BUNGAY

Why Margret dost thou love him. Hath not each eye that viewed thy pleasing face, Surnamed thee fair maid of Fressingfield. Heeres Lacy, Margret step aside awhile. Deus hic, room for a merry Friar, What youth of Beckles, with the keepers lass, 'Tis well, but tell me here you any news. Here you not how the pursuivants do post, With proclamations through each country town: Dwellest thou in Beckles & heerst not of these news, Lacy the Earl of Lincoln is late fled From Windsor court disguised Like a swain, And lurks about the country here unknown. Henry suspects him of some treachery, And therefore does proclaim in every way, That who can take the Lincoln earl, shall have Paid in the Exchequer twenty thousand crowns. Well lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit, And than your tongues and thoughts do both agree: To avoid ensuing jars, I'll hamper up the match, I'll take my portace forth, and wed you here, Then go to bed and seal up your desires. Then handfast hand, and I will to my book, In what a Doctor and a Friar can. Let it be this, whither the spirits of piromancie or Geomancy, be most predominant in magic. And I of Geomancy. I reason not of elemental shapes, Nor tell I of the concave lattitudes, Noting their essence nor their quality, But of the spirits that Piromancie calls, And of the vigourof the Geomanticke fiends, I tell thee Germane magic haunts the grounds, And those strange necromantic spells That work such shows and wondering in the world, Are acted by those Geomanticke spirits, That Hermes calls Terraefilii. The fiery spirits are but transparent shades, That lightly pass as Heralds to bear news, But earthly fiends closed in the lowest deep, Dissever mountains if they be but charged, Being more grose and massy in their power. I will. I cannot. What means the friar that frolicked it of late, To fit as melancholy in his cell: To fit as melancholy in his cell, As if he had neither lost nor won to day. Bacon hath built foundation on his fame, So surely on the wings of true report, With acting strange and uncouth miracles, As this cannot infringe what he deserves. My mind is heavy what so ere shall hap. Two scholars that desires to speak with you. How goes it sirs. Oh strange strattagem. Peggy 'tis true, 'tis Lacy for my life, Or else mine art and cunning both does fail: Left by prince Edward to procure his loves, For he in green that help you run your cheese, Is son to Henry and the prince of Wales. I tell thee Germane, Haspurge holds none such, None read so deep as Oxenford contains, There are within our accademicke state, Men that may lecture it in Germany, To all the doctors of your Belgic schools. Show thee the tree leaved with refined gold, Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat, That watched the garden called Hesperides, Subdued and won by conquering Hercules. Fear not, the Friar will not be behind, To show his cunning to entangle love. What means learned Bacon thus to break his glass.