Norwich when his copesmates called him "Puritane and Presizian ... and other such scoffing tearmes." What more likely than "Parson," since they had gone so far, Greene tells us, as to wish him a pulpit? But if he had a pulpit, what becomes of the joke? and of his own word--"the good lesson went quite out of my remembrance ... I went forward obstinately in my misse"?

As to the manuscript notes in the 1599 copy of The Pinner of Wakefield, the first of which states that Shakespeare said that the play was "written by ... a minister who ac[ted] ye piñers pt in it himself," and the second, in another hand, that Juby said that "ys play was made by Ro. Gree[ne],"--it must be remembered that both attributions are hearsay; that both notes are anonymous; that one or both may be fraudulent; that there is no certain proof that they were written by contemporaries; and finally that, unless their contents are shown to be accurate as well as authentic, and to refer to the same author, they do not connect any Robert Greene with the ministry. Since our Greene's writings show that he was no minister, there is but one hypothesis upon which, assuming the accuracy and relevancy of both these manuscript notes, he can be the person indicated; namely, that the designation, minister, used by Shakespeare, was a nickname. And, conversely, Shakespeare's remark can be credited in its literal significance only if the play was not by our Greene. In the latter event, the attribution of authorship to a minister, taken in connection with Ed. Juby's attribution to a certain Ro. Greene, would denote some parson-playwright to whom no other play has been traced--Robert of Walkington, or Robert of Tollesbury, or some other of this not unusual name. And in that case it would be easy to understand how the name of an obscure author, if mentioned by Shakespeare, should have slipped the memory of the title-page scribe. Internal evidence, as will later be seen, is not conclusive of Greene's authorship; but even if it were, it would not prove that he was a minister.

It may be conceded that, like other Elizabethan dramatists, he assumed a part upon the stage. But that he adopted the calling, or ever stood a chance of enjoying "its damnable excessive gains," is only less improbable than that he was a parson. Dyce's quotation from Harvey to the effect that Greene was "a player" misapprehends the "puissant epitapher" who was merely enumerating the "thousand crotchets" that littered Greene's "wilde head, and hence his stories."[1154] None of his contemporaries hints that Greene was an actor; none regards him in that light. He himself despised the profession.

In respect of his relations with Shakespeare, I cannot but feel that he has been harshly judged. We shall be justified in calling the Shakescene remarks unduly rancorous when it has been ascertained that the "admired inventions" of Greene and of those whom he was addressing in the Groatsworth had not been borrowed by the young actor-playwright; or that Greene should have let himself be plundered without protest by this revamper of plays because the revamper was destined some day to be illustrious, in fact to be the Shakespeare. I have not observed that dramatists et id omne genus, nowadays, offer the cheek with any more Christian grace than characterized Robert Greene.

=His Development as a Dramatist: Order of Plays.=[1155]--A painstaking investigation of the evidence leads me to conclude that none of the plays assigned to Greene was produced before the end of 1586, or, probably, the beginning of 1587; that their order is as follows: Alphonsus, Looking-Glasse, Orlando, Friar Bacon, James IV.; and that if Selimus and the Pinner are his, they range respectively with Alphonsus and James.

1. The earliest extant exemplar of The Comicall Historie of Alphonsus, King of Aragon, by R. G.,[1156] and without motto, "as it hath bene sundrie times acted" was "brinted" by Thomas Creede, London, 1599. The play is generally supposed to have been written in emulation of the Tamburlaine, which was on the stage in 1588,--perhaps, indeed, as early as the end of 1586.[1157] While similarity of diction and conceit might indicate a contemporaneous production, the lines in Alphonsus,--

"Not mighty Tamburlaine, Nor soldiers trained up amongst the wars,"[1158]

are proof presumptive of the priority of Marlowe's play. Indeed, Dr. Grosart is justified in asserting that "to take Alphonsus without a tacit reference to Tamburlaine is to miss the entire impulse of its writer"; for the dramatist appears to be attempting a burlesque; and the vainglorious claim that he makes for his hero[1159] is a manifest challenge to Marlowe and that bombastic brood. Greene may have been writing the play as early as 1587; he was, at any rate, interested in the hero then, for he mentions him in the Dedication to The Carde of Fancie.[1160] That the Alphonsus was well known in the early spring of 1589 would appear from an allusion in Peele's Farewell,[1161] which couples it with Tamburlaine so closely as further to suggest that it already clung like a burr to its magniloquent predecessor. Whether the series of satiric reprisals in which, between 1588 and 1590, Greene and Nashe indulged at Marlowe's expense,[1162] was stimulated by some counter-burlesque of Alphonsus is uncertain; but that Marlowe shortly before March 29, 1588, had been privy to some public burlesque of a production of Greene's, may reasonably be inferred from Greene's preface to the Perymedes of that date. For there we learn that two "gentlemen poets" had recently caused two actors to make a mockery of his motto Omne tulit punctum, because his verse fell short of the bombast and blasphemy with which Marlowe captivated the vulgar. If it was the verse of the Alphonsus that was derided by these "madmen of Rome," we have here a date before which the play had been both acted and burlesqued. Now, it is interesting to note that our earliest copy of Alphonsus (1599) has neither motto nor colophon. This is strange, for in all other respects the edition is uniform with that of James IV., which had been brought out by the same publisher, Creede, only the year before, with Greene's Omne tulit punctum upon its title-page. In fact, all other plays written by Greene alone, and bearing his name, have a motto of some kind. One may naturally query whether it was to Creede's advantage to dissociate this particular play from some eleven or twelve years' old derision; or, whether he was following, without definite purpose, the policy of some previous edition, now lost, which likewise had omitted the motto.

Be this as it may, there is, in the preface of March 29, 1588, undoubted allusion[1163] to Greene and Lodge's Looking-Glasse, which, as will presently be shown, was written before June, 1587. The Alphonsus must be assigned to a still earlier date, because, in its prologue,[1164] it gives evidence of priority to Greene's other efforts in serious or heroic style. This conclusion is confirmed by an examination of the play. The copious crude employment of mythological lore, the creaking mechanism of the plot, the subordination of vital to spectacular qualities, betray an inexperience not manifest in Greene's other dramatic output. Moreover, in spite of the fact that our edition of Alphonsus appears to preserve the details of the author's holograph, the versification makes a clumsier showing than in the rest of his plays. The lines are frequently rhymed, sometimes within the speeches, but more often in a perfunctory fashion at speech-ends. And, though this practice wanes as the play proceeds, the verses are throughout more frequently endstopped, and the rhythm more mechanical, than in the other dramas. Between two-thirds and three-quarters of the lines have the monotonous cæsura at the end of the second foot; and of the lyric cæsuræ, which should par excellence lend variety to the verse, about eleven-twelfths fall in the middle of the third foot. We may indeed say that in four-fifths of the lines these sources of sameness prevail. Of prose there is no sign. Both in material and style the play is inelastic, only too easily open to attack. That Greene should prefix the Omne tulit punctum of his popular prose romances was natural, but it was also courting the attack of Marlowe, Kyd, or any gentleman-poets derisively inclined.

2. A Looking-Glasse for London and England made by Thomas Lodge, Gentleman, and Robert Greene, in Artibus Magister, is called by Professor Brown the "finest and last" of the plays in which Greene had a hand, and is assigned to a date "after Lodge's return from Cavendish's expedition in 1591." This conjecture may at once be dismissed,[1165] for that expedition did not start till August 26, 1591; none of its ships returned before June 11, 1593; and, by that time, Greene was dead. The play was registered in May, 1594, and our earliest exemplar (Creede) was printed in the same year. Henslowe records the presentation of the play, but not as new, March 8, 1591-92. We have abundant proof of its popularity. Therefore, since only four representations are recorded during the remainder of that season, which lasted till June 22, 1592,[1166] it must have had its run at an earlier date. Spencer's line in The Tears of the Muses, 1591, about the "pleasing Alcon" has been regarded as an allusion to Lodge's authorship of that character in the Looking-Glasse; and with some show of reason, for nearly all the speeches of Alcon are distinctively the work of Lodge.[1167] But an earlier reminiscence of the play may be found in Greene's mention of Ninevie and Jonas in the dedication and epilogue of the Mourning Garment, 1590. Since it appears, moreover, from a passage in Scillaes Metamorphosis, that Lodge had renounced play-writing as early as 1589,[1168] Storojenko and Grosart date the composition of Looking-Glasse between the close of 1588 and the summer of 1589. I am sure that the date was earlier still; for, since the Metamorphosis followed immediately upon Lodge's return from a voyage with Captain Clarke to Tercera and the Canaries, any such playwriting as that of the Looking-Glasse must have been done before the departure of this expedition. According to Mr. Lee,[1169] the Expedition sailed "about 1588." Now the play contains no allusion to the Armada; it is, therefore, antecedently improbable that it was written in 1588 later than the 29th of May. And since a modernized morality of God's wrath impending over London, if written in that year, could not have failed to echo the first mutterings of the Spanish thunderstorm, I am led to fix the composition before June, 1587, when Philip and Sixtus concluded their treaty against England.

The date of first presentation must have been appreciably before March 29, 1588, for a character, the 'priest of the sun,' which figured in the Looking-Glasse, but "in no other early play,"[1170] is mentioned in the introduction to Perymedes, already cited. Here, Greene asserts that even if his verse did not always "jet upon the stage in tragicall buskins," or his "everie worde" blaspheme, he could, an he pleased, fill the mouth "like the fa-burden of Bo-Bell, daring God out of heaven with that Atheist Tamburlan"; and, by way of proof, he sets side by side with Tamburlan, the impious ranting of his own "mad preest of the Sonne." The reference is, of course, to the scene in the Looking-Glasse, where the mitred priests of the sun, "carrying fire in their hands," hail Rasni as a "deitie";[1171] and he assumes that the mention of one of the characters will indicate the play,--a justifiable expectation if the play had been before the public for nine or ten months.

Though affected by its moral configuration, the Looking-Glasse is well constructed. In plot, characterization, manners (especially those of low life), in worldly wisdom and fervour, it leaves Alphonsus far behind. The subtler handling of classical adornment and the bubble of the humour would, of themselves, justify us in assigning it to the same period with Orlando and Friar Bacon. The advancing maturity is manifest also in its verse and prose. I do not attribute Greene's improvement in blank verse entirely to Lodge's coöperation; for Lodge's verse in the Civill War, 1587, was not markedly easier than that of the Alphonsus, and his verse in this play[1172] is but a trifle more elastic than in the Civill War. Taking at random fifty-seven of Greene's verses,[1173] I find that some fifty-two avoid the monotone, and, of these, no fewer than twenty-five escape the penthimimeral cæsura as well. In other words, five-sixths of the rhythms are free, and one-half of these skilfully varied. In the prophetic verses the monotone is properly more prevalent. About thirty per cent of Greene's have it. But even there almost half of the 'free' rhythms display artistic handling. Speech-end rhythms are fewer than in Alphonsus; rhyme, indeed, is altogether less in evidence--except in the prophetic rhapsodies. Lodge's lines for Oseas rhyme, however, more than Greene's for Jonas. Not only is the proportion of prose larger than in any other of Greene's plays,--a feature which is, perhaps, due to the fact that each collaborator had his own set of mechanicals to exploit,--but the style of it is more conversational than in any preceding English play.

3. Our earliest impression of Orlando Furioso, One of the Twelve Peeres of France, "as it was playd before the Queenes Maiestie," is published by Burbye, 1594. It had been entered for Danter, December 7, 1593, but was transferred to Burbye on the ensuing May 28. He issued a second edition in 1599.[1174] Greene was accused in 1592[1175] of having sold the play to the Lord Admiral's men while the Queen's company, to which he had previously disposed of it, was "in the country." Now the Queen's men had acted at court for the last time, December 26, 1591; and they did not reappear in London till April, 1593.[1176] But the Admiral's, meanwhile (February, 1592), had entered into a temporary alliance with Lord Strange's,[1177] through Henslowe and Edw. Alleyn; and under the auspices of the latter company almost immediately (February 21) the Orlando was acted in one of Henslowe's theatres.[1178] It was already an old play; and Henslowe records no later performance. During the same period three or four other plays formerly belonging to the Queen's passed into the hands of Lord Strange's company.[1179] The date of the second sale of Orlando would accordingly seem to have been during January or February, 1592. It appears, then, that up to December 26, 1591, it belonged to the Queen's men; and it had probably been presented at court by them, for its classical and Italian features were evidently from the first designed to suit her Majesty's taste.[1180]

That the play was written later than July 30, 1588, may be deduced from a mention (ll. 89-95) of the "rebate" of "mightie Fleetes" which "Came to subdue my Ilands to their king;" for the allusion to the Armada is historically minute (note the conjunction of 'Portingale' with 'Spaniard' in reference to the start from Lisbon), the sequence does not savour of afterthought or actor's clap-trap, and the theme receives attention in other parts of the play.[1181] Now, between the "rebate" of the Armada and the disappearance of the Queen's men from London that company acted at court ten times;[1182] and upon at least one of these occasions I conclude that the Orlando was played. During the year that followed the Armada there are but two such occasions on record, December 26, 1588, and February 9, 1589; and of the latter the notice is open to question.[1183] In any case the former is more likely to be the date of the presentation of Orlando; for the reference to the Armada, and the championing of Elizabeth under the figure of Angelica, would be the policy of a court play acted on the St. Stephen's day following the Spanish defeat. If this was the play, we may be sure that it won her Majesty's approval; and that the dramatist seized the opportunity to further his good fortune. And that is precisely what Greene did. In February, 1589, he brought out his Spanish Masquerado, which was hailed with such enthusiasm that his friend Lodge declared that the name of Greene was become a terror to the gens seditieux, that his laurel was deathless, and that from a mortal he had become a companion of the gods.[1184] Now I incline to think that the success of Orlando contributed to this popularity; there is certainly not enough of political or literary worth in the Masquerado alone to account for it. There is further reason for dating the Orlando before 1590 if the resemblances between it and the Old Wives Tale[1185] are due, as I think they are, to Peele's acquaintance with the former. And if, in his Farewell, the same poet is alluding to our play, under the title of Charlemagne,[1186]--which, considering Orlando's frequent brag of kinship with the emperor, is not unlikely,--the play must have been acted before the spring of 1589. That Greene was occupied with the Orlando at a still earlier date would appear from his repeating in it no less than five of the character-names which he had used in one of the stories of the Perymedes.[1187] Nor does the tracing of certain resemblances to their common source in the epos lessen the general probability that Greene's story and play were written at approximately the same period; the latter following, as the former had preceded, the summer of 1588. Mr. Fleay would, indeed, push the date back to 1587 "when the Admiral's men re-opened after the plague,"[1188] and Professor Brown sets it with that of Alphonsus and Bacon, between 1584 and 1587;[1189] but I do not think that the contents warrant either of these conclusions.

Though the Orlando must be of later date than the Alphonsus,[1190] it betrays the influence of the still earlier Tamburlaine. But it is more than a sensational or spectacular play; it is a parody of the ranting "mad plays" which were then the rage. Numerous characteristics which appear to some critics to be defects of construction are proof of this. Orlando's sudden insanity and the ridiculously inadequate occasion of it, the headlong dénouement, the farcical technique, the mock-heroic atmosphere, the paradoxical absence of pathos, the absurdly felicitous conclusion,--all seemingly unwitting,--are purposive and satirical. Of such a burlesque the author of The Spanish Tragedy,[1191] perhaps of the pre-Shakespearian Hamlet, may have been the butt. Greene and Nashe had no affection for Kyd. The raving and bombast of this play--the stuff, too, that the actor Alleyn injected--suggest a parody of Kyd; and the dates accord. At any rate I think it likely that the Orlando[1192] was produced while the pre-Shakespearian Hamlet was fresh; and this consideration also looks toward 1588.

Many similarities of style may be pointed out between Orlando and other of Greene's productions during 1588 and 1589.[1193] The resemblances to Friar Bacon not merely in diction, imagery, and allusion,[1194] but in quality of verse, are numerous. In respect of this last the plays may be considered together since they are of a piece. They were apparently written within a year of each other, both with a view to presentation at Court.

4. The earliest impression of The Honorable Historie of frier Bacon and frier Bongay (as it was plaid by her Maiesties servants) is of 1594, and was printed for Edward White, in whose name (substituted for Adam Islip's, erased) it had been entered, S. R. May 14, of the same year.[1195] The earliest record of its presentation is Henslowe's of 1591-92: "Rd at fryer bacone, the 19 of febrary, satter-daye ... xvijˢ iij.ᵈ" The play is first in the list of those performed by "my Lord Strange's men"; but is not marked "new." It is, however, a drawing play: Strange's men act it about once every three weeks, between February 19 and May 6; and once a week, between the ensuing January 10 and January 30, while Queen's and Sussex act it twice in an engagement of a week beginning April 1, 1593-94. It must have preceded the anonymous play Faire Em, the Miller's Daughter of Manchester, which imitates it[1196]--perhaps with ironic intent. Indeed, Bacon would seem to have been acted as much as twelve months before Faire Em appeared. For in Greene's Epistle (about the middle of 1591) prefixed to the Farewell to Follie, where he reproaches the imitating dramatist with general lack of invention and with profane borrowing from the Scriptures, he further twits him with having consumed "a whole year" in "enditing" his foolish and inartistic play.[1197] That is to say, a whole year from the production of the play which it so evidently imitated. Now, what was the date of Faire Em? If, as Professor Schick[1198] points out, its main source was Jacques Yvers's Printemps d'Iver, it would probably follow the fresh editions of that book of 1588 and 1589. And it did. I place its date between that of Greene's Address to the Gentlemen Schollers prefixed to the Mourning Garment and that of the Address prefixed to his Farewell. For in the former he undertakes to forestall, in general, the "fooles" who may "scoffe" at his repentance, and in the latter while he makes a show of ignoring the "asses" that "strike" at him (i.e. at his Mourning Garment) he specifies one "ass" who may be expected to flout his Farewell, viz., the author of Faire Em,--that being indicated by quotations. In other words the Faire Em is to be dated between November 2, 1590 (when the Mourning Garment was registered),[1199] and the middle of 1591 (when the Farewell with this prefatory Address) appeared.[1200] Since the "blasphemous rhetoricke" of Faire Em was well known when Greene criticised it, we may suppose that the play had been in existence since November or December, 1590. And if its author had been "a whole year enditing" this imitation of Friar Bacon, Friar Bacon must have been a notable play in November or December, 1589. But if Englands Mourninge Gowne, which was registered July 1, 1590, be Greene's Mourning Garment under another name,[1201] then Faire Em may have appeared as early as July or August of the same year; and Friar Bacon, preceding Faire Em by a twelvemonth, might be dated July or August, 1589. Even if we do not strictly construe Greene's "whole year," we must allow some such opportunity for the vogue of Friar Bacon, and for the composition, presentation, and vogue of Faire Em, before the publication of Greene's retort in the 1591 edition of the Farewell to Follie. Hence the period between July and the end of 1589 will probably cover the production of Friar Bacon; but the latter limit might include the spring of 1590.

Mr. Fleay,[1202] reasoning from the insertion of Greene's longer motto as colophon to the 1594 exemplar, places Friar Bacon earlier than the Menaphon (S. R. August 23, 1589), in which he says Greene's shorter motto[1203] is first used. Of the validity of this test I am not convinced. Much more convincing is the argument based by the same indefatigable scholar upon a date suggested within the drama. St. James's Day, July 25, is mentioned (Sc. i.) as falling on a Friday. Mr. Fleay insists that in such cases dramatic authors used the almanac for the current year; and he shows that 1589 is the only year of such coincidence that will meet the conditions of this play. Since the attribution of the exact day of the week to a movable feast is more likely to follow than to precede the observance, I should regard July 25, 1589, the limit before which the Bacon was not finished. Now, not only the eulogy of Elizabeth at the end, but the euphuistic and classical style of the play, shows that it was intended for presentation at court. The only dates within the limits above prescribed on which the Queen's men played before her Majesty were December 26, 1589, and March 1, 1590. I lean to the former, St. Stephen's Day, as that on which Friar Bacon was performed.

The relation of this play to Dr. Faustus throws additional light upon the question under discussion. We must first eliminate the assumption that Marlowe's "wall of brass"[1204] was borrowed from Friar Bacon. The sources of the conception were common to both playwrights: the Famous Historie of frier Bacon, a story-book popular at the time, and "the tradition already borrowed from Giraldus Cambrensis by Spenser."[1205] And it is evident that Marlowe drew the scene where Robin conjures with one of Faustus's books directly from the story-book, not at all from Greene's play.[1206] I agree with Dr. Ward that Greene's play was suggested by Marlowe's, and that "it is hardly too great an assumption to regard Bacon's victory over Vandermast as a cheery outdoing by genuine English magic of the pretentious German article in which Faustus was the representative traveller." Greene's play is a romantic but humorous, sometimes burlesque, treatment of a theme like Marlowe's, but familiar to the audience, and attractive because domestic. It may, indeed, be surmised that some scenes in Friar Bacon are parodies of their pompous analogues in Dr. Faustus.[1207] I think it has not been noticed that in the title of Greene's play we have a clue to his intention: the 'Honorable Historie' is in evident contrast with the 'Tragical Historie' of Dr. Faustus. For the word 'honorable' was not derived from the title of the story-book. That is a 'Famous Historie.' If he had acted in accordance with custom, Greene might have replaced 'famous' by 'comical,' to indicate the fortunate ending of his fable. No other drama that I know of, up to 1589, had been denominated an 'honorable' history. But, in this case, Greene had every provocation to emphasize the quality 'honorable.' For his purpose was to vaunt the superiority of the English magician above the tragically concluding German.

This consideration confirms the assignment of Friar Bacon to some time within a year after the production of Dr. Faustus (1588 end or 1589 beginning). So, also, the resemblances in style to Greene's other writings of that period. The love theme in Friar Bacon is similar to that in Tullie's Love (1589); the style is akin to that of Orlando (December, 1588). These two are also closely related as dramatic productions. The earlier, to be sure, confines itself more narrowly to the satirical intent, while the later aims in æsthetic respects, also, to surpass its Marlowan predecessor. It is, consequently, an improvement upon Orlando in construction and characterization. The dramatist is now working with free hand, and, for the first time in this field, employs the ease and invention for which, as a story-teller, he was already famous. In versification these two plays continue the methods of the Looking-Glasse; but the rhymed lines are sensibly fewer. In Orlando they appear at the end of the first half-dozen speeches; in Friar Bacon they are to seek. In both plays, about three-quarters of the verses avoid the singsong pause at the end of the second foot. In the Orlando, I should say that more than a third of the verses escape, in addition, the penthimimeral cæsura; in the Friar Bacon, almost a third. The dodecasyllable with which Greene is experimenting in the interest of freedom, is somewhat frequent in both plays. For the reason already given, there is not so much prose as in the Looking-Glasse, perhaps only half as much. Still, of Orlando, one-fifth is written in prose, and of Friar Bacon nearly a fourth.

5. Storojenko[1208] holds that The Scottish Historie of James the Fourth betrays a novel tendency toward native themes and simple style, and that, with Bacon and The Pinner, it furnished the model for Shakespeare's romantic comedies. Professor Brown, pointing out that James IV. is "among the first plays to have an acted prologue and interplay," thinks that Shakespeare followed Greene's example in the Taming of the Shrew and the Midsummer Night's Dream; and he groups James IV. with The Pinner and the Looking-Glasse as later than the three other plays of Greene, and free from their "alluring pedantry."[1209] But we have already seen that the Looking-Glasse preceded both Orlando and Bacon; and I think it can be proved that James IV. followed them. The unique exemplar, printed by Creede, "as it hath bene sundrie times publikely plaide," is of 1598, and is probably a reprint of a lost edition of 1594.[1210] Henslow makes no mention of the play; nor have we record of its acting. Storojenko conjectures some date after the summer of 1589 for its composition; Brown, some date between 1587 and 1592; Ward, about 1590; Fleay, after August 23, 1589,[1211] because it uses the shorter motto (but elsewhere,[1212] 1591--probably in collaboration with Lodge).

