4. WITCHES, ASTROLOGERS, NECROLOGISTS, . . .
Presentation: The Witch and English booksellers, 1475-1640 (woodcuts, polemics, newssheets)
Presentation: [critical essay tba]
Readings:
God Deuteronomy, chaps. 18.9-12 [on Witchcraft]
God Exodus 22.18 [Punishment]
DF, ed., "Witches" [fr. various sources] (ed. DWF 1999)
R. Greene Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (ca. 1589, pub. 1594; ed. DWF 1999)
Anon. The Notorious Life of John Lamb (1628; ed. DWF 1999)
Deuteronomy, 18.9-12
9. When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not learn to do after the abominations of those nations.
10. There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, 11. Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. 12. For all that do these things are an abomination unto the LORD: and because of these abominations the LORD thy God doth drive them out from before thee.
Exodus, 22.18: Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
D.W. Foster, ed., "Witches" [various sources, see textual notes] (1999).
Witches
And the Devil then further commanded [me] to call him by the name of 'Fancy' &emdash; and when [I] wanted anything, or would be revenged of any, call on Fancy, and he would be ready.
&endash;from the testimony of Anne Whittle (1613)
The earliest English incantation of record may be that of Dame Alice Outlaw Kyteler, an Anglo-Irish woman who was prosecuted for witchcraft in 1324. Raphael Holinshed reports in the Chronicles that Dame Alice "swept the streets of Kilkenny between complin and twilight, raking all the filth towards the doors of her son, William Outlaw, murmuring secretly with herself these words":
To the house of William my son,
Hie all the wealth of Kilkenny town.
Living in an age when it was not uncommon for Christian men and women to dabble in magic, and when most believed in the power of magical charms, Dame Alice might have gone unobserved in her superstitions; but the hubris of her attempt to sweep up the town's goods to the door of her son &emdash; and to a fellow who bore the unpromising name of "Bill Outlaw" &emdash; troubled local property owners, even as the growing heaps of garbage and filth about Outlaw's house must have troubled their noses.
The citizens of Kilkenny, fearing the worst, accused Dame Alice of witchcraft. Holinshed reports that "She was charged to have nightly conference with a spirit called Robert Artison, to whom she sacrificed in the highway nine red cocks and nine peacocks' eyes." The local authorities searched Alice's house, and caused a stir by discovering the very staff on which she flew her nightly rounds: "In rifling the closet of the lady, they found a wafer of sacramental bread having the devil's name stamped thereon instead of Jesus Christ, and a pipe of ointment wherewith she greased a staff upon which she ambled and galloped, through thick and thin, when and in what manner she listed." "This business about witches troubled Ireland the more for that the lady was supported by certain of the nobility, and lastly conveyed over into England, since which time it could never be understood what became of her."
In the medieval period it was a common practice for persons of all classes to memorize charms whereby to ward off illness and evil, or to find a lost or stolen article. Memorized charms, like learned prayers, were sustained by the belief that if one uttered the right words in the right order, one obtained thereby a measure of control over what happened in the world. Numerous charms have survived from the late medieval period whereby the speaker sought to acquire, through words, the power to alter events. Of the extant charms from this period, one cannot usually determine which which were uttered by women and which by men, but it seems clear that men and women alike composed, pronounced, and transmitted charms from one generation to the next. The following charm against fever, possibly the work of an English cleric, is typical of the form:
[By the Prayers of Saint Dorothie:
A Charm against Fever]
Medicina pro morbo caduco et le fevre.
In nomine patris et fillii et spiritus sancti. Amen.
What manner of evil thou be,
In Goddes-name I conjure thee.
I conjure thee with th’ holy cross
That Jesus was done on with force.
5 I conjure thee with nails three
That Jesus was nailed upon the tree.
I conjure thee with the crown of thorn
That on Jesus’ head was done with scorn.
I conjure thee with the precious blood
10 That Jesus shed° upon the rood.
I conjure thee with woundes five
That Jesus suffered by his life.
I conjure [thee] with that holy spear
That Longeus to Jesus’ heart can bear.
15 I conjure thee, never-the-less,
With all the virtues of the mass
And° th’ holy prayers of St. Dorothíe.°
In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti.
Amen.
(ca. 1500)
Whether uttered for profit to oneself ("white magic") or to inflict injury upon others ("black magic"), most charms of the Medieval and Renaissance periods are lost to us. But because women were prosecuted for witchcraft more often than were men, various women's charms are preserved in extant court records. For example, when Isabel Mure of Yorkshire stood trial in dd, it was reported to the presiding justice that "She took fire, and two young women with her, and went to a running water, and lit a wisp of straw, and set it on the water, and said thus:
Benedicite! See ye what I see:
I see the fire burn, and water run,
And the grass grow, and sea flow &emdash;
And night fevers, and all unknowth evils.
That evil flee, and all other, God will.
"And after these words [she said] fifteen paternoster, fifteen ave Maria, and three creeds."
In the last years of her life, Alice Goodridge of Staplehill in Staffordshire &emdash; taunted as "the witch of Staplehill" by the local children &emdash; defended herself against that fearsome epithet by snapping back at them, "Every boy doth call me witch, / But did I ever make thy arse to itch?" Goodridge, quite obviously, did not think so. But one of the local children, named Thomas Darling, publicly accused Goodridge of having bewitched him &emdash; and he had falling fits whereby to prove her guilt. Goodridge, tried and convicted, died shortly afterward in prison, before the day of her public execution.
Women with mental disorders, physical disabilities, or with fierce tempers were accused of witchcraft more often than than "normal" women, and beggar-women more often than wives engaged in productive labor. Many accused witches were lonely widows whose pets were taken for evil spirits. The accused witches themselves often supposed their pets to be incarnate devils through whom was communicated power over life and death. Devils were said to receive nourishment by sucking blood from their female sponsor as an infant sucks milk from his mother's breast. In this vision of wicked maternal power, the devil somewhere on the woman's body raised a dug for sucking her blood. In court trials, almost any birthmark or abnormal growth could be taken as proof of a woman's having given suck to an evil spirit. In at least one instance, a hemmorhoid was discovered to be the devil's dug, and the woman subsequently burned at the stake.
Most of the women who were accused of witchcraft could neither read nor write. Having left no unmediated record of their lives, their testimony as preserved in court documents. Their testimony as reproduced is a close paraphrase in which "the said examinant saith that she" is replaced by "I" has therefore been reproduced here in the first person, and the legal terms "said" and "the said" (for aforesaid) omitted. This violence has been commited upon the copytext so that the reader may come as close as possible to the original words of the accused.
From The Apprehension and Confession of Three Notorious Witches, Arraigned and by Justice Condemned and Executed, in the County of Essex, the 5[th] Day of July Last Past, 1589
The Arraignment and Execution of Joan Cunny of Stisted in the County of Essex, Widow, of the age of fourscore years (or thereabouts), who was brought before Anthony Mildmay, esquire, the last day of March, 1589:
My knowledge in witchcraft I learned of Mother Humphrey of Maplested, who told me that I must kneel down upon my knees and make a circle on the ground and pray unto Satan, the chief of the devils (the form of which prayer I have since forgotten); and that then the spirits would come unto me &emdash; the which I put into practice about twenty years since, in the field of John Wiseman of Stisted, gentleman, called "Cowfen Field." There, making a circle as I was taught and kneeling on my knees, I said the prayer (now forgotten), invocating upon Satan.
Two spirits appeared unto me within the circle in the similitude and likeness of two black frogs, and there demanded of me what I would have, being ready to do for me what I would desire &emdash; provided that I would promise to give them my soul for their travail, for otherwise, they would do nothing for me. Whereupon I did promise them my soul. And then they concluded with me to do for me what I would require. They gave themselves several names, that is to say, one Jack, the other Jill &emdash; by the which names I did always call them. And my spirits never changed their colors since first they came unto me. And they would familiarly talk with me, whenever I had anything to say or do with them, in my own language.
Taking them up, I carried Jack and Jill home in my lap and put them in a box and gave them white bread and milk. And within one month after, I sent them to milk Durrell's beasts, which they did &emdash; but they would bring milk for their own eating, and not for me. Next I sent them to hurt the wife of John Sparrow the elder, of Stisted, which they did. And where Master John Glasscock of Stitsted had a great stack of logs in his yard, I by my spirits did overthrow them.
I have hurt divers persons within this sixteen or twenty years. How many, I know not. I sent my spirits in to hurt William Unglee of Stisted, miller, and because they could not hurt him, I sent them to hurt Barnaby Griffin, his man, which they did. I also sent my spirits to hurt Master Kitchen, minister of Stisted, and also unto George Coe of Stisted, shoemaker, to hurt him likewise, but they could not. And the cause why they could not, the spirits told me, was because at their coming Master Kitchen and George Coe had a strong faith in God and had invocated and called upon Him, that the spirits could them do no harm. And yet though Jack and Jill sometimes have no power to hurt men, yet they may have power to hurt men's cattle.
When Margaret Cunny, my daughter, did fall out with Father Nurrel and gave him cursed speeches, I sent her my spirits, I think. But I utterly deny sending Jack or Jill to Finch's wife, Devenish's wife, and Reynold Ferror, or any of them, to hurt them.
The Confession of Joan Upney of Dagenham, in the County of Essex, who was brought before Sir Henry Grey, knight, the third of May, 1589:
Justian Kirtle, otherwise called "Whitecoat," a witch of Barking, came to my house about seven or eight years ago and gave me a thing like a mole. She told me that if I ought anybody ill will, if I bid it, it would go clap them. That mole tarried not above a year with me, but it consumed away. Then she gave me another mole and a toad, which I kept a great while, and was never after without some toads, till my last going away from my house &emdash; when I ran away, because I heard John Herald and Richard Foster say I was a "witch" and other such words.
One day I left a toad under the groundsill at Herald's house, and it pinched his wife and sucked her till she died &emdash; but it never returned to me again. And another toad one day went over my threshold just as Richard Foster's wife was coming my way, and it pinched her, but it never returned to me again. Two other toads I left at home when I ran away, but they consumed away. My eldest daughter would never abide to meddle with my toads, but my youngest daughter would handle them, and use them herself as ell.
The Examination of Joan Prentiss, one of the women of the Almshouse of Hinningham Sibble, within the said county. Being take the twenty-ninth of March, in the thirty-first year of the reign of our sovereign Lady Elizabeth:
About six years last past, between the feast of All Saints and the birth of our Lord God, the Devil appeared unto me in the almshouse, about ten of the clock in the nighttime, being in the shape and proportion of a dunnnish-colored ferret, having fiery eyes &emdash; I being alone in my chamber and sitting upon a low stool, preparing myself to bedward. The ferret, standing with his hinder legs upon the ground and his forelegs settled upon my lap, and setting his fiery eyes upon my eyes, spake and pronounced unto me these words, namely, "Joan Prentiss, give me thy soul."
Being greatly amazed, I answered and said, "In the name of God, what art thou!"
The ferret answered, "I am Satan. Fear me not. My coming unto thee is to do thee no hurt but to obtain thy soul, which I must and will have before I depart from thee." I answered and said that he demanded that of me which is none of mine to give, saying that my soul appertained only unto Jesus Christ, by whose precious blood shedding, it was bought and purchased. The ferret said, "I must then have some of thy blood!" I, willingly granting, offered him the forefinger of my left hand, the which the ferret took into his mouth. Then, sitting his former feet upon that hand, he sucked blood thereout, and so much that my finger did smart exceedingly.
I demanded again of the ferret what his name was. It answered, "Bidd!" &emdash; and presently, the ferret vanished out of my sight, suddenly.
About one month after, the ferret came unto me in the nighttime as I was sitting upon a little stool, preparing myself to bedward: "Joan, wilt thou go to bed?"
I answered "Yea, that I will, by God's grace." Then the ferret leapt up upon my lap, and from thence up to my bosom, and laying his former feet upon my left shoulder, sucked blood out of my left cheek. And then he said unto me, "Joan, if thou wilt have me do anything for thee, I am and will be always ready at thy commandment."
Well, being a little before fallen out with William Adams's wife of Hinningham Sibble, I willed the ferret to spoil her drink which was then in brewing &emdash; which he did accordingly.
The ferret at divers times after appeared unto me, always at the time when I was going to bed. The last time he appeared to me was about seven weeks last past, at which time I was going to bed. The ferret leapt upon my left shoulder and sucked blood out of my left cheek. That done, he demanded of me what I had for him to do. To whom I answered, "Go unto Master Glasscock's house, and nip one of his children a little, named Sara &emdash; but hurt it not."
And the next night he resorted unto me again and told me that he had done as I willed him &emdash; namely, that he had nipped Sara Glasscock, and that she would die thereof.
To whom I answered and said, "Thou villain, what hast thou done! I bid thee to nip it but a little and not to hurt it, and hast thou killed the child? &emdash; which, being uttered, the ferret vanished away suddenly and never came to me again sithence.
The occasion why I did will my ferret to nip the child was for that, being the day before at the house of Master Glasscock, to beg his alms, answer was made unto me by one of his maidservants that both her master and mistress were from home, and therefore I must be content for that time. I departed greatly discontented, and that night sent my ferret to nip the child.
At what time soever I would have my ferret do anything for me, I used these words: "Bidd, Bidd, Bidd, come, Bidd, come, Bidd, come, Bidd, come suck, come suck, come suck!" &emdash; and presently he would appear, and suck blood out of my left cheek, and then perform any mischief I willed or wished him to do for me unto or against any of my neighbors.
One Elizabeth Whale, the wife of Michael Whale of Hinningham Sibble, laborer, and Elizabeth Mott, the wife of John Mott, cobbler, are as well acquainted with my Bidd as I myself am. But I know not what hurt they or any of them have done to any of their neighbors.
[The Verdict]
The jury found these bad women guilty in that they had slain men, women, and children, and committed very wicked and horrible actions, diverse and sundry times; and thereupon, the judge proceeded, and pronounced the sentence of death against them, as worthily they had deserved. After they had received their judgments, they were conveyed from the bar back again to prison &emdash; where they had not stayed above two hours but the the officers prepared themselves to conduct them to the place of execution; to which place they led them. And being come thither, one Master Ward, a learned divine, being desired by the justices did exhort these wicked women to repentance, and persuaded them that they would show unto the people the truth of their wickedness, and to call upon God for mercy with penitent hearts, and to ask pardon at his hands to the same. Some few prayers they said after the preacher, but little else more than this &emdash; that they had deserved to die in committing those wicked sins &emdash; and so took their deaths patiently.
Note that Mother Upney, being inwardly pricked and having some inward feeling and conscience, cried out, saying that the Devil had deceived her and that she had twice given her soul to the Devil. Yet, by the means of God's spirit working in her and the pains which Master Ward took with her, she seemed very sorry for the same, and died very penitent, asking God and the world for foregiveness, even to the last gasp, for her wicked and detestable life.
The Pendle Witches
From The Trial of the Lancaster Witches
The Voluntary Confession and Examination of Elizabeth Southern alias Dembdike: Taken at the Fence in the Forest of Pendle in the county of Lancaster &emdash; the second day of April, anno regni regis Jacobi Angliæ, etc., decimo, et Scotiæ quadragesimo quinto&emdash; before Roger Noell of Read, esquire, one of his Majesty's justices of the peace within the said county, viz.:
About twenty years past, as I was coming homeward from begging, there met me near unto a stonepit in Gouldshey, in the Forest of Pendle, a spirit or devil in the shape of a boy, the one half of his coat black and the other brown. He bade me stay, saying to me that if I would give him my soul, I should have anything that I would request. Whereupon I demanded his name, and the spirit answered his name was "Tibb." In hope of such gain as was promised by the devil or Tibb, I was contented to give my soul to the spirit. And for the space of five or six years next after, Tibb appeared at sundry times unto me about daylight gate, always bidding me stay and asking me what I would have or do. To whom I replied, "Nay, nothing!" &emdash; for I said I wanted nothing yet.
About the end of the six years, upon a sabbath day in the morning, having a little child upon my knee and she being in a slumber, the spirit appeared unto me in the likeness of a brown dog, forcing himself to my knee, to get blood under my left arm; and I being without any apparel saving my smock, the devil did get blood under my left arm. Awaking, I said, "Jesus, save my child!" &emdash; but I had no power, nor could not say, "Jesus save myself!" &emdash; whereupon the brown dog vanished out of my sight &emdash; after which I was almost stark mad for the space of eight weeks.
Dembdike's subsequent indictment for witchcraft is fairly typical of the age in that it grew out of a dispute with a wealthy neighbor. Just a little before Christmas, her daughter, Alison "Device" (Davies), had gone "to help Richard Baldwin's folks at the mill." Baldwin then neglected to pay Alison for her work. Alison asked her mother to return with her to Baldwin's house, to "ask him something for her helping of his folks." As they approached the house (with Alison Device leading her mother, who was very nearly blind), Baldwin saw them and cried out, "Get out of my ground, whores and witches! I will burn the one of you and hang the other!" Dembdike answered, "I care not for thee &emdash; hang thyself!" The two women, seeing that this was a futile errand, then turned and headed home. But "going over the next hedge, the° spirit or devil called Tibb appeared ... and said, 'Revenge thee of him!'" Dembdike replied, "Revenge thee! &emdash; either of him, or his!" The spirit then vanished from her sight. "After a year," one of Baldwin’s children died (Ellen, buried 8 Sept. 1610), which Dembdike ascribed to witchcraft.
The voluntary Confession and examination of Anne Whittle alias Chattox (a): Taken at the fence in the Forest of Pendle, in the county of Lancaster, before Roger Nowell, esq., one of the King's Majesty's justices of peace in the county of Lancaster . . .
About fourteen or fifteen years ago, a thing like a Christian man for four years together did sundry times come to me, and requested me to give him my soul. In the end, I was contented to give him my soul &emdash; I being then in my own house in the Forest of Pendle &emdash; whereupon the devil, then in the shape of a man, said to me, "Thou shall want nothing, and shall be revenged of whom thou lik'st." The devil further commanded me to call him by the name of "Fancy," and when I wanted anything, or would be revenged of any, call on Fancy, and he would be ready.
Fancy did appear unto me not long after, in man's likeness, and would have had me to have consented that he might hurt the wife of Richard Baldwin of Pendle. But I would not then consent unto him. For which cause, the devil would then have bitten me by the arm &emdash; and so vanished away, for that time....
Anne Whittle alias Chattox and Elizabeth Southerns alias Dembdike, former friends, became bitter enemies in their career as practicing withces. Whittle credoted Southerns with having first introduced her to "the profession" of witchery, but the two women became bitter adversaries, their enmity being partly motivated, it seems, by competition for market share among local folk who required their services &emdash; "cunning women" who could cast horoscopes, cure "forespoken" (bewitched) children, and the like.
