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.
    755Lacie. I meant faire girle to make thee Lacies wife.
    Margret. I litle thinke that earles wil stoop so low,
    Lacie. Say, shall I make thee countesse ere I sleep.
    Marg. Handmaid vnto the earle so please himselfe
    A wife in name, but seruant in obedience.
    760Lacie. The Lincolne countesse, for it shalbe so,
    Ile plight the bands and seale it with a kisse.
    Edward. Gogs wounds Bacon they kisse, Ile stab them,
    Bacon. Oh hold your handes my lord it is the glasse.
    Edward. Coller to see the traitors gree so well,
    765Made me thinke the shadowes substances.
    Bacon. Twere a long poinard my lord, to reach betweene
    Oxford and Fresingfield, but sit still and see more.
    Bungay. Well lord of Lincolne, if your loues be knit,
    And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree:
    770To auoid insuing iarres, Ile hamper vp the match,
    Ile take my portace forth, and wed you heere,
    Then go to bed and seale vp your desires.
    Lacie. Frier content, Peggie how like you this?
    Margret. What likes my lord is pleasing vnto me.
    775Bungay. Then hand-fast hand, and I wil to my booke,
    Bacon. What sees my lord now.
    Edward. Bacon, I see the louers hand in hand,
    The Frier readie with his portace there,
    To wed them both, then am I quite vndone,
    780Bacon helpe now, if ere thy magicke serude,
    Helpe Bacon, stop the marriage now,
    If diuels or nigromansie may suffice,
    And I will giue thee fourtie thousand crownes.
    Bacon. Feare not my lord, Ile stop the iolly Frier,
    785For mumbling vp his orisons this day.
    Lacie. VVhy speakst not Bungay, Frier to thy booke.

    Bungay is mute, crying Hud hud.

    Margret. How lookest thou frier, as a man disttaught,