The following observations will, I think, fix the limits as 1590-1591. Ida's lines, 270-279 in Act I., beginning "And weele I wot, I heard a shepheard sing,"[1213] are a reminiscence of the Heard-groome wᵗ his strawberrie lasse in Peele's Hunting of Cupid: "What thing is love? for (wel I wot) love is a thing," etc.[1214] Notice the recurrence in Drummond's version of the "weele I wot." The "shepheard" to whom Ida has reference is, of course, one of the swains of the Hunting, or Peele himself. The Hunting was not registered for printing till July 26, 1591; but then with the proviso "that if it be hurtful to any other copy before licensed ... this to be void." The proviso was frequently mere form, but it suggests that Greene may have drawn the verses from a manuscript copy, or from the public performance before July 26, 1591. I do not think that the Hunting was written very long before it was registered, because the atmosphere and phraseology are still fresh in Peele's mind when he writes his Descensus Astrææ, October, 1591. But it is interesting to note that there occurs a premonition or echo of these same verses on Love in Greene's Mourning Garment,[1215] which had been registered in 1590, from eight to twelve months before the registration of the Hunting. We may, with reasonable latitude, assign the composition of the Hunting to the year 1590, and that of James IV. to a later date in proximity to that of Greene's Mourning Garment--say about July, 1590. Confirmation of this conclusion may be found in other resemblances of sentiment and style between James IV. and the Mourning Garment,[1216] as well as in Dorothea's reference to the Irish wars, which may have been suggested by the contemporary rising in Fermanagh; for, since the suppression of Desmond, in 1583, there had been comparative quiet in Ireland. Though the play exhibits little of the affected style which Elizabeth demanded, it is courtly, and the graceful compliment to the queen and the (English) rose in the laudation of Dorothea's attributes, together with that heroine's forecast of a union between Scotland and England,[1217] might indicate a view to court presentation, and a date of composition when such union was favourably contemplated. The further boast of Dorothea:--

"Shall never Frenchman say an English maid Of threats of forraine force will be afraid,"[1218]

was doubtless intended for the ear of the virgin queen, who, in 1590 and 1591, was busily landing forces in France to thwart the schemes of her implacable enemies, the Guises. This play may, therefore, have been presented by Greene's company, at court, on December 26, 1590, or as one of their five performances during 1591.

The moral atmosphere is that of the penitential pamphlets; while the pictures of roguery coincide with those of the conycatching series. The portrayal of character is that of a mature dramatist; the plot is more skilfully manipulated than in Friar Bacon, and covers a larger canvas; but, though it smacks of the folk, it has hardly the simple domestic interest of that drama. Still, Ward calls it the happiest, Brown the most perfect, of Greene's plays; in fact, "the finest Elizabethan historical play outside of Shakespeare."

The versification of James IV. gives proof of a mature quality of experimentation. Because rhyme prevails, Collier assigned the play to Greene's earlier period; but the criterion is inconclusive. Though Greene conformed to the blank verse fashion as early as 1588, he made it clear, at the time, that he was no convert.[1219] And, while in 1590-91 he recognizes the merits of a richer and more varied rhythm, he is not yet convinced that rhyme should be abandoned; in tender and gently romantic passages he counts it utile as well as dulce. Some of the scenes in which Ida and the queen figure are, accordingly, almost altogether rhymed. The rhythmical movement is, however, no less liberal than in Orlando and Bacon; the proportion of monotone and penthimimeral is as low; and as many as fifty per cent of the cæsuræ are lyrical. Fully one-quarter of the play is in prose.

Having a regard only to the unquestioned plays of Greene, we notice that his employment of dramatic prose dates from the association with Lodge in the Looking-Glasse; that his renunciation of rhyme was short-lived, and that its resumption did not hamper the freedom of rhythmical movement. In none of the later plays, however, is the verse so elastic as in his own dramatic portions of the Looking-Glasse. And there the mobility was probably due to a desire for contrast with the prophetic monologues.

=Attributions.=--Various other plays have, in whole or in part, been assigned to Greene; A History of Jobe,[1220] not extant; part of The Troublesome Raigne of King John,[2] and of the First and Second Parts of Henry VI.;[1221] Fair Emm[1222] (with no show of reason), and others mentioned by Dyce; Titus Andronicus;[1223] The Pinner of Wakefield, Selimus, and A Knack to Know a Knave.[1224] We can consider only the last three.

1. The earliest extant exemplar of George-a-Greene, the Pinner of Wakefield is in the Duke of Devonshire's library. The author's name does not appear. But the printer, publisher, year, vignette, and motto (Aut nunc aut nunquam) are the same as on the title-page of the 1599 Orlando; and the same printer, Burbye, had, in 1592, published other works of Greene: the Third Part of Conny-Catching and The Repentance. These items do not, however, prove anything concerning the identity of the author. The play was entered to Burbye, April 1, 1595. We learn from the title-page that the Sussex company acted it; and Henslowe records five of these performances between December 29, 1593, and January 22, 1594. But, though the Sussex men soon afterwards twice assisted Greene's former company in the presentation of Friar Bacon, they do not seem at this, or any previous period, to have owned any of the unquestioned plays of Robert Greene. Henslowe does not mark this one 'new,' and the dramatic contents give no indication of its date, save that one of the dramatis personæ refers to Tamberlaine.[1225] No light is thrown upon the authorship by contemporary publications; and, as late as Kirkman's Catalogue, 1661, the play was still anonymous. It has been assigned to Greene on the manuscript evidence which has already been shown to be inconclusive.[1226] In the last resort our decision must depend upon the detection of Greenian characteristics. Dr. Ward has observed that the play possesses "one of Greene's most attractive notes,--a native English freshness of colouring,"--glimpses of which may also be had in Friar Bacon and James IV. This is true. The representation of the characters, manners, and speech of the middle and lower classes is such as might have contributed to Chettle's estimate of the dramatist,--"the only comedian of a vulgar writer in this country."[1227] In the "plotting," also, of the play, no ordinary skill is evinced, and that is the "quality," says Nashe, wherein Greene was master of his craft.[1228] The material is a popular story, like the material of Friar Bacon. One of the incidents, indeed, existed not only in the popular story, but in the experience of Robert Greene as well.[1229] The rhetorical style here and there affords an inkling of this "very supporter" of native comedy: a word that seems to be his,[1230] a phrase or trick of the tongue,[1231] a figure or two,[1232] occasionally a bejewelled verse,[1233] and once, at least, a sentiment,--

"The sweet content of men that live in love Breeds fretting humours in a restless mind."

But in Greene's undoubted productions the Greenian attributes are not so far to seek: the curious imagery, the precious visualizing, the necromantic monstrous toys. With his brocaded rhetoric fancy is captivated and judgment disarmed. He gluts each appetite in turn with 'semblances,'--rare, remote, and meretricious. His silks are gay with 'sparks' and margarites, redolent of sandalwood and spice, stiff with oriental gold. They rustle richly on the ear. The atmosphere is sense idealized; the melody, a bell. I do not find these earmarks in The Pinner; nor the coloured negligence of Greene, the studied, off-hand blush, the conscious affectation of unconscious art. Of such devices James IV., indeed, is by no means compact; but, in its first fifth, there are four or five times as many references to the foreign, the historical, astrological, mythical, as in all The Pinner. The three or four classical allusions in The Pinner are stark. But Greene's employment of the mythological is never unattractive; it is sui generis. It has always a quiddity of the indirect, the unexpected: a relish of distinction. These bald "Cæsars" and "Helenas" of The Pinner are not Greene. On the contrary, we come across many words, fashions of prose dictions and comic devices, that savour of Lodge as we know him in the Civill War and the Looking-Glasse, and suspect him in Mucedorus. The conversations are sometimes reminiscent of Greene; but, on the whole, they fail of his humorous indirection and his craft.

The verse is so vilely divided in the original that even after Dyce's attempt at reconstruction, no basis for conclusive attribution of authorship is available. Prose forms a large proportion; indeed, it looks as if the author were trying to see how near prose he might come without ceasing to produce unrhymed pentameters. Fragmentary lines, dodecasyllables, feminine endings, and rhetorical pauses abound. These last are to me more suggestive of Greene's association with the play than is any other feature; for more than once or twice they yield the genuinely Greenian rhythm.[1234] If Greene had a hand in The Pinner, the metrical style would fix its date just before or after James IV. It has the ease and variety of Bacon, but is as signal an experiment in conversational blank verse as was James IV. in rhymed dramatic; and it is a fairly successful experiment.

2. The First Part of the Tragicall Raigne of Selimus (Creede, 1594) has been reclaimed for Greene by Dr. Grosart, principally on the evidence of England's Parnassus (1600) which assigns to Greene two passages taken from Selimus.[1235] For Dr. Grosart's presentation of the case the reader may be referred to the Introduction to his edition of Greene.[1236] It is worthy of the most careful study. Dr. Ward after examining the interval evidence decides adversely to Dr. Grosart's results.[1237] The following additional considerations incline me to the same decision. The weight of the evidence depends, not upon the number of passages from Selimus assigned by Allott to Greene, but upon the style of each passage. In the Parnassus, Allott has assigned to Greene passages from other works, which do not belong to him; two, for instance, which have been traced to Spenser. If the passages from Selimus on Delaie and Damocles have not Greene's characteristic, then twenty such assignments do not prove that he wrote Selimus. They would more logically prove that the collector, in this as in other cases, is an uncertain guide. Now there is no trace, not the faintest, of Greene's diction, sentiment, poetic quality, or rhythmical form, in the tintinnabulation of the Delaie, or the platitude of the Damocles. And so throughout the play. Neither the defects nor the merits appear to me to be Greene's. Many of the lines are, indeed, resonant, scholarly, and strong, but not in Greene's quality. If the play were written by Greene, it could not have been written later than the Alphonsus: stanzaic form, and the crudities of rhythm, diction, and technique determine that; nor, on the other hand, could it have been written earlier than the Alphonsus, for with Alphonsus Greene began "to treat of bloody Mars." It is not incumbent upon me to find an author for Selimus, but I think that the probabilities indicate Lodge (circa 1586-87). It has perhaps not been noted that Bullithrumble's lines (1955-1958) about godfathers are duplicated by Lodge's Alcon in the Looking-Glasse (l. 1603); and that the parlance of Bullithrumble is paralleled by Curtall and Poppey in Lodge's Civill War (circa 1587). The dogberryisms, clipped words, and inverted phrases of the same character are of a piece also with those of Mouse in Mucedorus[1238]--a play which has indeed so many of the idiosyncrasies that mark the Civill War that Mr. Fleay is not without warrant in conjecturing the authorship of Lodge. It should in addition be remarked that several of the expressions which Dr. Grosart finds in Selimus, and considers to be peculiarly Greene's, are to be found in the Civill War and the Mucedorus; and that some non-Greenian characteristics of the Selimus appear in one or the other of these plays. The "to-fore," for instance, which Dr. Grosart marks as Greenian in Selimus occurs four times in Mucedorus alone. The blank verse of the Selimus finds its parallel in that of the Civill War; so, also, the quaint stanzaic form, and the apparently Greenian moralizing on 'content'[1239] (ll. 2049-2053). And conversely, the profound and easeful soliloquies and serious imagery of the Civill War are nearer akin to those of the Selimus than to anything of Greene's.

3. 'Young Juvenall' and the 'Comedie lastly writ.'--"With thee" says Greene to Marlowe in the Groatsworth, "I joyne young Juvenall, that byting satirist, that lastly with mee together writ a comedie. Sweete boy, might I advise thee," etc. Simpson and Grosart disprove the conjecture[1240] that the play was the Looking-Glasse and the 'Juvenal,' Lodge: The Looking-Glasse had not been lately written; the epithet 'Juvenal' did not at any time apply to Lodge; nor would Greene, in 1592, have called him a "sweete boy" as he calls this fellow-dramatist, for Lodge, born 1557, was thirty-five at the time and older than Greene by three years. It is argued that 'Juvenal' was Nashe as follows: Nashe was already proficient in satire; he had, between 1589 and 1592, published half a dozen pasquinades which had met with immediate success; he calls himself and is called by others 'Pasquil' or 'Aretine' or the 'railing Nashe'; and Meres in 1598 addresses him as "gallant young Juvenal" and mentions him with Greene among the "best writers of comedie." It must also be remembered that Nashe was 'young'--not quite twenty-five in 1592--"and that a difference of seven years made him a 'sweete boy' in Greene's regard."[1241] To these considerations I add the following: First,--Chettle feigning a letter[1242] from the dead poet to Nashe (Robert Greene to Pierce Pennilesse), makes Greene use almost the epithet of the Groatsworth, "Awake, secure boy, revenge thy wrongs." It may be surmised that the older poet was in the way of thus affectionately terming the younger, and that Chettle, who had edited the Groatsworth, had the pamphlet in mind when he conceived this letter. Second,--The pains taken by Nashe, in his Strange Newes, to disclaim anything like continuous companionship are occasioned by the fact that he and Greene had "lastly" been "together." He writes, in September, 1592, "Since first I knewe him [Greene] about towne, I have beene two yeares together and not seene him."[1243] The "first" refers to 1588-89 when Nashe was championing Greene's Menaphon and scoring Greene's rivals in The Anatomie. The "two yeares" bring us to 1591, when he was engaged with Greene in the controversy with the Harveys[1244] which he here recounts with such detail as to indicate no slight acquaintance with Greene's motives and movements at the time. In that year appeared Nashe's Astrological Prognostication, and in the next, Greene's Quip, both bearing upon the subject on hand. We may infer that the revival of their literary association was connected with the 'canvazing' of the rope-maker's sons.[1245] Greene's concluding counsel is such as we should expect him to give the 'young Juvenall' with whom he had lately engaged against a common enemy.[1246] Nashe informs us also that he had occasionally, of late, caroused with the poet and that he was present at that "banquet of Rhenish and pickled herrings" from which Greene took his death.[1247] Third,--When Dekker, some fifteen years later, tells in his Knight's Conjuring of the habitants of the "Fieldes of Joye," he introduces Nashe as one of that group which is exclusively restricted to the poets, and the editor, of Greene's Groatsworth. "Marlow, Greene, and Peele," writes he, "had got under the shades of a large vyne laughing to see Nash [the favourite of the group, and even yet the 'sweete boy'] that was but newly come to their colledge, still haunted with the sharpe and satyricall spirit that followed him heere upon earth...." And why there? He had "shorten'd his dayes by keeping company with pickle-herring" [many another night, no doubt, than that of August, 1592, with Will Monox and Ro. Greene,--but that night persisted]. And with what do they greet him? "How [do] poets and players agree now?" A precise Groatsworth issue to which Nashe responds in proper Groatsworth phrase, with echo as well from his Preface to the Menaphon, and with a parting fling at Harvey.[1248] Then, as if to round out the company, there enters Kind Hart, a-puffing,--Chettle, himself, the conservator of the 'Colledge.' Thus Dekker the contemporary of the Groatsworth group fixes the identity of its 'Juvenall' on earth and under. And the 'comedie' was writ in 1591 or the first half of 1592.

But it is not easy to determine its name. A plea might be made for Summer's Last Will and Testament,[1249] on certain counts of R. W.'s diatribe in Martine Marsixtus,[1250] but I doubt whether it would convince. Simpson thinks that the 'comedie' was not improbably A Knack to Know a Knave, which had been acted as new, June 10, 1592. Fleay,[1251] however, asserts that there is not the slightest ground for this conjecture; and Grosart[1252] is sure that "no one who reads A Knack can possibly find in it one line from either Greene or Nashe." I shall not undertake to prove that Mr. Simpson was right: it must, however, be observed that the subject of A Knack was not foreign to the genius of Nashe; that two of the characters, the satirical commentator and the Welshman, have their counterparts in his Summer's Last Will; and that Greene had with godly intent written up and published the whole truth about knaves and 'coosnage' only within the past year and a half. As for the plot, it may have no analogue in Nashe's works, but in one[1253] at least of its threads it parallels Friar Bacon, and in another[1254] the Looking-Glasse; and four or five of its situations[1255] reproduce peculiarities and language of those plays. As for the speeches, though more than one is reminiscent of Greene's rococo,[1256] the style is more like that of the Last Will. To be sure there are septenarii in the Knack, and none in the Will; but the blank verse, such as it is, might readily have been chipped from Nashe; so also the short irregular rhymed lines, and much of the prose. The vocabulary is not unlike his. Nashe might have been capable of the classical excrescences; Greene certainly was not. These coincidences are, of course, merely suggestive. For me they indicate possibly that if Greene had no hand in the play, some one who lacked his touch and most of his cunning has freely plundered him;[1257] and that, if he had an interest in the play, it was limited to the suggestion of plot and treatment. Nashe may have thrown the material into shape. It is a small matter, but perhaps worth recording, that the Knack calls itself "a most pleasant and merie new Comedie," that Greene calls the play "lastly writ" a 'comedie,' and that no other play connected with his name save the doubtful Pinner is so described. Also that the date of the Knack accords with the conditions: it was played about two months before the Groatsworth was begun, and by a company that then was acting three dramas known to be Greene's.

=Friar Bacon: Stage History and Materials=.--The position of Greene's plays in the history of English comedy is indicated in Professor Woodberry's article. The play here under discussion was acted with some frequency between 1591 and 1594, sometimes at important seasons, always with fair attendance, and occasionally with large profits. It was performed at court as late as 1602, and was occasionally revived under James I. and Charles I.[1258]

The necromantic theme with its instruments, the characters primarily concerned (Bacon, Bungay, Vandermast, Miles), and the catastrophes connected with the 'wonderfull glasse,' i.e. the materials for Scenes ix., xi., xiii., are derived from The Famous Historie of Frier Bacon, already mentioned--"a popular story-book probably written toward the end of the sixteenth century, and founded upon accretions of the legendary history of Roger Bacon."[1259] The same source afforded also the suggestion of Scenes ii. and vi.--the exposure of Burden's intrigue and the interrupted wedding. The romantic theme, its characters and incidents, and the enveloping action are of Greene's devising. What slight resemblance the last bears to history need not here be recapitulated. For that, and for the literary career of the magical devices, the readers may consult the admirable summaries of Ward[1260] and Ritter, to which I have nothing to add save that there exists a prior suggestion of the 'head of brass,' in English drama, in the Conflict of Conscience, III. iii. 5, and, in the same play, an instance of the 'crystal clear' or 'gladsome glass.' The latter might seem, indeed, to be anticipated by the 'Glass of Reson' in Redford's Wyt and Science, but that is a different thing. The 'glass prospective' is adapted in Friar Bacon to a species of stage business which is unique: the scene beside a scene,--a device essentially distinct from the play within the play. While the persons to whom we owe the disclosure of this parallel scene are no less surprised thereby than are we, the persons of the scene disclosed not only vitally affect the main action by the unaffected pursuit of their own interests, but incidentally present the fact that is stranger than fiction. To the double illusion of the play concocted within a play, this impromptu enlistment of nature in the ranks of art adds the illusion of unconscious drama. Moreover, in the glass prospective scenes, the piquancy of the preternatural is surpassed by that of the natural; the artless eclipses the artificial, and the result is an artistic irony. And, after all, these scenes beside the scene are but the dear device of eavesdropping purged of the keyhole and the sneak. They are not the strategic contrivance of the inner play of the Spanish Tragedy or Hamlet, nor a mere mechanism for diversion as in James IV. and Midsummer Night, nor an episode as in Love's Labor, nor a substitute for the initial movement like the play within the Old Wives' Tale, but a something that combines qualities from each. The parallel scene is at the same time its own raison d'être, and a reflex of its principal which it multiplies and raises to a higher power.

The motif--the wooing by proxy--is, of course, as ancient as the Arthuriad, and as modern as Miles Standish; indeed, older and younger yet. This appearance precedes, however, several other dramatic instances, such as those of Faire Em, the Knack, and, I believe, 1 Henry VI. There are likewise to be found precursors of Edward's renunciation, as in the Campaspe, and later instances, as in the Knack and other plays. The apparently motiveless abandonment of Peggy is, however, a novelty, and uniquely handled; a capital instance of 'comic' irony, invested with solemnity, and introduced with a wink.

=Dramatic Construction.=--The pedant might find it easy to break this plot upon a wheel; but the plot is none the less a dramatic success. It may be that the climax is reached too soon; but the scene is none the less effective for its suddenness and in its consequence. The sham desertion exists merely because Greene was put to it, after his climax, to string out the romantic interest. In itself it is an absurdity, but a delicious absurdity; and, unsympathetic as we may be with the mediæval test of constancy, the event somehow suffices,--perhaps because it unfolds phases of Margaret's character which owe their witchery to their unlikelihood. It may be said that the title thread is, for us, of secondary interest; but such a judgment would by no means hold true of an Elizabethan audience. That, indeed, would delight in the necromantic 'business,' with its elements of sensation and amaze, its contribution to 'humours,' and its intermittent influence upon plot. It may be said that the intersection of the threads is not of necessity, but of external agency; that the tragic minor motive is imported, and the enveloping action thin. But why measure the beautiful by rule of thumb? The quality here is sui generis, residing in scenes rather than fable--scenes idyllic, spectacular, amusing, so ordered that movement shall be continuous and interest unflagging. The interest is not primarily of character or solution; it proceeds from the pageant: and the continuity from the manager. Greene, the story-teller, has suborned Greene, the impresario; there results this panel-romance, a drama of the picturesque. On no previous occasion had sentimental, comic, sensational, mysterious, sublime, and tragic been so blended upon an English background for a comedy of English life. This was something novel for the pit; a spectacle kaleidoscopic, rapid, innocuous; a heart-in-the-mouth ecstasy, a circus of many rings. How artistically it was contrived appears when one considers the sequence and grouping of the scenes. These fall into series, which happen to be five in number; but to indicate them as acts in the text might impair the charade-like simplicity of the show. The series are: First, Scenes i.-iv., four groups and four environments, the material of all future combinations of scene and sensation: the courtiers on the country side--chivalric and idyllic; the doctors and the colleges--scholastic, necromantic; the country folk and their fair--pastoral, romantic; the royal residence and the court--spectacular; time, about two days. Second, Scenes v.--vii., Oxford: street, cell, and regent-house--the riotous, magical, romantic, and spectacular; apparently the day after Scene i., but actually some two days. Third, Scenes viii.-x., the next day: country, college, and country again--romance, black art, peril, and pathos. Fourth, Scenes xi.-xiii., sixty days later; college, court, and college--magic, majesty, and collapse of the supernatural. Fifth, Scenes xiv.-xvi., the next day: country, college, and court--mock heroics and the pastoral, burlesque of the supernatural, the smile of royalty, and couleur de rose. Throughout, the action is sustained, the crises are frequent, the reversals of fortune unexpected and absorbing, the suspense sufficient.

In spite of the author's efforts to make a prig of Margaret, and in spite of all disparity between her station and her style, the "lovely star of Fressingfield" shines first and fairest of her daughters in English comedy,--of country wenches born to conquer. Innocent, coy, standing upon her "honest points," she is neither unsophisticated nor crude--but a perilous coquette. In wit, yielding not to the Lincoln earl, and in diplomacy one too many for the prince, she hardly needs to warn them or us that she has had lords for lovers before. "Stately in her stammell red," she toys with Edward, for whom she doesn't care; but his deputy-lover she corners at first chance, and it is then "marriage or no market" with this maid. She outplays the irate Prince of Wales by sheer loyalty to his rival: "'Twas I, not Lacy, stept awry;" and if her lover be to fall, she will join him "in one tomb." When it comes to Lacy's desertion of her, the dramatist fills her mouth with piety, but the girl bubbles through. As between the convent and the court she vastly prefers the latter, and her farewell to the world is eloquent of gowns. In spite of the pother with which she welcomes "base attire," her "flesh is frayle"; and when her lover, with "enchanting face," comes riding back, and the "wedding-robes are in the tailor's hands," it doesn't take Peggy long to decide between "God or Lord Lacy." In simple dignity she is most like her Greenian sisters, Ida and Angelica. But she is also the predecessor of many a heroine not so simple as men have thought: of Alfrida in the Knack, Bridget in Every Man in his Humour, Harriet in the Man of Mode, Dorinda in the Beaux' Stratagem, Lucinda in the Conscious Lovers. As for her lover, his type is that of Alfrida's Ethenwald, more manly to be sure than he, but lacking leagues of what a Lacy should have been. Even the Post is at pains to apologize for him. Still, Lacy excels his master--an ordinary Lothario of the purple, noised abroad as generous, admired of his associates and his dramatic creator, but of unregal stuff. In reality, Edward is less magnanimous than his counterpart in Lyly's play. If he appears more ready than Alexander was to yield his victim, it is only because a keeper's daughter and a princess are "sisters under the skin." The Castile Elinor awaits him: Edward is as moral as a jelly-fish; and a swap of mistresses is no hardship. The characterization of Warren and Ermsbie, though but a score of lines, is clear-cut. Blunt Anglo-Saxons they are, prompt with the sword, with women dubious--a complementary pair. Also complementary are the fools--one of the court, the other of the home: Rafe the jester, Miles the blunderer; the latter halfway between vice and clown. Like the clown, he stimulates progress by the spur of his stupidity; like the vice, he jogs without concern to his predestined place. With Longtongue and Ragan he is of the kin of disputatious servants, a brother to Greene's Jenkin, Adam, and Slipper, and, like the last two, a "philosopher of toast and ale." Lentulo of the Rare Triumphs was an ancient relative of his, and, like him, educated in that school whence later proceeded the Dogberrys and their cousins german--Poppev, Curtall, and Mouse. This is the stock and discipline that Kemp's Gothamites bewray when their tongues blossom into counsel.