Whittle lived as a retainer on land owned by Robert Nutter the elder, together with her daughter and son-in-law, Anne and Thomas Redfern, and two kinswomen, "Loomshawe's wife" and Jane Boothman. In the manor house lived old Robert and Elisabeth, and their son Robert Nutter and wife Marie. Whittle and her supported themslves in part by performing domestic and agricultural labor for the Nutter family. One day Robert Nutter the younger entered the Redferns' hut and expressed to Anne his desire "to have his pleasure of her." She denied him. Nutter, angered, warned her that if and when he came to inherit his father's property, he would see to it that the Redferns and all their kin were evicted. Knowing that this was not an idle threat, Whittle consulted with Robert's mother, Elizabeth Nutter. According to Whittle, Mrs. Nutter invited Whittle and her cohorts to kill her son Robert by witchcraft, and thereby preserve their right to live on her husband's land after his death. This seemed a good idea to Anne and her daughter, but Redfern had second thoughts and attempted to dissuade his wife and mother-in-law from performing the deed.
The anonymous court recorder interjects his own editorial commentary in the published quarto, observing that
This Anne Whittox alias Chattox was a very old, withered, spent, and decrepit creature, her sight almost gone &emdash; a dangerous witch of very long continuance, always opposite to old Dembdike: for whom the one favored, the other hated deadly. (And how they envy and accuse one another in their examinations may appear.) In her witchcraft always more ready to do mischief to men's goods than themselves, her lips ever chattering and talking, but no man knew what, she lived in the Forest of Pendle amongst this wicked company of dangerous witches. Yet in her examination and confession she dealt always very plainly and truly; for upon a special occasion (being oftentimes examined in an open court), she was never found to vary, but always to agree in one and the selfsame thing. I place her in order next to that wicked fire-brand of mischief, old Dembdike, because from these two sprung all the rest in order and were the children and friends of these two notorious witches. Many things in the discovery of them shall be very worthy your observation, as the times and occasions to execute their mischief, and this in general: the spirit could never hurt till they gave consent. And &emdash; but that it is my charge to set forth a particular declaration of the evidence against them upon their arraignment and trial, with their devilish practices, consultations, meetings, and murders committed by them in such sort as they were given in evidence against them (for the which I shall have matter upon record) &emdash; I could make a large commentary of them. But it is my humble duty to observe the charge and commandment of these my honorable good lords, the judges of Assize, and not to exceed the limits of my commission. Wherefore I shall now bring this ancient witch to the due course of her trial, in order, viz.:
Anne Whittle alias Chattox saith that about fourteen years past she entered (through the wicked persuasions and counsel of Elizabeth Southerns alias Dembdike) and was seduced to condescend and agree to become subject unto that devilish abominable profession of witchcraft:
[Testimony of Anne Whittle]
The devil first appeared unto me in the likeness of a man, about midnight, at the house of Dembdike, and thereupon Dembdike and I went forth of the house unto him; whereupon the wicked spirit moved me that I would become his subject and give my soul unto him. At first, I refused to assent unto; but after, by the great persuasions made by Dembdike, I yielded to be at his commandment and appointment &emdash; whereupon the wicked spirit then said unto me that he must have one part of my body for him to suck upon; the which I denied then to grant unto him &emdash; but withal I asked him what part of my body he would have for that use. He said he would have a place of my right side near to my ribs for him to suck upon; whereunto I assented.
There was also a thing in the likeness of a spotted bitch, that came with the spirit unto Dembdike which then did speak unto her in my hearing, and said that I should have gold, silver, and worldly wealth at my will. And at the same time, there was victuals &emdash; flesh, butter, cheese, bread, and drink, and he bid us eat enough. At our banquet the spirits gave us light to see what they did, although we never had fire nor candle-light. they were both she-spirits and devils." And after our eating, the devil called Fancy and the other spirit calling himself Tibb carried the remnant away. (Although we did eat we were never the fuller nor better for the same.)
[The Indictment of Anne Whittle]
This Anne Whittle alias Chattox of the Forest of Pendle in the county of Lancaster, widow, being indicted for that she feloniously had practiced, used, and exercised divers wicked and devilish arts called witchcrafts, enchantments, charms, and sorceries, in and upon one Robert Nutter of Greenhead, in the Forest of Pendle, in the county of Lanc[ashire]; and by force of the same witchcraft, feloniously° Robert Nutter had killed, contra pacem, etc., [and] being at the bar, was arraigned.
To this indictment, upon her arraignment, she pleaded not guilty; and for the trial of her life, put herself upon God and her country.
Whereupon my Lord Bromley commanded M[aster] Sheriff of the county of Lancaster, in open court, to return a jury of worthy, sufficient gentlemen of understanding, to pass between our sovereign lord, the King's Majesty, and her and others, the prisoners, upon their lives and deaths, as hereafter follow in order; who were afterwards sworn, according to the form and order of the court, the prisoners being admitted to their lawful challenges.
Which being done, and the prisoner at the bar ready to receive her trial, M[aster] Nowell (being the best instructed of any man of all the particular points of evidence against her and her fellows, having taken great pains in the proceedings against her and her fellows), humbly prayed her own voluntary confession and examination (taken before him when she was apprehended and committed to the Castle of Lancaster for witchcraft) might openly be published against her, which hereafter followeth, viz.:
The voluntary Confession and examination of Anne Whittle alias Chattox (b):
Master Robert Nutter did desire my daughter, Redfern's wife, to have his pleasure of her, she being then in her house. But my daugther denied Master Nutter, whereupon he (seeming to be greatly displeased therewith) in a great anger took his horse, and went away, saying in a great rage that if ever the ground came to him, she should never dwell upon his land. Whereupon I called Fancy to me, who came to me in the likeness of a man in a parcel of ground called "the Land", asking me what I would have him do. And I bade him go revenge me of Robert Nutter. After which time Robert Nutter lived about a quarter of a year, and then died.....
Mistress Elizabeth Nutter, wife to old Robert Nutter, did request me &emdash; and Loomshaw's wife Jane Boothman of Burley, who are now both dead (this was before young Robert Nutter desired the company of my daughter) &emdash; to get young Robert Nutter his death, if we could (we were all together then at that time.); to that end that, if Robert were dead, then we women might have the land. By Mistress Nutter's persuasion, we all consented unto it. After which time, my son-in-law, Thomas Redfern, did persuade me not to kill or hurt Robert Nutter; for which persuasion, Loomshaw's wife had like to have killed Redfern, except that Master Baldwin (the late schoolmaster at Coulne) did by his learning stay Loomshaw's wife; for which Master Baldwin had a capon from Redfern.
Methinks Loomshaw's wife and Jane Boothman did what they could to kill Robert Nutter, as well as I.
The Examination of Elizabeth Southerns alias Old Dembdike: taken at the Fence in the forest of Pendle in the county of Lancaster, the day and year aforesaid, before Roger Nowell, esquire, one of the King's Majesty's justices of peace in the said county, against Anne Whittle alias Chattox. The said Elizabeth Southerns saith upon her examination that
About half a year, methinks, before Robert Nutter died, I went to the house of Thomas Redfern, which was about midsummer, as I remember it. And there, within three yards of the east end of the house, I saw Anne Whittle, and her daughter Anne Redfern, the one on the one side of the ditch, and the other on the other, and two pictures of clay or marl lying by them. Anne Whittle was making a third picture, and Anne Redfern, her daughter, wrought her clay or marl to make a third picture withal.
And I passing by them, the spirit called Tibb (in the shape of a black cat) appeared unto me and said, "Turn back again, and do as they do."
"To whom?" I said. "What are they doing?"
Whereunto the spirit said, "They are making three pictures." I asked whose pictures they were. Whereunto the spirit said, "They are the pictures of Christopher Nutter, Robert Nutter, and Marie, wife of Robert Nutter." But I denied to go back to help them make the pictures. The spirit, seeming to be angry, therefore shoved or pushed me into the ditch, and so shed the milk which I had in a can, or kit. And thereupon the spirit at that time vanished out of my sight. But presently after that, the spirit appeared to me again in the shape of a hare, and so went with me about a quarter of a mile, but said nothing to me, nor I to it.
The examination and voluntary confession of Anne Whittle alias Chattox: Taken at the fence in the Forest of Pendle, in the county of Lancaster, the second day of April, anno regni regis Jacobi Angliæ, Franciæ, et Hiberniæ, decimo, et Scotiæ xlv, before Roger Nowell, esquire, one of his Majesty's justices of peace within the county of Lancaster. She, the said examinate, saith that
I was sent for by the wife of John Moore, to help drink that was forespoken or bewitched: at which time I used this prayer for the amending of it, viz.
A Charm
Three bitters hast thou bitten,
The heart, ill eye, ill tongue:
Three bitters shall be thy boot,
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost a’ God’s name.
Five paternosters, five avès, and a creed,
In worship of five wounds of our Lord.
After which time that I had used these prayers, and amended my drink, Moore's wife did chide me, and was grieved at me. Thereupon I called for my devil, Fancy, and bade him go bite a brown cow of Moore's by the head, and make the cow go mad. The devil then, in the likeness of a brown dog, went to the cow and bit her; which cow went mad accordingly, and died within six weeks next after, or thereabouts....
Perceiving Anthony Nutter of Pendle to favor Elizabeth Southerns alias Dembdike, I called Fancy to me (who appeared like a man) and bade him go kill a cow of Anthony's; which the devil did, and that cow died also....
The devil, or Fancy, hath taken most of my sight away from me.... But in summer last, save one, the devil, or Fancy, came upon me in the nighttime and at divers and sundry times in the likeness of a bear, gaping as though he would have wearied me. And the last time of all I saw him was upon Thursday last year but one, next before Midsummer day, in the evening, like a bear, and I would not then speak unto him, for the which the devil pulled me down.
James Device, whose spirit was a brown dog named "Dandy," provided the authorities with one of the witches’ invocations:
Charm
Upon Good Friday,
I will fast while I may
Until I hear them knell
Our Lord's own bell.
5 Lord in his mess
With his twelve Apostles good,
What hath he in his hand?
Ligh in leath wand!
[What in his other hand hath he?]
10 Heaven's door key!
[Keys, open, open, heaven-door,]
Stick, stick, hell-door.
Let chrizum child
Go to it mother mild.
15 What is yonder that casts a light so farrandly?
Mine own dear son that's nailed to the tree!
He is nailed sore by the heart and hand,
And holy bairnpan,
Well is that man
20 That "Friday" spell can
His child to learn.
.....................
A cross of blue, and another of red,
As good Lord was to the rood.
25 Gabriel laid him down to sleep
Upon the ground of holy weep.
Good Lord came walking by:
"Sleep'st thou, wak'st thou, Gabriel?"
"No, Lord, I am stead with stick and stake,
30 That I can neither sleep nor wake."
"Rise up, Gabriel, and go with me.
The stick nor the stake shall never dere thee."
Sweet Jesus our Lord, Amen.
[testimony subscribed:] James Device
On 17 August 1612, Anne Whittle alias Chattox became the first of the Pendle witches to be charged with causing the death, by witchcraft, of Robert Nutter of Greenhead. Whittle pleaded not guilty. An old woman, impoverished, partly blind, and mentally unstable, she begged for mercy to be shown on her daughter, Anne Redfern.
The Examination and Evidence of Anne Whittle, alias Chattox, against Margaret Pearson, prisoner at the bar:
The said Anne Chattox being examined saith that
"[T]he wife of one Pearson of Paddiham is a very evil woman, and confessed to me° that she is a witch and hath a spirit which came to her the first time in the likeness of a man, and cloven-footed; and that she,° Pearson's wife, hath done very much harm to one Dodgson's goods, who came in at a loophole into° Dodgson's stable, and she and her spirit together did sit upon his horse or mare until the° horse or mare died. And likewise, that she,° Pearson's wife, did confess unto me° that she bewitched unto death one Childer's wife and her daughter, and that she (°Pearson's wife) is as ill as she."
Read William Martin, "The Pendle Witches," online, available at www.cyberplanet.net/bill/Pendle.htm (1997). A lively read, with pictures of the Pendle witches’ old stomping grounds.
The Case of Elizabeth Jennings
In Isleworth, Middlesex, in January 1622, Elizabeth Jennings accused four local women of having bewitched her. Elizabeth, then aged twelve, was terrified by the recent death of two siblings. During or after their illness and death, Elizabeth's mother, the Lady Jennings, had quarreled with their neighbor, an apothecary named Higgins, possibly over medicines that had failed to produce the desired effect in treating the sick children.
One day, while this quarrel was still smoldering, a poor woman attempted to beg a pin of Elizabeth Jennings. Terrified, the girl ran screaming into the house. She fell sick, refused to eat, and languished week after week with a variety of hysterical symptoms. Various physicians were called in, but to no avail.
In one of her trances, Elizabeth announced that she had been bewitched by four women, chiefly Margaret "Countess" Russell, a poor local woman so nicknamed after her namesake, Margaret Russell, countess of Cumberland. Elizabeth feared that Countess was responsible for the deaths of the other Jennings children (Countess was possibly the same woman who had attempted to beg a pin.) Elizabeth also accused Jane Flower and Katharine Stubbs. Flower, a local woman, bore no evident relationship with the three Lincolnshire witches, Joan, Margaret, and Phillip Flower, who perished in 1619; nor was this Katherine Stubbs the same woman whose famous deathbed battle with the devil is recorded in A Crystal Glass for Christian Women (1591, many times reprinted). In accusing women who bore the names, respectively, of an executed witch, a famously potent spirit, and of a wealthy and infamously strong-minded aristocrat, Elizabeth Jennings seems to have intuited that their names alone carried a potent and fearsome notoriety. As her fourth oppressor, Elizabeth named "Nan Wood," about wohom nothing else is known, but whose name suggests madness (OED wood, ad.). It seems clear that Elizabeth, fearful for her life following the death of her siblings, fretted over the supernatural power of women who bore extraordinary names.
Following Elizabeth's accusation, Countess was arrested and imprisoned. But while Elizabeth blamed Countess, Countess seems to have suspected that the girl was poisoned by Higgins the apothecary. When interviewed, Countessreported an opinion&endash;evidently her own opinion, though not clearly expressed&endash;that a quarrel "betwixt two houses" was at the root of Elizabeth's illness.
A sad comedy of errors followed. The court recorder's vague pronoun reference caused Rev. Goodcole to believe that Countess had accused his wife of imputing guilt to Higgins the apothecary. Goodcole and his wife and sister-in-law, who had no knowledge of the Jennings-Higgins quarrel, truly and vigorously denied that they ever made any remarks about a "controversy betwixt two houses," or about the bewitchment and death of Lady Jennings's other two children. Countess likewise denies that she ever reported the Goodcoles or Mrs. Aston to have said such things. But the upshot is that the justices came to believe that Countess had been lying to them.
Countess, after having labored for Elizabeth's recovery, now found that she was herself a prime suspect. Her evident guilt was doubly confirmed, first by Elizabeth's express accusation, then by Elizabeth's sudden recovery upon word that Countess was in prison.
Despite some short-term improvement, Elizabeth's bouts with hysteria continued for months afterward. The fate of Countess is not recorded.
Elizabeth, the daughter of the Lady Jennings, a child now thirteen years of age, being in Thistleworth [in Isleworth, Middlesex], shortly after she was frighted with the sight of an old woman (who suddenly appeared to her at the door and demanded a pin of her) was taken with an infirmity in her throat about the 13th of January [1622 n.s.], refusing ever after all manner of flesh-meat. The 15th of February she complained to be exceeding sick, and from that present time lost she the use of both her legs. The 19th day at night she was taken with extreme fits of panting and sighing, and began to talk idly and grow very ill, insomuch that her parents, fearing her death, sent presently to London for Doctor Fox, who brought her (being very sick) to London with him, where she continued languishing, complaining of aches in divers parts of her body and often weeping extremely.
About the end of February, every night after midnight, she had a great fit of sighing and groaning, expressing divers pains in her knees, arms, head, and heart, very suddenly removing from one of these parts to another, and at last being settled in the head and heart. She would then lie continually sighing and groaning, four hours at the least, as if death were at hand.
The 17th of March at night she had an exceeding great fit of strange convulsions, no part of her body being free, which lasted the greatest part of the night; after which fit, her understanding was very much weakened and her memory of all things past quite lost. And shortly after, all her right side was benumbed, and her right arm lost all motion and sense as if it had been taken with a dead palsy. And after this, these fits of convulsions never failed coming once or twice in twenty-four hours (but only for four or five days, about [a] fortnight before her recovery); and in her fits her dead arm was as violently moved as any other part of her body. During this time many things were applied by the physicians for her help, but all in vain, the medicines rather producing contrary effects.
On Easter eve the 20th of April, after her fit in the afternoon, she began to stammer in her speech and could not pronounce divers words.
After her fit on Easter day she lay speechless for divers hours &emdash; but towards night, spake again &emdash; but on Monday she became altogether speechless, her strange fits still continuing in their violent manner twice in twenty-four hours.
Upon Tuesday the physicians, finding her estate desperate, had a consultation and resolved of three courses for remedy: 1. to give her a vomit; 2. to let her blood; 3. to bathe her in oil. On Wednesday she had the vomit accordingly, which wrought neither amendment nor alteration. But the intention of letting blood being discovered to Countess (who divers times came to the house), she with much earnestness desired it might not be so, saying the doctors would kill her thereby as they had done [the earl of] Exeter’s child.
On Thursday in the midst of her accustomed fit at six o’clock in the morning (having been four days speechless), she spake only these words: "Well I thank you" and (after a good space of time) "How dost thou do, Countess?" and (not long after) "How dost thou do, Jane?" &emdash; and after, remained speechless as before. This day she was let blood, and in her fit in the afternoon she lay still (being drawn), [and] spake these words following, distinctly and with an audible voice, staying an equal distance of time betwixt each sentence:
"Jane Flower.
"Katharine Stubbs.
"Countess.
"Nan Wood.
"These have bewitched all my mother’s children.
"East, west, north and south, all these lie.
"All these are damnable witches.
"Set up a great sprig of rosemary in the middle of the house.
"I have sent this child to speak to show all these witches.
"Put Countess in prison, this child will be well.
"If she had been long ago, all th’other had been alive.
"Them she bewitched by a catstick.
"Till then, I shall lie in great pain.
"Till then, by fits I shall be in great extremity.
"They died in great misery.
"A hundred more have been hanged in the West Country.
"The guts and garbage and all that was within them was drawn nine several ways.
"No man could tell without.
"They had power over all them to bewitch them to death but me.
