Scene III Friar Bacon’s Cell
Enter, to Friar Bacon in his cell, Friar Bungay.
Bun. What means the friar that frolick’d it of late,
To sit as melancholy in his cell,
As if he had neither lost nor won to-day?
Bacon. Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil’d,
My glory gone, my seven years’ study lost!
The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.
Bun. Bacon hath built foundation of his fame
So surely on the wings of true report,
With acting strange and uncouth miracles,
As this cannot infringe what he deserves.
Bacon. Bungay, sit down, for by prospective skill
I find this day shall fall out ominous:
Some deadly act shall ‘tide me ere I sleep:
But what and wherein little can I guess,
My mind is heavy, whatso’er shall hap.
[Knocking within.
Who’s that knocks?
Bun. Two scholars that desire to speak with you.
Bacon. Bid them come in.—
Enter two Scholars.
Now, my youths, what would you have?
First Schol. Sir, we are Suffolkmen and neighbouring friends:
Our fathers in their countries lusty squires;
Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates,
Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends.
Bacon. To what end is all this?
Second Schol. Hearing your worship kept within your cell
A glass prospective, wherein men might see
Whatso their thoughts or hearts’ desire could wish,
We come to know how that our fathers fare.
Bacon. My glass is free for every honest man.
Sit down, and you shall see ere long,
How or in what state your friendly fathers live.
Meanwhile, tell me your names.
First Schol. Mine Lambert.
Second Schol. And mine Serlsby.
Bacon. Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.
Enter Lambert and Serlsby, with rapiers and daggers.228
Lam. Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man:
Thou’rt worthy of the title of a squire,
That durst, for proof of thy affection
And for thy mistress’ favour, prize229 thy blood.
Thou know’st what words did pass at Fressingfield,
Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook:
Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts,
Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die.
Serl. Thou see’st I single [meet] thee [in] the field,
And what I spake, I’ll maintain with my sword:
Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out.
And if thou kill me, think I have a son,
That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall,
Who will revenge his father’s blood with blood.
Lam. And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy,
That dares at weapon buckle with thy son,
And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine:
But draw thy rapier, for we’ll have a bout.
Bacon. Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass,
And tell me if you can discern your sires.
First Schol. Serlsby, ’tis hard; thy father offers wrong,
To combat with my father in the field.
Second Schol. Lambert, thou liest, my father’s is th’ abuse,
And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.
Bun. How goes it, sirs?
First Schol. Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield.
Bacon. Sit still, my friends, and see the event.
Lam. Why stand’st thou, Serlsby? doubt’st thou of thy life?
A veney,230 man! fair Margaret craves so much.
Serl. Then this for her.
First Schol. Ah, well thrust!
Second Schol. But mark the ward.
[Lambert and Serlsby fight and stab each other.
Lam. O, I am slain! [Dies.
Serl. And I,—Lord have mercy on me! [Dies.
First Schol. My father slain!—Serlsby, ward that.
Second Schol. And so is mine!—Lambert, I’ll quite thee well.
[The two Scholars stab each other and die.
Bun. O strange stratagem!
Bacon. See, friar, where the fathers231 both lie dead!—
Bacon, thy magic doth effect this massacre:
This glass prospective worketh many woes;
And therefore seeing these brave lusty Brutes,232
These friendly youths, did perish by thine art,
End all thy magic and thine art at once.
The poniard that did end their fatal lives,
Shall break the cause efficient of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That necromancy did infuse the crystal with.
[Breaks the glass.
Bun. What means learn’d Bacon thus to break his glass?
Bacon. I tell thee, Bungay, it repents me sore
That ever Bacon meddled in this art.
The hours I have spent in pyromantic spells,
The fearful tossing in the latest night
Of papers full of necromantic charms,
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb and strange pentageron;
The wresting of the holy name of God,
As Soter, Eloim, and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton,
With praying to the five-fold powers of heaven,
Are instances that Bacon must be damn’d,
For using devils to countervail his God.—
Yet, Bacon, cheer thee, drown not in despair:
Sins have their salves, repentance can do much:
Think Mercy sits where Justice holds her seat,
And from those wounds those bloody Jews did pierce,
Which by thy magic oft did bleed afresh,
From thence for thee the dew of mercy drops,
To wash the wrath of high Jehovah’s ire,
And make thee as a new-born babe from sin.—
Bungay, I’ll spend the remnant of my life
In pure devotion, praying to my God
That he would save what Bacon vainly lost.
[Exeunt.