=Previous Editions and the Present Text.=--The first quarto is White's, of 1594. The copy in the British Museum (C. 34, c. 37) lacks all after 44 from the words, "for to pleasure" (xv. 49); that in the Duke of Devonshire's library "lacks a leaf between A 3 and B, and one at end" (Grosart). Dyce, Ward, and Grosart mention a reprint of 1599; but I do not find it in B.M. or the Bodleian. The quarto which Dr. Ward supposes to be of 1599 (viz. Malone, 226 in the Bodleian) is exactly like the 1630 quarto, except that it lacks the title-page and is badly clipped. The attribution to 1599 seems to rest upon (1) Malone's Ms. note on the fly-leaf of 1630 quarto (Bodl. Malone, 227): "See the edit. of 1599 in Vol. 69," and (2) the hand-written date, 1599 (probably, also, by Malone) on the upper right-hand corner of the first page of the quarto contained in the volume 69, which is the Malone 226 mentioned above. But that Malone 226 and 227 should be respectively of 1599 and 1630, and, nevertheless, identical, would be odd: especially when we remember that the copyright had been transferred from Mrs. White to Mrs. Aldee in 1624, and that Mrs. Aldee's publication of 1630 was a fresh edition "as it was lately plaid by the Prince Palatine his servants." I think that the supposed 1599 copy is of 1630. The 1630 edition (another copy of which is in B. M.) varies considerably from the original of 1594. The copyright passed into Oulton's hands in 1640, and in 1655 a new edition appeared. Modern issues are those of Dodsley, Dyce, Ward, and Grosart (Do., Dy., W., G.), the last of which, alone, retains the original forms, those of the Chatsworth, 1594. The present edition follows the B.M. quarto of 1594, and, when that ends, Grosart's (Huth Library) reprint of the Chatsworth. Variations in the 1630 quartos (Malone) have been indicated in the footnotes. Q 1 stands for ed. 1594, Q 3 for 1630, Q 4 for 1655.

Since most of the emendations made by preceding editors plead as their excuse the metrical irregularity of the quartos, I have found it necessary to justify my retention of the original text, by an explanation of Greene's metrical practice in this play. This apologia, which, in some degree, applies to all of his plays, will be found in the Appendix. We should, perhaps, be troubled with fewer emendations of the Elizabethan drama if we could bring ourselves to believe that playwrights regulated their rhythms more frequently than is supposed, by dramatic and rhetorical conditions of utterance; and that the plays of the sixteenth century were not written in the eighteenth.

CHARLES MILLS GAYLEY.

FOOTNOTES:

[1137] Greene's Groatsworth and Short Discourse of My Life (appended to the Repentance). Grosart's Introduction and Storojenko's Life in Grosart's Greene, 12 vols., Huth Library; Dyce's Account of R. Greene and his Writings; Bernhardi's R. Greene's Leben u. Schriften; Ward's Hist. Engl. Dram. Lit. Also Grosart's Nashe and Harvey.

[1138] Youthe Recalleth his Former Follies with an Inward Repentance. Not extant.

[1139] Clare Hall, July 1.

[1140] First pub. 1584.

[1141] If the Isabel in Never Too Late represents Greene's wife Doll, I may be pardoned for conjecturing that the Caerbranck and Dunecastrum of that story stand for Corby and Donington, twelve miles apart, in Lincolnshire, near the Norfolk line.

[1142] See Prefaces to Perimedes (S. R. March 29, 1588); Pandosto, pub. 1588; Menaphon, pub. August 1589 (perhaps before July, 1588); and Ciceronis Amor, pub. 1589. The dates are of historical importance.

[1143] Philomela, 1592, is of earlier style and composition.

[1144] As "chiefe agent of the companie" of poets and writers (Lyly, Nashe, Greene, and probably Lodge and Peele) whom Richard Harvey in his Lamb of God had "mistermed piperly makeplaies and make-bates." Nashe, Strange Newes, etc.

[1145] Sister to Cutting Ball, "trust under a tree" at Tyburn.

[1146] Foure Letters and Certain Sonnets, London, 1592.

[1147] "Physique is ... to techen ... of everichon" (herbs, stones, etc.),

"That ben of bodely substaunce The nature and the substance." --GOWER, Conf. Am., VII.

[1148] Chaucer, Prol. C. T., 414-420.

[1149] As Dr. Grosart thinks he was.

[1150] In Grosart: XII. 174-179, Short Discourse of the Life, etc., which has every mark of authenticity.

[1151] Life of Sh., 92, 105; Hist. Stage, 82; but cf. Cohn, Shakesp. in Germany, xxi-xxxi (1865), and Creizenach, Schauspiele d. engl. Komōdianten, ii-iv (Kürschner, Nat. Litt. Bd. XXIII).

[1152] Bp. Grindal's Register, fol. 225, as in Grosart, I. Prefatory Note.

[1153] See respectively Have with You, and Strange Newes; To the Gent. readers of The Repentance, 1592; A Knight's Conjuring, Ch. IX. 1607; Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, 1635; Kind-Hart's Dreame, 1592.

[1154] Dyce, Account of Greene, pp. 35, 36; and Harvey's Foure Letters, pp. 9, 25.

[1155] Brown (Grosart's Greene, Vol. I., Introduction, xi. et seq.) arranges: A., O. F., and F. B. (1584-87); Jas. IV., and Pinner (1590-91); L.-G. (1591-92). Storojenko (Grosart, I., 167-226) arranges: A. (after Tamburl., 1587-88), O., and L.-G. (1588-89); Jas. IV., F. B., Pinner (1589-92).

[1156] No mention of the M. A., which is given when his name is attached to other plays. Alphonsus is neither mentioned by Henslowe, nor recorded S. R.

[1157] Acted by the Admiral's men, 1587, according to Fleay. Ep. to Menaphon, which refers to it, may have been written as early as 1587 (Storojenko).

[1158] Act. IV.; the lines 1578, 1579 do not look like additions.

[1159] Prologue to Alph., l. 28.

[1160] Ward, E. D. L. l. 324 n.

[1161] To the Famous and Fortunate Generals: "Mahomet's pow and mighty Tamberlaine" (see Fleay, Life of Shakesp., pp. 96-97).

[1162] See Perymedes, Menaphon, Anatomie of Absurditie, and the opening of Greene's Vision (written before 1590).

[1163] "The mad preest of the sonne."

[1164] Venus's lines, 40-45, which would place this play after a series of love pamphlets, and before the treatment of graver themes. See Simpson, 2: 352. Mr. Fleay unhesitatingly assigns its production to 1587 (Life of Shakesp., pp. 96, 97).

[1165] See for this, Grosart, Introd. xxv. xli.; Simpson, 2: 382; and Ward.

[1166] Cf. The Knack, etc., which as a "new" play was acted thrice in the fortnight (Henslowe).

[1167] Fleay assigns "most and best" of the play to Lodge. Grosart disagrees, but does not specify. A comparative investigation satisfies me that only the following passages can be assigned to Lodge: Sc. iii. (Dy., pp. 120-122; Gros., ll. 319-480) Usurer, Thrasyb., Alcon, as far as Enter Remilia; Sc. v. (Dy., pp. 124-126; Gros., ll. 654-868) Alcon, Thr., Lawy., Judge, Usur., as far as Enter Adam; Sc. vii. (Dy., pp. 129, 130; Gros., ll. 1070-1169) Jonas, Angel, Merchants, etc.; Sc. x. (Dy., pp. 134, 135; Gros., ll. 1512-1604), Merchants, etc.; Sc. xiii. (Dy., pp. 138-139; Gros., ll. 1900-2020) Thr., Alcon, etc.--Sc. viii. (Dy., p. 130; Gros., ll. 1180-1363) Alcon, etc., to Exit Samia, shows signs of Lodge principally, but some of the lines are Greene's. In general, each of the prophetic interludes is by the author of the scene preceding. E.g. ll. 1591-1653, Jonas, Angel, Oseas, by Lodge. From l. 2020 all is by Greene; therefore most of Jonas.

[1168] He vows:--

"To write no more of that whence shame doth grow Or tie my pen to penny-knaves delight, But live with fame and so for fame to write."

[1169] Nat. Dict. Biog., art. Lodge.

[1170] Fleay, Life of Shakesp., p. 98. Mr. Fleay, conjecturing that Lodge was associated with Marlowe in the attack upon Greene's unsuccessful heroic play, and that Lodge is satirized under the (Perymedes) mention of the "mad preest," assigns the L.-G. to a later date. But we find no evidence of coolness between Lodge and Greene during 1588 and 1589. On the contrary, Lodge prefixes to the Span. Masquer. (S. R. February 1, 1589), verses calling Greene his doux ami and compagnon de Dieux, and rejoices to be associated with his fame. The friendship was still fresh when Greene died. Lodge was not the "mad preest." Nor can I adopt Mr. Fleay's other conjecture (Biog. Chron. II. 31) that the "preest" was Hieronimo.

[1171] The direction A band, etc., might well follow close upon "tempt you me?" of line 1764. The passage, ll. 1764-1782, interrupts a scene otherwise sufficient to itself, with a pageant of supernumeraries whose utterance is a veritable "fa-burden." The bit looks almost like an afterthought, aping Marlowan style; but it is manifest Greene, not Lodge.

[1172] For the distribution of authorship, see note 3, p. 405.

[1173] Lines 80-116, 481-508.

[1174] Grosart, XIII. vii., and Arber's S. R. there quoted.

[1175] By the author of The Defence of Connycatching.

[1176] Fleay, Hist. Stage, pp. 76-82.

[1177] Lee, Life of Shakespeare, p. 37.

[1178] Probably the Rose; Henslowe's Diary. For Alleyn's copy of the title role see Dyce, ed. O. F.

[1179] Fleay, Life of Shakespeare, p. 108.

[1180] So Ulrici and Storojenko.

[1181] E.g., Orlando's espousal of Angelica's cause and his challenge to Oliver (ll. 1485-1486):

"Yet for I see my Princesse is abusde, By new-come straglers from a forren coast."

[1182] 1588, Dec. 26; 1589, Feb. 9 (?), Dec. 26; 1590, Mar. 1, Dec. 26; 1591, Jan. 1, 3, 6; Feb. 14, Dec. 26. Fleay, Hist. Stage, pp. 76-80.

[1183] The date is assigned also to the Admiral's men.

[1184] Lodge's prefatory Sonnet.

[1185] The 'Sacrapant' of both; cf. also O. F. ll. 73-76 with O. W. T. ll. 808-811.

[1186] So Collier, Memoirs of Alleyn; Fleay, Shakespeare, p. 96.

[1187] Dr. Ward has mentioned the 'Sacrapant'; but even more striking is the appearance in Perymedes' Tale of the Third Night's Exercise not only of 'Melissa' and her cousin 'Angelica,' but of 'Brandamant' and 'Rosilius,' who at once suggest the Brandimart and Rosillion of Orlando.

[1188] Life of Shakespeare, p. 96.

[1189] Grosart, I. xxvi.

[1190] See above, p. 404.

[1191] Between 1584 and 1588 (see Induction to Barth. Fayre). Maybe as early as 1583-1587 (Schick, Span. Trag.).

[1192] Note the frequent calls for "revenge"; and cf. the "Hamlet, revenge!" a cant phrase in 1588-89. Grosart gives reason for believing that the Menaphon first appeared before July, 1588 (Greene, I. 104). In the Epistle prefixed to it, Nashe ridiculed the Hamlet.

[1193] Cf. O. F. ll. 83, 84, with Tullie's Love (1589), "one orient margarite richer than those which Cæsar brought," etc.; and O. F. ll. 461, 462, with N. T. L. (published 1590); "If the Cobler hath taught thee to say Ave Cæsar."

[1194] E.g., Helen's "scape"--O. F. l. 176, F. B. VI. 32; "Gihon," etc.--O. F. l. 47, F. B. XVI. 66; "Demogorgon," etc.--_O. F._ ll. 1287, 1411, and F. B. XI. 108; "Mars's paramour"--O. F. l. 1545, F. B. XIII. 47.

[1195] Arber's Transcript, II. 649.

[1196] Bernhardi, Greene's Leben u. Schriften, p. 40; Storojenko in Grosart, I. 253. Cf. Greene's Fair M., the Keeper's Daughter of Fresingfield, "the proxy-wooing," etc.

[1197] "O, tis a jollie matter when a man hath a familiar stile and can endite a whole yeare and never be beholding to art? but to bring Scripture to prove anything he says ... is no small piece of cunning." (Grosart, IX. 233.)

[1198] Spanish Tragedy, Preface, xxvi.

[1199] Arber, and Storojenko in Grosart, I. 119.

[1200] Storojenko, as above, I. 235.

[1201] Ward, O. E. D. cxix.

[1202] For Mr. Fleay's arguments, see Ward's O. E. D. cxliii-cxliv.

[1203] Dropping the qui miscuit, etc.

[1204] I. 86. See Ward, O. E. D., and O. Ritter, F. B. and F. B. (Diss.. Thorn, 1886).

[1205] F. Q.. III. 3. 10 (pub. 1590, but privately circulated as early as 1587).

[1206] W. must be mistaken when he refers Scene xv. of Bacon to Chaps. XII., XIV., of the story-book. For the Miles of the play does no conjuring; and the devil who carries him off is the instrument of Bacon's vengeance.

[1207] Cf. the summoning of Burden and his hostess with that of Alexander and his paramour.

[1208] Grosart, I. 184.

[1209] But Grosart (I xxxvii.-xl.) appropriately recalls the preëxistence of the Taming of a Shrew. He queries the sequence,--James IV., M.N.D.,--but without upsetting it.

[1210] See Storojenko and Grosart as above; and in the S.R., Creede, May 14, 1594.

[1211] In Ward, O.E.D. cxliii.

[1212] Life of Shakesp., p. 309.

[1213] Continuing:--

"That like a Bee, Love hath a little sting. He lurkes in flowres, he pearcheth on the trees, He on king's pillowes, bends his prettie knees...."

[1214] Continuing:--

"It is a pricke, it is a sting, It is a prettie, prettie thing. It is a fire, it is a cole Whose flame creeps in at everie hole...."

This is the version of the Drummond Ms. fragment, which differs from the Rawlinson Ms. See Dyce, Greene and Peele, p. 603. Fainter resemblances might be cited.

[1215] July 1 or November 2:--

"Ah, what is love? It is a prettie thing As sweete unto a shepheard as a king."

--The Shepheard's Wife's Song, as in Dyce, p. 305.

Grosart's transcript of Q. 1616 (IX. 144) accidentally omits all but the last two lines of this song.

[1216] Besides the frequent identity of tone, note such coincidences as James IV. l. 2669, 'aldertruest,' M. G. (Descript. of Sheph. and Wife), 'alderliefest,' an archaism found nowhere else in Greene,--but in the Folio of 2 Henry VI. l. 28 (prob. by Greene, Fleay, Shakespeare, p. 269). The sentiment of Philador's Scrowle and Ode in M. G. is a variant of the Ovidian precept of James IV. l. 1108.

[1217] Lines 1575-1580, 2655-2699.

[1218] Lines 1901-1902.

[1219] To the Gentlemen Readers of Perymedes.

[1220] S. R. 1594.

[1221] Fleay, Hist. Stage, pp. 399, 400; Life of Shakesp., p. 255 et seq. He guesses also True Chron. Hist. of Leir, Valentine and Orson, and Robin Hood (Hist. Stage, 89, 400).

[1222] Phillips's Theatrum Poetarum.

[1223] Grosart in Englische Stud. XXII. (1896).

[1224] See under 'Young Juvenall' below.

[1225] Line 48.

[1226] Page 401, above.

[1227] Kind Harts Dreame, 1592.

[1228] Have with You, etc., 1596.

[1229] Making "the apparriter eate his citation," Strange Newes, etc., 1592.

[1230] Dumps, affects, quaint, fair (for beauty), vail, bonnet (but the last two come from the prose romance).

[1231] "Why, who art thou?" "Why, I am George," etc.

[1232] "Painting my outward passions," ll. 311-312.

[1233] Bonfield to Bettris, ll. 215-226.

[1234] As described in my Appendix to Friar Bacon.

[1235] On Delaie, ll. 503-509; on Damocles, ll. 853-857.

[1236] In Vol. I. of Greene's Works, and in the Temple Dramatists.

[1237] Hist. E. D. L. Vol. I.

[1238] Lines 1980-1983 of Selimus are reproduced in Mucedorus (H. Dods. VII. 214).

[1239] Cf. Civ. W., H. Dods. VII. 137, 147, 187, 192-193.

[1240] Cf. Dyce, Malone, Fleay.

[1241] Grosart, Greene, I. pp. lvii-lxv, who quotes Simpson, Greene on Nashe, Academy, 11th April, 1874, and Symonds, Predecessors of Shakespeare, p. 574. Of this opinion are also Farmer, Staunton, and Ward.

[1242] In Kind Harts Dreame, 1592.

[1243] Strange Newes, Sig. L. 4.

[1244] Ibid., Sig. c. 2, 3.

[1245] See Saffron Walden (1596), Sig. v. 2.

[1246] "Blame not schollers [the Harveys'] vexed with sharpe lines if they reprove thy too much libertie of reproofe." Grosart, xii. 143, Groatsw.

[1247] Strange Newes, Sig. H. and E. 4.

[1248] "Ocnus, that makes ropes in hell"--who in truth survived them all.

[1249] Privately acted between July 27 and August 21, 1592, at Croydon. Fleay, H. S. p. 78.

[1250] "What publishing of frivolous and scurrilous prognostications, as if Will Summers were again revived," etc. "And yet they shame not to subscribe 'By a graduate in Cambridge' 'In Artibus Magister.' ... They are the Pharisees of our time," etc. Note the plural. But though Nashe had revived Will Somers in the L. W. and T., though he was entitled to subscribe himself "Graduate in C.," as Greene had done, and though Greene is the A. M. and intended "Pharisee," etc., the "scurrilous prognostications" and the other earmarks are hard to find in L. W. and T., as we have it. The "lute-string" passage (Dods. IX. 22) recalls Thrasybulus' remarks in Lk.-Gl. Sc. v.; but that scene is probably by Lodge, and Nashe himself parallels the passage more closely in Christ's Tears (1593).

[1251] Life of Shakesp., p. 109.

[1252] Greene, I. lxii.

[1253] Cf. Kn. (H. Dods. 514) with F. B., Sc. i. 155, "the vicarious wooing."

[1254] Cf. Kn., Episode of Philarchus, with Lk.-Gl., that of Radagon.

[1255] Cf. the sequel of the vicarious wooing in Kn. with that in F. B.; Smith and Cobbler, Kn. (p. 566), "God of our occupation ... cuckold," with same conversation, Lk.-Gl., Sc. ii. 254-255; Thankless son, Kn. (p. 523), "Thou hast been fostered," etc., with Lk.-Gl., Sc. viii. 1247; Kn. (p. 523), "disdain ... want," with Lk.-Gl. 1273; Kn. (p. 526), "Mother's curse ... hated," etc., with Lk.-Gl. l. 1275. Resemblances to Lodge's lines are: Usurer, Kn. (pp. 548-549), and Lk.-Gl., Scs. iii. v.; Kn., "My house ... goods," and Lk.-Gl. iii. 419, "My cow," etc.

[1256] Cf. Kn. (H. Dods. VI. 514), Ethenwald's "to show your passions ... fairer than the dolphin's eye," etc., to the end, and (H. Dods. VI. 562) Ethenwald's "purpled main ... wanton love," etc., and (p. 570) Alfrida's "Beset with orient pearl," etc., with F. B., Sc. viii. ll. 26, 50-73.

[1257] On this basis, I see something to be said in favour of Mr. Fleay's conjecture of Wilson, but not of Peele and Wilson.

[1258] Fleay, Life of Shakesp., and in Ward's O. E. D., p. cxliv.

[1259] Born 1214; student at Oxford and Paris; Franciscan at Oxford; because of his mathematical and philosophical lore suspected of necromancy and forbidden to lecture; imprisoned 1278-1292; died 1294. See Ward, O. E. D., xxi-xxiv.

[1260] O. E. D., pp. 207-210; O. Ritter, De Rob. Greens Fabula 'F. B. and B.' The summoning of shades occurs in the Odyssey and 1 Sam. 28. 7. Magical images were made by Vergil, the Enchanter; the Brazen H. speaks in Valent. and Orson. The wall of brass is found in Gir. Cambrensis, and Spenser. The Speculum is assigned to Cæsar, and the Enchanter, Vergil. See also Chaucer and Spenser.

SCROLL ORNAMENTATION

THE

HONORABLE HISTORIE

of frier Bacon, and frier Bongay.

As it was plaid by her Maiesties seruants.

Made by Robert Greene Maister of Arts.

SCROLL ORNAMENTATION

VIGNETTE

SCROLL ORNAMENTATION

LONDON,

Printed for Edward White, and are to be sold at his shop, at the little North dore of Poules, at the signe of the Gun. 1594.

The Persons of the Play[1261]

King HENRY the Third. EDWARD, Prince of Wales, his Sonne. EMPEROUR OF GERMANIE. KING OF CASTILE. NED LACIE, Earle of Lincoln. JOHN WARREN, Earle of Sussex. WILL ERMSBIE, a Gentleman. RAPHE SIMNELL, the Kings Foole. Frier BACON. MILES, Frier Bacons poore Scholer. Frier BUNGAY. JAQUES VANDERMAST, a Germaine. BURDEN, Doctor of Oxford and Maister of Brazennose. MASON } Doctors of Oxford. CLEMENT } LAMBERT } Gentlemen. SERLSBY } Two Schollers, Their Sonnes. The KEEPER of Fresingfield. Thomas } Farmers Sonnes. Richard} Constable, Post, Lords, Countrie Clownes, etc.

ELINOR, Daughter to Castile. MARGRET, the Keepers daughter of Fresingfield. JONE, a Farmers daughter. The HOSTESSE at Henly, Mistresse of the Bell.

A DEVILL, and a FIEND like HERCULES; a DRAGON shooting fire; etc.

FOOTNOTES:

[1261] Not in Qtos.

THE HONOURABLE

Historie of Frier Bacon

[Scene First.[1262] In, or near, Fremingham]

Enter PRINCE EDWARD[1263] malcontented, with LACY earle of Lincoln, JOHN WARREN earle of Sussex, and ERMSBIE gentleman: RAPH SIMNELL the kings foole.

Lacie. Why lookes my lord like to a troubled skie, When heavens bright shine is shadow'd with a fogge? Alate[1264] we ran the deere, and through the lawndes Stript[1265] with our nagges the loftie frolicke bucks That scudded fore the teisers[1266] like the wind: 5 Nere was the deere of merry Fresingfield So lustily puld down by jolly mates, Nor sharde the farmers such fat venison, So franckly dealt, this hundred yeares before; Nor have[1267] I seene my lord more frolicke in the chace; 10 And now[1268]--changde to a melancholie dumpe?

Warren. After the prince got to the keepers lodge, And had been jocand in the house awhile, Tossing of[1269] ale and milke in countrie cannes: Whether it was the countries sweete content, 15 Or els the bonny damsell fild us drinke That seemd so stately in her stammell[1270] red, Or that a qualme did crosse his stomacke then,-- But straight he fell into his passions.

Ermsbie. Sirra Raphe, what say you to your maister, 20 Shall he thus all amort[1271] live malecontent?

Raphe. Heerest thou, Ned?--Nay, looke if hee will speake to me!

Edward. What sayst thou to me, foole?

Raphe. I preethee, tell me, Ned, art thou in love with the keepers daughter? 26

Edward. How if I be, what then?