"And me in great misery, but to live.
"Nobody knows what ails me within.
"When she is in prison, then I shall be well, never till then by fits.
"She came first of all that ever my mother saw her in the kitchen.
"And Nan Arpe was there."
All these words were spoken and presently written 25th of April, 1622, in the presence of John Latch, the writer; William Giddings, surgeon; Mistress Katharine Percy; Mistress Faith Saxton; Agnes Faulkner, a servant. These persons came after she had begun to speak: the Lady Jennings; Mistress Elizabeth Arpe; Mistress Anne Bradborne; Katharine Browne, a servant. And no sooner was the fit ended but she remained speechless and in her palsy as before.
That evening, her parents (having set down the words aforesaid by her spoken) resorted to Sir William Slingsby, the next justice, to advise what to do; and they found the means to bring Countess to him to be examined (she not knowing their intent), whose examination following:
Margaret Russell alias Countess, accused for bewitching Elizabeth, daughter of the Lady Jennings, being examined, confesseth that yesterday she went to Mistress Dromondby in Black-and-White Court in the Old Bailey, and told her that the Lady Jennings had a daughter strangely sick; whereupon she, [the] said Dromondby, wished her to go to inquire at Clerkenwell for a minister’s wife [Mrs. Goodcole,] that could help people that were sick; but she must not ask for a "witch" or a "cunning woman," but for one that is a "physician woman."
And there [at the Goodcoles'] this examinate found her and a woman sitting with her, and told her in what case the child was. And she [Mrs. Goodcole] said she would come this day but she ought her no service, and said she had been there before, and left receipts there, but the child did not take them. And she [sic, Countess, not Mrs. Goodcole] said further that there was two children that the Lady Jennings had by this husband that were bewitched and dead, for there was controversy between two houses, and that as long as they dwelt there they could not prosper, and that there should be no blessing in that house by this man. And being demanded what she meant by the difference betwixt two houses, she answered it was betwixt the house of God and the house of the world; but being urged to express it better, she said we knew it well enough &emdash; it was the difference betwixt Higgins the apothecary (the next neighbour) and the Lady Jennings.
And she further confesseth that above a month ago she went to Mistress Saxey in Gunpowder Alley who was forespoken herself and that had a book that could help all that were forespoken; and that she would come and show her the book and help her (under God); and [she] further said to this examinate that none but a seminary priest could cure her.
Sir William Slingsby, having thus examined her and finding much inconstancy in her answers, made a warrant for her commitment; by virtue whereof she was conveyed away, [and] about twelve o’clock that night delivered into Newgate [Prison].
On Friday the 26th of April, between ten and eleven o’clock in the forenoon (at which time Countess was brought out of the goale to speak [with] the minister and his wife and others at a private house), the child had another very dangerous fit of convulsions, which Doctor Fox beholding, said it nearly touched her life; in which fit she began to speak again, as followeth: "The height of my disease is witchcraft." And after a good space she spake again thus: "They have no power to witch me to death, but only to put me to pain." And anon after, with a smiling countenance, she said, "One is in prison, th’other is hanged." And presently after, "It is ceased, it is ceased." And presently her fit went off, her speech returned, and her palsy arm recovered motion and sense &emdash; and ever since hath been, and is, perfect in her understanding and memory, and of very good health in all respects, and eateth her meat as well as ever she did before she fell sick. These words were spoken, and she thus recovered, in the presence of Sir Thomas Fowler, knight; Doctor Fox, the minister; William Power, esq.; the Lady Jennings; Mistress Katharine Percy; Katharine Browne [and] Agnes Faulkner, servants.
The second examination of Margaret Russell alias Countess, taken before Sir Thomas Fowler and Sir William Slingsby, knights, and Doctor Bates, justices of the peace in the county of Middlesex the 26th of April:
That Mistress Goodcole the minister’s wife did not as in her former examination is set down, but that it was a woman that sat by her working, who was her sister. But she confesseth that this morning, about ten or eleven ’oclock, she was brought out of Newgate to the house of James the clerk, where we did now examine her, to speak with Master Goodcole and his wife and with Mistress Dromondby. And she further confesseth that when Mistress Gargrave lay at Master Higgins’ house when my Lady Jennings’ first child was sick, that she was then there with her; and that a maidservant of the Lady Jennings came thither to wash a mapp, of whom Mistress Higgins did inquire how they did, and she answered "Not well"; to whom Mistress Higgins replied that they had much wronged them, and that it would come home by them and theirs.
The examination of Frances Aston, Anne Goodcole, and Henry Goodcole, taken before Sir William Slingsby, one of the justices of the peace in the county of Middlesex, 27th of April:
[Testimony of Mrs. Frances Aston]
Frances Aston, the wife of Thomas Aston dwelling in Clerkenwell, examined, confesseth that yesterday about nine o’clock, her sister Goodcole sent for her and showed her a note in writing, the which her brother Master Goodcole did read unto her: the which did contain that there was a woman in Newgate committed for a witch who had named a woman in Clerkenwell with whom she had lately been. And presently Master Goodcole, his wife, and this examinate and Robert Duffield (a cutler who married one of their sisters), went to Master James his house in the Old Bailey, who is clerk of Newgate, and being there they sent for Master James, at whose coming Master Goodcole and his wife desired to have Countess the prisoner brought unto them, which was betwixt ten and eleven o’clock &emdash; where this examinate did first ask her whether she were acquainted with her sister or no, and what reason she had to make a speech of her as was in the note &emdash; and she answered she had said no such thing. And in like manner Master Goodcole did question her, to whom she made the like answer (but did weep and cry). But she utterly denieth that either she or her sister did speak anything concerning the Lady Jennings’ children that were "bewitched and dead," or of any "controversy betwixt two houses."
[Testimony of Mrs. Anne Goodcole]
Anne Goodcole, wife of Master Henry Goodcole, minister, dwelling at Clerkenwell, confesseth that on Thursday Countess came to her and asked her if she were a physician woman. And she said she had medicines that did sometimes help children in sickness. And that Countess told her there was a lady’s child in the Strand in great extremity, whom she thought was bewitched, and therefore desired her help. To whom this examinate replied that she had been there with my Lady Fowler and had left a medicine there, but that the child had not taken it. But she utterly denieth that she or her sister did either speak anything or know anything either of the death or bewitching of the Lady Jennings’ other children that were dead, or of any "controversy betwixt two houses." And that Countess told her she was sent to her from a woman in the Strand that she had done good unto, and from the child’s grandmother, and prayed her at the last that she should come when she heard further from her.
And [she] further saith that yesterday in the morning there came a man to speak with her husband (who was in bed with her), but she knew him not, being a black man about forty years old, like a citizen, who did desire him to do some business for him sometime the next week. After he was gone, her husband did rise and went abroad, but did return about ten o’clock to her sister’s house, Mistress Duffield’s, and sent for this examinate and her sister to go with him to Master James his house before eleven o’clock; whose maid fetched him thither as soon as they came. Master Goodcole and his wife desired him to bring Countess unto them. And then they did inquire of her whether she knew this examinate. She answered that she never saw her nor knew her but the day before, as is confessed. And she also confesseth that her brother Robert Duffield went with them. Which done, James carried the prisoner to the goale and they returned to Master Duffield’s again, and there dined together.
[Testimony of Rev. Henry Goodcole]
Master Henry Goodcole, being the Ordinary in Newgate, examined, saith that about seven o’clock he did rise and went abroad with Master Edmondes, a minister, and about eight or nine o’clock went to Newgate to visit the prisoners, according to his custom; where he heard by Wells the jailer that there was a warrant which did concern his wife; which warrant he did desire to have of James &emdash; and did presently carry it to shew his wife, to his sister’s house, Mistress Duffield’[s] (to which place he sent for her). And when she and his other sister (Aston) were come thither, they and Master Duffield went presently to James his house (after he had read the warrant unto her); and being there, he desired James to send for Countess &emdash; who they asked if she knew Mistress Goodcole; but she denied that ever she saw her before Thursday in the afternoon (concerning the business confessed about the helping of the Lady Jennings’ child).
[subscribed,] Henry Goodcole
Elizabeth was not wholly cured. It is clear that her troubles persisted, for Lady Jennings on 30 July 1622 hired Dr. Napier to examine her daughter. Napier in his notebook for that date records Elizabeth's birth (20 April 1609, in the Strand), and took notes, as it appears, directly from the formal inquest, with additional comments being supplied by the Lady Jennings. After examining Elizabeth, Napier concluded that the girl was not bewitched but suffering from the mother ("epileptica matricis" and "morbus matricis"). I have been able to discover no further records of the case. But Henry Goodcole, shaken by this close brush with Satanic forces, published a tract years later called Natures cruell step-dames, or matchlesse monsters of the femal sex E. Barnes and A. Willis (1637). STC 12012.
Robert Greene, Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (ca. 1589, pub. 1594)
The Honorable History of Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay.
<Enter Edward the first, malcontented; with Lacy, Earl of Lincoln; John Warren, Earl of Sussex; and Ermsby, Gentleman; Rafe Simnell, the King's fool.>
Lacy. Why looks my lord like to a trouble sky
When heaven's bright shine is shadowed with a fog?
Alate we ran the deer, and through the lawns
Stripped with our nags the lofty frolic bucks
That scudded 'fore the teasers like the wind.
Ne'er was the deer of merry Fressingfield
So lustily pulled down by jolly mates,
Nor shared the farmers such fat venison,
So frankly dealt, this hundred years before;
Nor have I seen my lord more frolic in the chase,
And now changed to a melancholy dump.
Warren. After the Prince got to the keeper's lodge
And had been jocund in the house a while,
Tossing of ale and milk in country cans,
Whether it was the country's sweet content,
Or else the bonny damsel filled us drink,
That seemed so stately in her stammel red,
Or that a qualm did cross his stomach then,
But straight he fell into his passions.
Ermsby. Sirrah Rafe, what say you to your master,
Shall he thus all amort live malcontent?
Rafe. Hearest thou, Ned? Nay, look if he will speak to me.
Edward. What say'st thou to me, fool?
Rafe. I prithee tell me, Ned, art thou in love with the keeper's daughter?
Edward. How if I be, what then?
Rafe. Why then, sirrah, I'll teach thee how to deceive love.
Edward. How, Rafe?
Rafe. Marry, sirrah Ned, thou shalt put on my cap and my coat and my dagger, and I will put on thy clothes and thy sword, and so thou shalt be my fool.
Edward. And what of this?
Rafe. Why, so thou shalt beguile Love, for Love is such a proud scab that he will never meddle with fools nor children. Is not Rafe's counsel good, Ned?
Edward. Tell me, Ned Lacy, didst thou mark the maid,
How lively in her country weeds she looked?
A bonnier wench all Suffolk cannot yield.
All Suffolk! Nay, all England holds none such.
Rafe. Sirrah Will Ermsby, Ned is deceived.
Ermsby. Why, Rafe?
Rafe. He says all England hath no such, and I say, and
I'll stand to it, there is one better in Warwickshire.
Warren. How provest thou that, Rafe?
Rafe. Why, is not the Abbot a learned man and hath read many books, and thinkest thou he hath not more learning than thou to choose a bonny wench? Yes, I warrant thee, by his whole grammar.
Ermsby. A good reason, Rafe.
Edward. I tell thee, Lacy, that her sparkling eyes
Do lighten forth sweet love's alluring fire;
And in her tresses she doth fold the looks
Of such as gaze upon her golden hair;
Her bashful white mixed with the morning's red
Luna doth boast upon her lovely cheeks;
Her front is beauty's table, where she paints
The glories of her gorgeous excellence;
Her teeth are shelves of precious margarites
Richly enclosed with ruddy coral cleeves.
Tush, Lacy, she is beauty's over- match,
If thou survey'st her curious imagery.
Lacy. I grant, my lord, the damsel is as fair
As simple Suffolk's homely towns can yield;
But in the court be quainter dames than she,
Whose faces are enriched with honor's taint,
Whose beauties stand upon the stage of fame
And vaunt their trophies in the courts of Love.
Edward. Ah, Ned, but hadst thou watched her as myself,
And seen the secret beauties of the maid,
Their courtly coyness were but foolery.
Ermsby. Why, how watched you her, my lord?
Edward. When as she swept like Venus through the house,
And in her shape fast folded up my thoughts,
Into the milkhouse went I with the maid,
And there amongst the cream bowls she did shine
As Pallas 'mongst her princely huswifery.
She turned her smock over her lily arms
And dived them into milk to run her cheese;
But, whiter than the milk, her crystal skin,
Checked with lines of azure, made her blush,
That art or nature durst bring for compare.
Ermsby, if thou hadst seen as I did note it well,
How beauty played the huswife, how this girl,
Like Lucrece, laid her fingers to the work,
Thou wouldest with Tarquin hazard Rome and all
To win the lovely maid of Fressingfield.
Rafe. Sirrah Ned, wouldst fain have her?
Edward. Ay, Rafe.
Rafe. Why, Ned, I have laid the plot in my head thou shalt have her already.
Edward. I'll give thee a new coat, and learn me that.
Rafe. Why, sirrah Ned, we'll ride to Oxford to Friar
Bacon. Oh, he is a brave scholar, sirrah; they say he is a brave necromancer, that he can make women of devils, and he can juggle cats into costermongers.
Edward. And how then, Rafe?
Rafe. Marry, sirrah, thou shalt go to him, and because thy father Harry shall not miss thee, he shall turn me into thee; and I'll to the court and I'll prince it out, and he shall make thee either a silken purse, full of gold, or else a fine wrought smock.
Edward. But how shall I have the maid?
Rafe. Marry, sirrah, if thou beest a silken purse full of gold, then on Sundays she'll hang thee by her side, and you must not say a word. Now, sir, when she comes into a great press of people, for fear of the cutpurse, on a sudden she'll swap thee into her placard; then, sirrah, being there, you may plead for yourself.
Ermsby. Excellent policy!
Edward. But how if I be a wrought smock?
Rafe. Then she'll put thee into her chest and lay thee into lavender, and upon some good day she'll put thee on, and at night when you go to bed, then being turned from a smock to a man, you may make up the match.
Lacy. Wonderfully wisely counseled, Rafe/.
Edward. Rafe shall have a new coat.
Rafe. God thank you when I have it on my back, Ned.
Edward. Lacy, the fool hath laid a perfect plot;
For why our country Margaret is so coy
And stands so much upon her honest points,
That marriage or no market with the maid,
Ermsby, it must be necromantic spells
And charms of art that must enchain her love,
Or else shall Edward never win the girl.
Therefore, my wags, we'll horse us in the morn,
And post to Oxford to this jolly friar.
Bacon shall by his magic do this deed.
Warren. Content, my lord; and that's a speedy way
To wean these headstrong puppies from the teat.
Edward. I am unknown, not taken for the prince;
They only deem us frolic courtiers
That revel thus among our liege's game;
Therefore I have devised a policy.
Lacy, thou know'st next Friday is Saint James',
And then the country flocks to Harleston fair;
Then will the keeper's daughter frolic there,
And over-shine the troop of all the maids
That come to see and to be seen that day.
Haunt thee disguised among the country swains;
Feign th' art a farmer's son not far from thence;
Espy her loves, and who she liketh best;
Cote him, and court her to control the clown.
Say that the courtier 'tired all in green,
That helped her handsomely to run her cheese
And filled her father's lodge with venison,
Commends him, and sends fairings to herself.
Buy something worthy of her parentage,
Not worth her beauty, for, Lacy, then the fair
Affords no jewel fitting for the main.
And when thou talkest of me, note if she blush;
Oh, then she loves; but if her cheeks wax pale,
Disdain it is. Lacy, send how she fares,
And spare no time nor cost to win her loves.
Lacy. I will, my lord, so execute this charge
As if that Lacy were in love with her.
Edward. Send letters speedily to Oxford of the news.
Rafe. And sirrah Lacy, buy me a thousand thousand million of fine bells.
Lacy. What wilt thou do with them, Rafe?
Rafe. Marry, every time that Ned sighs for the keeper's daughter, I'll tie a bell about him; and so within three or four days I will send word to his father
Harry that his son and my master Ned is become love's morris dance.
Edward. Well, Lacy, look with care unto thy charge,
And I will haste to Oxford to the friar,
That he by art, and thou by secret gifts,
Mayst make me lord of merry Fressingfield.
Lacy. God send your honor your heart's desire.
(Exeunt.
Enter Friar Bacon with Miles, his poor scholar,
with books under his arm; with them Burden,
Mason, Clement, three doctors.
Bacon. Miles, where are you?
Miles. Hic sum, dostissime et reverendissime doctor.
Bacon. Attulisti nos libros meos de necromantia?
Miles. Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum, habitares libros in unum.
Bacon. Now, masters of our academic state,
That rule in Oxford, viceroys in your place,
Whose heads contain maps of the liberal arts,
Spending your time in depth of learned skill,
Why flock you thus to Bacon's secret cell,
A friar newly stalled in Brazen-nose?
Say what's your mind, that I may make reply.
Burden. Bacon, we hear that long we have suspect,
That thou art read in magic's mystery;
In pyromancy to divine by flames;
To tell by hydromantic ebbs and tides;
By aeromancy to discover doubts,
To plain out questions, as Apollo did.
Bacon. Well, Master Burden, what of all this?
Miles. Marry, 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.
Burden. I tell thee, Bacon, Oxford makes report,
Nay, England, and the court of Henry says
Th' art making of a brazen head by art
Which shall unfold strange doubts and aphorisms
And read a lecture in philosophy,
And by the help of devils and ghastly fiends,
Thou mean'st, ere many years or days be past,
To compass England with a wall of brass.
Bacon. And what of this?
Miles. What of this, master? Why, he doth speak mystic- ally, for he knows if your skill fail to make a brazen head, yet Mother Waters' strong ale will fit his turn to make him have a copper nose.
Clement. Bacon, we come not grieving at thy skill,
But joying that our academy yields
A man supposed the wonder of the world;
For if thy cunning work these miracles,
England and Europe shall admire thy fame,
And Oxford shall in characters of brass
And statues such as were built up in Rome
Eternize Friar Bacon for his art.
Mason. Then, gentle friar, tell us thy intent.
Bacon. Seeing you come as friends unto the friar,
Resolve you, doctors, Bacon can by books
Make storming Boreas thunder from his cave
And dim fair Luna to a dark eclipse.
The great arch-ruler, potentate of hell,
Trembles, when Bacon bids him or his fiends
Bow to the force of his pentageron.
What art can work, the frolic friar knows;
And therefore will I turn my magic books
And strain out necromancy to the deep.
