QueenʼsMen Editions

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  • 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.
    Bacon. Sit still my lord and marke the commedie.
    Bungay. Heeres Lacie, Margret step aside awhile.
    685Lacie. Daphne the damsell, that caught Phaebus fast,
    And lockt him in the brightnesse of her lookes,
    Was not so beautious in Appollos eyes,
    As is faire Margret to the Lincolne earle,
    Recant thee Lacie thou art put in trust,
    690Edward thy soueraignes sonne hath chosen thee
    A secret friend to court her for himselfe:
    And darest thou wrong thy Prince with trecherie.
    Lacie, loue makes no acception of a friend,
    Nor deemes it of a Prince, but as a man:
    695Honour bids thee controll him in his lust,
    His wooing is not for to wed the girle,
    But to intrap her and beguile the lasse:
    Lacie thou louest, then brooke not such abuse,
    But wed her, and abide thy Princes frowne:
    700For better die, then see her liue disgracde.
    Margret. Come Frier I will shake him from his dumpes,
    How cheere you sir, a penie for your thought:
    Your early vp, pray God it be the neere,
    What come from Beckles in a morne so soone.
    705Lacie. Thus watchfull are such men as liue in loue,
    Whose eyes brooke broken slumbers for their sleepe,
    I tell thee Peggie since last Harlston faire,
    My minde hath felt a heape of passions.
    Margret. A trustie man that court it for your friend,
    710Woo you still for the courtier all in greene.
    I maruell that he sues not for himselfe.
    Lacie. Peggie, I pleaded first to get your grace for him,
    But when mine eies suruaid your beautious lookes
    Loue like a wagge, straight diued into my heart,
    715And there did shrine the Idea of your selfe:
    Pittie me though I be a farmers sonne,
    And measure not my riches but my loue.
    Margret. You are verie hastie for to garden well,