Raphe. Why, then, sirha, Ile teach thee how to deceive Love.

Edward. How, Raphe?

Raphe. Marrie sirha Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and my dagger,[1272] and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword: and so thou shalt be my foole. 32

Edward. And what of this?

Raphe. Why, so thou shalt beguile Love; for Love is such a proud scab, that he will never meddle with fooles nor children. Is not Raphes counsel good, Ned? 36

Edward. Tell me, Ned Lacie, didst thou marke the mayd, How lively[1273] in her country-weedes she lookt? A bonier wench all Suffolke cannot yeeld:-- All Suffolke! nay, all England holds none such. 40

Raphe. Sirha Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.

Ermsbie. Why, Raphe?

Raphe. He saies all England hath no such, and I say, and Ile stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.

[The honourable historie of Frier Bacon[1279]]

Warren. How proovest thou that, Raphe? 45

Raphe. Why, is not the abbot a learned man, and hath red many bookes, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammer.

Ermsby. A good reason, Raphe. 50

Edward. I tell the[e], Lacie, that her sparkling eyes Doe lighten forth sweet Loves alluring fire; And in her tresses she doth fold the lookes Of such as gaze upon her golden haire; Her bashfull white, mixt with the mornings red, 55 Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheekes; Her front is Beauties table,[1274] where she paints The glories of her gorgious excellence; Her teeth are shelves of pretious margarites, Richly enclosed with ruddie curroll cleves.[1275] 60 Tush, Lacie, she is Beauties overmatch, If thou survaist her curious imagerie.[1276]

Lacie. I grant, my lord, the damsell is as faire As simple Suffolks homely towns can yeeld: But in the court be quainter[1277] dames than she, 65 Whose faces are enricht with honours taint,[1278] Whose bewties stand upon the stage of fame, And vaunt their trophies in the Courts of Love.

Edw. Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watcht her as my self, And seene the secret bewties of the maid, 70 Their courtly coinesse were but foolery.

Ermsbie. Why, how watcht you her, my lord?

Edward. When as she swept like Venus through the house,-- And in her shape fast foulded up my thoughtes,-- Into the milkhouse went I with the maid, 75 And there amongst the cream-boles she did shine As Pallace 'mongst her princely huswiferie: She turnd her smocke over her lilly armes, And divd them into milke to run her cheese; But, whiter than the milke, her cristall skin, 80 Checked with lines of azur, made her blush[1280] That art or nature durst bring for compare. Ermsbie,[1281] if thou hadst seene, as I did note it well, How Bewtie plaid the huswife, how this girle, Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the worke, 85 Thou wouldst with Tarquine hazard Roome and all To win the lovely mayd of Fresingfield.

Raphe. Sirha Ned, wouldst faine have her?

Edward. I,[1282] Raphe.

Raphe. Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in my head; thou shall have her alreadie. 91

Edward. Ile give thee a new coat, and[1282] learne me that.

Raphe. Why, sirra Ned, weel ride to Oxford to Frier Bacon: oh, he is a brave scholler, sirra; they say he is a brave nigromancer, that he can make women of devils, and hee can juggle cats into costermongers. 96

Edward. And how then, Raphe?

Raphe. Marry, sirrha, thou shalt go to him: and because[1283] thy father Harry shall not misse thee, hee shall turne me into thee; and Ile to the court, and Ile prince it out; and he shall make thee either a silken purse full of gold, or else a fine wrought smocke. 101

Edward. But how shall I have the mayd?

Raphe. Marry, sirha, if thou beest a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundaies sheele hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great prease[1284] of people, for feare of the cut-purse, on a sodaine sheele swap[1285] thee into her plackerd,[1286] then, sirrha, being there, you may plead for your selfe. 108

Ermsbie. Excellent pollicie!

Edward. But how if I be a wrought smocke? 110

Raphe. Then sheele put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day sheele put thee on, and at night when you go to bed, then being turnt from a smocke to a man, you may make up the match.

Lacie. Wonderfully wisely counselled, Raphe. 115

Edward. Raphe shall have a new coate.

Raphe. God thanke you when I have it on my backe, Ned.

Edward. Lacie, the foole hath laid a perfect plot; For why our countrie Margret is so coy, And standes so much upon her honest pointes, 120 That marriage, or no market with the mayd. Ermsbie, it must be nigroma[n]ticke spels And charmes of art that must inchaine her love, Or else shall Edward never win the girle. Therefore, my wags, weele horse us in the morne, 125 And post to Oxford to this jolly frier: Bacon shall by his magicke doe this deed.

Warren. Content, my lord; and thats a speedy way To weane these head-strong puppies from the teat.

Edward. I am unknowne, not taken for the prince; 130 They onely deeme us frolicke courtiers, That revell thus among our lieges game,-- Therefore I have devis'd a pollicie: Lacie, thou knowst next Friday is S. James,[1287] And then the country flockes to Harlston[1288] faire: 135 Then will the keepers daughter frolicke there, And over-shine the troupe of all the maids That come to see and to be seene that day. Haunt thee disguisd among the countrie-swaines, Feign thart a farmers sonne, not far from thence, 140 Espie her loves, and who she liketh best: Coat[1289] him, and court her, to controll the clowne; Say that the courtier tyred all in greene, That helpt her handsomly to run her cheese, And fild her fathers lodge with venison, 145 Commends him, and sends fairings to herselfe. Buy some thing worthie of her parentage, Not worth her beautie; for, Lacie, then the faire Affoords no jewell fitting for the mayd: And when thou talkest of me, note if she blush: 150 Oh then she loves; but if her cheekes waxe pale, Disdaine it is. Lacie, send how she fares, And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.

Lacie. I will, my lord, so execute this charge As if that Lacie were in love with her. 155

Edward. Send letters speedily to Oxford of the newes.

Raphe. And, sirha Lacie, buy me a thousand thousand million of fine bels.

Lacie. What wilt thou do with them, Raphe? 159

Raphe. Mary, every time that Ned sighs for the keepers daughter, Ile tie a bell about him: and so within three or foure daies I will send word to his father Harry, that his sonne, and my maister Ned, is become Loves morris dance.[1290]

Edward. Well, Lacie, look with care unto thy charge, And I will haste to Oxford to the frier, 165 That he by art and thou by secret gifts Maist make me lord of merrie Fresingfield.

Lacie. God send your honour your[1291] harts desire. Exeunt.

[Scene Second. Frier Bacons cell at Brazennose]

Enter Frier BACON, with MILES, his poore scholer, with bookes under his arme; with them BURDEN, MASON, CLEMENT, three Doctors.

Bacon. Miles, where are you?

Miles. Hic sum, doctissime et reverendissime doctor.

Bacon. Attulisti nos[1292] libros meos de necromantia?

Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jucundum habitare[1293] libros in unum!

Bacon. Now, maisters of our academicke state, 5 That rule in Oxford, Vizroies in your place, Whose heads containe maps of the liberall arts, Spending your time in deapth of learned skill, Why flocke you thus to Bacons secret cell, A frier newly stalde in Brazennose? 10 Say whats your mind, that I may make replie.

Burden. Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect, That thou art read in magicks mysterie: In piromancie, to divine by flames; To tell, by hadromaticke[1294] ebbes and tides; 15 By aeromancie to discover doubts, To plaine out questions, as Apollo did.

Bacon. Well, Maister Burden, what of all[1295] this?

Miles. Marie, sir, he doth but fulfill, by rehearsing of these names, the fable of the Fox and the Grapes: that which is above us pertains nothing to us. 21

Burden. I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report, Nay, England, and the court of Henrie saies, Th' art making of a brazen head by art, Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorismes, 25 And read a lecture in philosophie; And, by the helpe of divels and ghastly fiends, Thou meanst, ere many yeares or daies be past, To compasse England with a wall of brasse.

Bacon. And what of this? 30

Miles. What of this, maister! why, he doth speak mystically: for he knowes, if your skill faile to make a brazen head, yet Mother Waters strong ale will fit his turne to make him have a copper-nose.

Clement. Bacon, we come not greeving at thy skill, But joieing that our académie yeelds 35 A man supposde the woonder of the world: For if thy cunning worke these myracles, England and Europe shall admire thy fame, And Oxford shall in characters of brasse, And statues, such as were built up in Rome, 40 Eternize Frier Bacon for his art.

Mason. Then, gentle Frier, tell us thy intent.

Bacon. Seeing you come as friends unto the frier, Resolve you, doctors, Bacon can by bookes Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave, 45 And dimme faire Luna to a darke eclipse. The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell, Trembles when Bacon bids him, or his fiends, Bow to the force of his pentageron.[1296] What art can worke, the frolicke frier knowes; 50 And therefore will I turne my magicke bookes, And straine out nigromancie to the deepe. I have contrivd and framde a head of brasse, (I made Belcephon[1297] hammer out the stuffe) And that by art shall read Philosophie: 55 And I will strengthen England by my skill, That if ten Cæsars livd and raignd in Rome, With all the legions Europe doth containe, They should not touch a grasse of English ground; The worke that Ninus reard at Babylon, 60 The brazen walles framde by Semiramis, Carvd out like to the portall of the sunne, Shall not be such as rings the English strond From Dover to the market-place of Rie.

Burden. Is this possible? 65

Miles. Ile bring ye t[w]o or three witnesses.

Burden. What be those?

Miles. Marry, sir, three or foure as honest divels and good companions as any be in hell.

Mason. No doubt but magicke may doe much in this; 70 For he that reades but mathematicke[1298] rules Shall finde conclusions that availe to work Wonders that passe the common sense of men.

Burden. But Bacon roves[1299] a bow beyond his reach, And tels of more than magicke can performe, 75 Thinking to get a fame by fooleries. Have I not past as farre in state of schooles, And red of many secrets? yet to thinke That heads of brasse can utter any voice, Or more, to tell of deepe philosophie, 80 This is a fable Æsop had forgot.

Bacon. Burden, thou wrongst me in detracting thus; Bacon loves not to stuffe himselfe with lies. But tell me fore these doctors, if thou dare, Of certaine questions I shall move to thee. 85

Burden. I will: aske what thou can.

Miles. Marrie, sir, heele straight be on your pickpacke to knowe whether the feminine or the masculin gender be most worthie.

Bacon. Were you not yesterday, Maister Burden, at Henly upon the Thembs? 90

Burden. I was: what then?

Bacon. What booke studied you thereon all night?

Burden. I! none at all; I red not there a line.

Bacon. Then, doctors, Frier Bacons art knowes nought.

Clement. What say you to this, Maister Burden? doth hee not touch you? 96

Burden. I passe not of his frivolous speeches.

Miles. Nay, Master Burden, my maister, ere hee hath done with you, will turne you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small, that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaams asse. 101

Bacon. Maisters, for that learned Burdens skill is deepe, And sore he doubts of Bacons cabalisme, I'll shew you why he haunts to Henly oft: Not, doctors, for to tast the fragrant aire, 105 But there to spend the night in alcumie, To multiplie with secret spels of art; Thus privat steales he learning from us all. To proove my sayings true, Ile shew you straight The booke he keepes at Henly for himselfe. 110

Miles. Nay, now my maister goes to conjuration, take heed.

Bacon. Maisters,[1300] stand still, feare not, Ile shewe you but his booke. Here he conjures. Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon! 114

Enter a Woman with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a Devill.

Miles. Oh, maister, cease your conjuration, or you spoile all; for heeres a shee divell come with a shoulder of mutton on a spit: you have mard the divels supper; but no doubt hee thinkes our colledge fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cooke with a shoulder of mutton, to make it exceed.

Hostesse. Oh, where am I, or whats become of me? 120

Bacon. What art thou?

Hostesse. Hostesse at Henly, mistresse of the Bell.

Bacon. How camest thou heere?

Hostesse. As I was in the kitchen mongst the maydes, Spitting the meate against[1301] supper for my guesse,[1301] 125 A motion mooved me to looke forth of dore. No sooner had I pried into the yard, But straight a whirlewind hoisted me from thence, And mounted me aloft unto the cloudes. As in a trance I thought nor feared nought, 130 Nor know I where or whether I was tane, Nor where I am, nor what these persons be.

Bacon. No? know you not Maister Burden?

Hostesse. O yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.-- What, Maister Burden! twas but yesternight 135 That you and I at Henly plaid at cardes.

Burden. I knowe not what we did.--A poxe of all conjuring friars!

Clement. Now, jolly Frier, tell us, is this the booke That Burden is so carefull to looke on?[1302] 140

Bacon. It is.--But, Burden, tell me now, Thinkest thou that Bacons nicromanticke skill Cannot performe his head and wall of brasse, When he can fetch thine hostesse in such post? 144

Miles. Ile warrant you, maister, if Maister Burden could conjure as well as you, hee would have his booke everie night from Henly to study on at Oxford.

Mason. Burden, what, are you mated by this frolicke frier?-- Looke how he droops; his guiltie conscience Drives him to bash,[1303] and makes his hostesse blush. 150

Bacon. Well, mistres, for I wil not have you mist, You shall to Henly to cheere up your guests Fore supper ginne.--Burden, bid her adew; Say farewell to your hostesse fore she goes.-- Sirha, away, and set her safe at home. 155

Hostesse. Maister Burden, when shall we see you at Henly?[1304]

Exeunt HOSTESSE and the Devill.

Burden. The devill take thee and Henly too.

Miles. Maister, shall I make a good motion?

Bacon. Whats that? 159

Miles. Marry, sir, nowe that my hostesse is gone to provide supper, conjure up another spirite, and send Doctor Burden flying after.

Bacon. Thus, rulers of our accademicke state, You have seene the frier frame his art by proofe; And as the colledge called Brazennose Is under him, and he the Maister[1305] there, 165 So surely shall this head of brasse be framde, And yeelde forth strange and uncoth aphorismes; And Hell and Heccate[1306] shall faile the frier, But I will circle England round with brasse.

Miles. So be it, et nunc et semper. Amen. Exeunt omnes. 170

[Scene Third. Harlston Faire.]

Enter MARGRET, the faire mayd of Fresingfield, with THOMAS, [RICHARD] and JONE, and other clownes; LACIE disguised in countrie apparell.

Thomas. By my troth, Margret, heeres a wether is able to make a man call his father whorson: if this wether hold, wee shall have hay good cheape, and butter and cheese at Harlston will beare no price.

Margret. Thomas, maides, when they come to see the faire, Count not to make a cope[1307] for dearth of hay: 5 When we have turnd our butter to the salt, And set our cheese safely[1308] upon the rackes, Then let our fathers prise[1309] it as they please. We countrie sluts of merry Fresingfield Come to buy needlesse noughts to make us fine, 10 And looke that yong men should be francke[1310] this day, And court us with such fairings as they can. Phœbus is blythe, and frolicke lookes from heaven, As when he courted lovely Semele,[1311] Swearing the pedlers shall have emptie packs, 15 If that faire wether may make chapmen buy.

Lacie. But, lovely Peggie, Semele is dead, And therefore Phœbus from his pallace pries, And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint, Shewes all his glories for to court your selfe. 20

Margret. This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed, To sooth me up with such smooth flatterie; But learne of me, your scoffe's[1312] to[o] broad before.-- Well, Jone, our bewties[1313] must abide their jestes; We serve the turne in jolly Fresingfield. 25

Jone. Margret,[1314] a farmers daughter for a farmers son: I warrant you, the meanest of us both Shall have a mate to lead us from the church. But, Thomas, whats the newes? what, in a dumpe? Give me your hand, we are neere a pedlers shop,-- 30 Out with your purse, we must have fairings now.

Thomas. Faith, Jone, and shall: Ile bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.

All this while LACIE whispers MARGRET in the eare.

Margret. Whence are you, sir? of Suffolke? for your tearmes Are finer than the common sort of men.[1315] 35

Lacie. Faith, lovely girle, I am of Beckles[1316] by, Your neighbour, not above six miles from hence, A farmers sonne, that never was so quaint[1317] But that he could do courtesie to such dames. But trust me, Margret, I am sent in charge 40 From him that reveld in your fathers house, And fild his lodge with cheere and venison, 'Tyred in green; he sent you this rich purse, His token that he helpt you run your cheese, And in the milkhouse chatted with your selfe. 45

Margret. To me? You forget your selfe.[1318]

Lacie. Women are often weake in memorie.

Margret. Oh, pardon sir, I call to mind the man: Twere little manners to refuse his gift, And yet I hope he sends it not for love; 50 For we have little leisure to debate of that.[1319]

Jone. What, Margret! blush not: mayds must have their loves.

Thomas. Nay, by the masse, she lookes pale as if she were angrie. 54

Richard. Sirha, are you of Beckls? I pray, how dooth Goodman Cob? my father bought a horse of him.--Ile tell you Margret, a were good to be a gentlemans jade, for of all things the foule hilding could not abide a doongcart.

Margret [aside]. How different is this farmer from the rest That earst as yet hath pleasd my wandring sight! 60 His words are wittie, quickened with a smile, His courtesie gentle, smelling of the court; Facill and debonaire in all his deeds; Proportiond as was Paris, when, in gray, He courted Ænon in the vale by Troy. 65 Great lords have come and pleaded for my love: Who but the keepers lasse of Fresingfield? And yet me thinks this farmers jolly sonne Passeth the prowdest that hath pleasd mine eye. But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love, 70 And shew as yet no sign of love to him, Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love; Keepe that to thee till time doth serve thy turne, To shew the greefe wherein thy heart doth burne.-- Come, Jone and Thomas, shall we to the faire?-- 75 You, Beckls man, will not forsake us now?

Lacie. Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.

Margret. Well, if you chaunce to come by Fresingfield, Make but a step into the keepers lodge,[1320] And such poore fare as woodmen can affoord, 80 Butter and cheese, creame and fat venison, You shall have store, and welcome therewithall.

Lacie. Gramarcies, Peggie; looke for me eare long. Exeunt omnes.

[Scene Fourth. The Court at Hampton House.]

Enter HENRY the third, the EMPEROUR, the KING OF CASTILE, ELINOR, his daughter, JAQUES VANDERMAST a Germaine.

Henrie. Great men of Europe, monarks of the West, Ringd with the walls of old Oceanus, Whose loftie surge is[1321] like the battelments That compast high built Babell in with towers,-- Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave westerne kings, 5 To Englands shore, whose promontorie cleeves Shewes Albion is another little world: Welcome says English Henrie to you all; Chiefly unto the lovely Eleanour, Who darde for Edwards sake cut through the seas, 10 And venture as Agenors damsell through the deepe,[1322] To get the love of Henries wanton sonne.

Castile. Englands rich monarch, brave Plantagenet. The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds, That ward the welthie Castile in with walles, 15 Could not detaine the beautious Eleanour; But, hearing of the fame of Edwards youth, She darde to brooke Neptunus haughtie pride, And bide the brunt of froward Eolus: Then may faire England welcome her the more. 20

Elinor. After that English Henrie by his lords Had sent Prince Edwards lovely counterfeit, A present to the Castile Elinor, The comly pourtrait of so brave a man, The vertuous fame discoursed of his deeds, 25 Edwards couragious resolution, Done at the Holy Land fore Damas[1323] walles, Led both mine eye and thoughts in equall links, To like so of the English monarchs sonne, That I attempted perrils for his sake. 30

Emperour. Where is the prince, my lord?

Henrie. He posted down, not long since, from the court, To Suffolke side, to merrie Fremingham,[1324] To sport himselfe amongst my fallow deere; From thence, by packets sent to Hampton[1324] house, 35 We heare the prince is ridden with his lords To Oxford, in the academie there To heare dispute amongst the learned men. But we will send foorth letters for my sonne, To will him come from Oxford to the court. 40

Empe. Nay, rather, Henrie, let us, as we be, Ride for to visite Oxford with our traine. Faine would I see your universities, And what learned men your academie yields. From Haspurg[1325] have I brought a learned clarke 45 To hold dispute with English orators: This doctor, surnamde Jaques Vandermast, A Germaine borne, past into Padua, To Florence and to fair Bolonia, To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans, 50 And, talking there with men of art, put downe The chiefest of them all in aphorismes,[1326] In magicke, and the mathematicke rules: Now let us, Henrie, trie him in your schooles.

Henrie. He shal, my lord; this motion likes me wel. 55 Weele progresse straight to Oxford with our trains, And see what men our academie bringes.-- And, woonder Vandermast, welcome to me: In Oxford shalt thou find a jollie frier, Cald Frier Bacon, Englands only flower: 60 Set him but non-plus in his magicke spels, And make him yeeld in mathematicke rules, And for thy glorie I will bind thy browes, Not with a poets garland[1327] made of baies, But with a coronet of choicest gold. 65 Whilst then we set[1328] to Oxford with our troupes, Lets in and banquet in our English court. Exit.

[Scene Fifth. A Street in Oxford.]

Enter RAPHE SIMNELL in Edwardes apparell; EDWARD, WARREN, ERMSBY, disguised.

Raphe. Where be these vacabond knaves, that they attend no better on their master?

Edward. If it please your honour, we are all ready at an inch.[1329]

Raphe. Sirrha Ned, Ile have no more post horse to ride on: Ile have another fetch.[1330] 5

Ermsbie. I pray you, how is that, my lord?

Raphe. Marrie, sir, Ile send to the Ile of Eely for foure or five dozen of geese, and Ile have them tide six and six together with whipcord: now upon their backes will I have a faire field bed with a canapie; and so, when it is my pleasure, Ile flee into what place I please. This will be easie. 11

Warren. Your honour hath said well: but shall we to Brasennose Colledge before we pull off our bootes?

Ermsbie. Warren, well motion'd; wee will to the frier Before we revell it within the towne.-- 15 Raphe, see that you keepe your countenance like a prince.

Raphe. Wherefore have I such a companie of cutting[1331] knaves to wait upon me, but to keep and defend my countenance against all mine enemies? have you not good swords and bucklers?

Enter BACON and MILES.

Ermsbie. Stay, who comes heere? 20

Warren. Some scholler; and weele aske him where Frier Bacon is.

Bacon. Why, thou arrant dunce, shal I never make thee good scholler? doth not all the towne crie out and say, Frier Bacons subsiser is the greatest blockhead in all Oxford? why, thou canst not speake one word of true Latine. 25

Miles. No, sir? Yes.[1332] What is this els? Ego sum tuus homo, 'I am your man'; I warrant you, sir, as good Tullies phrase as any is in Oxford.

Bacon. Come on, sirha; what part of speech is Ego?

Miles. Ego, that is 'I'; marrie, nomen substantivo. 30

Bacon. How proove you that?

Miles. Why, sir, let him proove himselfe and a will; 'I' can be hard, felt, and understood.

Bacon. O grosse dunce!

Here beate him.

Edw. Come, let us breake off this dispute between these two.--Sirha, where is Brazennose Colledge? 36

Miles. Not far from Copper-smithes Hall.

Edward. What, doest thou mocke me?

Miles. Not I, sir: but what would you at Brazennose?

Ermsbie. Marrie, we would speak with Frier Bacon. 40

Miles. Whose men be you?

Ermsbie. Marrie, scholler, heres our maister.

Raphe. Sirha, I am the maister of these good fellowes; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrell? 44

Miles. Then heeres good game for the hawke; for heers the maister foole and a covie of cocks combs: one wise man, I thinke, would spring you all.

Edward. Gogs wounds! Warren, kill him.

Warren. Why, Ned, I think the devill be in my sheath; I cannot get out my dagger. 50

Ermsbie. Nor I mine: swones, Ned, I think I am bewitcht.

Miles. A companie of scabbes! the proudest of you all drawe your weapon if he can.-- See how boldly I speake, now my maister is by. [Aside.]

Edward. I strive in vaine; but if my sword be shut 55 And conjur'd fast by magicke in my sheath, Villaine, heere is my fist.

Strikes him a box on the eare.

Miles. Oh, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not lift his armes to his head, for he is light fingered!

Raphe. Ned, strike him; Ile warrant thee by mine honour. 60

Bacon. What meanes the English prince to wrong my man?

Edward. To whom speakest thou?

Bacon. To thee.

Edward. Who art thou?[1333]

Bacon. Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast, 65 That Frier Bacon was not farre from hence? Edward, King Henries sonne and Prince of Wales, Thy foole disguisd[1334] cannot conceale thy self: I know both Ermsbie and the Sussex earle, Els Frier Bacon had but little skill. 70 Thou comest in post from merrie Fresingfield, Fast fancied to the keepers bonny lasse, To crave some succour of the jolly frier: And Lacie, Ear[l]e of Lincolne, hast thou left To treat fair Margret to allow thy loves; 75 But friends are men, and love can baffle lords; The earl both woes and courtes her for himselfe.