I have contrived and framed a head of brass
(I made Belcephon hammer out the stuff),
And that by art shall read philosophy;
And I will strengthen England by my skill,
That if ten Caesars lived and reigned in Rome,
With all the legions Europe doth contain,
They whould not touch a grass of English ground.
The work that Ninus reared at Babylon,
The brazen walls framed by Semiramis,
Carved out like to the portal of the sun,
Shall not be such as rings the English strand
From Dover to the market place of Rye.
Burden. Is this possible?
Miles. I'll bring ye two or three witnesses.
Burden. What be those?
Miles. Marry, sir, three or four as honest devils and good companions as any be in hell.
Mason. No doubt but magic may do much in this,
For he that reads but mathematic rules
Shall find conclusions that avail to work
Wonders that pass the common sense of men.
Burden. But Bacon roves a bow beyond his reach,
And tells of more than magic can perform,
Thinking to get a fame by fooleries.
Have I not passed as far in state of schools,
And read of many secrets? Yet to think
That heads of brass can utter any voice,
Or more, to tell of deep philosophy --
This is a fable Aesop had forgot.
Bacon. Burden, thou wrong'st me in detracting thus;
Bacon loves not to stuff himself with lies.
But tell me 'fore these doctors, if thou dare,
Of certain questions I shall move to thee.
Burden. I will; ask what thou can.
Miles. Marry, sir, he'll straight be on your pick-pack to know whether the feminine or the masculine gender be most worthy.
Bacon. Were you not yesterday, Master Burden, at Henley upon the Thames?
Burden. I was; what then?
Bacon. What book studied you thereon all night?
Burden. I? None at all; I read not there a line.
Bacon. Then, doctors, Friar Bacon's art knows naught.
Clement. What say you to this, Master Burden?
Doth he not touch you?
Burden. I pass not of his frivolous speeches.
Miles. Nay, Master Burden, my master, ere he hath done with you, will turn you from a doctor to a dunce, and shake you so small that he will leave no more learning in you than is in Balaam's ass.
Bacon. Masters, for that learned Burden's skill is deep,
And sore he doubts of Bacon's cabalism,
I'll show you why he haunts to Henley oft:
Not, doctors, for to taste the fragrant air,
But there to spend the night in alchemy,
To multiply with secret spells of art.
Thus private steals he learning from us all.
To prove my sayings true, I'll show you straight
The book he keeps at Henley for himself.
Miles. Nay, now my master goes to conjuration, take heed.
Bacon. Masters, stand still; fear not. I'll show you but his book.
(Here he conjures.
Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon.
Enter a woman with a shoulder of mutton
on a spit, and a devil.
Miles. Oh, master, cease your conjuration, or you spoil all, for here's a she-devil come with a shoulder of mutton on a spit. You have marred the devil's supper; but no doubt he thinks our college fare is slender, and so hath sent you his cook with a shoulder of mutton to make it exceed.
Hostess. Oh, where am I, or what's become of me?
Bacon. What art thou?
Hostess. Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.
Bacon. How camest thou here?
Hostess. As I was in the kitchen 'mongst the maids,
Spitting the meat against supper for my guess,
A motion moved me to look forth of door.
No sooner had I pried into the yard,
But straight a whirlwind hoisted me from thence
And mounted me aloft unto the clouds.
As in a trance, I thought nor feared naught,
Nor know I where or whither I was ta'en,
Nor where I am, nor what these persons be.
Bacon. No? Know you not Master Burden?
Hostess. Oh, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.
What, Master Burden, 'twas but yesternight
That you and I at Henley played at cards.
Burden. I know not what we did; a pox of all conjuring friars!
Clement. Now, jolly friar, tell us, is this the book
That Burden is so careful to look on?
Bacon. It is; but, Burden, tell me now,
Thinkest thou that Bacon's necromantic skill
Cannot perform his head and wall of brass,
When he can fetch thine hostess in such post?
Miles. I'll warrant you, master, if Master Burden could conjure as well as you, he would have his book every night from Henley to study on at Oxford.
Mason. Burden, what, are you mated by this frolic friar?
Look how he droops; his guilty conscience
Drives him to bash and makes his hostess blush.
Bacon. Well, mistress, for I will not have you missed,
You shall to Henley to cheer up your guests
'Fore supper 'gin. Burden, bid her adieu,
Say farewell to your hostess 'fore she goes.
Sirrah, away, and set her safe at home.
Hostess. Master Burden, when shall we see you at Henley?
(Exit Hostess and the devil.
Burden. The devil take thee and Henley too.
Miles. Master, shall I make a good motion?
Bacon. What's that?
Miles. Marry, sir, now that my hostess is gone to provide supper, conjure up another spirit, and send Doctor
Burden flying after.
Bacon. Thus, rulers of our academic state,
You have seen the friar frame his art by proof;
And as the college called Brazen-nose
Is under him, and he the master there,
So surely shall this head of brass be framed,
And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms;
And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar,
But I will circle England round with brass.
Miles. So be it, et nunc et semper. Amen.
(Exeunt omnes.
Enter Margaret, the fair maid of Fressingfield,
with Thomas and Joan, and other clowns;
Lacy, disguised in country apparel.
Thomas. By my troth, Margaret, here's a weather is able to make a man call his father whoreson. If this weather hold, we shall have hay good cheap, and butter and cheese at Harleston will bear no price.
Margaret. Thomas, maids, when they come to see the fair
Count not to make a cope for dearth of hay.
When we have turned our butter to the salt,
And set our cheese safely upon the racks,
Then let our fathers price it as they please.
We country sluts of merry Fressingfield
Come to buy needless naughts to make us fine,
And look that young men should be frank this day,
And court us with such fairings as they can.
Phoebus is blithe, and frolic looks from heaven as when he courted lovely Semele, swearing the pedlars shall have empty packs,
If that fair weather may make chapmen buy.
Lacy. But, lovely Peggy, Semele is dead,
And therefore Phoebus from his palace pries,
And, seeing such a sweet and seemly saint,
Shows all his glories for to court yourself.
Margaret. This is a fairing, gentle sir, indeed,
To soothe me up with such smooth flattery;
But learn of me, your scoff's too broad before.
Well, Joan, our beauties must abide their jests;
We serve the turn in jolly Fressingfield.
Joan. Margaret, a farmer's daughter for a farmer's son.
I warrant you the meanest of us both
Shall have a mate to lead us from the church.
But, Thomas, what's the news? What, in a dump?
Give me your hand, we are near a pedlar's shop;
Out with your purse; we must have fairings now.
Thomas. Faith, Joan, and shall. I'll bestow a fairing on you, and then we will to the tavern and snap off a pint of wine or two.
(All this while Lacy whispers Margaret in the ear.
Margaret. Whence are you, sir? Of Suffolk?
For your terms are finer than the common sort of men.
Lacy. Faith, lovely girl, I am of Beccles by,
Your neighbor not above six miles from hence,
A farmer's son that never was so quaint
But that he could do courtesy to such dames.
But trust me, Margaret, I am sent in charge
From him that reveled in your father's house,
And filled his lodge with cheer and venison,
'Tired in green. He sent you this rich purse,
His token that he helped you run your cheese,
And in the milkhouse chatted with yourself.
Margaret. To me? You forget yourself.
Lacy. Women are often weak in memory.
Margaret. 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;
For we have little leisure to debate of that.
Joan. What, Margaret, blush not; maids must have their loves.
Thomas. Nay, by the mass, she looks pale as if she were angry.
Richard. Sirrah, are you of Beccles? I pray, how doth
Goodman Cob? My father bought a horse of him.
I'll tell you, Margaret, 'a were good to be a gentleman's jade, for of all things the foul hilding could not abide a dungcart.
Margaret. How different is this farmer from the rest
That erst as yet hath pleased my wandering sight.
His words are witty, quickened with a smile,
His courtesy gentle, smelling of the court;
Facile and debonair in all his deeds.
Proportioned as was Paris, when, in gray,
He courted Aenon in the vale by Troy.
Great lords have come and pleaded for my love. . .
Who but the keeper's lass of Fressingfield?
And yet methinks this farmer's jolly son
Passeth the proudest that hath pleased mine eye.
But, Peg, disclose not that thou art in love,
And show as yet no sign of love to him,
Although thou well wouldst wish him for thy love;
Keep that to thee, till time doth serve thy turn
To show the grief wherein thy heart doth burn.
Come, Joan and Thomas, shall we to the fair?
You, Beccles man, will not forsake us now?
Lacy. Not whilst I may have such quaint girls as you.
Margaret. Well, if you chance to come by Fressingfield,
Make but a step into the keeper's lodge,
And such poor fare as woodmen can afford --
Butter and cheese, cream, and fat venison --
You shall have store, and welcome therewithal.
Lacy. Gramercies, Peggy; look for me ere long.
(Exeunt omnes.
Enter Henry the Third; the Emperor;
the King of Castile; Eleanor, his daughter;
Jacques Vandermast, a German.
Henry. Great men of Europe, monarchs of the west,
Ringed with the walls of old Oceanus,
Whose lofty surge is like the battlements
That compassed high-built Babel in with towers,
Welcome, my lords, welcome, brave western kings,
To England's shore, whose promontory cleeves
Shows Albion is another little world.
Welcome says English Henry to you all;
Chiefly unto the lovely Eleanor,
Who dared for Edward's sake cut through the seas,
And venture as Agenor's damsel through the deep,
To get the love of Henry's wanton son.
Castile. England's rich monarch, brave Plantagenet,
The Pyren Mounts swelling above the clouds,
That ward the wealthy Castile in with walls,
Could not detain the beauteous Eleanor;
But hearing of the fame of Edward's youth,
She dared to brook Neptunus' haughty pride
And bide the brunt of froward Aeolus.
Then may fair England welcome her the more.
Eleanor. After that English Henry, by his lords,
Had sent Prince Edward's lovely counterfeit,
A present to the Castile Eleanor,
The comely portrait of so brave a man,
The virtuous fame discoursed of his deeds,
Edward's courageous resolution
Done at the Holy Land 'fore Damas' walls,
Led both mine eye and thoughts in equal links
To like so of the English monarch's son
That I attempted perils for his sake.
Emperor. Where is the prince, my lord?
Henry. He posted down, not long since, from the court
To Suffolk side, to merry Framingham,
To sport himself amongst my fallow deer;
From thence, by packets sent to Hampton House,
We hear the prince is ridden with his lords
To Oxford, in the academy there
To hear dispute amongst the learned men.
But we will send forth letters for my son,
To will him come from Oxford to the court.
Emperor. Nay, rather, Henry, let us, as we be,
Ride for to visit Oxford with our train.
Fain would I see your universities
And what learned men your academy yields.
From Hapsburg have I brought a learned clerk
To hold dispute with English orators.
This doctor, surnamed Jacques Vandermast,
A German born, passed into Padua,
To Florence, and to fair Bologna,
To Paris, Rheims, and stately Orleans,
And, talking there with men of art, put down
The chiefest of them all in aphorisms,
In magic, and the mathematic rules.
Now let us, Henry, try him in your schools.
Henry. He shall, my lord; this motion likes me well.
We'll progress straight to Oxford with our trains,
And see what men our academy brings.
And, wonder Vandermast, welcome to me;
In Oxford shalt thou find a jolly friar
Called Friar Bacon, England's only flower.
Set him but nonplus in his magic spells,
And make him yield in mathematic rules,
And for thy glory I will bind thy brows
Not with a poet's garland made of bays,
But with a coronet of choicest gold.
Whilst then we fit to Oxford with our troops,
Let's in and banquet in our English court.
Enter Rafe Simnell in Edward's apparel;
Edward, Warren, Ermsby, disguised.
Rafe. Where be these vagabond knaves, that they attend no better on their master
Edward. If it please your honor, we are all ready at an inch.
Rafe. Sirrah, Ned, I'll have no more post horse to ride on. I'll have another fetch.
Ermsby. I pray you, how is that, my lord?
Rafe. Marry, sir, I'll send to the Isle of Ely for four or five dozen of geese, and I'll have them tied six and six together with whipcord. Now upon their backs will I have a fair field-bed with a canopy; and so, when it is my pleasure, I'll flee into what place I please. This will be easy.
Warren. Your honor hath said well; but shall we to
Brazen-nose College before we pull off our boots?
Ermsby. Warren, well motioned; we will to the friar
Before we revel it within the town.
Rafe, see you keep your countenance like a prince.
Rafe. Wherefore have I such a company of cutting 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.
Ermsby. Stay, who comes here?
Warren. Some scholar; and we'll ask him where Friar
Bacon is.
Bacon. Why, thou arrant dunce, shall I never make thee good scholar? Doth not all the town cry out and say,
Friar Bacon's subsizar is the greatest blockhead in all
Oxford? Why, thou canst not speak one word of true
Latin.
Miles. No, sir? Yes; what is this else? Ego sum tuus homo, "I am your man." I warrant you, sir, as good
Tully's phrase as any is in Oxford.
Bacon. Come on, sirrah, what part of speech is Ego?
Miles. Ego, that is "I"; marry, nomen substantivo.
Bacon. How prove you that?
Miles. Why, sir, let him prove himself and 'a will;
"I" can be heard, felt, and understood.
Bacon. Oh, gross dunce!
(Here beat him.
Edward. Come, let us break off this dispute between these two. Sirrah, where is Brazen-nose College?
Miles. Not far from Coppersmiths' Hall.
Edward. What, dost thou mock me?
Miles. Not I, sir; but what would you at Brazen-nose?
Ermsby. Marry, we would speak with Friar Bacon.
Miles. Whose men be you?
Ermsby. Marry, scholar, here's our master.
Rafe. Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparel?
Miles. Then here's good game for the hawk; for here's the master fool and a covey of coxcombs. One wise man, I think, would spring you all.
Edward. Gog's wounds! Warren, kill him.
Warren. Why, Ned, I think the devil be in my sheath;
I cannot get out my dagger.
Ermsby. Nor I mine. Zounds, Ned, I think I am bewitched.
Miles. A company of scabs. The proudest of you all draw your weapon, if he can. See how boldly I speak, now my master is by.
Edward. I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut
And conjured fast by magic in my sheath,
Villain, here is my fist.
(Strike him a box on the ear.
Miles. Oh, I beseech you, conjure his hands, too, that he may not lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered.
Rafe. Ned, strike him. I'll warrant thee by mine honor.
Bacon. What means the English prince to wrong my man?
Edward. To whom speakest thou?
Bacon. To thee.
Edward. Who art thou?
Bacon. Could you not judge when all your swords grew fast
That Friar Bacon was not far from hence?
Edward, King Henry's son, and Prince of Wales,
Thy fool disguised cannot conceal thyself.
I know both Ermsby and the Sussex earl,
Else Friar Bacon had but little skill.
Thou comest in post from merry Fressingfield,
Fast-fancied to the keeper's bonny lass,
To crave some succor of the jolly friar;
And Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, hast thou left
To 'treat fair Margaret to allow thy loves;
But friends are men, and love can baffle lords.
The earl both woos and courts her for himself.
Warren. Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all.
Ermsby. Apollo could not utter more than this.
Edward. I stand amazed to hear this jolly friar
Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts.
But, learned Bacon, since thou knowest the cause
Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield,
Help, friar, at a pinch, that I may have
The love of lovely Margaret to myself,
And, as I am true Prince of Wales, I'll give
Living and lands to strength thy college state.
Warren. Good friar, help the prince in this.
Rafe. Why, servant Ned, will not the friar do it?
Were not my sword glued to my scabbard by conjuration,
I would cut off his head, and make him do it by force.
Miles. In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them.
Ermsby. What, doctor, in a dump? Tush, help the prince,
And thou shalt see how liberal he will prove.
Bacon. Crave not such actions greater dumps than these?
I will, my lord, strain out my magic spells;
For this day comes the earl to Fressingfield,
And 'fore that night shuts in the day with dark,
They'll be betrothed each to other fast.
But come with me; we'll to my study straight,
And in a glass prospective I will show
What's done this day in merry Fressingfield.
Edward. Gramercies, Bacon; I will quite thy pain.
Bacon. But send your train, my lord, into the town;
My scholar shall go bring them to their inn.
Meanwhile we'll see the knavery of the earl.
Edward. Warren, leave me; and, Ermsby, take the fool;
Let him be master, and go revel it
Till I and Friar Bacon talk awhile.
Warren. We will, my lord.
Rafe. Faith, Ned, and I'll lord it out till thou comest.
I'll be Prince of Wales over all the blackpots in
Oxford. (Exeunt.
Bacon and Edward goes into the study.
Bacon. Now, frolic Edward, welcome to my cell.
Here tempers Friar Bacon many toys,
And holds this place his consistory court,
Wherein the devils pleads homage to his words.
Within this glass prospective thou shalt see
This day what's done in merry Fressingfield
'Twixt lovely Peggy and the Lincoln earl.
Edward. Friar, thou glad'st me. Now shall Edward try
How Lacy meaneth to his sovereign lord.
Bacon. Stand there and look directly in the glass.
Enter Margaret and Friar Bungay.
What sees my lord?
Edward. I see the keeper's lovely lass appear
As bright sun as the paramour of Mars,
Only attended by a jolly friar.
Bacon. Sit still, and keep the crystal in your eye.
Margaret. But tell me, Friar Bungay, is it true
That this fair courteous country swain,
Who says his father is a farmer nigh,
Can be Lord Lacy, Earl of Lincolnshire?
Bungay. Peggy, 'tis true, 'tis Lacy, for my life,
Or else mine art and cunning both doth fail,
Left by Prince Edward to procure his loves;
For he in green that holp you run your cheese
Is son to Henry, and the Prince of Wales.
Margaret. Be what he will, his lure is but for lust.
But did Lord Lacy like poor Margaret,
Or would he deign to wed a country lass,
Friar, I would his humble handmaid be,
And, for great wealth, quite him with courtesy.
Bungay. Why, Margaret, dost thou love him?
Margaret. His personage, like the pride of vaunting Troy,
Might well avouch to shadow Helen's scape;
His wit is quick, and ready in conceit,
As Greece afforded in her chiefest prime;
Courteous, ah, friar, full of pleasing smiles.
Trust me, I love too much to tell thee more;
Suffice to me he is England's paramour.
Bungay. Hath not each eye that viewed thy pleasing face
Surnamed thee Fair Maid of Fressingfield?
Margaret. Yes, Bungay, and would God the lovely earl
Had that in esse that so many sought.
Bungay. Fear not, the friar will not be behind
To show his cunning to entangle love.
Edward. I think the friar courts the bonny wench.
Bacon, methinks he is a lusty churl.
Bacon. Now look, my lord.
Enter Lacy
Edward. Gog's wounds, Bacon, here comes Lacy!
Bacon. Sit still, my lord, and mark the comedy.
