Selection 1

How Friar Bacon made a Brazen Head to speak, by which he would have walled England about with brass.

Friar Bacon, reading one day of the many conquests of England, bethought himself how he might keep it hereafter from the like conquests and so make himself famous hereafter to all posterities. This (after great study) he found could be no way so well done as one which was to make a head of brass, and if he could make this head to speak (and hear it when it speaks) then might he be able to wall all England about with brass. To this purpose he got one Friar Bungay to assist him, who was a great scholar and a magician (but not to be compared to Friar Bacon). These two with great study and pains so framed a head of brass that in the inward parts thereof there was all things like as is in a natural manʼs head. This being done, they were as far from perfection of the work as they were before, for they knew not how to give those parts that they had made motion, without which it was impossible that it should speak. Many books they read, but yet could not find out any hope of what they sought, so that at the last they concluded to raise a spirit and to know of him that which they could not attain to by their own studies. To do this they prepared all things ready and went one evening to a wood thereby, and after many ceremonies used they spoke the words of conjuration, which the devil straight obeyed and appeared unto them, asking what they would know. Said Friar Bacon that we have made an artificial head of brass which we would have to speak, to the furtherance of which we have raised thee and being raised we will here keep thee, unless thou tell to us the way and manner how to make this head to speak. The devil told him that he had not that power of himself. Beginner of lies (said Friar Bacon) I know that thou dost dissemble and therefore tell it us quickly or else we will here bind thee to remain during our pleasures. At these threatenings the devil consented to do it and told them that with a continual fume of the six hottest simples it should have motion and in one month space speak. The time of the month or day he knew not. Also he told them that if they heard it not before it had done speaking, all their labor should be lost. They, being satisfied, licensed the spirit for to depart.

Then went these two learned friars home again and prepared the simples ready and made the fume, and with continual watching attended when this brazen head would speak. Thus watched they for three weeks without any rest, so that they were so weary and sleepy that they could not any longer retain from rest. Then called Friar Bacon his man Miles and told him that it was not unknown to him what pains Friar Bungay and himself had taken for three weeksʼ space only to make and to hear the brazen head speak, which if they did not then had they lost all their labor and all England had a great loss thereby. Therefore he entreated Miles that he would watch whilst that they sleep and call them if the head speak. Fear not, good master (said Miles) I will not sleep but harken and attend upon the head, and if it do chance to speak I will call you; therefore, I pray, take you both your rests and let me alone for watching this head. After Friar Bacon had given him a great charge the second time, Friar Bungay and he went to sleep and left Miles alone to watch the brazen head. Miles, to keep him from sleeping, got a tabor and pipe and being merry disposed sung this song to a northern tune of:

Camʼst thou not from Newcastle

To couple is a custom,
all things thereto agree.
Why should not I then love
since love to all is free?

But Iʼll have one that's pretty,
her cheeks of scarlet dye,
for to breed my delight
when that I lie her by.

Though virtue be a dowry,
yet Iʼll choose money store:
If my love prove untrue
with that I can get more.

The fair is oft inconstant,
the black is often proud.
Iʼll choose a lovely brown,
Come fiddler scrape thy crowd.

Come fiddler scrape thy crowd,
for Peggy the brown is she
must be my Bride, God guide
that Peggy and I agree.

With his own music and such songs as these spent he his time and kept from sleeping. At last, after some noise, the head spoke these two words: Time is. Miles, hearing it to speak no more, thought his master would be angry if he waked him for that and therefore he let them both sleep and began to mock the head in this manner: thou brazen-faced head, hath my master took all this pains about thee and now dost thou requite him with two words: Time is? Had he watched with a lawyer so long as he hath watched with thee he would have given him more, and better, words then thou hast. Yet, if thou can speak no wiser, they shall sleep till doomsday for me. Time is. I know Time is, and that you shall hear, goodman brazen-face.

To the tune of Dainty, come thou to me.

Time is for some to plant,
Time is for some to sow,
Time is for some to graft
The horn as some do know.

Time is for some to eat,
Time is for some to sleep,
Time is for some to laugh,
Time is for some to weep.

Time is for some to sing,
Time is for some to pray,
Time is for some to creep
That have drunk all the day.

Time is to cart a bawd,
Time is to whip a whore,
Time is to hang a thief
And time is for much more.

Do you tell us, copper-nose, when Time is: I hope we scholars know our times, when to drink drunk, when to kiss our hostess, when to go on her score, and when to pay it (that time comes seldom). After half an hour had passed, the head did speak again two words, which were these: Time was. Miles respected these words as little as he did the former and would not wake them, but still scoffed at the brazen head that it had learned no better words and had such a tutor as his master, and in scorn of it sung this song.