Warren. Ned, this is strange; the frier knoweth al.

Ermsbie. Appollo could not utter more than this.

Edward. I stand amazed to heare this jolly frier 80 Tell even the verie secrets of my thoughts.-- But, learned Bacon, since thou knowest the cause Why I did post so fast from Fresingfield, Helpe, Frier, at a pinch, that I may have The love of lovely Margret to my selfe, 85 And, as I am true Prince of Wales, Ile give Living and lands to strength thy colledge state.

Warren. Good Frier, helpe the prince in this.

Raphe. Why, servant Ned, will not the frier doe it? Were not my sword glued to my scabberd by conjuration, I would cut off his head, and make him do it by force. 91

Miles. In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.

Ermsbie. What, doctor, in a dumpe! tush, helpe the prince, And thou shalt see how liberall he will proove. 95

Bacon. Crave not such actions greater dumps than these? I will, my lord, straine out my magicke spels; For this day comes the earle to Fresingfield, And fore that night shuts in the day with darke, Theile be betrothed ech to other fast. 100 But come with me; weele to my studie straight, And in a glasse prospective I will shew Whats done this day in merry Fresingfield.

Edward. Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy paine.

Bacon. But send your traine, my lord, into the towne: 105 My scholler shall go bring them to their inne: Meane while weele see the knaverie of the earle.

Edward. Warren, leave me:--and, Ermsbie, take the foole; Let him be maister, and go revell it, Till I and Frier Bacon talke a while. 110

Warren. We will, my lord.

Raphe. Faith, Ned, and Ile lord it out till thou comest: Ile be Prince of Wales over all the blacke pots[1335] in Oxford. Exeunt.

[Scene Sixth. Frier Bacons cell in Brazennose.]

BACON, and EDWARD, goes into the study.[1336]

Bacon. Now, frolick Edward, welcome to my cell; Heere tempers Frier Bacon many toies, And holds this place his consistorie court, Wherein the divels pleads[1337] homage to his words. Within this glasse prospective thou shall see 5 This day whats done in merry Fresingfield Twixt lovely Peggie and the Lincolne earle.

Edward. Frier, thou gladst me: now shall Edward trie How Lacie meaneth to his soveraigne lord.

Bacon. Stand there and looke directly in the glasse. 10

Enter MARGARET and FRIER BUNGAY.[1338]

What sees my lord?

Edward. I see the keepers lovely lasse appeare, As bright-sunne[1339] as the parramour of Mars, Onely attended by a jolly frier.

Bacon. Sit still, and keepe the cristall in your eye. 15

Margret. But tell me, Frier Bungay, is it true That this fair[1340] courtious countrie swaine, Who saies his father is a farmer nie, Can be Lord Lacie, Earle of Lincolnshire?

Bun. Peggie, tis true, tis Lacie for my life, 20 Or else mine art and cunning both doth faile, Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves; For he in greene, that holpe you runne your cheese, Is sonne to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.

Margret. Be what he will, his lure is but for lust: 25 But did Lord Lacie like poor Marg[a]ret, Or would he daine to wed a countrie lasse,[1341] Frier, I would his humble handmayd be, And for great wealth quite him with courtesie.

Bungay. Why, Margret, doest thou love him? 30

Margret. His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy, Might well avouch to shadow[1342] Hellen's scape:[1343] His wit is quicke and readie in conceit, As Greece affoorded in her chiefest prime. Courteous, ah Frier, full of pleasing smiles! 35 Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more; Suffice to me he is Englands parramour.[1344]

Bun. Hath not ech eye that viewd thy pleasing face Surnamed thee Faire Maid of Fresingfield?

Margret. Yes, Bungay; and would God the lovely earle 40 Had that in esse that so many sought.

Bungay. Feare not, the frier will not be behind To shew his cunning to entangle love.

Edward. I thinke the frier courts the bonny wench:[1345] Bacon, me thinkes he is a lustie churle. 45

Bacon. Now looke, my lord.

Enter LACIE.

Edward. Gogs wounds, Bacon, heere comes Lacie![1346]

Bacon. Sit still, my lord, and marke the commedie.

Bungay. Heeres Lacie, Margret; step aside awhile.

[They withdraw.]

Lacie [solus]. Daphne, the damsell that caught Phæbus fast, 50 And lockt him in the brightnesse of her lookes, Was not so beautious in Appollos eyes As is faire Margret to the Lincolne earle;-- Recant thee, Lacie--thou art put in trust. Edward, thy soveraignes sonne, hath chosen thee, 55 A secret friend, to court her for himself, And darest thou wrong thy prince with trecherie?-- Lacie, love makes no exception[1347] of a friend, Nor deemes it of a prince but as a man. Honour bids thee controll[1348] him in his lust; 60 His wooing is not for to wed the girle, But to intrap her and beguile the lasse. Lacie, thou lovest, then brooke not such abuse, But wed her, and abide thy prince's frowne;[1349] For better[1350] die than see her live disgracde. 65

Margret. Come, Frier, I will shake him from his dumpes.-- [Advancing.] How cheere you, sir? a penie for your thought! Your early up, pray God it be the neere.[1351] What, come from Beckles in a morne so soone?

Lacie. Thus watchfull are such men as live in love, 70 Whose eyes brooke broken slumbers for their sleepe. I tell thee, Peggie, since last Harlston faire My minde hath felt a heape of passions.

Mar. A trustie man, that court it for your friend: Woo you still for the courtier all in greene?-- 75 [Aside.] I marvell that he sues not for himselfe.

Lacie. Peggie, I pleaded first to get your grace for him; But when mine eies survaid your beautious lookes, Love, like a wagge, straight dived into my heart, And there did shrine the Idea[1352] of your selfe. 80 Pittie me, though I be a farmers sonne, And measure not my riches, but my love.

Margret. You are verie hastie; for to garden well, Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring Love ought to creepe as doth the dials shade, 85 For timely[1353] ripe is rotten too too[1354] soone.

Bungay [advancing]. Deus hic; roome for a merrie frier! What, youth of Beckles, with the keepers lasse? Tis well; but tell me, heere you any newes?

Margret.[1355] No, Frier: what newes? 90

Bungay. Heere you not how the pursevants do post With proclamations through ech country towne?

Lacie. For what, gentle frier? tell the newes.

Bun. Dwelst thou in Beckles, & heerst not of these news? Lacie, the Earle of Lincolne, is late fled 95 From Windsor court, disguised like a swaine, And lurkes about the countrie heere unknowne. Henrie suspects him of some trecherie, And therefore doth proclaime in every way, That who can take the Lincolne earle shall have, 100 Paid in the Exchequer, twentie thousand crownes.

Lacie. The Earle of Lincoln! Frier, thou art mad: It was some other; thou mistakest the man. The earle of Lincolne! why, it cannot be.

Margret. Yes, verie well, my lord, for you are he: 105 The keepers daughter tooke you prisoner. Lord Lacie, yeeld, Ile be your gailor once.

Edward. How familiar they be, Bacon!

Bacon. Sit still, and marke the sequell of their loves.

Lacie. Then am I double prisoner to thy selfe: 110 Peggie, I yeeld. But are these newes in jest?[1356]

Margret. In jest with you, but earnest unto me; For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart. Ah, how these earles and noble men of birth Flatter and faine to forge poore womens ill! 115

Lacie. Beleeve me, lasse, I am the Lincolne earle: I not denie but, tyred thus in rags, I lived disguisd to winne faire Peggies love.

Margret. What love is there where wedding ends not love?

Lacie. I meant,[1357] faire girle, to make thee Lacies wife. 120

Margret. I litle thinke that earles wil stoop so low.

Lacie. Say shall I make thee countesse ere I sleep?

Margret. Handmaid unto the earle, so please him selfe: A wife in name, but servant in obedience.

Lacie. The Lincolne countesse, for it shalbe so: 125 Ile plight the bands, and seale it with a kisse.

Edward. Gogs wounds, Bacon, they kisse! Ile stab them.

Bacon. Oh, hold your handes, my lord, it is the glasse!

Edward. Coller to see the traitors gree so well Made me[1358] thinke the shadowes substances. 130

Bacon. Twere a long poinard, my lord, to reach betweene Oxford and Fresingfield; but sit still and see more.[1359]

Bungay. Well, Lord of Lincolne, if your loves be knit, And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree, To avoid insuing jarres, Ile hamper up the match: 135 Ile take my portace[1360] forth and wed you heere. Then go to bed and scale up your desires.

Lacie. Frier, content.--Peggie, how like you this?

Margret. What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.

Bungay. Then hand-fast hand, and I wil to my booke. 140

Bacon. What sees my lord now?

Edward. Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand, The frier readie with his portace there To wed them both: then am I quite undone. Bacon, helpe now, if e'er thy magicke servde!-- 145 Helpe, Bacon; stop the marriage now, If divels or nigromancie may suffice, And I will give thee fortie thousand crownes.

Bacon. Feare not, my lord, Ile stop the jolly frier For[1361] mumbling up[1362] his orisons this day. 150

Lacie. Why speakst not, Bungay? Frier, to thy booke.

BUNGAY is mute, crying, 'Hud, hud.'

Margret. How lookest thou, Frier, as a man distraught? Reft of thy sences, Bungay? shew by signes, If thou be dum, what passions[1363] holdeth thee.

Lacie. Hees dumbe indeed: Bacon hath with his divels 155 Enchanted him, or else some strange disease Or appoplexie hath possest his lungs: 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 With brothes, to bring him from this haplesse trance.

Margret. Or els, my lord, we were passing unkinde To leave the frier so in his distresse. 170

Enter a Devill and carrie BUNGAY on his backe.

Margret. O, helpe, my lord! a devill, a devill, my lord! Looke how he carries Bungay on his backe! Let's hence, for Bacons spirits be abroad. Exeunt.

Edward. Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly frier Mounted upon the divell, and how the earle 175 Flees with his bonny lasse for feare. Assoone as Bungay is at Brazennose, And I have chatted with the merry frier, I will in post his me to Fresingfield, And quite these wrongs on Lacie ere it be long. 180

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 Brazennose. Exeunt.

[Scene Seventh. The Regenthouse at Oxford.]

Enter three doctors, BURDEN, MASON, CLEMENT.

Mason. Now that we are gathered in the Regenthouse,[1366] It fits us talke about the kings repaire; For he, troopt[1367] with all the westerne kings, That lie alongst the Dansick seas by east, North by the clime of frostie Germanie, 5 The Almain monarke and the Saxon[1368] duke, Castile and lovely Ellinor with him, Have in their jests resolved for Oxford towne.

Burden. We must lay plots of stately tragedies, Strange comick showes, such as proud Rossius[1369] 10 Vaunted before the Romane emperours, To welcome all the westerne potentates.[1370]

Clement. But more; the king by letters hath foretold That Fredericke, the Almaine emperour, Hath brought with him a Germane of esteeme, 15 Whose surname is Don Jaquesse Vandermast, Skilfull in magicke and those secret arts.

Mason. Then must we all make sute unto the frier, To Frier Bacon, that he vouch this taske, And undertake to countervaile in skill 20 The German; els theres none in Oxford can Match and dispute with learned Vandermast.

Burden. Bacon, if he will hold the German play, Will[1371] teach him what an English frier can doe; The divell, I thinke, dare not dispute with him. 25

Clement. Indeed, mas doctor, he [dis[1372]]pleasured you, In that he brought your hostesse with her spit, From Henly, posting unto Brazennose.

Burden. A vengeance on the frier for his paines! But leaving that, lets hie[1373] to Bacon straight, 30 To see if he will take this taske in hand.

Clement. Stay, what rumor is this? The towne is up in a mutinie: what hurly burlie is this?

Enter a Constable, with RAPHE, WARREN, ERMSBIE, and MILES.

Constable. Nay, maisters, if you were nere so good, you shall before the doctors to aunswer your misdemeanour. 35

Burden. Whats the matter, fellow?

Constable. Marrie, sir, heres a companie of rufflers,[1374] that, drinking in the taverne, have made a great braule, and almost kilde the vintner.

Miles. Salve, Doctor Burden![1375] This lubberly lurden,[1376] 40 Ill-shapte and ill faced, disdaind and disgraced, What he tels unto vobis mentitur de nobis.

Burden. Who is the maister and cheefe of this crew?

Miles. Ecce asinum mundi fugura[1377] rotundi, Neat, sheat[1378] and fine, as briske as a cup of wine. 45

Burden. What are you?

Raphe. I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the belwether of this company: these are my lords, and I the Prince of Wales.

Clement. Are you Edward, the kings sonne? 49

Raphe. Sirra Miles, bring hither the tapster that drue the wine, and, I warrant, when they see how soundly I have broke his head, theile say twas done by no lesse man than a prince.

Mason. I cannot believe that this is the Prince of Wales.

Warren. And why so, sir?

Mason. For they say the prince is a brave & a wise gentleman.

War. Why, and thinkest thou, doctor, that he is not so? 56 Darst thou detract and derogat from him, Being so lovely and so brave a youth?

Ermsbie. Whose face, shining with many a sugred smile, Bewraies that he is bred of princely race. 60

Miles. And yet, maister doctor, to speake like a proctor, And tell unto you what is veriment and true: To cease of this quarrell, looke but on his apparell; Then marke but my talis, he is great Prince of Walis, The cheef of our gregis, and filius regis: 65 Then ware what is done, for he is Henries white[1379] son.

Raphe. Doctors, whose doting nightcaps[1380] are not capable of my ingenious dignitie, know that I am Edward Plantagenet, whom if you displease will[1381] make a shippe that shall hold all your colleges, and so carrie away the niniversity with a fayre wind to the Banke-side in Southwarke.--How sayst thou, Ned Warraine, shall I not do it? 72

Warren. Yes, my good lord; and, if it please your lordship, I wil gather up all your old pantophles, and with the corke[1382] make you a pinnis of five-hundred tunne, that shall serve the turne marvellous well, my lord. 76

Ermsbie. And I, my lord, will have pioners to undermine the towne, that the very gardens and orchards be carried away for your summer-walkes.

Miles. And, I, with scientia and great diligentia, 80 Will conjure and charme, to keepe you from harme; That utrum horum mavis, your very great navis, Like Bartlets[1383] ship, from Oxford do skip With colleges and schooles, full loaden with fooles. Quid dices ad hoc, worshipfull Domine Dawcocke?[1384] 85

Clement. Why, harebraind courtiers, are you drunke or mad, To taunt us with such scurilitie? Deeme you us men of base and light esteeme, To bring us such a fop for Henries son?-- Call out the beadl[e]s and convay them hence 90 Straight to Bocardo:[1385] let the roisters lie Close clapt in bolts, untill their wits be tame.

Ermsbie. Why, shall we to prison, my lord?

Raphe. What saist, Miles, shall I honour the prison with my presence? 95

Miles. No, no: out with your blades, and hamper these jades; Have a flurt and a crash, now play revell dash, And teach these sacerdos that the Bocardos, Like pezzants and elves, are meet for themselves.[1386]

Mason. To the prison with them, constable. 100

Warren. Well, doctors, seeing I have sported me With laughing at these mad and merrie wagges, Know that Prince Edward is at Brazennose, And this, attired like the Prince of Wales, Is Raphe, King Henries only loved foole; 105 I, Earle of Sussex,[1387] and this Ermsbie, One of the privie chamber to the king; Who, while the prince with Frier Bacon staies, Have revel'd it in Oxford as you see.

Mason. My lord, pardon us, we knew not what you were: 110 But courtiers may make greater skapes than these. Wilt please your honour dine with me to-day?

Warren. I will, maister doctor, and satisfie the vintner for his hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him[1388] all the forenoon the Prince of Wales. 115

Mason. I will, sir.

Raphe. And upon that I will lead the way; onely I will have Miles go before me, because I have heard Henrie say that wisedome must go before majestie. Exeunt omnes.

[Scene Eighth. The countrie-side; Fresingfield.]

Enter PRINCE EDWARD with his poiniard in his hand, LACIE, and MARGRET.[1389]

Edward. Lacie, thou canst not shroud thy traitrous thoughts, Nor cover, as did Cassius, all his[1390] wiles; For Edward hath an eye that lookes as farre As Lyncœus from the shores of Grecia. Did not I sit in Oxford by the frier, 5 And see thee court the mayd of Fresingfield, Sealing thy flattering fancies with a kisse? Did not prowd Bungay draw his portasse foorth, And joyning hand in hand had married you, If Frier Bacon had not strook him dumbe, 10 And mounted him upon a spirits backe That we might chat at Oxford with the frier? Traitor, what answerst? is not all this true?

Lacy. Truth all, my lord; and thus I make replie: At Harlstone faire, there courting for your grace, 15 When as mine eye survaid her curious shape, And drewe the beautious glory of her looks To dive into the center of my heart, Love taught me that your honour did but jest, That princes were in fancie but as men; 20 How that the lovely maid of Fresingfield Was fitter to be Lacies wedded wife Than concubine unto the Prince of Wales.

Edward. Injurious Lacie, did I love thee more Than Alexander his Hephestion? 25 Did I unfould the passion[s][1391] of my love, And locke them in the closset of thy thoughts? Wert thou to Edward second to himselfe, Sole friend, and partner of his secreat loves? And could a glaunce of fading bewtie breake 30 Th' inchained fetters of such privat freinds? Base coward, false, and too effeminate To be corivall with a prince in thoughts! From Oxford have I posted since I dinde, To quite a traitor fore that Edward sleepe. 35

Margret. Twas I, my lord, not Lacie stept awry: For oft he sued and courted for your selfe, And still woode for the courtier all in greene; But I, whome fancy made but over fond, Pleaded myselfe with looks as if I lovd; 40 I fed myne eye with gazing on his face, And still bewitcht lovd Lacie with my looks; My hart with sighes, myne eyes pleaded with tears, My face held pittie and content at once, And more I could not sipher out by signes, 45 But that I lovd Lord Lacie with my heart. Then, worthy Edward, measure with thy minde If womens favours will not force men fall, If bewty, and if darts of persing love, Are not of force to bury thoughts of friendes. 50

Edward. I tell thee, Peggie, I will have thy loves: Edward or none shall conquer Marg[a]ret. In frigats bottomd with rich Sethin[1392] planks, Topt with the loftie firs of Libanon, Stemd and incast with burnisht Ivorie, 55 And overlaid with plates of Persian wealth, Like Thetis shall thou wanton on the waves, And draw the dolphins[1393] to thy lovely eyes, To daunce lavoltas[1394] in the purple[1393] streames; Sirens, with harpes and silver psalteries, 60 Shall waight with musicke at thy frigots stem, And entertaine fair Margret with their laies.[1395] England and Englands wealth shall wait on thee; Brittaine shall bend unto her princes love, And doe due homage to thine excellence, 65 If thou wilt be but Edwards Marg[a]ret.

Margret. Pardon, my lord: if Joves great roialtie Sent me such presents as to Danaë; If Phœbus [']ti[r]ed[1396] in Latonas webs, Come[1397] courting from the beautie of his lodge; 70 The dulcet tunes of frolicke Mercurie-- Not[1398] all the wealth heavens treasurie affoords,-- Should make me leave Lord Lacie or his love.

Edw. I have learnd at Oxford, then, this point of schooles,-- Ablata[1399] causa, tollitur effectus: 75 Lacie[1400]--the cause that Margret cannot love Nor fix her liking on the English prince,-- Take him away, and then the effects will faile. Villaine, prepare thy selfe; for I will bathe My poinard in the bosome of an earle. 80

Lacie. Rather then[1401] live and misse faire Margret's love!-- Prince Edward, stop not at the fatall doome, But stabb it home: end both my loves and life.

Marg. Brave Prince of Wales, honoured for royall deeds, Twere sinne to staine fair Venus courts with blood; 85 Loves conquests ends, my lord, in courtesie: Spare Lacie, gentle Edward; let me die, For so both you and he doe cease your loves.

Edward. Lacie shall die as traitor to his lord.

Lacie. I have deserved it, Edward; act it well. 90

Margret. What hopes the prince to gaine by Lacies death?

Edward. To end the loves twixt him and Margeret.

Marg. Why, thinks King Henries sonne that Margret's love Hangs in the uncertaine ballance of proud time? That death shall make a discord of our thoughts? 95 No, stab the earle, and fore the morning sun Shall vaunt him thrice over the loftie east, Margret will meet her Lacie in the heavens.

Lacie. If ought betides to lovely Marg[a]ret That wrongs or wrings her honour from content, 100 Europes rich wealth nor Englands monarchie Should not allure Lacie to overlive: Then, Edward, short my life, and end her[1402] loves.

Margret. Rid me, and keepe a friend worth many loves.

Lacie. Nay, Edward, keepe a love worth many friends. 105

Margret. And if thy mind be such as fame hath blazde, Then, princely Edward, let us both abide The fatall resolution of thy rage: Banish thou fancie, and imbrace revenge, And in one toombe knit both our carkases, 110 Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love.

Edward [aside.] Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales, Who at Damasco beat the Sarasens, And broughtst home triumphe on thy launces point? And shall thy plumes be puld by Venus downe? 115 Is it princely to dissever lovers leagues,[1403] To part such friends as glorie in their loves? Leave, Ned, and make a vertue of this fault, And further Peg and Lacie in their loves: So in subduing fancies passion, 120 Conquering thy selfe thou getst the richest spoile.-- Lacie, rise up. Faire Peggie, heeres my hand: The Prince of Wales hath conquered all his thoughts, And all his loves he yeelds unto the earle. Lacie, enjoy the maid of Fresingfield; 125 Make her thy Lincolne countesse at the church, And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet, Will give her to thee franckly for thy wife.[1404]

Lacie. Humbly I take her of my soveraigne, As if that Edward gave me Englands right, 130 And richt me with the Albion diadem.

Margret. And doth the English prince[1405] mean true? Will he vouchsafe to cease his former loves, And yeeld the title of a countrie maid Unto Lord Lacie? 135

Edward. I will, faire Peggie, as I am true lord.

Marg. Then, lordly sir, whose conquest is as great, In conquering love, as Cæsars victories, Margret, as milde and humble in her thoughts As was Aspatia[1406] unto Cirus selfe, 140 Yeelds thanks, and, next Lord Lacie, doth inshrine Edward the second secret in her heart.

Edw. Gramercie, Peggie.--now that vowes are past, And that your loves are not to[1407] be revolt,[1408] Once, Lacie, friendes againe. Come, we will post 145 To Oxford; for this day the king is there, And brings for Edward Castile Ellinor. Peggie, I must go see and view my wife: I pray God I like her as I loved thee.[1409] Beside, Lord Lincolne, we shall heare dispute 150 Twixt Frier Bacon and learned Vandermast. Peggie, weele leave you for a weeke or two.

Margret. As it please Lord Lacie: but loves foolish looks Thinke footsteps miles and minutes to be houres.

Lacie. Ile hasten, Peggie, to make short returne.-- 155 But please your honour goe unto the lodge, We shall have butter, cheese, and venison; And yesterday I brought for Marg[a]ret A lustie bottle of neat clarret wine: Thus can we feast and entertaine your grace. 160

Edward. Tis cheere, Lord Lacie, for an emperour, If he respect the person and the place. Come, let us in; for I will all this night Ride post untill I come to Bacons cell. Exeunt.

[Scene Ninth. Oxford.]

Enter HENRIE, EMPEROUR, CASTILE, ELLINOR, VANDERMAST, BUNGAY.

Emperour. Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schooles Are richly seated neere the river side: The mountaines[1410] full of fat and fallow deere, The batling[1411] pastures laid[1412] with kine and flocks, The towne gorgeous with high built colledges, 5 And schollers seemely in their grave attire, Learned in searching principles of art.-- What is thy judgement, Jaquis Vandermast?

Vandermast. That lordly are the buildings of the towne, Spatious the romes, and full of pleasant walkes; 10 But for the doctors, how that they be learned, It may be meanly, for ought I can heere.

Bungay. I tell thee, Germane, Haspurge holds none such, None red so deepe as Oxenford containes: There are within our accademicke state 15 Men that may lecture it in Germanie To all the doctors of your Belgicke schools.

Henrie. Stand to him, Bungay, charme this Vandermast, And I will use thee as a royall king.

Vandermast. Wherein darest thou dispute with me? 20

Bungay. In what a doctor and a friar can.

Vandermast. Before rich Europes worthies put thou forth The doubtfull question unto Vandermast.