Bungay. Here's Lacy. Margaret, step aside awhile.
Lacy. Daphne, the damsel that caught Phoebus fast,
And locked him in the brightness of her looks,
Was not so beauteous in Apollo's eyes
As is fair Margaret to the Lincoln earl.
Recant thee, Lacy, thou art put in trust.
Edward, thy sovereign's son, hath chosen thee,
A secret friend, to court her for himself,
And darest thou wrong thy prince with treachery?
Lacy, love makes no exception of a friend,
Nor deems it of a prince but as a man.
Honor bids thee control him in his lust;
His wooing is not for to wed the girl.
But to entrap her and beguile the lass.
Lacy, thou lovest; then brook not such abuse,
But wed her, and abide thy prince's frown,
For better die, than see her live disgraced.
Margaret. Come, friar, I will shake him from his dumps.
How cheer you, sir? A penny for your thought.
You're early up; pray God it be the near.
What, come from Beccles in a morn so soon?
Lacy. Thus watchful are such men as live in love,
Whose eyes brook broken slumbers for their sleep.
I tell thee, Peggy, since last Harleston fair
My mind hath felt a heap of passions.
Margaret. A trusty man, that court it for your friend.
Woo you still for the courtier all in green?
I marvel that he sues not for himself.
Lacy. Peggy, I pleaded first to get your grace for him,
But when mine eyes surveyed your beauteous looks,
Love, like a wag, straight dived into my heart,
And there did shrine the idea of yourself.
Pity me, though I be a farmer's son,
And measure not my riches but my love.
Margaret. You are very hasty; for to garden well,
Seeds must have time to sprout before they spring;
Love ought to creep as doth the dial's shade,
Fore timely ripe is rotten too too soon.
Bungay. Deus hic; room for a merry friar.
What, youth of Beccles, with the keeper's lass?
'Tis well. But, tell me, hear you any news?
Margaret. No, friar. What news?
Bungay. Hear you not how the pursuivants do post
With proclamations through each country town?
Lacy. For what, gentle friar? Tell the news.
Bungay. Dwell'st thou in Beccles and hear'st 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 doth proclaim in every way
That who can take the Lincoln earl shall have,
Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns.
Lacy. The Earl of Lincoln! Friar, thou art mad.
It was some other; thou mistakest the man.
The Earl of Lincoln! Why, it cannot be.
Margaret. Yes, very well, my lord, for you are he.
The keeper's daughter took you prisoner.
Lord Lacy, yield; I'll be your jailer once.
Edward. How familiar they be, Bacon.
Bacon. Sit still, and mark the sequel of their loves.
Lacy. Then am I double prisoner to thyself.
Peggy, I yield. But are these news in jest?
Margaret. In jest with you, but earnest unto me;
For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart.
Ah, how these earls and noble men of birth
Flatter and feign to forge poor women's ill.
Lacy. Believe me, lass, I am the Lincoln earl
I not deny; but 'tired thus in rags
I lived disguised to win fair Peggy's love.
Margaret. What love is there where wedding ends not love?
Lacy. I meant, fair girl, to make thee Lacy's wife.
Margaret. I little think that earls will stoop so low.
Lacy. Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep?
Margaret. Handmaid unto the earl, so please himself;
A wife in name, but servant in obedience.
Lacy. The Lincoln countess, for it shall be so.
I'll plight the bands, and seal it with a kiss.
Edward. Gog's wounds, Bacon, they kiss! I'll stab them.
Bacon. Oh, hold your hands, my lord, it is the glass!
Edward. Choler to see the traitors 'gree so well
Made me think the shadows substances.
Bacon. 'Twere a long poniard, my lord, to reach between
Oxford and Fressingfield. But sit still and see more.
Bungay. Well, Lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit,
And that 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.
Lacy. Friar, content. Peggy, how like you this?
Margaret. What likes my lord is pleasing unto me.
Bungay. Then handfast hand, and I will to my book.
Bacon. What sees my lord now?
Edward. Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand,
The friar ready with his portace there
To wed them both; then am I quite undone.
Bacon, help now, if e'er thy magic served;
Help, Bacon; stop the marriage now,
If devils or necromancy may suffice,
And I will give thee forty thousand crowns.
Bacon. Fear not, my lord, I'll stop the jolly friar
For mumbling up his orisons this day.
Lacy. Why speak'st not, Bungay? Friar, to thy book.
(Bungay is mute, crying, "Hud, hud."
Margaret. How lookest thou, friar, as a man distraught?
Reft of thy senses, Bungay? Show by signs,
If thou be dumb, what passions holdeth thee.
Lacy. He's dumb indeed. Bacon hath with his devils
Enchanted him, or else some strange disease
Or apoplexy hath possessed his lungs.
But Peggy, what he cannot with his book,
We'll 'twixt us both unite it up in heart.
Margaret. Else let me die, my lord, a miscreant.
Edward. Why stands Friar Bungay so amazed?
Bacon. I have struck him dumb, my lord; and if your honor please,
I'll fetch this Bungay straightway from Fressingfield,
And he shall dine with us in Oxford here.
Edward. Bacon, do that and thou contentest me.
Lacy. Of courtesy, Margaret, let us lead the friar
Unto thy father's lodge, to comfort him
With broths, to bring him from this hapless trance.
Margaret. Or else, my lord, we were passing unkind
To leave the friar so in his distress.
Enter a devil, and carry Bungay on his back.
Margaret. Oh, help, my lord, a devil! a devil, my lord!
Look how he carries Bungay on his back!
Let's hence, for Bacon's spirits be abroad.
(Exeunt.
Edward. Bacon, I laugh to see the jolly friar
Mounted upon the devil, and how the earl
Flees with his bonny lass for fear.
As soon as Bungay is at Brazen-nose,
And I have chatted with the merry friar,
I will in post hie me to Fressingfield
And quite these wrongs on Lacy ere it be long.
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 Brazen-nose.
(Exeunt.
Enter three doctors, Burden, Mason, Clement.
Mason. Now that we are gathered in the Regent House,
It fits us talk about the king's repair;
For he, trooped with all the western kings
That lie alongst the Danzig seas by east,
North by the clime of frosty Germany,
The Almain monarch, and the Saxon duke,
Castile, and lovely Eleanor with him,
Have in their jests resolved for Oxford town.
Burden. We must lay plots of stately tragedies,
Strange comic shows, such as proud Roscius
Vaunted before the Roman emperors,
To welcome all the western potentates.
Clement. But more, the king by letters hath foretold
That Frederick, the Almain emperor,
Hath brought with him a German of esteem,
Whose surname is Don Jacques Vandermast,
Skillful in magic and those secret arts.
Mason. Then must we all make suit unto the friar,
To Friar Bacon, that he vouch this task,
And undertake to countervail in skill
The German; else there's none in Oxford can
Match and dispute with learned Vandermast.
Burden. Bacon, if he will hold the German play,
We'll teach him what an English friar can do.
The devil, I think, dare not dispute with him.
Clement. Indeed, Mas Doctor, he pleasured you
In that he brought your hostess with her spit
From Henley, posting unto Brazen-nose.
Burden. A vengeance on the friar for his pains;
But, leaving that, let us hie to Bacon straight
To see if he will take this task in hand.
Clement. Stay, what rumor is this? The town is up in a mutiny.
What hurly-burly is this?
Enter a Constable, with Rafe, Warren, Ermsby, and Miles.
Constable. Nay, masters., if you were ne'er so good, you shall before the doctors to answer your misdemeanor.
Burden. What's the matter, fellow?
Constable. Marry, sir, here's a company of rufflers that drinking in the tavern have made a great brawl, and almost killed the vintner.
Miles. Salve, Doctor Burden. This lubberly lurden,
Ill-shaped and ill-faced, disdained and disgraced,
What he tells unto vobis, mentitur de nobis.
Burden. Who is the master and chief of this crew?
Miles. Ecce asinum mundi, fugura rotundi,
Neat, sheat, and fine, as brisk as a cup of wine.
Burden. What are you?
Rafe. I am, father doctor, as a man would say, the bellwether of this company. These are my lords, and
I the Prince of Wales.
Clement. Are you Edward, the king's son?
Rafe. Sirrah Miles, bring hither the tapster that drew the wine, and I warrant when they see how soundly I have broke his head, they'll say 'twas done by no less 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 and a wise gentleman.
Warren. Why, and thinkest thou, doctor, that he is not so?
Dar'st thou detract and derogate from him,
Being so lovely and so brave a youth?
Ermsby. Whose face, shining with many a sugared smile,
Bewrays that he is bred of princely race?
Miles. And yet, Master Doctor, to speak like a proctor,
And tell unto you what is veriment and true,
To cease of this quarrel, look but on his apparel;
Then mark but my talis, he is great Prince of Walis,
The chief of our gregis, and filius regis.
Then 'ware what is done, for he is Henry's white son.
Rafe. Doctors, whose doting nightcaps are not capable of my ingenious dignity, know that I am Edward
Plantagenet, whom if you displease, will make a ship that shall hold all your colleges, and so carry away the Niniversity with a fair wind to the Bankside in
Southwark. How say'st thou, Ned Warren, shall I not do it?
Warren. Yes, my good lord; and if it please your lordship, I will gather up all your old pantofles, and with the cork make you a pinnace of five hundred ton, that shall serve the turn marvelous, well, my lord.
Ermsby. And I, my lord, will have pioners to undermine the town, that the very gardens and orchards be carried away for your summer walks.
Miles. And I with scientia and great diligentia
Will conjure and charm to keep you from harm;
That utrum horum mavis, your very great navis,
Like Bartlet's ship, from Oxford do skip,
With colleges and schools full loaden with fools.
Quid dices ad hoc, worshipful domine Dawcock?
Clement. Why, hare-brained courtiers, are you drunk or mad,
To taunt us up with such scurrility?
Deem you us men of base and light esteem,
To bring us such a fop for Henry's son?
Call out the beadles and convey them hence,
Straight to Bocardo; let the roisters lie
Close clapped in bolts, until their wits be tame.
Ermsby. Why, shall we to prison, my lord?
Rafe. What say'st, Miles, shall I honor the prison with my presence?
Miles. No, no; out with your blades, and hamper these jades;
Have a flirt and a crash, now play revel-dash,
And teach these sacerdos that the Bocardos,
Like peasants and elves, are meet for themselves.
Mason. To the prison with them, constable.
Warren. Well, doctors, seeing I have sported me
With laughing at these mad and merry wags,
Know that Prince Edward is at Brazen-nose,
And this, attired like the Prince of Wales,
Is Rafe, King Henry's only loved fool;
I, Earl of Sussex; and this Ermsby,
One of the privy chamber to the king,
Who, while the prince with Friar Bacon stays,
Have reveled it in Oxford as you see.
Mason. My lord, pardon us; we knew not what you were;
But courtiers may make greater scapes than these.
Will't please your honor dine with me today?
Warren. I will, Master Doctor, and satisfy the vintner for his hurt; only I must desire you to imagine him all this forenoon the Prince of Wales.
Mason. I will, sir.
Rafe. And upon that, I will lead the way; only I will have Miles go before me, because I have heard Henry say that wisdom must go before majesty. (Exeunt omnes.
Enter Prince Edward with his poniard in his hand, Lacy and Margaret.
Edward. Lacy, thou canst not shroud thy traitorous thoughts,
Nor cover as did Cassius all his wiles;
For Edward hath an eye that looks as far
As Lynceus from the shores of Grecia.
Did not I sit in Oxford by the friar,
And see thee court the maid of Fressingfield,
Sealing thy flattering fancies with a kiss?
Did not proud Bungay draw his portace forth
And, joining hand in hand, had married you,
If Friar Bacon had not stroke him dumb
And mounted him upon a spirit's back,
That we might chat at Oxford with the friar?
Traitor, what answer'st? Is not all this true?
Lacy. Truth all, my lord, and thus I make reply.
At Harleston Fair, there courting for your grace,
When as mine eye surveyed her curious shape,
And drew the beauteous glory of her looks
To dive into the center of my heart,
Love taught me that your honor did but jest,
That princes were in fancy but as men,
How that the lovely maid of Fressingfield
Was fitter to be Lacy's wedded wife
Than concubine unto the Prince of Wales.
Edward. Injurious Lacy, did I love thee more
Than Alexander his Hephestion?
Did I unfold the passion of my love
And lock them in the closet of thy thoughts?
Wert thou to Edward second to himself,
Sole friend, and partner of his secret loves?
And could a glance of fading beauty break
Th' enchained fetters of such private friends?
Base coward, false, and too effeminate
To be corrival with a prince in thoughts!
From Oxford have I posted since I dined
To quite a traitor 'fore that Edward sleep.
Margaret. 'Twas I, my lord, not Lacy stepped awry;
For oft he sued and courted for yourself,
And still wooed for the courtier all in green;
But I, whom fancy made but over fond,
Pleaded myself with looks as if I loved.
I fed mine eye with gazing on his face,
And, still bewitched, loved Lacy with my looks.
My heart with sighs, mine eyes pleaded with tears,
My face held pity and content at once,
And more I could not cipher out by signs
But that I loved Lord Lacy with my heart.
Then, worthy Edward, measure with thy mind
If women's favors will not force men fall,
If beauty and if darts of piercing love
Is not of force to bury thoughts of friends.
Edward. I tell thee, Peggy, I will have thy loves.
Edward or none shall conquer Margaret.
In frigates bottomed with rich Sethin planks,
Topped with the lofty firs of Lebanon,
Stemmed and incased with burnished ivory,
And overlaid with plates of Persian wealth,
Like Thetis shalt thou wanton on the waves,
And draw the dolphins to thy lovely eyes,
To dance lavoltas in the purple streams.
Sirens, with harps and silver psalteries,
Shall wait with music at thy frigate's stem
And entertain fair Margaret with their lays.
England and England's wealth shall wait on thee;
Britain shall bend unto her prince's love
And do due homage to thine excellence,
If thou wilt be but Edward's Margaret.
Margaret. Pardon, my lord. If Jove's great royalty
Sent me such presents as to Danae,
If Phoebus, 'tired in Latona's weeds,
Come courting from the beauty of his lodge,
The dulcet tunes of frolic Mercury,
Not all the wealth heaven's treasury affords,
Should make me leave Lord Lacy or his love.
Edward. I have learned at Oxford, then, this point of schools:
Ablata causa, tollitur effectus.
Lacy, the cause that Margaret cannot love
Nor fix her liking on the English prince,
Take him away, and then the effects will fail.
Villain, prepare thyself; for I will bathe
My poniard in the bosom of an earl.
Lacy. Rather than live and miss fair Margaret's love,
Prince Edward, stop not at the fatal doom,
But stab it home; end both my loves and life.
Edward. Brave Prince of Wales, honored for royal deeds,
'Twere sin to stain fair Venus' courts with blood.
Love's conquests ends, my lord, in courtesy;
Spare Lacy, gentle Edward; let me die,
For so both you and he do cease your loves.
Edward. Lacy shall die as traitor to his lord.
Lacy. I have deserved it; Edward, act it well.
Margaret. What hopes the prince to gain by Lacy's death?
Edward. To end the loves 'twixt him and Margaret.
Margaret. Why, thinks King Henry's son that Margaret's love
Hangs in the uncertain balance of proud time,
That death shall make a discord of our thoughts?
No; stab the earl, and 'fore the morning sun
Shall vaunt him thrice over the lofty east,
Margaret will meet her Lacy in the heavens.
Lacy. If aught betides to lovely Margaret
That wrongs or wrings her honor from content,
Europe's rich wealth nor England's monarchy
Should not allure Lacy to overlive.
Then, Edward, short my life and end her loves.
Margaret. Rid me, and keep a friend worth many loves.
Lacy. Nay, Edward, keep a love worth many friends.
Margaret. And if thy mind be such as fame hath blazed,
Then, princely Edward, let us both abide
The fatal resolution of thy rage;
Banish thou fancy and embrace revenge,
And in one tomb knit both our carcasses,
Whose hearts were linked in one perfect love.
Edward. Edward, art thou that famous Prince of Wales
Who at Damasco beat the Saracens,
And brought'st home triumph on thy lance's point,
And shall thy plumes be pulled by Venus down?
Is it princely to dissever lovers' leagues,
To part such friends as glory in their loves?
Leave, Ned, and make a virtue of this fault,
And further Peg and Lacy in their loves.
So in subduing fancy's passion,
Conquering thyself, thou get'st the richest spoil. --
Lacy, rise up. Fair Peggy, here's my hand.
The Prince of Wales hath conquered all his thoughts,
And all his loves he yields unto the earl.
Lacy, enjoy the maid of Fressingfield;
Make her thy Lincoln countess at the church,
And Ned, as he is true Plantagenet,
Will give her to thee frankly for thy wife.
Lacy. Humbly I take her of my sovereign,
As if that Edward gave me England's right,
And 'riched me with the Albion diadem.
Margaret. And doth the English prince mean true?
Will he vouchsafe to cease his former loves,
And yield the title of a country maid
Unto Lord Lacy?
Edward. I will, fair Peggy, as I am true lord.
Margaret. Then, lordly sir, whose conquest is as great,
In conquering love, as Caesar's victories,
Margaret, as mild and humble in her thoughts
As was Aspasia unto Cyrus' self,
Yields thanks, and, next Lord Lacy, doth enshrine
Edward the second secret in her heart.
Edward. Gramercy, Peggy. Now that vows are passed,
And that your loves are not to be revolt,
Once, Lacy, friends again, come, we will post
To Oxford; for this day the king is there,
And brings for Edward Castile Eleanor.
Peggy, I must go see and view my wife;
I pray God I like her as I loved thee.
Beside, Lord Lincoln, we shall hear dispute
'Twixt Friar Bacon and learned Vandermast.
Peggy, we'll leave you for a week or two.
Margaret. As it please Lord Lacy; but love's foolish looks
Think footsteps miles and minutes to be hours.
Lacy. I'll hasten, Peggy, to make short return.
But, please your honor, go unto the lodge;
We shall have butter, cheese, and venison;
And yesterday I brought for Margaret
A lusty bottle of neat claret wine.
Thus can we feast and entertain your grace.
Edward. 'Tis cheer, Lord Lacy, for an emperor,
If he respect the person and the place.
Come, let us in; for I will all this night
Ride post until I come to Bacon's cell. (Exeunt.
Enter Henry, Emperor, Castile, Eleanor, Vandermast, Bungay.
Emperor. Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schools
Are richly seated near the river side;
The mountains full of fat and fallow deer,
The battling pastures laid with kine and flocks.
The town gorgeous with high-built colleges,
And scholars seemly in their grave attire,
Learned in searching principles of art.
