QueenʼsMen Editions

About this text

  • Title: Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (Quarto)
  • Editors: Christopher Hicklin, Christopher Matusiak

  • Copyright Queen's Men Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: Robert Greene
    Editors: Christopher Hicklin, Christopher Matusiak
    Peer Reviewed

    Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay (Quarto)

    The honourable historie of Frier Bacon.
    And seeing such a sweet and seemly saint,
    Shewes all his glories for to court your selfe.
    Margret. This is a fairing gentle sir indeed,
    To sooth me vp with such smooth flatterie,
    380But learne of me your scoffes to broad before:
    Well Ione our bewties must abide their iestes,
    We serue the turne in iolly Fresingfield.
    Ione. Margret, a farmers daughter for a farmers sonne,
    I warrant you the meanest of vs both,
    385Shall haue a mate to leade vs from the Church:
    But Thomas whats the newes? what in a dumpe.
    Giue me your hand, we are neere a pedlers shop,
    Out with your purse we must haue fairings now.
    Thomas. Faith Ione and shall, Ile bestow a fairing on you, and
    390then we will to the Tauern, and snap off a pint of wine or two.

    All this while Lacie whispers Margret in the eare.

    Margret. Whence are you sir, of Suffolke, for your tearmes
    are finer than the common sort of men?
    Lacie. Faith louely girle, I am of Beckles by,
    395Your neighbour not aboue six miles from hence,
    A farmers sonne that neuer was so quaint,
    But that he could do courtesie to such dames:
    But trust me Margret I am sent in charge,
    From him that reueld in your fathers house,
    400And fild his Lodge with cheere and venison,
    Tyred in greene, he sent you this rich purse:
    His token, that he helpt you run your cheese,
    And in the milkhouse chatted with your selfe.
    Margret. To me, you forget your selfe.
    405Lacie. Women are often weake in memorie.
    Margret. Oh pardon sir, I call to mind the man,
    Twere little manners to refuse his gift,
    And yet I hope he sends it not for loue:
    For we haue little leisure to debate of that.