Bungay. Let it be this,--Whether the spirites of piromancie or geomancie be most predominant in magick? 25

Vander. I say, of piromancie.

Bungay. And I, of geomancie.

Vander. The cabbalists that wright of magick spels, As Hermes,[1413] Melchie,[1414] and Pithagoras, Affirme that, mongst the quadruplicitie 30 Of elementall essence, terra is but thought To be a punctum squarèd to[1415] the rest; And that the compasse of ascending eliments Exceed in bignesse as they doe in height; Judging the concave circle of the sonne 35 To hold the rest in his circomference. If, then, as Hermes saies, the fire be greatst, Purest, and onely giveth shape to spirites Then must these demones that haunt that place Be every way superiour to the rest. 40

Bungay. I reason not of elementall shapes, Nor tell I of the concave lattitudes, Noting their essence nor their qualitie, But of the spirites that piromancie calles, And of the vigour of the geomanticke fiends. 45 I tell thee, Germane, magicke haunts the grounds,[1416] And those strange necromantick spels That worke such shewes and wondering in the world Are acted by those geomanticke spirites That Hermes calleth terræ filii. 50 The fierie spirits are but transparant shades, That lightly passe as heralts to beare newes; But earthly fiends, closd in the lowest deepe, Dissever mountaines, if they be but chargd, Being more grose and massie in their power. 55

Vander. Rather these earthly geomantike spirits Are dull and like the place where they remaine; For when proud Lucipher fell from the heavens, The spirites and angels that did sin with him, Retaind their locall essence as their faults, 60 All subject under Lunas continent: They which offended lesse hang[1417] in the fire, And second faults did rest within the aire; But Lucifer and his proud hearted fiends Were throwne into the center of the earth, 65 Having lesse understanding than the rest, As having greater sinne and lesser grace. Therfore such grosse and earthly spirits doe serve For juglers, witches, and vild[1418] sorcerers; Whereas the piromantike genii[1419] 70 Are mightie, swift, and of farre reaching power. But graunt that geomancie hath most force; Bungay, to please these mightie potentates, Proove by some instance what thy art can doe.

Bungay. I will. 75

Emper. Now, English Harry, here begins the game; We shall see sport betweene these learned men.

Vandermast. What wilt thou doe?

Bung. Shew thee the tree, leavd with refined gold, Wheron the fearfull dragon held his seate, 80 That watcht the garden cald Hesperides[1420] Subdued and wonne by conquering Hercules.

Vandermast. Well done![1421]

Here BUNGAY conjures, and the Tree appeares with the Dragon shooting fire.

Henrie. What say you, royall lordings,[1422] to my frier? Hath he not done a point of cunning skill? 85

Vander. Ech scholler in the nicromantike spels Can doe as much as Bungay hath performd: But as Alcmenas basterd ras'd[1423] this tree, So will I raise him up as when he lived, And cause him pull the dragon from his seate, 90 And teare the branches peecemeale from the roote.-- Hercules! Prodi,[1424] prodi, Hercules!

HERCULES appeares in his Lions skin.

Hercules. Quis me vult?

Vandermast. Joves bastard sonne, thou Libian Hercules, Pull off the sprigs from off[1425] the Hesperian tree, 95 As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.

Hercules. Fiat.

Heere he begins to breake the branches.

Vander. Now, Bungay, if thou canst by magicke charme The fiend, appearing like great Hercules, From pulling downe the branches of the tree, 100 Then art thou worthy[1426] to be counted learned.

Bungay. I cannot.

Vander. Cease, Hercules, untill I give thee charge.-- Mightie commander of this English Ile, Henrie, come from the stout Plantagenets, 105 Bungay is learned enough to be a frier; But to compare with Jaquis Vandermast, Oxford and Cambridge must go seeke their celles To find a man to match him in his art. I have given non-plus to the Paduans, 110 To them of Sien,[1427] Florence, and Bologna,[1428] Reimes,[1429] Louain, and faire Rotherdam, Franckford, Lutrech,[1430] and Orleance: And now must Henrie, if he do me right, Crowne me with laurell, as they all have done. 115

Enter BACON.

Bacon. All haile to this roiall companie,[1431] That sit to heare and see this strange dispute!-- Bungay, how standst thou as a man amazd? What, hath the Germane acted more than thou?

Vandermast. What art thou that questions thus?[1431] 120

Bacon. Men call me Bacon.

Vander. Lordly thou lookest, as if that thou wert learnd; Thy countenance as if science held her seate Betweene the circled arches of thy browes.

Henrie. Now, Monarcks, hath the Germain found his match.

Emperour. Bestirre thee, Jaquis, take not now the foile,[1432] 126 Least thou doest loose what foretime thou didst gaine.

Vandermast. Bacon, wilt thou dispute?

Bacon. Noe,[1431] unlesse he were more learnd than Vandermast: For yet, tell me, what hast thou done? 130

Vandermast. Raisd Hercules to ruinate that tree That Bongay mounted by his magicke spels.

Bacon. Set Hercules to worke.

Vander. Now, Hercules, I charge thee to thy taske; Pull off the golden branches from the roote. 135

Hercules. I dare not. Seest thou not great Bacon heere, Whose frowne doth act more than thy magicke can?

Vandermast. By all the thrones, and dominations, Vertues, powers, and mightie hierarchies,[1433] I charge thee to obey to Vandermast. 140

Hercules. Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon, And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north, Bindes me from yeelding unto Vandermast.

Hen. How now, Vandermast! have you met with your match?

Vandermast. Never before wast knowne to Vandermast 145 That men held devils in such obedient awe. Bacon doth more than art, or els I faile.

Emperour. Why, Vandermast, art thou overcome?-- Bacon, dispute with him, and trie his skill.

Bacon. I come[1434] not, Monarckes, for to hold dispute 150 With such a novice as is Vandermast; I came[1435] to have your royalties to dine With Frier Bacon heere in Brazennose; And, for this Germane troubles but the place, And holds this audience with a long suspence, 155 Ile send him to his accademie hence.-- Thou, Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise, Transport the Germane unto Haspurge straight, That he may learne by travaile, gainst the spring,[1436] More secret doomes and aphorisms of art. 160 Vanish the tree, and thou away with him!

Exit the Spirit with VANDERMAST and the Tree.

Emperour. Why, Bacon, whether doest thou send him?

Bacon. To Haspurge: there your highnesse at returne Shall finde the Germane in his studie safe.

Henrie. Bacon, thou hast honoured England with thy skill, 165 And made faire Oxford famous by thine art: I will be English Henrie to thy selfe;-- But tell me, shall we dine with thee to-day?

Bacon. With me, my lord; and while I fit my cheere, See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you, 170 Gratious as[1437] the morning starre of heaven. [Exit.

Enter EDWARD, LACIE, WARREN, ERMSBIE.

Emperour. Is this Prince Edward, Henries royall sonne? How martiall is the figure of his face! Yet lovely and beset with amorets.[1438]

Henrie. Ned, where hast thou been? 175

Edward. At Framingham, my lord, to trie your buckes If they could scape the[1439] teisers or the toile. But hearing of these lordly potentates Landed, and prograst up to Oxford towne, I posted to give entertaine to them: 180 Chiefe to the Almaine monarke; next to him, And joynt with him, Castile and Saxonie Are welcome as they may be to the English court. Thus for the men: but see, Venus appeares, Or one that overmatcheth[1440] Venus in her shape! 185 Sweete Ellinor, beauties highswelling pride, Rich natures glorie and her wealth at once, Faire of all faires, welcome to Albion; Welcome to me, and welcome to thine owne, If that thou dainst the welcome from my selfe. 190

Ellinor. Martiall Plantagenet, Henries high minded sonne, The marke that Ellinor did count her aime, I likte thee fore I saw thee: now I love, And so as in so short a time I may; Yet so as time shall never breake that so, 195 And therefore so accept of Ellinor.

Castile. Feare not, my lord, this couple will agree, If love may creepe into their wanton eyes:-- And therefore, Edward, I accept thee heere, Without suspence, as my adopted sonne. 200

Henrie. Let me that joy in these consorting greets, And glorie in these honors done to Ned, Yeeld thankes for all these favours to my sonne, And rest a true Plantagenet to all.

Enter MILES with a cloth and trenchers and salt.

Miles. Salvete, omnes reges, that govern your greges,[1441] 205 In Saxonie and Spaine, in England and in Almaine! For all this frolicke rable must I cover the[1442] table With trenchers, salt, and cloth; and then looke for your broth.

Emperour. What pleasant fellow is this?

Henrie. Tis, my lord, Doctor Bacons poore scholler. 210

Miles [aside]. My maister hath made me sewer[1443] of these great lords; and, God knowes, I am as serviceable at a table as a sow is under an apple-tree: tis no matter; their cheere shall not be great, and therefore what skils where the salt stand, before or behinde? [Exit.]

Castile. These schollers knowes more skill in actiomes, 215 How to use quips and sleights of sophistrie, Than for to cover courtly for a king.

[Re]enter MILES with a message of pottage and broth; and, after him, BACON.

Miles. Spill, sir? why, doe you thinke I never carried twopeny chop[1444] before in my life?---- By your leave, nobile decus, for here comes Doctor Bacons pecus,[1445] Being in his full age to carrie a messe of pottage. 221

Bacon. Lordings, admire not if your cheere be this, For we must keepe our accademicke fare; No riot where Philosophie doth raine: And therefore, Henrie, place these potentates, 225 And bid them fall unto their frugall cates.

Emp. Presumptuous Frier! what, scoffst thou at a king? What, doest thou taunt us with thy pesants fare, And give us cates fit[1446] for countrey swaines?---- Henrie, proceeds this jest of thy consent, 230 To twit us with such[1447] a pittance of such price? Tell me, and Fredericke will not greeve the[e] long.

Henrie. By Henries honour, and the royall faith The English monarcke beareth to his friend, I knew not of the frier's feeble fare, 235 Nor am I pleasd he entertaines you thus.

Bacon. Content thee, Fredericke, for I shewd the[1448] cates, To let thee see how schollers use to feede; How little meate refines our English wits.---- Miles, take away, and let it be thy dinner. 240

Miles. Marry, sir, I wil. This day shall be a festival day with me;[1449] For I shall exceed in the highest degree. [Exit MILES.]

Bacon. I tell thee, monarch, all the Germane peeres Could not affoord thy entertainment such, So roiall and so full of maiestie, 245 As Bacon will present to Fredericke; The basest waiter that attends thy cups Shall be in honours greater than thy selfe; And for thy cates, rich Alexandria drugges[1450] Fecht by carveils[1451] from Aegypts richest straights, 250 Found in the wealthy strond of Affrica, Shall royallize the table of my king; Wines richer than the Gyptian courtisan Quaft to Augustus kingly countermatch, Shalbe carrowst in English Henries feasts; 255 Candie shall yeeld the richest of her canes; Persia, downe her volga[1452] by canows, Send down the secrets of her spicerie; The Africke dates, mirabolanes[1453] of Spaine, Conserves and suckets[1454] from Tiberias, 260 Cates from Judea, choiser than the lampe[1455] That fiered Rome with sparkes of gluttonie, Shall bewtifie the board for[1456] Fredericke: And therfore grudge not at a frier's feast. [Exeunt.]

[Scene Tenth. Near the Keepers lodge in Fresingfield.]

Enter two gentlemen, LAMBERT and SERLSBY[1457] with the Keeper.

Lambert. Come, frolicke keeper of our lieges game, Whose table spred hath ever venison And jacks[1458] of wines to welcome passengers, Know I am in love with jolly Marg[a]ret, That over-shines our damsels as the moone 5 Darkneth the brightest sparkles of the night. In Laxfield[1459] heere my land and living lies: Ile make thy daughter joynter[1460] of it all, So thou consent to give her to my wife; And I can spend five hundreth markes a yeare. 10

Serlbie. I am the landslord,[1461] Keeper, of thy holds, By coppie all thy living lies in me; Laxfield did never see me raise my due: I will infeofe faire Marg[a]ret in all, So she will take her to a lustie squire. 15

Keeper. Now, courteous gent[i]ls, if the keepers girle Hath pleasd the liking fancie of you both, And with her beutie hath subdued your thoughts, Tis doubtfull to decide the question. It joyes me that such men of great esteeme 20 Should lay their liking on this base estate, And that her state should grow so fortunate To be a wife to meaner men than you: But sith such squires will stoop to keepers fee,[1462] I will, to avoid displeasure of you both, 25 Call Margret forth, and she shall make her choise. Exit.

Lambert. Content,[1463]--Keeper; send her unto us. Why, Serlsby, is thy wife so lately dead, Are all thy loves so lightly passed over, As thou canst wed before the yeare be[1464] out? 30

Serlsby. I live not, Lambert, to content the dead, Nor was I wedded but for life to her: The grave[1465] ends and begins a maried state.

Enter MARGRET.

Lambert. Peggie, the lovelie flower of all townes, Suffolks fair Hellen, and rich Englands star, 35 Whose beautie, tempered with her huswiferie, Maks England talke of merry Frisingfield!

Serlsby. I cannot tricke it up with poesies, Nor paint my passions with comparisons, Nor tell a tale[1466] of Phebus and his loves: 40 But this beleve me,--Laxfield here is mine, Of auncient rent seven hundred pounds a yeare, And if thou canst but love a countrie squire, I will infeoffe thee, Marg[a]ret, in all: I cannot flatter; trie me, if thou please. 45

Mar. Brave neighbouring squires, the stay of Suffolks clime, A keepers daughter is too base in gree[1467] To match with men accoumpted of such worth: But might I not displease, I would reply.

Lambert. Say, Peggy; nought shall make us discontent. 50

Mar. Then, gentils, note that love hath little stay, Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire Be kindled but by fancies motion: Then pardon, gentils, if a maids reply Be doubtful, while I have debated with my selfe 55 Who, or of whome, love shall constraine me like.

Serlsby. Let it be me; and trust me, Marg[a]ret, The meads invironed with the silver streames, Whose batling pastures fatneth[1468] all my flockes, Yeelding forth fleeces stapled[1469] with such woole 60 As Lempster cannot yeelde more finer stuffe, And fortie kine with faire and burnisht[1470] heads, With strouting[1471] duggs, that paggle[1472] to the ground, Shall serve thy da[i]ry, if thou wed with me.

Lambert. Let passe the countrie wealth, as flocks and kine, 65 And lands that wave with Ceres golden sheves, Filling my barnes with plentie of the fieldes; But, Peggie, if thou wed thy selfe to me, Thou shall have garments of imbrodred silke, Lawnes, and rich networks for thy head attyre: 70 Costlie shalbe thy fa[i]re abiliments, If thou wilt be but Lamberts loving wife.

Margret. Content you, gentles, you have proferd faire, And more than fits a countrie maids degree: But give me leave to counsaile me a time, 75 For fancie bloomes not at the first assault; Give me ...[1473]but ten days' respite, and I will replye, Which or to whom my selfe affectionats.

Serlsby. Lambert, I tell thee, thourt importunate; Such beautie fits not such a base esquire: 80 It is for Serlsby to have Marg[a]ret.

Lamb. Thinkst thou with wealth to over reach me? Serlsby, I scorne to brooke thy country braves: I dare thee, coward, to maintaine this wrong, At dint of rapier, single in the field. 85

Serlsby. Ile aunswere, Lambert, what I have avoucht.-- Margret, farewel; another time shall serve. Exit SERLSBY.

Lambert. Ile follow.--Peggie, farewell to thy selfe; Listen how well Ile answer for thy love. Exit LAMBERT.

Margeret. How fortune tempers lucky happes with frowns, 90 And wrongs[1474] me with the sweets of my delight! Love is my blisse, and love is now my bale. Shall I be Hellen in my forward[1475] fates, As I am Hellen in my matchles hue, And set rich Suffolke with my face afire? 95 If lovely Lacie were but with his Peggy? The cloudie darckenesse of his bitter frowne Would check the pride of those aspiring squires. Before the terme of ten dayes be expired, When as they looke for aunswere of their loves, 100 My lord will come to merry Frisingfield, And end their fancies and their follies both.-- Til when, Peggie, be blith and of good cheere.

Enter a Post with a letter and a bag of gold.

Post. Fair lovely damsell, which way leads this path? How might I post me unto Frisingfield? 105 Which footpath leadeth to the keepers lodge?

Margeret. Your way is ready, and this path is right: My selfe doe dwell hereby in Frisingfield; And if the keeper be the man you seeke, I am his daughter: may I know the cause?

Post. Lovely, and once beloved of my lord,-- No mervaile if his eye was lodgd so low, When brighter bewtie is not in the heavens: The Lincolne earle hath sent you letters here, And, with them, just an hundred pounds in gold. 115 Sweete, bonny wench, read them, and make reply.

Margret. The scrowls that Jove sent Danae, Wrapt in rich closures of fine burnisht gold, Were not more welcome than these lines to me. Tell me, whilst that I doe unrip the seales, 120 Lives Lacie well? how fares my lovely lord?

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

The letter and MARGRET reads it.

The bloomes of the Almond tree grow in a night, and vanish in a morne; the flies hæmere,[1476] (faire Peggie), take life with the Sun, and die with the dew; fancie that slippeth in with a gase, goeth out with a winke; and too timely loves have ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grefe, and my folly, who at Frisingfield lovd that which time hath taught me to be but meane dainties: eyes are dissemblers, and fancie is but queasie; therefore know, Margret, I have chosen a Spanish Ladie to be my wife, chiefe waighting woman to the Princesse Ellinour; a Lady faire, and no lesse faire than thy selfe, honorable and wealthy. In that I forsake thee, I leave thee to thine own liking; and for thy dowrie I have sent thee an hundred pounds; and ever assure thee of my favour, which shall availe thee and thine much. Farewell.

Not thine, nor his owne, EDWARD LACIE.

Fond Atæ, doomer of bad boading fates, 137 That wrappes[1477] proud Fortune in thy snaky locks, Didst thou inchaunt my byrth-day with such stars As lightned mischeefe from their infancie? 140 If heavens had vowd, if stars had made decree, To shew on me their froward influence, If Lacie had but lovd, heavens, hell, and all, Could not have wrongd the patience of my minde.

Post. It grieves me, damsell; but the earle is forst 145 To love the lady by the kings command.

Margret. The wealth combinde within the English shelves,[1478] Europes commaunder, nor the English king, Should not have movde the love of Peggie from her lord.[1479]

Post. What answere shall I returne to my lord? 150

Margret. First, for thou cam'st from Lacie whom I lovd,-- Ah, give me leave to sigh at every[1480] thought!-- Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent; For Margrets resolution craves no dower: The world shalbe to her as vanitie; 155 Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, dispaire: For I will straight to stately Fremingham, And in the abby there be shorne a nun, And yeld my loves and libertie to God. Fellow, I give thee this, not for the newes, 160 For those be hatefull unto Marg[a]ret, But for thart Lacies man, once Margrets love.

Post. What I have heard, what passions I have seene, Ile make report of them unto the Earle. [Exit POST.]

Margret. Say that she joyes his fancies be at rest, 165 And praies that his misfortune[1481] may be hers. Exit.

[Scene Eleventh. Frier Bacons cell.]

Enter FRIER BACON drawing the courtaines with a white stick, a booke in his hand, and a lampe lighted by him; and the Brasen Head, and MILES with weapons by him.

Bacon. Miles, where are you?

Miles. Here, sir.

Bacon. How chaunce you tarry so long?

Miles. Thinke you that the watching of the Brazen Head craves no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I have so armed my selfe[1482] that if all your devills come, I will not feare them an inch. 6

Bacon. Miles, thou knowst that I have dived into hell, And sought the darkest pallaces of fiendes; That with my magic spels great Belcephon Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell; 10 The rafters of the earth rent from the poles, And three-formd Luna hid her silver looks, Trembling upon her concave contenent,[1483] When Bacon red upon his magick booke. With seven years tossing nigromanticke charmes, 15 Poring upon darke Hecats principles, I have framd out a monstrous head of brasse, That, by the inchaunting forces of the devil, Shall tell out strange and uncoth Aphorismes, And girt faire England with a wall of brasse. 20 Bungay and I have watcht these threescore dayes, And now our vitall spirites crave some rest: If Argos[1484] livd, and had his hundred eyes, They could not overwatch Phobeters[1485] night. Now, Miles, in thee rests Frier Bacons weale; 25 The honour and renowne of all his life Hangs in the watching of this Brazen-Head; Therefore I charge thee by the immortall God, That holds the soules of men within his fist,[1486] This night thou watch; for ere the morning star 30 Sends out his glorious glister on the north, The head will speake: then, Miles, upon thy life, Wake me; for then by magick art Ile worke To end my seven yeares taske with excellence. If that a winke[1487] but shut thy watchfull eye, 35 Then farewell Bacons glory and his fame! Draw closse the courtaines, Miles: now, for thy life, Be watchfull, and-- Here he falleth asleepe.

Miles. So; I thought you would talke your selfe a sleepe anon; and 'tis no mervaile, for Bungay on the dayes, and he on the nights, have watcht just these ten and fifty dayes: now this is the night, and tis my taske, and no more. Now, Jesus blesse me, what a goodly head it is! and a nose! you talke of nos autem glorificare;[1488] but heres a nose that I warrant may be cald nos autem popelare[1489] for the people of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons: now, sir, I will set me downe by a post, and make it as good as a watch-man to wake me, if I chaunce to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head, I would call you out of your memento[1490] ...[1491] Passion a God, I have almost broke my pate![1492] Up, Miles, to your taske; take your browne bill[1493] in your hand; heeres some of your maister's hobgoblins abroad. 51

With this a great noise. The HEAD speakes.

Head. Time is.

Miles. Time is! Why, Master Brazenhead, you have such a capitall nose, and answer you with sillables, 'Time is'? Is this my all[1494] maister's cunning, to spend seven years studie about 'Time is'? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon: well, Ile watch you as narrowly as ever you were watcht, and Ile play with you as the nightingale with the slowworme;[1495] Ile set a pricke against my brest. Now rest there, Miles.... Lord have mercy upon me, I have almost killd my selfe.[1496] Up, Miles; list how they rumble. 61

Head. Time was.

Miles. Well, Frier Bacon, you spent[1497] your seven yeares studie well, that can make your Head speake but two wordes at once, 'Time was.' Yea, marie, time was when my maister was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the Brasen-head. You shall lie while your arce ake, and your Head speake no better. Well, I will watch, and walke up and downe, and be a perepatetian and a philosopher of Aristotles stampe. What, a freshe noise? Take thy pistols in hand, Miles. 70

Heere the HEAD speakes; and a lightning flasheth forth, and a hand appears that breaketh down the HEAD with a hammer.

Head. Time is past.[1498]

Miles. Maister, maister, up! hels broken loose; your Head speakes; and theres such a thunder and lightning, that I warrant all Oxford is up in armes. Out of your bed, and take a browne bill in your hand; the latter day is come. 75

Bacon. Miles, I come.[1499] Oh, passing warily watcht! Bacon will make thee next himselfe in love. When spake the Head?

Miles. When spake the Head! did not you say that hee should tell strange principles of philosophie? Why, sir, it speaks but two wordes at a time. 81

Bacon. Why, villaine, hath it spoken oft?

Miles. Oft! I, marie, hath it, thrice; but in all those three times it hath uttered but seven wordes.

Bacon. As how? 85

Miles. Marrie, sir, the first time he said 'Time is,' as if Fabius Cumentator[1500] should have pronounst a sentence; [the second time[1501]] he said, 'Time was'; and the third time, with thunder and lightning, as in great choller, he said, 'Time is past.'

Bacon. 'Tis past indeed. A[h], villaine, time is past: 90 My life, my fame, my glorie, all[1502] are past!-- Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruind downe, Thy seven yeares studie lieth in the dust; Thy Brazen-head lies broken through a slave, That watcht, and would not when the Head did will.-- 95 What said the Head first?

Miles. Even, sir, 'Time is.'

Bacon. Villain, if thou had'st cald to Bacon then, If thou hadst watcht, and wakte the sleepie frier, The Brazen-head had uttered aphorismes, 100 And England had been circled round with brasse: But proud Astmeroth,[1503] ruler of the north, And Demegorgon,[1504] maister of the fates, Grudge that a mortall man should worke so much. Hell trembled at my deepe commanding spels, 105 Fiendes frownd to see a man their overmatch; Bacon might bost more than a man might boast; But now the braves of Bacon hath an end, Europes conceit of Bacon hath an end, His seven yeares practise sorteth to ill end. 110 And, villaine, sith my glorie hath an end, 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 For Bacon shall have never merrie day, To loose the fame and honour of his Head. Exit.