What is thy judgment, Jacques Vandermast?
Vandermast. That lordly are the buildings of the town,
Spacious the rooms and full of pleasant walks;
But for the doctors, how that they be learned,
It may be meanly, for aught I can hear.
Bungay. I tell thee, German, Hapsburg holds none such,
None read so deep as Oxenford contains.
There are within our academic state
Men that may lecture it in Germany
To all the doctors of your Belgic schools.
Henry. Stand to him, Bungay. Charm this Vandermast,
And I will use thee as a royal king.
Vandermast. Wherein darest thou dispute with me?
Bungay. In what doctor and a friar can.
Vandermast. Before rich Europe's worthies put thou forth
The doubtful question unto Vandermast.
Bungay. Let it be this: whether the spirits of pyromancy or geomancy be most predominant in magic?
Vandermast. I say, of pyromancy.
Bungay. And I, of geomancy.
Vandermast. The cabalists that write of magic spells,
As Hermes, Melchie, and Pythagoras,
Affirm that 'mongst the quadruplicity
Of elemental essence, terra is but thought
To be a punctum squared to the rest;
And that the compass of ascending elements
Exceed in bigness as they do in height;
Judging the concave circle of the sun
To hold the rest in his circumference.
If, then, as Hermes says, the fire be great'st,
Purest, and only giveth shapes to spirits,
Then must these demones that haunt that place
Be every way superior to the rest.
Bungay. I reason not of elemental shapes,
Nor tell I of the concave latitudes,
Noting their essence nor their quality,
But of the spirits that pyromancy calls,
And of the vigor of the geomantic fiends.
I tell thee, German, magic haunts the grounds,
And those strange necromantic spells,
That work such shows and wondering in the world,
Are acted by those geomantic spirits
That Hermes calleth terrae filii.
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 gross and massy in their power.
Vandermast. Rather these earthly geomantic spirits
Are dull and like the place where they remain;
For, when proud Lucifer fell from the heavens,
The spirits and angels that did sin with him
Retained their local essence as their faults,
All subject under Luna's continent.
They which offended less hang in the fire,
And second faults did rest within the air;
But Lucifer and his proud-hearted fiends
Were thrown into the center of the earth,
Having less understanding than the rest,
As having greater sin and lesser grace.
Therefore such gross and earthly spirits do serve
For jugglers, witches, and vild sorcerers;
Whereas the pyromantic genii
Are mighty, swift, and of far-reaching power.
But grant that geomancy hath most force;
Bungay,to please these mighty potentates,
Prove by some instance what thy art can do.
Bungay. I will.
Emperor. Now, English Harry, here begins the game;
We shall see sport between these learned men.
Vandermast. What wilt thou do?
Bungay. 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.
Vandermast. Well done.
Here Bungay conjures, and the tree appears
with the dragon shooting fire.
Henry. What say you, royal lordings, to my friar?
Hath he not done a point of cunning skill?
Vandermast. Each scholar in the necromantic spells
Can do as much as Bungay hath performed.
But as Alcmena's bastard razed this tree,
So will I raise him up as when he lived,
And cause him pull the dragon from his seat,
And tear the branches piecemeal from the root.
Hercules, prodi, prodi, Hercules!
Hercules appears in his lion's skin.
Hercules. Quis me vult
Vandermast. Jove's bastard son, thou Libyan Hercules,
Pull off the sprigs from off the Hesperian tree,
As once thou didst to win the golden fruit.
Hercules. Fiat.
Here he begins to break the branches.
Vandermast. Now, Bungay, if thou canst by magic charm
The fiend appearing like great Hercules
From pulling down the branches of the tree,
Then art thou worthy to be counted learned.
Bungay. I cannot.
Vandermast. Cease, Hercules, until I give thee charge.
Mighty commander of this English isle,
Henry, come from the stout Plantagenets,
Bungay is learned enough to be a friar,
But to compare with Jacques Vandermast,
Oxford and Cambridge must go seek their cells
To find a man to match him in his art.
I have given nonplus to the Paduans,
To them of Sien, Florence, and Bologna,
Rheims, Louvain, and fair Rotterdam,
Frankfort, Utrecht, and Orleans;
And now must Henry, if he do me right,
Crown me with laurel, as they all have done.
Enter Bacon.
Bacon. All hail to this royal company,
That sit to hear and see this strange dispute.
Bungay, how stand'st thou as a man amazed?
What, hath the German acted more than thou?
Vandermast. What art thou that questions thus?
Bacon. Men call me Bacon.
Vandermast. Lordly thou lookest, as if that thou wert learned;
Thy countenance, as if science held her seat
Between the circled arches of thy brows.
Henry. Now, monarchs, hath the German found his match.
Emperor. Bestir thee, Jacques, take not now the foil,
Lest thou dost lose what foretime thou didst gain.
Vandermast. Bacon, wilt thou dispute?
Bacon. No, unless he were more learned than Vandermast;
For yet, tell me; what hast thou done?
Vandermast. Raised Hercules to ruinate that tree
That Bungay mounted by his magic spells.
Bacon. Set Hercules to work.
Vandermast. Now, Hercules, I charge thee to thy task.
Pull off the golden branches from the root.
Hercules. I dare not. Seest thou not great Bacon here,
Whose frown doth act more than thy magic can?
Vandermast. By all the thrones and dominations,
Virtues, powers and mighty hierarchies,
I charge thee to obey to Vandermast.
Hercules. Bacon, that bridles headstrong Belcephon,
And rules Asmenoth, guider of the north,
Binds me from yielding untoVandermast.
Henry. How now, Vandermast, have you met with your match?
Vandermast. Never before was't known to Vandermast
That men held devils in such obedient awe.
Bacon doth more than art, or else I fail.
Emperor. Why, Vandermast, art thou overcome?
Bacon, dispute with him and try his skill.
Bacon. I come not, monarchs, for to hold dispute
With such a novice as is Vandermast.
I come to have your royalties to dine
With Friar Bacon here in Brazen-nose;
And for this German troubles but the place,
And holds this audience with a long suspense,
I'll send him to his academy hence.
Thou, Hercules, whom Vandermast did raise,
Transport the German unto Hapsburg straight,
That he may learn by travail, 'gainst the spring,
More secret dooms and aphorisms of art.
Vanish the tree and thou away with him.
Exit the spirit with Vandermast and the tree.
Emperor. Why, Bacon, whither dost thou send him?
Bacon. To Hapsburg; there your highness at return
Shall find the German in his study safe.
Henry. Bacon, thou hast honored England with thy skill,
And made fair Oxford famous by thine art;
I will be English Henry to thyself.
But tell me, shall we dine with thee today?
Bacon. With me, my lord; and while I fit my cheer,
See where Prince Edward comes to welcome you.
Gracious as the morning star of heaven. (Exit.
Enter Edward, Lacy, Warren, Ermsby.
Emperor. Is this Prince Edward, Henry's royal son?
How martial is the figure of his face,
Yet lovely and beset with amorets.
Henry. Ned, where hast thou been?
Edward. At Framingham, my lord, to try your bucks
If they could 'scape the teasers or the toil;
But hearing of these lordly potentates
Landed and progressed up to Oxford town,
I posted to give entertain to them --
Chief, to the Almain monarch; next to him,
And joint with him, Castile and Saxony,
Are welcome as they may be to the English court.
Thus for the men. But see, Venus appears,
Or one that overmatcheth Venus in her shape.
Sweet Eleanor, beauty's high-swelling pride,
Rich nature's glory and her wealth at once,
Fair of all fairs, welcome to Albion;
Welcome to me, and welcome to thine own,
If that thou deign'st the welcome from myself.
Eleanor. Martial Plantagenet, Henry's high-minded son,
The mark that Eleanor did count her aim,
I liked thee 'fore I saw thee; now, I love,
And so as in so short a time I may;
Yet so as time shall never break that so,
And therefore so accept of Eleanor.
Castile. Fear not, my lord, this couple will agree,
If love may creep into their wanton eyes;
And therefore, Edward, I accept thee here,
Without suspense as my adopted son.
Henry. Let me that joy in these consorting greets,
And glory in these honors done to Ned,
Yield thanks for all these favors to my son,
And rest a true Plantagenet to all.
Enter Miles with a cloth and trenchers and salt.
Miles. Salvete, omnes reges, that govern your greges,
In Saxony and Spain, in England and in Almain;
For all this frolic rabble must I cover thee, table,
With trenchers, salt, and cloth, and then look for your broth.
Emperor. What pleasant fellow is this?
Henry. 'Tis, my lord, Doctor Bacon's poor scholar.
Miles. My master hath made me sewer of these great lords, and God knows I am as serviceable at a table as a sow is under an apple tree. 'Tis no matter; their cheer shall not be great, and therefore what skills where the salt stand, before or behind?
Castile. These scholars knows more skill in axioms,
How to use quips and sleights of sophistry,
Than for to cover courtly for a king.
Enter Miles with a mess of pottage and broth, and after him, Bacon.
Miles. Spill, sir? Why, do you think I never carried twopenny chop before in my life?
By your leave, nobile decus, for here comes Doctor
Bacon's pecus,
Being in his full age, to carry a mess of pottage.
Bacon. Lordings, admire not if your cheer be this,
For we must keep our academic fare.
No riot where philosophy doth reign;
And therefore, Henry, place these potentates,
And bid them fall unto their frugal cates.
Emperor. Presumptuous friar, what, scoff'st thou at a king?
What, dost thou taunt us with thy peasants' fare,
And give us cates fit for country swains?
Henry, proceeds this jest of thy consent,
To twit us with such a pittance of such price?
Tell me, and Frederick will not grieve thee long.
Henry. By Henry's honor and the royal faith
The English monarch beareth to his friend,
I knew not of the friar's feeble fare;
Nor am I pleased he entertains you thus.
Bacon. Content thee, Frederick, for I showed the cates
To let thee see how scholars use to feed,
How little meat refines our English wits.
Miles, take away, and let it be thy dinner.
Miles. Marry, sir, I will. This day shall be a festival day with me,
For I shall exeed in the highest degree. (Exit Miles.
Bacon. I tell thee, monarch, all the German peers
Could not afford thy entertainment such,
So royal and so full of majesty,
As Bacon will present to Frederick.
The basest waiter that attends thy cups
Shall be in honors greater than thyself;
And for they cates, rich Alexandria drugs,
Fetched by carvels from Egypt's richest straits,
Found in the wealthy strond of Africa,
Shall royalize the table of my king.
Wines richer than the 'Gyptian courtesan
Quaffed to Augustus' kingly counter-match
Shall be caroused in English Henry's feasts;
Kandy shall yield the richest of her canes;
Persia, down her Volga by canoes,
Send down the secrets of her spicery;
The Afric dates, mirabolans of Spain,
Conserves and suckets from Tiberias,
Cates from Judea, choicer than the lamp
That fired Rome with sparks of gluttony,
Shall beautify the board for Frederick;
And therefore grudge not at a friar's feast.
Enter two gentlemen, Lambert and Serlsby, with the keeper.
Lambert. Come, frolic keeper of our liege's game,
Whose table spread hath ever venison
And jacks of wine to welcome passengers,
Know I am in love with jolly Margaret,
That over-shines our damsels as the moon
Darkeneth the brightest sparkles of the night.
In Laxfield here my land and living lies;
I'll make thy daughter jointer of it all,
So thou consent to give her to my wife;
And I can spend five hundred marks a year.
Serlsby. I am the lands lord, keeper, of thy holds;
By copy all thy living lies in me;
Laxfield did never see me raise my due.
I will enfeoff fair Margaret in all,
So she will take her to a lusty squire.
Keeper. Now, courteous gentles, if the keeper's girl
Hath pleased the liking fancy of you both,
And with her beauty hath subdued your thoughts,
'Tis doubtful to decide the question.
It joys me that such men of great esteem
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 keeper's fee,
I will, to avoid displeasure of you both,
Call Margaret forth, and she shall make her choice.
(Exit.
Lambert. Content, 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 year be out?
Serlsby. I live not, Lambert, to content the dead;
Nor was I wedded but for life to her.
The grave ends and begins a married state.
Enter Margaret.
Lambert. Peggy, the lovely flower of all towns,
Suffolk's fair Helen and rich England's star,
Whose beauty tempered with her huswifery
Makes England talk of merry Fressingfield!
Serlsby. I cannot trick it up with poesies,
Nor paint my passions with comparisons,
Nor tell a tale of Phoebus and his loves;
But this believe me: Laxfield here is mine,
Of ancient rent seven hundred pounds a year,
And, if thou canst but love a country squire,
I will enfeoff thee, Margaret, in all.
I cannot flatter; try me, if thou please.
Margaret. Brave neighboring squires, the stay of
Suffolk's crime, a keeper's daughter is too base in 'gree
To match with men accompted of such worth.
But might I not displease, I would reply.
Lambert. Say, Peggy. Naught shall make us discontent.
Margaret. Then, gentles, note that love hath little stay.
Nor can the flames that Venus sets on fire
Be kindled but by fancy's motion.
Then pardon, gentles, if a maid's reply
Be doubtful, while I have debated with myself,
Who or of whom love shall constrain me like.
Serlsby. Let it be me; and trust me, Margaret,
The meads environed with the silver streams,
Whose battling pastures fatteneth all my flocks,
Yielding forth fleeces stapled with such wool
As Lempster cannot yield more finer stuff,
And forty kine with fair and burnished heads,
With strouting dugs that paggle to the ground,
Shall serve thy dairy if thou wed with me.
Lambert. Let pass the country wealth, as flocks and kine,
And lands that wave with Ceres' golden sheaves,
Filling my barns with plenty of the fields;
But, Peggy, if thou wed thyself to me,
Thou shalt have garments of embroidered silk,
Lawns, and rich networks for thy head attire.
Costly shall be thy fair 'abiliments,
If thou wilt be but Lambert's loving wife.
Margaret. Content you, gentles. You have proffered fair,
And more than fits a country maid's degree.
But give me leave to counsel me a time;
For fancy blooms not at the first assault.
Give me but ten days respite and I will reply
Which or to whom myself affectionates.
Serlsby. Lambert, I tell thee thou art importunate;
Such beauty fits not such a base esquire.
It is for Serlsby to have Margaret.
Lambert. Think'st thou with wealth to over-reach me?
Serlsby, I scorn to brook thy country braves.
I dare thee, coward, to maintain this wrong
At dint of rapier, single in the field.
Serlsby. I'll answer, Lambert, what I have avouched.
Margaret, farewell; another time shall serve.
(Exit Serlsby.
Lambert. I'll follow. Peggy, farewell to thyself;
Listen how well I'll answer for thy love.
(Exit Lambert.
Margaret. How Fortune tempers lucky haps with frowns,
And wrongs me with the sweets of my delight.
Love is my bliss; and love is now my bale.
Shall I be Helen in my froward fates,
As I am Helen in my matchless hue,
And set rich Suffolk with my face afire?
If lovely Lacy were but with his Peggy,
The cloudy darkness of his bitter frown
Would check the pride of these aspiring squires.
Before the term of ten days be expired,
When as they look for answer of their loves,
My lord will come to merry Fressingfield
And end their fancies and their follies both;
Till when, Peggy, be blithe and of good cheer.
Enter a post with a letter and a bag of gold.
Post. Fair lovely damsel, which way leads this path?
How might I post me unto Fressingfield?
Which footpath leadeth to the keeper's lodge?
Margaret. Your way is ready and this path is right.
Myself do dwell hereby in Fressingfield,
And, if the keeper be the man you seek,
I am his daughter. May I know the cause?
Post. Lovely and once beloved of my lord --
No marvel if his eye was lodged so low,
When brighter beauty is not in the heavens --
The Lincoln earl hath sent you letters here,
And with them, just an hundred pounds in gold.
Sweet bonny wench, read them and make reply.
Margaret. The scrolls that Jove sent Danae,
Wrapped in rich closures of fine burnished gold,
Were not more welcome than these lines to me.
Tell me, whilst that I do unrip the seals,
Lives Lacy well? How fares my lovely lord?
Post. Well, if that wealth may make men to live well.
The letter, and Margaret reads it.
"The blooms of the almond tree grow in a night, and vanish in a morn; the flies haemerae, fair Peggy, take life with the sun, and die with the dew; fancy, that slippeth in with a gaze, goeth out with a wink; and too timely loves have ever the shortest length. I write this as thy grief, and my folly, who at Fressingfield loved that which time hath taught me to be but mean dainties. Eyes are dissemblers, and fancy is but queasy. Therefore know, Margaret, I have chosen a Spanish lady to be my wife, chief waiting woman to the Princess Eleanor: a lady fair, and no less fair than thyself, honorable and wealthy. In that I forsake thee, I leave thee to thine own liking; and for thy dowry I have sent thee an hundred pounds, and ever assure thee of my favor, which shall avail thee and thine much. Farewell.
Not thine nor his own,
Edward Lacy."
Margaret. Fond Ate, doomer of bad-boding fates,
That wraps proud Fortune in thy snaky locks,
Didst thou enchant my birthday with such stars
As lightened mischief from their infancy?
If heavens had vowed, if stars had made decree,
To show on me their froward influence,
If Lacy had but loved, heavens, hell, and all,
Could not have wronged the patience of my mind.
Post. It grieves me, damsel, but the earl is forced
To love the lady by the king's command.
Margaret. The wealth combined within the English shelves,
Europe's commander, nor the English king
Should not have moved the love of Peggy from her lord.
Post. What answer shall I return to my lord?
Margaret. First, for thou cam'st from Lacy whom I loved,
Ah, give me leave to sigh at every thought!
Take thou, my friend, the hundred pound he sent;
For Margaret's resolution craves no dower.
The world shall be to her as vanity;
Wealth, trash; love, hate; pleasure, despair.
For I will straight to stately Framingham,
And in the abbey there be shorn a nun,
And yield my loves and liberty to God.
Fellow, I give thee this, not for the news,
For those be hateful unto Margaret,
But for th'art Lacy's man, once Margaret's love.
Post. What I have heard, what passions I have seen,
I'll make report of them unto the earl. (Exit Post.
Margaret. Say that she joys his fancies be at rest,
And prays that his misfortune may be hers. (Exit.
Enter Friar Bacon drawing the curtains with a white stick, a book in his hand, and a lamp lighted by him, and the brazen head; and Miles, with weapons by him.
Bacon. Miles, where are you?
Miles. Here, sir.
Bacon. How chance you tarry so long?
Miles. Think you that the watching of the brazen head craves no furniture? I warrant you, sir, I have so armed myself that if all your devils come I will not fear them an inch.