To the tune of A Rich Merchant Man.

Time was when thou a kettle
wert fillʼd with better matter.
But Friar Bacon did thee spoil
when he thy sides did batter.

Time was when conscience dwelled
with men of occupation.
Time was when lawyers did not thrive
so well by menʼs vexation.

Time was when kings and beggars
of one poor stuff had being.
Time was when office kept no knaves
that time it was worth seeing.

Time was a bowl of water
did give the face reflection.
Time was when women knew no paint,
which now they call complexion.

Time was. I know that, brazen-face, without your telling. I know Time was, and I know what things there was when Time was, and if you speak no wiser no master shall be waked for me. Thus Miles talked and sung till another half hour was gone. Then the brazen head spoke again these words Time is past and therewith fell down; and presently followed a terrible noise with strange flashes of fire so that Miles was half dead with fear. At this noise the two friars awaked and wondered to see the whole room so full of smoke, but that being vanished they might perceive the brazen head broken and lying on the ground. At this sight they grieved and called Miles to know how this came. Miles, half dead with fear, said that it fell down of itself and that with the noise and fire that followed he was almost frighted out of his wits. Friar Bacon asked him if he did not speak? Yes (quoth Miles) it spoke, but to no purpose. Iʼll have a parrot speak better in that time that you have been teaching this brazen head. Out on the villain (said Friar Bacon), thou hast undone us both. Hadʼst thou but called us when it did speak, all England had been walled roundabout with brass, to its glory and our eternal fames. What were the words it spoke? Very few (said Miles) and those were none of the wisest that I have heard neither. First he said Time is. Hadʼst thou callʼd us then (said Friar Bacon) we had been made forever. Then (said Miles) half an hour after it spoke again and said, Time was. And wouldʼst thou not call us then (said Bungay)? Alas (said Miles), I thought he would have told me some long tale, and then I purposed to have called you. Then, half an hour after, he cried Time is past and made such a noise that he hath waked you himself, methinks. At this Friar Bacon was in such a rage that he would have beaten his man but he was restrained by Bungay. But nevertheless, for his punishment he with his art struck him dumb for one whole monthʼs space. Thus that great work of these learned friars was overthrown (to their great griefs) by this simple fellow.

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Selection 2

How Friar Bacon overcame the German conjuror Vandermast, and made a spirit of his own carry him into Germany.

[…] the King of France sent an ambassador to the King of England for to entreat a peace between them. This ambassador being come to the King, he feasted him (as it is the manner of princes to do) and with the best sports as he had then welcomed him. The ambassador, seeing the King of England so free in his love, desired likewise to give him some taste of his good liking and to that intent sent for one of his fellows (being a German and named Vandermast) a famous conjuror, who being come he told the King that since his grace had been so bountiful in his love to him he would show him (by a servant of his) such wonderful things that his grace had never seen the like before. The King demanded of him of what nature those things were that he would do. The ambassador answered that they were things done by the art of magic. The King hearing of this sent straight for Friar Bacon, who presently came and brought Friar Bungay with him.

When the banquet was done, Vandermast did ask the King if he desired to see any spirit of any man deceased, and if that he did he would raise him in such manner and fashion as he was in when that he lived. The King told him that above all men he desired to see Pompey the Great, who could abide no equal. Vandermast by his art raised him, armed in such manner as he was when he was slain at the battle of Pharsalia: at this they were all highly contented. Friar Bacon presently raised the ghost of Julius Caesar, who could abide no superior and had slain this Pompey at the battle of Pharsalia. At the sight of him they were all amazed, but the King who sent for Bacon and Vandermast said that there was some man of art in that presence whom he desired to see. Friar Bacon then shewed himself, saying: it was I, Vandermast, who raised Caesar, partly to give content to this royal presence but chiefly for to conquer thy Pompey, as he did once before at that great battle of Pharsalia, which he now again shall do. Then presently began a fight between Caesar and Pompey, which continued a good space to the content of all except Vandermast. At last Pompey was overcome and slain by Caesar. Then vanished they both away.

My Lord ambassador (said the King) methinks that my Englishman hath put down your German. Hath he no better running then this? Yes, answered Vandermast, your Grace shall see me put down your Englishman ere that you go from hence. And therefore, friar, prepare thyself with thy best of art to withstand me. Alas, said Friar Bacon, it is a little thing will serve to resist thee in this kind. I have here one that is my inferior (showing him Friar Bungay): try thy art with him. And if thou do put him to the worst, then will I deal with thee, and not till then.