[Scene Twelfth. At Court.]

Enter EMPEROUR, CASTILE, HENRIE, ELLINOR, EDWARD, LACIE, RAPHE.

Emper. Now, lovely Prince, the prince[1508] of Albions wealth, How fares the Lady Ellinor and you? What, have you courted and found Castile fit To answer England in equivolence? Wilt be a match twixt bonny Nell and thee? 5

Edw. Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece, And not lie fetter'd in faire Hellen's lookes? Or Phœbus scape those piercing amorits That Daphne glaunsed at his deitie? Can Edward, then, sit by a flame and freeze, 10 Whose heat puts Hellen and faire Daphne downe? Now, Monarcks, aske the ladie if we gree.

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

Ellinor. Seeing, my lord, his lovely counterfeit, And hearing how his minde and shape agreed, 15 I come[1509] not, troopt with all this warlike traine, Doubting of love, but so effectionat As[1510] Edward hath in England what he wonne in Spaine.

Castile. A match, my lord; these wantons needes must love: Men must have wives, and women will be wed: 20 Lets hast the day to honour up the rites.

Raphe. Sirha Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?

Henry. I, Raphe; how then?

Raphe. Marrie, Harrie, follow my counsaile: send for Frier Bacon to marrie them, for heele so conjure him and her with his nigromancie, that they shall love togither like pigge and lambe whilest they live. 27

Castile. But hearst thou, Raphe, art thou content to have Ellinor to thy ladie?

Raphe. I, so she will promise me two things. 30

Castile. Whats that, Raphe?

Raphe. That shee will never scold with Ned, nor fight with me.--Sirha Harry, I have put her downe with a thing unpossible.

Henry. Whats that, Raphe? 34

Raphe. Why, Harrie, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her handes? No: but when egge-pies growes on apple-trees, then will thy gray mare proove a bag-piper.

Emperour. What saies[1511] the Lord of Castile and the Earle of Lincolne, that they are in such earnest and secret talke?

Castile. I stand, my lord, amazed at his talke, 40 How he discourseth of the constancie Of one surnam'd, for beauties excellence, The Faire Maid of merrie Fresingfield.

Henrie. Tis true, my lord, tis wondrous for to heare; Her beautie passing Marces[1512] parramour, 45 Her virgins right[1513] as rich as Vestas was: Lacie and Ned hath told me miracles.

Castile. What saies Lord Lacie? shall she be his wife?

Lacie. Or els Lord Lacie is unfit to live.-- May it please your highnesse give me leave to post 50 To Fresingfield, Ile fetch the bonny girle, And proove, in true apparance at the court, What I have vouched often with my tongue.

Henrie. Lacie, go to the quirie[1514] of my stable, And take such coursers as shall fit thy turne: 55 Hie thee to Fresingfield, and bring home the lasse,[1515] And, for her fame flies through the English coast, If it may please the Ladie Ellinor, One day shall match your excellence and her.

Ellinor. We Castile ladies are not very coy; 60 Your highnesse may command a greater boone: And glad were I to grace the Lincolne earl With being partner of his marriage day.

Edward. Gramercie, Nell, for I do love the lord, As he thats second to my selfe[1516] in love. 65

Raphe. You love her?--Madam Nell, never beleeve him you, though he sweares he loves you.

Ellinor. Why, Raphe?

Raphe. Why, his love is like unto a tapsters glasse that is broken with every tuch; for he loved the faire maid of Fresingfield once out of all hoe.[1517]--Nay, Ned, never wincke upon me: I care not, I.

Henrie. Raphe tels all; you shall have a good secretarie of him.--73 But, Lacie, haste thee post to Fresingfield; For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state, 75 The solemne marriage day will be at hand.

Lacie. I go, my Lord. 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] As if he had neither lost nor wonne to-day?

Bacon. Ah, Bungay,[1519] ... my Brazen-head is spo[i]l'd, My glorie gone, my seven yeares studie lost! 5 The fame of Bacon, bru[i]ted through the world, Shall end and perish with this deepe disgrace.

Bun. Bacon hath built foundation of[1520] his fame So surely on the wings of true report, With acting strange and uncoth 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 gesse, 15 My minde is heavy, what so ere shall hap.[1521] Enter two Schollers, sonnes to LAMBERT and SERLBY. Knocke. Whose that knocks?

Bungay. Two schollers that desires to speake with you.

Bacon. Bid them come in.-- Now, my youths, what would you have? 20

1 Scholler. Sir, we are Suffolkemen and neighbouring friends; Our fathers in their countries lustie squires; Their lands adjoyne: in Crackfield[1522] mine doth dwell, And his in Laxfield. We are colledge-mates, Sworne brothers, as our fathers live as friendes. 25

Bacon. To what end is all this?

2 Scholler. Hearing your worship kept within your cell A glasse prospective, wherin men might see What so their thoughts or hearts desire could wish, We come to know how that our fathers fare. 30

Bacon. My glasse is free for every honest man. Sit downe, and you shall see ere long,[1523] How or in what state your friendly fathers live.[1524] Meane while, tell me your names.

Lambert. Mine Lambert. 35

2 Scholler. And mine Serlsbie.

Bacon. Bungay, I smell there will be[1525] a tragedie.

Enter[1526] LAMBERT and SERLSBIE with rapiers and daggers.

Lambert. Serlsby, thou hast[1525] kept thine houre[1525] like a man; Th'art worthie of the title of a squire, That durst, for proofe of thy affection 40 And for thy mistresse favour, prize[1527] thy bloud. Thou knowst what words did passe at Fresingfield, Such shamelesse braves as manhood cannot brooke: I,[1528] for I skorne to beare such piercing taunts,-- Prepare thee, Serlsbie; one of us will die. 45

Serlsbie. Thou seest I single [meet] thee [in] the field,[1529] And what I spake, Ile maintaine with my sword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. And if thou kill me, thinke I have a sonne, That lives in Oxford in the Brodgateshall,[1530] 50 Who will revenge his fathers bloud with bloud.

Lambert. And, Serlsbie, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy sonne, And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine: But draw thy rapier, for weele have a bout.[1531] 55

Bacon. Now, lustie yonkers, looke within the glasse,[1532] And tell me if you can discerne your sires.

1 Scol. Serlsbie, tis hard; thy father offers wrong To combat with my father in the field.

2 Schol. Lambert, thou liest, my fathers is the abuse,[1533] 60 And thou shalt find it, if my father harme.[1534]

Bungay. How goes it, sirs?

1 Scholler. Our fathers are in combat hard by Fresingfield.

Bacon. Sit still, my friendes, and see the event.

Lambert. Why standst thou, Serlsbie? doubtst thou of thy life? A venie,[1535] man! fair Margret craves so much. 66

Serlsbie. Then this for her.

1 Scholler. Ah, well thrust!

2 Scholler. But marke the ward.

They[1536] fight and kill ech other.

Lambert. Oh, I am slaine! 70

Serlsbie. And I,--Lord have mercie on me!

1 Scholler. My father slaine!--Serlby, ward that.

2 Scholler. And so is mine![1537]--Lambert, Ile quite thee well.

The two Schollers stab on[e] another.

Bungay. O strange strattagem!

Bacon. See, Frier, where the fathers[1538] both lie dead!-- 75 Bacon, thy magicke doth effect this massacre: This glasse prospective worketh manie woes; And therefore seeing these brave lustie Brutes,[1539] These friendly youths, did perish by thine art, End all thy magicke and thine art at once. 80 The poniard that did end the[1540] fatall[1541] lives, Shall breake the cause efficiat[1542] of their woes. So fade the glasse, and end with it the showes That nigromancie did infuse the christall with. He breakes the glass.

Bungay. What means learned Bacon thus to breake his glasse?

Bacon. I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore 86 That ever Bacon meddled in this art. The houres I have spent in piromanticke spels, The fearefull tossing in the latest night Of papers full of nigromanticke charmes, 90 Conjuring and adjuring divels and fiends, With stole and albe and strange pentaganon;[1543] The wresting of the holy name of God, As Sother,[1544] Elaim, and Adonaie,[1545] Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragramiton,[1546] 95 With praying to the five-fould[1547] powers of heaven, Are instances that Bacon must be damde For using divels to countervaile his God.-- Yet, Bacon, cheere thee, drowne not in despaire: Sinnes have their salves, repentance can do much;[1548] 100 Thinke Mercie sits where Justice holds her seate, And from those wounds those bloudie Jews did pierce, Which by thy magicke oft did bleed a fresh, From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops, To wash the wrath of hie Jehovahs ire, 105 And make thee as a new borne babe from sinne.-- Bungay, Ile spend the remnant of my life In pure devotion, praying to my God That he would save what Bacon vainly lost. Exit.

[Scene Fourteenth. A Meadow near the Keepers lodge.]

Enter MARGRET in nuns apparel, Keeper, her father, and their Friend.

Keep. Margret, be not so headstrong in these vows: O, burie not such beautie in a cell, That England hath held famous for the hue! Thy fathers haire like to the silver bloomes That beautifie the shrubs of Affrica, 5 Shall fall before the dated time of death, Thus to forgoe his lovely Marg[a]ret.

Margret. A[h], father, when the hermonie of heaven Soundeth the measures of a lively faith, The vaine illusions of this flattering world 10 Seemes odious to the thoughts of Marg[a]ret. I loved once,--Lord Lacie was my love; And now I hate my selfe for that I lovd, And doated more on him than on my God; For this I scourge my selfe with sharpe repents. 15 But now the touch of such aspiring sinnes Tels me all love is lust but love of heavens: That beautie usde for love is vanitie; The world containes naught but alluring baites, Pride,[1549] flatterie, and inconstant thoughts. 20 To shun the pricks of death,[1550] I leave the world, And vow to meditate on heavenly blisse, To live in Framingham a holy nunne, Holy and pure in conscience and in deed; And for to wish all maides to learne of me 25 To seek heavens joy before earths vanitie.

Friend. And will you, then, Margret, be shorn a nunne, and so leave us all?

Margret. Now farewell world, the engin of all woe! Farewell to friends and father! Welcome Christ! 30 Adiew to daintie robes! this base attire Better befits an humble minde to God Than all the show of rich abilliments. Love[1551] ... oh love!--and, with fond love, farewell Sweet Lacie, whom I loved once so deare! 35 Ever be well, but never in my thoughts, Least I offend to think on Lacies love: But even to that, as to the rest, farewell.

Enter LACIE, WARRAIN, ERMSBIE, booted and spurd.

Lacie. Come on, my wags, weere near the keepers lodge. Heere have I oft walkt in the watrie meades, 40 And chatted with my lovely Marg[a]ret.

Warraine. Sirha Ned, is not this the keeper?

Lacie. Tis the same.

Ermsbie. The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him; a nunne, my lord. 45

Lacie. Keeper, how farest thou? holla, man, what cheere? How doth Peggie, thy daughter and my love?

Keeper. Ah, good my lord! O, wo is me for Pegge! See where she stands clad in her nunnes attire, Readie for to be shorne in Framingham: 50 She leaves the world because she left[1552] your love. Oh, good my lord, perswade her if you can!

Lacie. Why, how now, Margret! what, a malecontent? A nunne? what holy father taught you this, To taske your selfe to such a tedious life 55 As die a maid? twere injurie to me, To smother up such bewtie in a cell.

Margret. Lord Lacie, thinking of thy[1553] former[1554] misse, How fond the prime of wanton yeares were spent In love (Oh, fie upon that fond conceite, 60 Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye!), I leave both love and loves content at once, Betaking me to him that is true love, And leaving all the world for love of him.

Lacy. Whence, Peggie, comes this metamorphosis? 65 What, shorne a nun, and I have from the court Posted with coursers to convaie thee hence To Windsore, where our mariage shalbe kept! Thy wedding robes are in the tailors hands. Come, Peggy, leave these peremptorie vowes. 70

Margret. Did not my lord resigne his interest, And make divorce 'twixt Marg[a]ret and him?

Lacie. Twas but to try sweete Peggies constancie. But will fair Margret leave her love and lord?

Margret. Is not heavens joy before earths fading blisse, 75 And life above sweeter than life in love?

Lacy. Why,[1555] then, Margret will be shorne a nun?

Marg. Margret hath made a vow which may not be revokt.

Warraine. We cannot stay, my lord;[1555] and if she be so strict, Our leisure graunts us not to woo a fresh. 80

Ermsby. Choose you, fair damsell,--yet the choise is yours,-- Either a solemne nunnerie or the court, God or Lord Lacie: which[1556] contents you best, To be a nun or els Lord Lacies wife?

Lacie. A good motion.--Peggie, your answer must be short.

Margret. The flesh is frayle: my lord doth know it well 86 That when he comes with his inchanting face, What so ere betyde, I cannot say him nay. Off goes the habite of a maidens heart, And, seeing fortune will, faire Fremingham, 90 And all the shew of holy nuns, farewell! Lacie, for me, if he wilbe my lord.

Lacie. Peggie, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.[1557] Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king Staies for to marry matchles Ellinour, 95 Until I bring thee richly to the court, That one day may both marry her and thee.-- How saist thou, Keeper? art thou glad of this?

Keeper. As if[1558] the English king had given The parke and deere of Frisingfield to me. 100

Erms. I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a broune study?

War. To see the nature of women; that be they never so neare God, yet they love to die in a mans armes.

Lacie. What have you fit for breakefast? We have hied And posted all this night to Frisingfield.[1559] 106

Mar. Butter and cheese, and humbl[e]s[1560] of a deere, Such as poore keepers have within their lodge.[1559]

Lacie. And not a bottle of wine?

Margret. Weele find one for my lord. 110

Lacie. Come, Sussex, ... lets[1561] in: we shall have more, For she speaks least, to hold her promise sure.[1559] [Exeunt.]

[Scene Fifteenth. Frier Bacons cell.]

Enter a Devill[1562] to seeke MILES.

Devill. How restles are the ghosts of hellish spirites, When everie charmer with his magick spels Cals us from nine-fold trenched Phlegethon,[1563] To scud and over-scoure the earth in post Upon the speedie wings of swiftest winds! 5 Now Bacon hath raisd me from the darkest deepe, To search about the world for Miles his man, For Miles, and to torment his lasie bones For careles watching[1564] of his Brazen-head. See where he comes: Oh, he is mine. 10

Enter MILES with a gowne and a corner cap.

Miles. A scholler, quoth you! marry, sir, I would I had bene made a botlemaker when I was made a scholler; for I can get neither to be a deacon, reader,[1565] nor schoolemaister, no, not the clarke of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith, my head is as full of Latine as an egs full of oatemeale: thus I am tormented, that the devil and Frier Bacon haunts me.--Good Lord, heers one of my maisters devils! Ile goe speake to him.--What, Maister Plutus, how chere you?

Devill. Doost thou know me? 19

Miles. Know you, sir! why, are not you one of my maisters devils, that were wont to come to my maister, Doctor Bacon, at Brazennose?

Devil. Yes, marry, am I.

Miles. Good Lord, M[aister] Plutus, I have seene you a thousand times at my maisters, and yet I had never the manners to make you drinke. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute.[1566]--I warrant you, hees as yeomanly a man as you shall see: marke you, maisters, heers a plaine honest man, without welt or garde.[1566]--But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hel?

Devil. I, marry: how then? 30

Miles. Faith, tis a place I have desired long to see: have you not good tipling-houses there? may not a man have a lustie fier there, a pot of good ale, a paire of cardes, a swinging peece of chalke,[1567] and a browne toast that will clap a white wastcoat[1568] on a cup of good drinke? 35

Devil. All this you may have there.

Miles. You are for me, freinde, and I am for you. But I pray you, may I not have an office there?

Devil. Yes, a thousand: what wouldst thou be? 39

Miles. By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit my selfe. I know hel is a hot place, and men are mervailous drie, and much drinke is spent there; I would be a tapster.

Devil. Thou shalt.

Miles. Theres nothing lets me from going with you, but that tis a long journey, and I have never a horse. 45

Devil. Thou shalt ride on my backe.[1569]

Miles. Now surely her[e]s a courteous devil, that, for to pleasure[1570] his friend, will not stick to make a jade of him self.--But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.

Dev. Whats that? 50

Miles. I pray you, whether is your pace a trot or an amble?

Dev. An amble.

Miles. Tis well; but take heed it be not a trot; but tis no matter, Ile prevent it. [Stoops.]

Dev. What doest? 55

Miles. Mary, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or els uneasie, Ile put you to a false gallop; Ile make you feele the benefit of my spurs.

Dev. Get up upon my backe.

Miles. O Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back! Exeunt: [the Devil] roaring.

[Scene Sixteenth. At Court.]

Enter the EMPEROUR with a pointlesse sword; next the KING OF CASTILE carrying a sword with a point; LACY carrying the globe; EDWARD; WARRAINE carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it;[1571] ERMSBY with a crowne and sceptre; the QUEENE; [PRINCESS ELINOR] with the faire Maide of Fresingfield on her left hand; HENRY; BACON; with other Lords attending.

Edward. 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 perpetuall homage to yourselves, Yeelding these honours unto Ellinour. 5

Henrie. Gramercies, lordings; old Plantagenet, That rules and swayes the Albion diademe, With teares discovers these conceived joyes, And vows requitall if his men at armes, The wealth of England, or due honours done 10 To Ellinor, may quite his favourites.[1572] But all this while what say you to the dames That shine like to the christall lampes of heaven?

Emperour. If but a third were added to these two, They did surpasse those gorgeous images 15 That gloried Ida with rich beauties wealth.

Mar. Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee Must yeeld her horisons to mighty Jove For lifting up his handmaide to this state; Brought from her homely cottage to the court, 20 And grasde with kings, princes, and emperours, To whom (next to the noble Lincolne earle) I vow obedience, and such humble love As may a handmaid to such mighty men.

P. Elin. Thou martiall man that wears the Almaine crown, 25 And you the western potentates of might, The Albian princesse, English Edwards wife, Proud that the lovely star of Fresingfield, Fair Margret, Countess to the Lincoln earle, Attends on Ellinour,--gramercies, lord, for her,-- 30 Tis I give thankes for Margret, to you all, And rest for her due bounden to your selves.

Henrie. Seeing the marriage is solemnized,[1573] Lets march in triumph to the royall feast.-- But why stands Frier Bacon here so mute? 35

Bacon. Repentant for the follies of my youth, That magicks secret mysteries misled, And joyfull that this royall marriage Portends such blisse unto this matchless realme.

Hen. Why, Bacon, what strange event shall happen to this land? Or what shall grow from Edward and his queene? 41

Bacon. I find by deep praescience[1574] of mine art, Which once I tempred in my secret cell, That here where Brute did build his Troynovant, From forth the royall garden of a king 45 Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud, Whose brightnesse shall deface proud Phœbus' flowre, And over-shadow Albion with her leaves. Till then Mars shall be master of the field, But then the stormy threats of war shall cease: 50 The horse shall stamp as carelesse of the pike, Drums shall be turn'd to timbrels of delight; With wealthy favours plenty shall enrich The strond that gladded wandring Brute to see, And peace from heaven shall harbour in these leaves 55 That gorgeous beautifies this matchlesse flower: Apollos helletropian[1575] then shall stoope, And Venus hyacinth shall vaile[1576] her top; Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up, And Pallas bay shall bash her brightest greene; 60 Ceres carnation, in consort with those, Shall stoope and wonder at Dianas rose.

Henrie. This prophecie is mysticall.-- But, glorious commanders[1577] of Europas love, That make faire England like that wealthy ile 65 Circled with Gihen and swift[1578] Euphrates, In royallizing Henries Albion With presence of your princely mightinesse,-- Lets[1579] march: the tables all are spred, And viandes, such as Englands wealth affords, 70 Are ready set to furnish out the bords. You shall have welcome, mighty potentates: It rests to furnish up this royall feast, Only your hearts be frolicke; for the time Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance. 75 Thus glories England over all the west. [Exeunt omnes.]

Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utiie dulci.

FOOTNOTES:

[1262] Scenes not numbered in Qtos. Localities as indicated by W., in general accepted. Framlingham and Fressingfield,--"Suffolke side." Sc. iv. 33.

[1263] Q 1, 'Edward the first.'

[1264] Of late. Cf. Ep. to Farewell to Folly (S. R. 1587).

[1265] Outstripped.

[1266] Hounds that roused and teased the game. Cf. Play of Wether, ll. 292-293.

[1267] 'Nor have,' Dy. and W., separate line; but Qtos., a senarius as here. For metres see Appendix; for this D. 3 b.

[1268] Qtos. and eds.: no dash, but period after 'dumpe.' Appendix C, 1 b.

[1269] Dy. and W., 'off.'

[1270] A coarse woollen cloth, cf. Eastw. Hoe "stammel petticoat," in contempt. Here apparently of the kind of red; so, perhaps, Alleyn's Inventory (Collier's Mems. of E. A., Shakesp. Soc. 1841) "A stammel cloke with gould lace."

[1271] à la mort, dejected. So, also, Fortunatus in Wily Beguiled "Why, how now, Sophos? all amort?" (Hawkins, Orig. Eng. Drama, 3:358); Old Wives' Tale, l. 1.

[1272] Probably a survival of the Vice's weapon of lath.

[1273] Dy., G., W., 'lovely.' But Q 3, which in many other particulars corrects Q 1, retains 'lively'; so Do.

[1274] tablet.

[1275] coral cliffs.

[1276] The rare quality of her appearance; cf. viii. 16.

[1277] more exquisite; rarer; so iii. 77.

[1278] tint.

[1279] Q 1 has headline The ... Bacon on each page.

[1280] "Would have put to the blush any woman that art," etc.

[1281] Appendix D, 3 b.

[1282] 'I' for 'ay'; 'and' for 'an,' as frequently.

[1283] so that; cf. Matthew xx. 31.

[1284] press.

[1285] swape. Prov. English for 'sweep.'

[1286] placket: here pocket.

[1287] See p. 413.

[1288] Four and one-half miles north of Fressingfield.

[1289] Dy. and G., 'to keep alongside of,' Fr. côtoyer. W. explains, 'to pass' and cites Hamlet, II. ii. 306. Derivation uncertain; but the word is here figuratively used; as if the Prince should say,--"As a greyhound in coursing goeth endways by his fellow and giveth the hare a turn, so do thou outstrip the clown (head him off), court Margaret (give her the turn), and thus cut him out." See New Eng. Dict. on Turberville's Venerie, 246 (1575); and distinction between 'coting' and 'coasting' or going alongside of. Professor Wagner's Der abgesante soll sich an die seite des ländlichen liebhabers heften, so dass ihn dieser nicht los werden kann is somewhat amusing. Cf. "crost, controulde" 2 A. W. A. Sc. xii, l. 88.

[1290] Dy. reads 'dancer.' But why not a synecdoche? "Ned is become a whole morris-dance of himself."

[1291] Appendix B, 1. Dy. queries 'all your.'

[1292] nōs = nostros. Fleay.

[1293] Q 1, habitares.

[1294] For divination by fire, water (hydromancy), and air, see Ward's admirable Old English Drama, pp. 222-223.

[1295] Appendix B, 1.

[1296] Probably for 'pentagonon' (cf. xiii 92); here of the pentacle or pentagram, the five-rayed star used in magic as a defence against demons.

[1297] Belcephon; cf. Exodus xiv. 2; Numbers xxxiii. 7. Ward.

[1298] "This damnable art mathematical" (Bp. Hooker, Works, 1: 330), meaning 'astrological.'

[1299] Either v. tr.: 'draws' the long bow; or v. intr.: 'ventures in imagination' a bow-shot beyond his capability.

[1300] Appendix D, 3 b.

[1301] So Qtos. Do., Dy., W., ''gainst.' On 'guesse' for 'guests,' Dy. quotes Chamberlain's Pharonnida (1659), Bk. IV. C. III. p. 53: "The empty tables stood for never guess came there."

[1302] Q 1 has ll. 139-140 in prose; but Do., Dy., W., verse

[1303] Be abashed. So Tullie's Love: "Like Diana when she basht at Actæon's presence"; and Orpharion (Grosart's Greene, VII. 115 and XII. 50).

[1304] Line 156: Appendix A, 3; and D, 1.

[1305] Properly principal. In Bacon's day Brasenose College was not yet founded.