Bacon. Miles, thou knowest that I have dived into hell
And sought the darkest palaces of fiends;
That with my magic spells great Belcephon
Hath left his lodge and kneeled at my cell;
The rafters of the earth rent from the poles,
And three-formed Luna hid her silver looks,
Trembling upon her concave continent,
When Bacon read upon his magic book.
With seven years' tossing negromantic charms,
Poring upon dark Hecat's principles,
I have framed out a monstrous head of brass,
That, by th' enchanting forces of the devil,
Shall tell out strange and uncouth aphorisms,
And girt fair England with a wall of brass.
Bungay and I have watched these threescore days,
And now our vital spirits crave some rest.
If Argus lived, and had his hundred eyes,
They could not overwatch Phobeter's night.
Now, Miles, in thee rests Friar Bacon's weal;
The honor and renown of all his life
Hangs in the watching of this brazen head.
Therefore, I charge thee by the immortal God,
That holds the souls of men within his fist,
This night thou watch; for, ere the morning star
Sends out his glorious glister on the north,
The head will speak. Then, Miles, upon thy life,
Wake me; for then by magic art I'll work
To end my seven years' task with excellence.
If that a wink but shut thy watchful eye,
Then farewell Bacon's glory and his fame.
Draw close the curtains, Miles. Now, for thy life,
Be watchful, and. . . (Here he falleth asleep.
Miles. So. I thought you would talk yourself asleep anon; and 'tis no marvel, for Bungay on the days and he on the nights have watched just these ten and fifty days. Now this is the night, and 'tis my task and no more. Now, Jesus bless me, what a goodly head it is; and a nose! you talk of nos autem glorificare, but here's a nose that I warrant may be called nos autem popelare for the people of the parish. Well, I am furnished with weapons. Now, sir, I will set me down by a post, and make it as good as a watchman to wake me if I chance to slumber. I thought, Goodman Head,
I would call you out of your memento.
(Sit down and knock your head.
Passion a' God, I have almost broke my pate! Up, Miles, to your task; take your brown bill in your hand; here's some of your master's hobgoblins abroad.
(With this a great noise. The Head speaks.
Head. Time is.
Miles. Time is? Why, Master Brazen-head, have you such a capital nose, and answer you with syllables,
"Time is"? Is this all my master's cunning, to spend seven years' study about "Time is"? Well, sir, it may be we shall have some better orations of it anon. Well, I'll watch you as narrowly as ever you were watched, and I'll play with you as the nightingale with the slowworm: I'll set a prick against my breast. Now, rest there, Miles. Lord have mercy upon me, I have almost killed myself! Up, Miles; list how they rumble.
Head. Time was.
Miles. Well, Friar Bacon, you spent your seven years' study well, that can make your head speak but two words at once. "Time was." Yea, marry, time was when my master was a wise man, but that was before he began to make the brazen head. You shall lie, while your arse ache and your head speak no better. Well, I will watch, and walk up and down, and be a peripatetian and a philosopher of Aristotle's stamp. What, a fresh noise? Take thy pistols in hand, Miles.
Here the Head speaks; and a lightning flasheth forth, and a hand appears that breaketh down the Head with a hammer.
Head. Time is past.
Miles. Master, master, up! Hell's broken loose; your head speaks, and there's such a thunder and lightning that I warrant all Oxford is up in arms. Out of your bed, and take a brown bill in your hand. The latter day is come.
Bacon. Miles, I come. Oh, passing warily watched;
Bacon will make thee next himself in love,
When spake the head?
Miles. When spake the head! Did not you say that he should tell strange principles of philosophy? Why, sir, it speaks but two words at a time.
Bacon. Why, villain, hath it spoken oft?
Miles. Oft? Ay, marry, hath it, thrice. But in all those three times it hath uttered but seven words.
Bacon. As how?
Miles. Marry, sir, the first time he said, "Time is." As if Fabius Cumentator should have pronounced a sen- tence, he said, "Time was." And the third time, with thunder and lightning, as in great choler, he said, "Time is past."
Bacon. 'Tis past indeed. Ah, villain, time is past;
My life, my fame, my glory, all are past.
Bacon, the turrets of thy hope are ruined down;
Thy seven years' study lieth in the dust;
Thy brazen head lies broken through a slave
That watched, and would not when the head did will.
What said the head first?
Miles. Even, sir, "Time is."
Bacon. Villain, if thou hadst called to Bacon then,
If thou hadst watched, and waked the sleepy friar,
The brazen head had uttered aphorisms,
And England had been circled round with brass.
But proud Astmeroth, ruler of the north,
And Demogorgon, master of the fates,
Grudge that a mortal man should work so much.
Hell trembled at my deep, commanding spells;
Fiends frowned to see a man their overmatch.
Bacon might boast more than a man might boast,
But now the braves of Bacon hath an end;
Europe's conceit of Bacon hath an end;
His seven years' practice sorteth to ill end;
And, villain, sith my glory hath an end,
I will appoint thee fatal to some end.
Villain, avoid; get thee from Bacon's sight.
Vagrant, go roam and range about the world,
And perish as a vagabond on earth.
Miles. Why then, sir, you forbid me your service.
Bacon. My service, villain, with a fatal curse
That direful plagues and mischief fall on thee.
Miles. 'Tis no matter. I am against you with the old proverb, "The more the fox is cursed, the better he fares." God be with you, sir. I'll take but a book in my hand, a wide-sleeved gown on my back, and a crowned cap on my head, and see if I can want promotion.
Bacon. Some fiend or ghost haunt on thy weary steps,
Until they do transport thee quick to hell;
For Bacon shall have never merry day,
To lose the fame and honor of his head. (Exit.
Enter Emperor, Castile, Henry, Eleanor, Edward, Lacy, Rafe.
Emperor. Now, lovely prince, the prince of Albion's wealth,
How fares the Lady Eleanor and you?
What, have you courted and found Castile fit
To answer England in equivalence?
Will't be a match 'twixt bonny Nell and thee?
Edward. Should Paris enter in the courts of Greece
And not lie fettered in fair Helen's looks?
Or Phoebus 'scape those piercing amorets
That Daphne glanced at his deity?
Can Edward then sit by a flame and freeze,
Whose heat puts Helen and fair Daphne down?
Now, monarchs, ask the lady if we 'gree.
Henry. What, madam, hath my son found grace or no?
Eleanor. Seeing, my lord, his lovely counterfeit,
And hearing how his mind and shape agreed,
I come not, trooped with all this warlike train,
Doubting of love, but so affectionate
As Edward hath in England what he won in Spain.
Castile. A match, my lord; these wantons needs must love.
Men must have wives and women will be wed.
Let's haste the day to honor up the rites.
Rafe. Sirrah Harry, shall Ned marry Nell?
Henry. Ay, Rafe; how then?
Rafe. Marry, Harry, follow my counsel. Send for Friar
Bacon to marry them, for he'll so conjure him and her with his negromancy, that they shall love together like pig and lamb whilst they live.
Castile. But hear'st thou, Rafe, art thou content to have Eleanor to thy lady?
Rafe. Ay, so she will promise me two things.
Castile. What's that, Rafe?
Rafe. That she will never scold with Ned, nor fight with me. Sirrah Harry, I have put her down with a thing unpossible.
Henry. What's that, Rafe?
Rafe. Why, Harry, didst thou ever see that a woman could both hold her tongue and her hands? No. But when egg- pies grows on apple trees, then will thy gray mare prove a bagpiper.
Emperor. What says the Lord of Castile and the Earl of
Lincoln, that they are in such earnest and secret talk?
Castile. I stand, my lord, amazed at his talk,
How he discourseth of the constancy
Of one surnamed, for beauty's excellence,
The Fair Maid of merry Fressingfield.
Henry. 'Tis true, my lord, 'tis wondrous for to hear;
Her beauty passing Mars's paramour,
Her virgin's right as rich as Vesta's was.
Lacy and Ned hath told me miracles.
Castile. What says Lord Lacy? Shall she be his wife?
Lacy. Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.
May it please your highness give me leave to post
To Fressingfield, I'll fetch the bonny girl,
And prove in true appearance at the court
What I have vouched often with my tongue.
Henry. Lacy, go to the querry of my stable
And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn.
Hie thee to Fressingfield and bring home the lass;
And for her fame flies through the English coast,
If it may please the Lady Eleanor,
One day shall match your excellence and her.
Eleanor. We Castile ladies are not very coy.
Your highness may command a greater boon;
And glad were I to grace the Lincoln earl
With being partner of his marriage day.
Edward. Gramercy, Nell; for I do love the lord
As he that's second to myself in love.
Rafe. You love her? Madam Nell, never believe him you though he swears he loves you.
Eleanor. Why, Rafe?
Rafe. Why, his love is like unto a tapster's glass that is broken with every touch; for he loved the Fair Maid of Fressingfield once, out of all ho. Nay, Ned, never wink upon me; I care not, I.
Henry. Rafe tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.
But Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield,
For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state,
The solemn marriage day will be at hand.
Lacy. I go, my lord. (Exit Lacy.
Emperor. How shall we pass this day, my lord?
Henry. To horse, my lord. The day is passing fair;
We'll fly the partridge or go rouse the deer.
Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport.
(Exeunt.
Enter Friar Bacon with Friar Bungay to his cell.
Bungay. What means the friar that frolicked it of late
To sit as melancholy in his cell
As if he had neither lost nor won today?
Bacon. Ah, Bungay, my brazen head is spoiled,
My glory gone, my seven years' study lost.
The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world,
Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace.
Bungay. 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.
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.
Bungay. My mind is heavy, whatso'er shall hap.
Enter two Scholars, sons to Lambert and Serlsby. Knock.
Bacon. Who's that knocks?
Bungay. Two scholars that desires to speak with you.
Bacon. Bid them come in. Now, my youths, what would you have?
1. Scholar. Sir, we are Suffolk men and neighboring friends,
Our fathers, in their countries, lusty squires;
Their lands adjoin. In Crackfield mine doth dwell,
And his in Laxfield. We are college mates,
Sworn brothers, as our fathers lives as friends.
Bacon. To what end is all this?
2. Scholar. 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 lives.
Meanwhile, tell me your names.
1. Scholar. Mine Lambert.
2. Scholar. And mine Serlsby.
Bacon. Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy.
Enter Lambert and Serlsby, with rapiers and daggers.
Lambert. Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man.
Th'art worthy of the title of a squire
That durst, for proof of thy affection,
And for thy mistress' favor, prize 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.
Serlsby. Thou seest I single thee 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.
Lambert. 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.
1. Scholar. Serlsby, 'tis hard; thy father offers wrong,
To combat with my father in the field.
2. Scholar. Lambert, thou liest; my father's is the abuse,
And thou shalt find it, if my father harm.
Bungay. How goes it, sirs?
1. Scholar. Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressing- field.
Bacon. Sit still, my friends, and see the event.
Lambert. Why stand'st thou, Serlsby? Doubt'st thou of thy life?
A veney, man; fair Margaret craves so much.
Serlsby. Then this, for her!
1. Scholar. Ah, well thrust.
2. Scholar. But mark the ward.
They fight and kill each other.
Lambert. Oh, I am slain!
Serlsby. And I; Lord have mercy on me.
1. Scholar. My father slain! Serlsby, ward that.
The two Scholars stab one another.
2. Scholar. And so is mine. Lambert, I'll quite thee well.
Bungay. Oh, strange stratagem.
Bacon. See, friar, where the fathers both lie dead.
Bacon, thy magic doth effect massacre.
This glass prospective worketh many woes;
And therefore, seeing these brave, lusty brutes,
These friendly youths did perish by thine art,
End all thy magic and thine art at once.
The poniard that did end the fatal lives
Shall break the cause efficiat of their woes.
So fade the glass, and end with it the shows
That negromancy did infuse the crystal with.
(He breaks the glass.
Bungay. What means learned 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 negromantic charms,
Conjuring and adjuring devils and fiends,
With stole and alb and strange pentaganon,
The wresting of the holy name of God,
As Sother, Eloim, and Adonai,
Alpha, Manoth, and Tetragrammaton,
With praying to the five-fold powers of heaven,
Are instances that Bacon must be damned
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 newborn 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. (Exit.
Enter Margaret in nun's apparel; Keeper, her
father; and their friend.
Keeper. Margaret, be not so headstrong in these vows.
Oh, bury not such beauty in a cell,
That England hath held famous for the hue.
Thy father's hair, like to the silver blooms
That beautify the shrubs of Africa,
Shall fall before the dated time of death,
Thus to forgo his lovely Margaret.
Margaret. Ah, father, when the harmony of heaven
Soundeth the measures of a lively faith,
The vain illusions of this flattering world
Seems odious to the thoughts of Margaret.
I loved once; Lord Lacy was my love;
And now I hate myself for that I loved,
And doted more on him than on my God.
For this, I scourge myself with sharp repents.
But now, the touch of such aspiring sins
Tells me all love is lust but love of heavens,
That beauty used for love is vanity.
The world contains naught but alluring baits,
Pride, flattery, and inconstant thoughts.
To shun the pricks of death I leave the world,
And vow to meditate on heavenly bliss,
To live in Framingham a holy nun,
Holy and pure in conscience and in deed;
And for to wish all maids to learn of me
To seek heaven's joy before earth's vanity.
Friend. And will you then, Margaret, be shorn a nun, and so leave us all?
Margaret. Now, farewell, world, the engine of all woe.
Farewell to friends and father; welcome, Christ.
Adieu to dainty robes; this base attire
Better befits an humble mind to God
Than all the show of rich 'abiliments.
Love, oh love, and, with fond love, farewell,
Sweet Lacy, whom I loved once so dear;
Ever be well, but never in my thoughts,
Lest I offend to think on Lacy's love.
But even to that, as to the rest, farewell.
Enter Lacy, Warren, Ermsby, booted and spurred.
Lacy. Come on, my wags, we're near the keeper's lodge.
Here have I oft walked in the watery meads,
And chatted with my lovely Margaret.
Warren. Sirrah Ned, is not this the keeper?
Lacy. 'Tis the same.
Ermsby. The old lecher hath gotten holy mutton to him.
A nun, my lord.
Lacy. Keeper, how farest thou? Holla, man, what cheer?
How doth Peggy, thy daughter and my love?
Keeper. Ah, good my lord, oh, woe is me for Peg!
See where she stands, clad in her nun's attire,
Ready for to be shorn in Framingham.
She leaves the world because she left your love.
Oh, good my lord, persuade her if you can.
Lacy. Why, how now, Margaret; what, a malcontent?
A nun? What holy father taught you this,
To task yourself to such a tedious life
As die a maid? 'Twere injury to me
To smother up such beauty in a cell.
Margaret. Lord Lacy, thinking of thy former 'miss,
How fond the prime of wanton years were spent
In love -- oh, fie upon that fond conceit,
Whose hap and essence hangeth in the eye --
I leave both love and love's content at once,
Betaking me to Him that is true love,
And leaving all the world for love of Him.
Lacy. Whence, Peggy, comes this metamorphosis?
What, shorn a nun? And I have from the court
Posted with coursers to convey thee hence
To Windsor, where our marriage shall be kept.
Thy wedding robes are in the tailors' hands.
Come, Peggy, leave these peremptory vows.
Margaret. Did not my lord resign his interest,
And make divorce 'twixt Margaret and him?
Lacy. 'Twas but to try sweet Peggy's constancy.
But will fair Margaret leave her love and lord?
Margaret. Is not heaven's joy before earth's fading bliss,
And life above sweeter than life in love?
Lacy. Why, then Margaret will be shorn a nun?
Margaret. Margaret hath made a vow which may not be revoked.
Warren. We cannot stay, my lord; and if she be so strict,
Our leisure grants us not to woo afresh.
Ermsby. Choose you, fair damsel; yet the choice is yours.
Either a solemn nunnery or the court;
God or Lord Lacy. Which contents you best,
To be a nun, or else Lord Lacy's wife?
Lacy. A good motion. Peggy, your answer must be short.
Margaret. The flesh is frail. My lord doth know it well,
That when he comes with his enchanting face,
Whatso'er betide, I cannot say him nay.
Off goes the habit of a maiden's heart;
And, seeing Fortune will, fair Framingham,
And all the show of holy nuns, farewell.
Lacy for me, if he will be my lord.
Lacy. Peggy, thy lord, thy love, thy husband.
Trust me, by truth of knighthood, that the king
Stays for to marry matchless Eleanor
Until I bring thee richly to the court,
That one day may both marry her and thee.
How say'st thou, keeper? Art thou glad of this?
Keeper. As if the English king had given
The park and deer of Fressingfield to me.
Ermsby. I pray thee, my Lord of Sussex, why art thou in a brown study?
Warren. To see the nature of women, that be they never so near God, yet they love to die in a man's arms.
Lacy. What have you fit for breakfast? We have hied
And posted all this night to Fressingfield.
Margaret. Butter and cheese and humbles of a deer,
Such as poor keepers have within their lodge.
Lacy. And not a bottle of wine?
Margaret. We'll find one for my lord.
Lacy. Come, Sussex, let's in; we shall have more,
For she speaks least to hold her promise sure. (Exeunt.
Enter a devil to seek Miles.
Devil. How restless are the ghosts of hellish spirits
When every charmer with his magic spells
Calls us from nine-fold trenched Phlegiton,
To scud and over-scour the earth in post
Upon the speedy wings of swiftest winds.
Now Bacon hath raised me from the darkest deep
To search about the world for Miles his man,
For Miles, and to torment his lazy bones
For careless watching of his brazen head.
See where he comes. Oh, he is mine.
Enter Miles with a gown and a cornercap.
Miles. A scholar, quoth you? Marry, sir, I would I had been made a bottle maker when I was made a scholar; for
I can get neither to be a deacon, reader, nor school- master; no, not the clerk of a parish. Some call me dunce; another saith my head is as full of Latin as an egg's full of oatmeal. Thus I am tormented that the devil and Friar Bacon haunts me. Good Lord, here's one of my master's devils. I'll go speak to him. What, Master Plutus, how cheer you?
Devil. Dost thou know me?
Miles. Know you, sir? Why, are not you one of my master's devils that were wont to come to my master,
Doctor Bacon, at Brazen-nose?
Devil. Yes, marry, am I.
Miles. Good Lord, Master Plutus, I have seen you a thousand times at my master's and yet I had never the manners to make you drink. But, sir, I am glad to see how conformable you are to the statute. I warrant you he's as yeomanly a man as you shall see; mark you, masters, here's a plain, honest man, without welt or guard. But I pray you, sir, do you come lately from hell?
Devil. Ay, marry; how then?
Miles. Faith, 'tis a place I have desired long to see. Have you not good tippling houses there? May not a man have a lusty fire there, a pot of good ale, a pair of cards, a swinging piece of chalk, and a brown toast that will clap a white waistcoat on a cup of good drink?
Devil. All this you may have there.
Miles. You are for me, friend, and I am for you. But
I pray you, may I not have an office there?
Devil. Yes, a thousand. What wouldst thou be?
Miles. By my troth, sir, in a place where I may profit myself. I know hell is a hot place, and men are marvelous dry, and much drink is spent there. I would be a tapster.
Devil. Thou shalt.
Miles. There's nothing lets me from going with you, but that 'tis a long journey, and I have never a horse.
Devil. Thou shalt ride on my back.
Miles. Now surely here's a courteous devil, that for to pleasure his friend will not stick to make a jade of himself. But I pray you, goodman friend, let me move a question to you.
Devil. What's that?
Miles. I pray you, whether is you pace a trot or an amble?
Devil. An amble.
Miles. 'Tis well. But take heed it be not a trot. But
'tis no matter; I'll prevent it.
Devil. What dost?
Miles. Marry, friend, I put on my spurs; for if I find your pace either a trot or else uneasy, I'll put you to a false gallop; I'll make you feel the benefit of my spurs.
Devil. Get up upon my back.
Miles. Oh, Lord, here's even a goodly marvel, when a man rides to hell on the devil's back.
(Exeunt roaring.
Enter the Emperor with a pointless sword; next, the King of Castile, carrying a sword with a point; Lacy, carrying the globe; Edward; Warren, carrying a rod of gold with a dove on it; Ermsby, with a crown and scepter; Princess Eleanor with the Fair Maid of Fressingfield 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 favors, on his martial sword
He vows perpetual homage to yourselves,
Yielding these honors unto Eleanor.
Henry. Gramercies, lordings. Old Plantagenet,
That rules and sways the Albion Diadem,
With tears discovers these conceived joys,
And vows requital, if his men-at-arms,
The wealth of England, or due honors done
To Eleanor, may quite his favorites.
But all this while, what say you to the dames,
That shine like to the crystal lamps of heaven?
Emperor. If but a third were added to these two,
They did surpass those gorgeous images
That gloried Ida with rich beauty's wealth.
Margaret. 'Tis I, my lords, who humbly on my knee
Must yield her orisons to mighty Jove,
For lifting up his handmaid to this state,
Brought from her homely cottage to the court,
And graced with kings, princes, and emperors;
To whom, next to the noble Lincoln earl,
I vow obedience and such humble love
As may a handmaid to such mighty men.
Eleanor. Thou martial man that wears the Almain crown,
And you the western potentates of might,
The Albion princess, English Edward's wife,
Proud that the lovely star of Fressingfield,
Fair Margaret, countess to the Lincoln earl,
Attends on Eleanor -- gramercies, lord, for her --
'Tis I give thanks for Margaret to you all,
And rest, for her, due bounden to yourselves.
Henry. Seeing the marriage is solemnized,
Let's march in triumph to the royal feast.
But why stands Friar Bacon here so mute?
Bacon. Repentant for the follies of my youth,
That magic's secret mysteries misled,
And joyful that this royal marriage
Portends such bliss unto this matchless realm.
Henry. Why, Bacon, what strange event shall happen to this land?
Or what shall grow from Edward and his queen?
Bacon. I find by deep prescience of mine art,
Which once I tempered in my secret cell,
That here where Brute did build his Troynovant,
From forth the royal garden of a king
Shall flourish out so rich and fair a bud
Whose brightness shall deface proud Phoebus' flower,
And overshadow Albion with her leaves.
Till then Mars shall be master of the field;
But then the stormy threats of wars shall cease.
The horse shall stamp as careless of the pike;
Drums shall be turned to timbrels of delight;
With wealthy favors plenty shall enrich
The strond that gladded wandering Brute to see,
And peace from heaven shall harbor in these leaves
That gorgeous beautifies this matchless flower.
Apollo's hellitropian then shall stoop,
And Venus' hyacinth shall vail her top;
Juno shall shut her gilliflowers up,
And Pallas' bay shall bash her brightest green;
Ceres' carnation, in consort with those,
Shall stoop and wonder at Diana's rose.
Henry. This prophecy is mystical.
But, glorious commanders of Europa's love,
That makes fair England like that wealthy isle
Circled with Gihon and swift Euphrates,
In royalizing Henry's Albion
With presence of your princely mightiness,
Let's march. The tables all are spread,
And viands such as England's wealth affords
Are ready set to furnish out the boards.
You shall have welcome, mighty potentates;
It rests to furnish up this royal feast.
Only your hearts be frolic, for the time
Craves that we taste of naught but jouissance.
Thus glories England over all the west. (Exeunt omnes.
Finis Friar Bacon, made by Robert Greene,
Master of Arts.
Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci.
This Lamb, commonly called "Doctor Lamb," whose scandalous life hath been a long subject of discourse in this kingdom and whose tragical and unexpected death of late happening, hath given cause of a sad example to all such wicked persons.
To pass by his childhood, and to come to the beginning of his life after he was at man's estate, was for the most part spent in the houses of divers gentlemen whose children he taught to write and read the English tongue. The first step that ever he made towards that wicked course which he was afterwards accused for, was the profession of that noble and deep science of physic &emdash; a color which many base impostors have used, to lewd and juggling practices; as the best things are subject to the greatest abuses. Whether this Doctor Lamb&emdash; for so we will now call him &emdash; had any ability of learning in him or no, I will relate the judgments of some honest and able men which have talked with him: he seemed to them (however he would talk highly to ignorant people) to be altogether unlearned and silly of discourse, or else to affect that way of speaking as a color of his mischievous practices; and rather to be thought, by them, an impostor, whom the credulous ignorance of the common people had raised to that fame, than to be truly and guiltily learned in those wicked mysteries; but whether he were truly the man which the people conceived him to be or not, I refer you to the proofs upon indictment at assizes against him and those other stories of him justified by men and women of credit:
He began, without short time after he professed physic in the country, to fall to other mysteries, as telling of fortunes, helping of divers to lost goods, showing to young people the faces of their husbands or wives that shoud be, in a crystal glass; revealing to wives the escapes and faults of their husbands, and to husbands, of their wives. By which means, whether truly or falesly told, he wrought so much upon their credulity that many mischiefs and divisions were wrought between married people. But his fame was never truly great till he came to be questiond by the laws of the kingdom at assizes and sessions...
[The next part of this pamphlet tells of Lamb's attempts to bewitch Thomas, lord Windsor, and of his subsequent trial at the Worcestershire assizes; of his trial for cursing the earl of Moultgrave's sons; and of various reports of magic performed by him. These incidents are followed in turn by an account of his trial for the rape of Joan Seager.]
Here followeth the effect of an indictment preferred against Doctor Lamb at the King's Bench bar, for a rape by him committed, upon the body of Joan Seager, of the age of eleven years.
The jury for our sovereign lord the King, upon [the day of] the Holy Evangelist, do present: That John Lamb, late of St. George in the borough of Southwarke in the county aforesaid, gentleman, not having the fear of God before his eyes, but by a diabolical instigation being moved and seduced, the tenth day of June (in the year of the reign of our sovereign lord James by the grace of God, of England, France, and Ireland, King, defender of the faith, etc., the 21[st] and of Scotland the 56[th] with force and arms, etc.) at the parish of St. George aforesaid, in the borough of Southwarke aforesaid, in the county aforesaid, upon one Joan Seager, a virgin of the age of eleven years in the peace of God and our said sovereign lord the King then and there being, an assault made, and her the said Joan against her will then and there feloniously and violently did ravish, deflower, and carnally know, against the peace of our said sovereign lord the King, his crown and dignity; and also against the form of the statute in this case made and provided, etc.
Upon which indictment he was arraigned before the King's Majesty's justices of his Highness' court called the King's Bench, and was there found guilty of the said rape, and had judgment to die&endash;but by his Majesty's especial grace he was pardoned.
Here followeth the effect of the proofs produced against him concerning this rape:
The examination of Mabel Swinnerton, wife to William Swinnerton, bricklayer, dwelling in St. Martin's parish, near unto the New Exchange:
Who saith that Elizabeth Seager, the mother of Joan Seager, came to her house (she then dwelling in Southwarke) on the Friday in Whitsunweek, and in a pitiful manner wringing her hands like a woman overwhelmed with extreme grief, crying out and saying, "I am undone, I am undone":
"I then asked her how her husband did &emdash; at that time he was a prisoner in the Counter upon an execution, and at that time lay very sick (to all such as saw him there, thinking him no man for this world). She answered me and said her husband was very ill and lay very hardly, but that was not that matter of her grief as then, for it was a worse sorrow than that! ‘O Lord,’ said I, ‘what more sorrows than these you have already? Yet whatsoever they be, desire God to give you patience &emdash; for nothing can happen to you but by God's foreknowledge. But I pray,’ said I, ‘tell me what sorrows these are that thus distract you.’
"She still continued as before, wringing her hands, and said she was not able to tell me, for she was undone. At last, with my importance, she said Joan was undone, and she said she could tell me no more, she was not able, but prayed me to come home. So forthwith I shut my door and went with her &emdash; and by the way I demanded the cause of her [sorrow]. She told me it was that villain Doctor Lamb had undone her child, and said she could say no more, her grief was so great. ‘But ask the girl,’ said she, ‘and she will tell you.’
"So, coming to the child, I questioned with her &emdash; but she, being much abashed and ashamed, was long before she would tell me. But at the last she told me that on Whitsun-even, Lamb's women being all very busy at her mother's house, there was nobody to carry a basket of herbs over to the bench but she; who, when she came to Doctor Lamb, his man was in the chamber with him, scraping of trenchers. And Doctor Lamb took her herbs of her, and set her to play on the virginals &emdash; and then he sent out his man on a message and locked the door, and then took her and led her into his closet and made fast that door &emdash; and took her upon a joint-stool and put his tongue in her mouth to kiss her. But she was wondrous fearful of him and strived with him as much as she could, but he would not let her alone, but strove with her."
(There are certain passages which are upon the records which for [modesty's] sake are here omitted.)
"I asked her why she told it not at the first. She said she was afraid her mother would have beaten her; but then, at her mother's entreaty, I took her home and dressed her &emdash; but when I opened her to dress her, the place did smoke like a pot that had seething liquor in it that were newly uncovered. And I found her to be very sore, and could not abide to be touched &emdash; but I perceived that somebody had dressed her, and I asked her if anybody had meddled to dress her. She told me Lamb's maid, Beck, had brought her a thing in a dish and had dressed her. But there was a little speck of the venomous substance of it that stuck upon the inside of her thigh, and when I pulled it away, it had festered the place where it stuck &emdash; as if one had touched it with an end of iron, so vild and venomous was that base substance. So by the entreaty of goodwife Seager, I went over to Doctor Lamb to show him what indeed he knew before (which was on the morrow after we knew of it); which, when I came, I saw the chamber well fraught with women, and not past three men in all. And I saw the Doctor (not indeed knowing what he was) very busy folding of linen, shaking of them betwixt him and another, and a white cloth pinned about him, and white sleeves up to his elbows, and as nimble as a vintner's boy, setting everyone in order. I demanded of his woman to speak with the Doctor. They told me that was he in the white apern. So at last he went into his closet and called to me, and asked me if I would speak with him. I asked if his name were Doctor Lamb. ‘That is it,’ said he.
"‘Marry,’ said I, ‘I am come to do a message unto you, that I am both sorry and ashamed to do: sorry,’ said I, ‘in respect of the child, and sorry for you, that you should offer to do such a thing! For you have undone an honest man's child; for well she may recover health of body again, but never her credit; for it will be a stain to her reputation whilst she lives. So many strumpets in the town, and to seek the ruin of a poor child! I would to God,’ said I, ‘you had not done it.’
"With that, he railed upon my lord of Windsor grievously, with many base words, and said he did more good deeds in a week than my lord of Windsor did in a year. ‘I grant you may do so &emdash; but this one ill deed hath quite put out the light of all them good deeds.’ And still he railed on my lord of Windsor. But I made answer I did not know my lord of Windsor, he was an honorable gentleman for aught I know. ‘But this concerns not him at all, but you, for you have undone her!’
"Then said he: ‘Let her come to me, that I may see how she is.’
"‘Nay,’ said I, ‘she hath been too late with you already. She will come no more here.’ He said he would have her searched with twelve women. ‘You may do as you please,’ said I, ‘for that matter.’
"‘I will have her searched to see if she be torn.’
"‘Nay,’ said I, ‘she is not so much torn, for I will wrong nobody for a thousand pound. But, in plain terms, you have burnt her. Either you have a foul body or you have dealt with some unclean person.’ Besides, I told him he had sent his maid to dress her, for the dish was at home still, and so I left him.
"And this is the truth concerning this business, with many appurtenances besides appertinent to the matter."
After his reprieve upon the rape, he hired a house near the Parliament House, where he lived about the space of a year and a quarter, in such a course of life as differed not at all from his former practices. Upon Friday being the 13[th] of June in the year of our Lord 1628, he went to see a play at the Fortune; where the boys of the town and other unruly people, having observed him present, after the play was ended flocked about him; and (after the manner of the common people, who follow a hubbub when it is once afoot) began in a confused manner to assault him and offer violence. He in affright made toward the city as fast as he could out of the Fields, and hired a company of sailors who were there present to be his guard. But so great was the fury of the people, who pelted him with stones and other things which came next to hand, that the sailors (although they did their endeavor for him) had much ado to bring him in safety as far as Moorgate. The rage of the people about that place increased so much that the sailors for their own safety were forced to leave the protection of him; and then the multitude pursued him through Coleman Street to the old Jewry, no house being able nor daring to give him protection though he had attempted many. Four constables were there raised to appease the tumult, who (all too late for his safety) brought him to the Counter in the Poultry, where he was bestowed upon the command of the lord mayor. For before he was brought thither, the people had had him down, and with stones and cudgels and other weapons had so beaten him that his skull was broken, one of his eyes hung out of his head, and all parts of his body bruised and wounded so much that no part was left to receive a wound.
Whereupon &emdash; although surgeons in vain were sent for &emdash; he never spoke a word, but lay languishing until eight o'clock the next morning, and then died. This lamentable end of life had Doctor John Lamb, who before prophesied (although he were confident he should escape hanging) that at last he should die a violent death. On Sunday following, he was buried in the new churchyard near Bishopsgate.
FINIS
SOURCES
Dame Alice Kyteler: [A Charm for Wealth.] "To the house..."
From Raphael Holinshed, The Chronicles of England, Scotlande, and Irelande. fol. 3 vols. London: J. Harison, G. Bishop, R. Newberie, H. Denham, and T. Woodcocke, 1587. (STC 13569. Reels 265 [pt. 1.1], 267 [pt. 1.2], 270 [pt. 1.3], 265-266 [pt. 2.1], 268 [pt. 2.2], 271 [pt. 2.3], reel [pt. 3.1], 270 [pt. 3.2], 272-73 [pt. 3.3].), p. PP).
Anon.: [By the Prayers of St. Dorothy: A Charm against Fever:] "What manner of evil thou be,…"
From British Library MS Sloane 747 [mS74], fol. 57r; written as prose. Collated with R. H. Robbins, Secular Lyrics (2d ed., 1955), pp. 60-1. Rob55 follows mS74 except as noted.
10 shed ] shewyd mS74
13 thee ] the Rob55; omit mS74
17 And the ] And all the mS74 (wrongly repeating all from 16)
17 Dorothie ] Dorathe mS74
From The Apprehension and Confession of Three Notorious Witches, Arraigned and by Justice Condemned and Executed, in the County of Essex, the 5[th] Day of July Last Past, 1589
From The Arraignment and Execution of Joan Cunny
From The Confession of Joan Upney of Dagenham
From The Examination of Joan Prentiss
[The Verdict]
From The Trial of the Lancaster Witches
The Voluntary Confession and Examination of Elizabeth Southern alias Dembdike
The voluntary Confession and examination of Anne Whittle alias Chattox (a)
[Testimony of Anne Whittle]
[The Indictment of Anne Whittle]
The voluntary Confession and examination of Anne Whittle alias Chattox (b)
The Examination of Elizabeth Southerns alias Old Dembdike:
The examination and voluntary confession of Anne Whittle alias Chattox:
A Charm
Charm
The Examination and Evidence of Anne Whittle, alias Chattox, against Margaret Pearson
[The Bewitchment of Elizabeth Jennings]
Normalized text by D. Foster, edited from British Library MS Add. 36674, fols.
134-7.
From Anon., A Briefe Description of the Notorious life of John Lamb ("Amsterdam" [i.e., London]: 1628; STC 15177, reel 803), pp. 15-21. Ed. D.W. Foster (1999)
Chelmsford (1589). STC 5114.
Anon., A dectection of damnable drifts practized by three witches arraignedat Chelmsford (1579). STC 5115.
Anon., Damnable practises of three Lincolnshire witches (1619). STC 11106.
Anon., The wonderful discoverie of the witchcrafts of Margaret and Philip Flower (1619). STC 11107.
Henry Goodcole, Natures cruell step-dames, or matchlesse monsters of the femal sex E. Barnes and A. Willis (1637). STC 12012.
Thomas Heywood, The wonderful discoverie of E. Sawyer, a witch (1621). STC 12014.
Thomas Heywood & Rd Brome, The late Lancashire witches (1634). STC 13373.
Jas. Mason, The anatomie of sorcerie (1612). STC 17615.
John Philip, The examination of certain wytches at Chelmsford (1566). STC 19845.
W. Punt, A new dialogue called the endightment against mother Messe (1548,'49). STC 20499-204500.
Anon., Brideling, sadling, and ryding of a rich churle in Hampshire, by one Judeth Philips (1595). STC 19855.
Thomas Potts, The wonderful discoverie of witches in ... Lancaster (1613). STC 20138.
Anon., A strange report of sixe witches (1601). STC 20890.
John Sadler, The sicke womans private looking-glasse (1636). STC 21544.
Anon., A rehearsall...E.Stile, etc., fower notorious witches (1579). STC 23267.
John Tyson, The Lancashire wonder (1630?). STC 23267.
W.W., A true and just recorde of all the witches at S. Oses, Essex (1582). STC 24922.
John Samuel and others, The most strange discoverie of the three witches of Warboys (1593). STC 25019.
Anon., Witches apprehended, examined and executed, etc. (1613). STC 25872.
Anon., The disclosing of a late counterfeyted possession by the devyl in two maydens (1574). STC 3738.
Anon., A true... Discourse of a woman (Margaret Cooper) possessed with the devill (1584). STC 5681.
Geo. More, ...Possession of 7 persons in one familie in Lancashire (ent. 1597, pub. 1600). STC 18070.