[1306] Wagner would read, "And hell and Hecat shall the friar fail," for "Hecate ist sonst stets zweisilbig." Wrong. Ward cites for the trisyllable, Shakesp., 1 H. VI., III. ii. 64, and Milton, Comus, v. 535.

[1307] bargain.

[1308] Q 4 omits. Appendix A, 2.

[1309] So Qtos. 1, 3, 4; = 'price,' not 'prize,' nor as in xiii. 41.

[1310] generous.

[1311] Margret's 'mythological' slips are not to be set down to her rustic schooling; for Lacie's 'mythology' is no better; nor Greene's.

[1312] So Q 3. Q 1, scoffes. 'Your irony is evident on the face of it.'

[1313] Q 3, 'beauties.' W. changes to 'duties' (?).

[1314] Appendix D, 3 b.

[1315] Lines 34, 35, as prose in Q 1.

[1316] On the northern border of Suffolk.

[1317] W. explains 'shy'; but perhaps the word here means 'affectedly nice'; in cant phrase, 'stuck-up.' Cf. Spenser, F. Q., III. vii. 10 (Century).

[1318] So Qtos. and G. "To me?" says M. with (affected?) surprise. "Surely you mistake." "Ah, just like others of your sex," retorts L., "oblivious when you please." "Well," acknowledges M., "I do remember the man; but have we time to waste on his attentions?" Do., Dy., and W. assign "You ... self" to Lacie: but is that necessary? Appendix C, 2 b.

[1319] Appendix D, 3 a.

[1320] Appendix A, 2.

[1321] So Dy., G., W. But Qtos. and Do. surges.

[1322] Appendix E.

[1323] He never fought before Damascus. Ward. For 'done,' Dy. queries 'shown.'

[1324] Not crown property in Henry III's reign; nor was Hampton crown property, till Wolsey, who had built the house, exchanged it with Henry VIII for Richmond. Ward.

[1325] Hapsburg. In lines 37, 44, etc., pronounce 'academie.'

[1326] Statement of scientific principles. Cf. 'Aphorisms' of Hippocrates.

[1327] As in the laureation which accompanied the conferring of the academic degree in Grammar.

[1328] So Dy. and W. Cf. H. V., Prol. to Act II. 34. Q 1, fit: which cannot be the _v. tr., '_to array' or 'marshal' (see Morte Arthur, 1755, etc., as in N. E. D.) G. suggests 'fet,' which avails nothing. Q 3 has 'sit,' which was probably intended for 'set.'

[1329] For the emergency. Cf. Fletcher, Loyal Subject, IV. ii.

[1330] Dodge. So Redford's Wit. and Sc., "The fechys of Tediousnes"; cf. Lear II. iv.

[1331] Swaggering. Like Cowley's Cutter.

[1332] So Qtos. = "Can't I? Yes, I can." Dy. and W., unnecessarily: 'Yet, what,' etc.

[1333] On Edw.'s abrupt utterances, see Appendix C. On these lines C, 1 d.

[1334] W.: 'thy fool disguise.' But Bacon means "That fool parading in your clothes does not deceive me as to your identity."

[1335] Cf. x. 3: (black) jacks, leathern wine-jugs.

[1336] After Bacon and Edw. had walked a few paces about (or perhaps toward the back of) the stage, the audience were to suppose that the scene was changed to the interior of Bacon's Cell. Dyce.

[1337] Common construction; but Q 3, 'pleade.' Metre, Appendix B, 2.

[1338] Perhaps the curtain which concealed the upper stage was withdrawn, discovering M. and B., and, when the representation in the glass was supposed to be over, the curtain was drawn back again. Dyce.

[1339] So Qtos. May be unintentional metathesis for 'sunne-bright' But eds all adopt Do.'s 'brightsome,' which has additional authority of Alphonsus IV. p. 240 a (Dyce ed.).

[1340] Dy. 'fair witty' for metre, arguing from iii. 61; vi. 33-35. But the original reading is sufficiently metrical. See Appendix B, 1; and C, i a.

[1341] Q 3 and G., 'lasse?' Wrong, for the clauses are conditional.

[1342] Cover with an excuse. Ward.

[1343] Qtos. 'cape,' which might be justified as = capture (See N. E. D. for the verb; and cf. Greene's fondness for coining from the Latin, e.g. nocent in Jas., IV.) Do. suggests and eds. adopt 'rape.' But my reading is confirmed by Orl. Fur., Sc. i. 176, concerning Helen, who, "With a swaine made scape away to Troy," = escape. In Q 1 of our text the 's' was absorbed by the preceding possessive.

[1344] W. conjectures 'paragon'; but Greene had a weakness for 'paramour.'

[1345] Note that the prince does not hear what the audience hears.

[1346] For metre of ll. 47, 108, 127, 146, 176, App. C, 2 a.

[1347] Q 3. Q 1 has acception; so also Orpharion (Gros. XII. 50). See Appendix A, 1 and 3.

[1348] As in l. 142.

[1349] Cf. Ethenwald's soliloquy in Kn. Kn. Kn. (H. Dods VI. 543-544).

[1350] Q 3 omits.

[1351] nearer, luckier.

[1352] image.

[1353] So x. 126 = prematurely.

[1354] Altogether too. So Heywood, Johann., l. 183, and frequently. Still heard in New England.

[1355] Dy. and W. assign to Lacie; but Qtos. as above. Momentarily even Margaret is deceived (or she pretends to be deceived) by Bungay's "cunning."

[1356] Q 1: injest.

[1357] Dy., W., 'mean'; needlessly.

[1358] Lines 130, 161, Appendix C, 1 a.

[1359] Lines 131-132: Dy., "Is this a prose speech or corrupted verse?" Neither; see Appendix D, 3 a.

[1360] A breviary for out-of-door use. Cf. New Cust., I. ii. (H. Dods. III.) and Confl. Consc. III. iv. (Caconos).

[1361] So Qtos., meaning 'in respect of'; and W. in his first ed. Wagner (Anglia, Vol. II.) would change to 'from,' saying "for mumbling würde heissen 'ich will ihn zum stillstand bringen dafür dass er ableiert.'" Let us rather trust Greene for English. Cf. his Ep. Ded. to Orpharion, "Else shall you discourage a gardener for grafting"; also his Never Too Late (ed. 1590), "A hat ... shelter for the sun," etc. The word means 'in respect of,' 'with regard to,' and then 'against' and 'from,' as here. (See, also, N. E. D.: For 23. d.)

[1362] In sense of 'finishing.' Cf. iii. 22; vi. 159; xii. 21; Alph., "soothe up" (ed. Dyce, p. 241).

[1363] Q 1. But Do., Dy., modernizing Elizabethan grammar, read 'passion.'

[1364] Q 1. (B. M.) Bacon, corrected in a handwritten 'Bungay.'

[1365] Line 162, Appendix D, 3 a; 163, D 2.

[1366] Greene has in mind the Church of St. Mary the Virgin.

[1367] Appendix C, 1 b.

[1368] Do.'s suggestion for Qtos.' Scocon.

[1369] Died B.C. 62. Cf. Never too Late, Pt. I. (1590).

[1370] So Dyce; but Qtos. and Do. give the line to Clement.

[1371] Q 1, Weele.

[1372] Inserted by Do., Dy., W. G. prefers 'ill.'

[1373] Q 3 omits. Do.: 'Let us to Bacon.'

[1374] bullies. Cf. Shaksp., Tit. And., I. i. 313.

[1375] Skeltonical verse. Qtos. print thus, but Do., Dy., W., in couplets.

[1376] heavy head.

[1377] So Q 1. Miles is responsible for the Latin; cf. habitares Sc. ii. 4. The asinus mundi is, of course, Raphe.

[1378] W. omits 'sheat.' G. reads, 'Neat, sheat, and [as] fine, as a briske cup of wine.' Qtos. have comma after 'neat,' making 'sheat' an adjective, for which Cent. Dict. suggests the meaning 'trim.' Poppey, in Lodge's Wounds of Civil War (H. Dods. VII. 191), says, "Fair, fresh and fine, As a merry cup of wine."

[1379] dear: Lk. Gl., 1481; R. D., I. i. 49; and frequently. In American slang, to-day, 'good-natured.'

[1380] Perhaps the caps of Doctors of Law and Physic. Ward.

[1381] Dy., W., careful of R.'s grammar, read 'I will.'

[1382] From the inner sole. Peg in Wily Beg. (Hawkins III. 356) glories in 'cork'd shoes.' Ward. So also Mall in 2 A. W. A. iii. 167.

[1383] So Qtos. The mistake for Barclay is as likely to be Miles's as the compositor's.

[1384] Do., Dy., W. change to dicis. A parody of Construas hoc, etc., in Skelton's Ware the Hauke. Dyce. So, for a fool, Ingeland's Disob. Child (H. Dods. II. 285); and frequently. Cf. 'Woodcock' in Johann, and Hamlet, I. iii. 115.

[1385] Old north gate, Oxford, used as a prison; taken down, 1771. As hard to get out of as the Bocardo mood of the syllogism. Dyce and Ward.

[1386] "Are meet for just such low-born devils as they are."

[1387] 5 Qtos., Essex.

[1388] Raphe.

[1389] Cf. the scene in Kn. Kn. (H. Dods. VI. 575).

[1390] Dy. and W. change to 'thy.'

[1391] Q 1 and G., 'passion.' Q 3, Do., Dy., W., 'passions': required by 'them.' So "to show your passions," Kn. Kn. (H. Dods. VI. 574).

[1392] Shittim: cf. Never too Late (Grosart, VIII. 40).

[1393] Cf. Kn. Kn. "dolphin's eye" (H. Dods. VI. 574); "purple main," etc. (H. Dods. VI. 565, 570). Ward notes resemblance of ll. 50-66, 'lavoltas,' 'purple plaines,' 'Thetis,' etc., to Menapon (Grosart, VI. 36).

[1394] Round dances; cf. Hen. V., iii. 5.

[1395] Cf. Tamb. "To entertain ... Zenocrate," etc.

[1396] So Dy., W., for 'attired.' Q 1, tied; Q 3, tyed [= incased, Grosart?].

[1397] So Qtos., and prob. Greene. Eds., 'came.'

[1398] So Qtos., Do., and prob. Greene. Dy., W., 'nor.'

[1399] Q 3.--Q 1, abbata.

[1400] In apposition with 'him,' l. 78.

[1401] than.

[1402] Dy. qy. 'our'? but Greene liked the contrast of 'my' and 'her.' Grosart.

[1403] Q 3, catching up 'loves' of l. 117, substitutes it for 'leagues' of l. 116; consequently omits l. 117 altogether.

[1404] With ll. 25, 112-128, compare Campaspe, V. iv.

[1405] Appendix C, 2 b.

[1406] Milto of Phocæa, whom Cyrus the Younger used to call Aspasia. See Plutarch's Pericles, and Artaxerxes. Ward.

[1407] Q 1 omits. Q 3 supplies.

[1408] Revolted = overturned. If similar literal transference of Latin words were not common among Elizabethans, one might suggest 'revokt,' i.e. 'renounced,' citing xiv. 78, "a vow that may not be revokt," and Sir Clyom and Sir Clam., "that mortal blow or stroke The which shall cause thy wretched corpse this life for to revoke."

[1409] Appendix A, 4.

[1410] Cumnor, Hinksey, Cuddesdon, Shotover, etc., can hardly be called mountains. The Emperour recalls the progress over the Chilterns, or Greene romances.

[1411] Nutritious; cf. battles and batten.

[1412] Qtos., Do. Possibly means 'covered.' But probably misprint for 'lade':--Dy., W.

[1413] Trismegistus.

[1414] Porphyry.

[1415] an atom compared with.

[1416] Qtos. and Do--Dy. and W., 'ground.' The 's' may have been attracted from 'fiends' and 'spels.'

[1417] Qtos. and Do.--Dy. and W., 'hung.'

[1418] Dy. and W., 'vile.' But 'Vild' is common: see F Q., 2 A. W. A., Sp. Gypsy, etc.

[1419] Q 1, gemii.

[1420] Most of our old writers use Hesp. as the name of a place.

[1421] Ironically. Eds. place after the stage direction; but the Qtos. may stand.

[1422] Q 3, 'lordlings.'

[1423] razed.

[1424] So Q 3. Q 1, prodie.

[1425] G. would omit.

[1426] Q 1, worrhy.

[1427] Sienna. For metre, Appendix D, 1; for that of l. 116, B, 1; of ll. 120, 148, 162, C, 2 c; of l. 129, B, 2.

[1428] So Q 3. Q 1, Belogna.

[1429] Text and metre, Appendix E.

[1430] So Qtos. Dy. and G., 'Utrecht [Paris] and' Fleay and Ward, 'Lu_tetia_ and O'; the compositor having probably been shunted by the ut from Ms. 'Lutetia' into 'Utrech.' Dekker spells the latter 'Utrich' (--D. S. 1606) Lutetia (or Paris) has been already mentioned in iv. 50; whereas Utrecht was not yet a university town.

[1431] See n. 1427, p. 473.

[1432] Mar. Witte and Sci. (1570), "Not every foile doth make a falle."

[1433] Q 1, herarchies.

[1434] So Qtos.--Dy. and W alter 'came.'

[1435] So Q 3, and eds., and (I think) Q 1--G. 'come.'

[1436] So eds.--Qtos., springs.

[1437] Appendix C, 1 a.

[1438] Love-kindling looks; cf. xii. 8. Dyce. So also Never too Late, "wilie amorettes of a curtizan."

[1439] Q 1, they.

[1440] G. omits 'over.' See Appendix D, 3 b.

[1441] Ll. 205-209, as prose in Qtos. See note on vii. 40 et seq.

[1442] Q 1, thee.

[1443] One who sets the table; Fr. asseoir. So Fletcher, R. a W III 1. (Century.)

[1444] Chopped meat in broth? (N. E. D.)

[1445] Ll. 220-221, as prose in Qtos.

[1446] Wagner supplies 'but' before 'for'; the emperor supplied a gulp of rage before 'fit.' Appendix C, 1 c.

[1447] Q 3.--Do., Dy. omit 'such'; G. and W. omit 'a.' This smoothing out of the anapest has no historical warrant.

[1448] So Qtos. and G. Do., 'thee'; Dy. and W., 'these' unnecessarily.

[1449] Dy. and W., "This ... me.," as a verse.

[1450] Spices.

[1451] A small, light, and fast ship; caravel (N. E. D.).

[1452] "This," observes my friend, Mr. W. N. Lettsom, "is much as if France were to send claret and burgundy down her Thames." Dyce. Quoted as with approval by G. and W. But may not Greene indulge in a figure of speech? The Volga was the typical great river of the Elizabethans, their Amazon or Mississippi; and is here used for the Euphrates by antonomasia. Q 1 does not capitalize this volga, and the emphasis is on her. See Appendix C, 1 a.

[1453] So in Greene's Not. Discov. Coosenage. Qtos. and Do., mirabiles.

[1454] Sugar plums.

[1455] Dyce regards the passage as mutilated. Mitford's 'balm' does not fit the sense. For 'lamprey' (from W. Bell and Fleay), see Ward. I think that explanation is good; for Greene is not averse to coining words, and if he is translating muræna by 'lamp,' the figure in the next line suggests that a paronomasia may have won favor with him by reason of a false derivation from λαμπρός (sc. the Lampris, a brilliant deep-sea fish).

[1456] W. alters to 'of.'

[1457] Q 1, Serlby.

[1458] pitchers of wine, 'blacke pots.'

[1459] Six miles N. E. of Framlingham.

[1460] jointure or jointress. Wagner.

[1461] Q 3 and eds. Q 1, lanslord.

[1462] estate.

[1463] G. 'Content thee,' by analogy with ix. 237, x. 73. But the meaning is "We are satisfied." Malone on the margin of his 1630 quarto (Bodl.) suggests 'good' after 'Content.' See Appendix C, 1 b for retention of Q 1, as above.

[1464] W. reads 'is.'

[1465] Q 1, graves.

[1466] Q 1, tall.

[1467] So Do., Dy., W., and G.--Q 1, daughters.

[1468] Q 1 retained. Do., Dy. object to this common form of the plural.

[1469] Consisting of wool fit for the market, such as Leominster (in Herefordshire) cannot excel.

[1470] So Qtos. But Do., 'furnish'd.'

[1471] protuberant.

[1472] hang swaying; perhaps by a telescoping of 'paddle' and 'waggle.' Ward suggests fusion of 'paddle' and 'bag.'

[1473] She pauses to think. Dy. would omit 'Give me.' But see Appendix D, 3 a.

[1474] Dy. queries 'wrings.' No.

[1475] So Qtos.; but eds. read 'froward,' which Qtos. have in l. 142; but 'forward' was common in this sense. Cf. Selimus, ll. 184, 271, 1292, 1548.

[1476] For 'haemerae' = ephemerae.

[1477] A common form. But Dy., silently, 'wrapp'st'; and so W.

[1478] Cliffs. So, also, Selimus, 1710.

[1479] Dy., "ll. 147-148, corrupted." Not in the least. In l. 149 Dy., qy. 'from him'; but see Appendix D, 3 b.

[1480] Dy., W., 'very.' But M. sighs at each thought as it is enumerated; hence the lacunas in l. 156. Appendix C, 2 b.

[1481] Dy. 'misfortunes.' No.

[1482] G., "with food"?

[1483] hollow sphere.--Ward.

[1484] Argus.

[1485] Phobetor, son of Morpheus: Ov. Met. xi. 640. The φόβητρον (terror) of the Septuagint.

[1486] Fist "klingt unpassend" to Wagner, but not to Greene (O. F. l. 25), nor Shak. (3 H. VI. II. i. 154), nor Stanyhurst (Aeneis, l. 28). Wagner's 'fee' is unnecessary.

[1487] Q 1, awinke.

[1488] From the Nos autem gloriari (Rom. Liturgy). Ward.--Adam (Lkgl. l. 224) makes the same joke.

[1489] Milesian for populare.--Q 3: popelares.

[1490] Sc.: mori, as on a Death's head. Ward.

[1491] [Nods, knocks his head against the post.] Grosart.

[1492] In ll. 49, 60, 69: [a great noise]. Dy., and W. But that would have awakened Bacon earlier. Beside l. 49, Q. 1, are letters wn and your--residue of stage direction.

[1493] pike.

[1494] Do., Dy. 'all my'; W. omits. But Q 1 is intelligible.

[1495] the snake that strikes. Ward.

[1496] Against his pike.

[1497] Q 3 'have spent.'

[1498] Dy. and W. place above the stage direction.

[1499] Dy. and W. insert [Rises and comes forward]. G. rightly disapproves. Bacon is half asleep and does not behold the mischief until after 'love.'

[1500] Qtos, W., and G.--Do., Dy., 'Commentator.' But, as G. explains, Miles is struggling with a reminiscence of 'Cunctator.'

[1501] Inserted by Do., and other eds. But why systematize Miles?

[1502] W., 'are all.' No.

[1503] Asmenoth.

[1504] Demogorgon: O. F. 1287. Mysterious nether deity mentioned as early as the fifth century; and by Boccaccio, Ariosto, Spenser. (See N. E. D.)

[1505] Dy. 'to some fatal end,' and so G., W.

[1506] Obsolete for 'coursed.' Miles's pun.

[1507] Corner cap. Ward.

[1508] Dy., W. 'prime.' Prob.

[1509] Possible; but Dy., W. 'came.'

[1510] that. Dy. "line corrupted." No. Appendix D, 3 b.

[1511] Probable; but Do., Dy., W., 'say.'

[1512] For 'Mars's'--so eds.

[1513] Dy., 'rite,' needlessly. Perfectly clear.

[1514] For querry (equerry); so eds. But Q 3 'quiry.'

[1515] Appendix A, 1.

[1516] Dy., W., 'thyself.' G., as above, for Edw. means "I love Lacie because he loves Margaret almost as well as I love you."

[1517] Beyond recall, "out of cry." Cf. the American slang "out of sight," = in excess. Or is that a corruption of ausgezeichnet?

[1518] Q 1 repeats the line.

[1519] Appendix C, 1 b.

[1520] 3 Q 1 on.

[1521] So G. and W.--Qtos, Do., Dy. give the line to Bungay.--After 'hap,' Dy., and W. [Knocking within]; and after 'come in' [Enter two Scholars]. But I think with G. that Q 1 may be right for, "the stage may have been divided into two compartments."

[1522] Cratfield. Nine miles from Framl. Ward.

[1523] So Qtos, allowing for a foot-pause after 'Sit down.' But if the 4 ft. line is not intentional, W's reading is best "ere long; how | Or in," etc. Dy. reads, "ere long, [sirs,] how" |.--G, "ere [it be] long" |.

[1524] Q 1, father lives.

[1525] Appendix B, 1 and 2.

[1526] In the upper stage.

[1527] risk.

[1528] ay.

[1529] Insertions by Dy. Cf. x. 85.

[1530] Now Pembroke.

[1531] Q 1, about.

[1532] Up to this point Bacon has been preparing the glass; after this, the friars know only what the scholars impart.

[1533] cause of offence.

[1534] So Q 1. and Dy.--Q 3 has 'suffers harm.' Q 4 and W. 'have harm.' I have heard 'harm' used intransitively in the west of Ireland.

[1535] bout. Shak. M.W.W. I. i. 296.

[1536] The fathers.

[1537] G. finds difficulties. But the text is clear: "My ... slaine" is answered by "And ... mine"; "Serlby ... that" by "Lambert ... well." Appendix C, 2 c; D, 3 a.

[1538] Dy., G., W. query 'scholars.' No. Bacon has now stepped to the glass, and for the first time sees the catastrophe in Suffolk.

[1539] Q 1, 'brutes,' but evidently in the sense of 'braves' or 'Britons.' See R.D. I. ii. 124 and N.E.D.

[1540] Dy. and W. 'their.'

[1541] fated.

[1542] W. reads 'efficient'; but it is possible that Greene intended this more heroic formation.

[1543] Dy. and W. 'pentageron' in view of ii. 49; but Greene may have written 'pentagonon.'

[1544] Σωτήρ.

[1545] Q 3, 'Eloim and Adonai.'

[1546] Q 3, 'Tetragrammaton'; the four-lettered symbol of the ineffable name.

[1547] Which of the magical hierarchies is uncertain. See Ward, O. E. D. pp. 267, 268.

[1548] ll. 100-106. Cf. Faustus, xiv. 72 and 77.

[1549] Appendix C, 1 a.

[1550] 2 Cor. xv. 56.

[1551] Appendix C, 1 a.

[1552] Wagner emends (?) 'lost.'

[1553] Eds. alter to 'my.' But M. may mean "in view of how you failed me" or "in view of your mistaken fancy for me."

[1554] Q 3, forme.

[1555] For metre and text of ll. 77, 79, 99, see respectively Appendix C, 1 a; B, 2, and D, 3 a; C, 2 c c.

[1556] Q 1, weich.

[1557] G. pronounces 'husseband.' Yes.

[1558] See note 1555, p. 497.

[1559] Q 1 has lines 105-108, 111-112, as prose. Eds. as above.

[1560] entrails.

[1561] Eds. 'let us.' But see Appendix C, 1 b.

[1562] Q 1: Deuill.

[1563] Q 1: Blegiton; Q 3, Phlegiton.

[1564] Q 1, watchidg.--Q 3 corrects.--G. qy. 'watchadge.'

[1565] I.e. in the church.

[1566] I.e. against facings and trimmings. Mouse in Mucedorus uses the same phrase (H. Dods. VII, 213).

[1567] For his ale-account. But G. qy. 'cheese.'

[1568] bring it to a froth.

[1569] So, as late as Newfangle in L. Will to L. and Bailiff in Kn. Kn.

[1570] Q 1 (B. M.) ends with this word.

[1571] The curtana or 'pointless sword' of mercy; the 'pointed sword' of justice; the 'golden rod' of equity.

[1572] Dy., G. qy. 'favourers.'

[1573] solémnizèd.

[1574] The sequel is the compliment to Queen Elizabeth.

[1575] Q 3, 'hellitropian'; Never too Late 'helitropion.' Any kind of heliotrope or turn-sol.

[1576] In G-a-Greene "vail staff"; in O. F. "vail thy plumes."

[1577] Dy., some corruption; suggests 'comrades.' But x. 148 confirms the text. See also Appendix D, 3 a.

[1578] So Dy., citing O. F. ll. 40-41, "swift Euphrates." Q 1, first.

[1579] Appendix C, 2 c.

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