Friar Bungay then began to show his art, and after some turning and looking on his book he brought up among them the Hysperian Tree which did bear golden apples. These apples were kept by a waking dragon that lay under the tree. He, having done this, bid Vandermast find one that durst gather the fruit. Then Vandermast did raise the ghost of Hercules in his habit that he wore when that he was living and with his club on his shoulder. Here is one, said Vandermast, that shall gather fruit from this tree; this is Hercules that in his lifetime gathered of this fruit and made the dragon couch, and now again shall he gather it in spite of all opposition. As Hercules was going to pluck the fruit Friar Bacon held up his wand, at which Hercules stayed and seemed fearful. Vandermast bid him for to gather of the fruit or else he would torment him. Hercules was more fearful and said, I cannot, nor I dare not, for here great Bacon stands whose charms are far more powerful then thine. I must obey him, Vandermast. Hereat, Vandermast cursed Hercules and threatened him. But Friar Bacon laughed and bid him not to chafe himself ere that his journey was ended, for seeing (said he) that Hercules will do nothing at your command, I will have him do you some service at mine. With that he bid Hercules carry him home into Germany. The devil obeyed him and took Vandermast on his back and went away with him in all their sights. Hold Friar, cried the ambassador. I will not lose Vandermast for half my land. Content yourself, my lord, answered Friar Bacon; I have but sent him home to see his wife, and ere long he may return. The King of England thanked Friar Bacon and forced some gifts on him for his service that he had done for him, for Friar Bacon did so little respect money that he never would take any of the King.

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Selection 3

How Friar Bacon did help a young man to his sweetheart, which Friar Bungay would have married to another, and of the mirth that was at the wedding.

An Oxfordshire gentleman had long time loved a fair maid called Millisant. This love of his was as kindly received of her as it was freely given of him, so that there wanted nothing to the finishing of their joys but the consent of her father, who would not grant that she should be his wife (though formerly he had been a means to further the match) by reason there was a knight that was a suitor to her and did desire that he might have her to his wife. But this knight could never get from her the least token of good will, so surely was her love fixed upon the gentleman. This knight, seeing himself thus despised, went to Friar Bungay and told him his mind and did promise him a good piece of money if he could get her for him, either by his art or counsel.

Bungay (being covetous) told him that there was no better way in his mind than to get her, with her father, to go take the air in a coach; and if he could do so he would by his art so direct the horses that they should come to an old chapel where he would attend and there they might secretly be married. The knight rewarded him for his counsel and told him that if it took effect he would be more bountiful unto him, and presently went to her father and told him of this. He liked well of it and forced the poor maid to ride with them. So soon as they were in the coach, the horses ran presently to the chapel where they found Friar Bacon attending for them. At the sight of the church and the priest the poor maid knew that she was betrayed, so that for grief she fell in a swoon, to see which her father and the knight were very much grieved and used their best skill for her recovery.

In this time, her best beloved, the gentleman, did come to her fatherʼs to visit her. But finding her not there, and hearing that she was gone with her father and the knight, he mistrusted some foul play and in all haste went to Friar Bacon and desired of him some help to recover his love again, whom he feared was utterly lost.

Friar Bacon (knowing him for a virtuous gentleman) pitied him and to give his griefs some release showed him a glass wherein any one might see anything done (within fifty miles apace) that they desired. So soon as he looked in the glass he saw his love Millisant with her father and the knight, ready to be married by Friar Bungay. At the sight of this he cried out that he was undone, for now should he lose his life in losing of his love. Friar Bacon bid him take comfort, for he would prevent the marriage. So, taking this gentleman in his arms, he set himself down in an enchanted chair and suddenly they were carried through the air to the chapel. Just as they came in Friar Bungay was joining their hands to marry them, but Friar Bacon spoiled his speech, for he struck him dumb so that he could not speak a word. Then raised he a mist in the chapel so that neither the father could see his daughter, nor the daughter her father, nor the knight either of them. Then took he Millisant by the hand and led her to the man she most desired. They both wept for joy that they so happily once more had met and kindly thanked Friar Bacon.

It greatly pleased Friar Bacon to see the passion of these two lovers, and seeing them both contented he married them at the chapel door whilst her father, the knight, and Friar Bungay went groping within and could not find the way out. Now when he had married them, he bid them get lodging at the next village, and he would send his man with money (for the gentleman was not stored, and he had a great way to his house); they did as he bade them. That night he sent his man Miles with money to them, but he kept her father, the knight, and Friar Bungay till the next day at noon in the chapel ere he released them.

[…] Thus did Friar Bacon help these poor lovers, who in short time got the love of the old man and lived in great joy. Friar Bungayʼs tongue was again let loose and all were friends.

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Selection 4

How two young gentlemen that came to Friar Bacon to know how their fathers did, killed one another, and how Friar Bacon for grief did break his rare glass wherein he could see anything that was done within fifty miles about him.

It is spoken of before now that Friar Bacon had a glass which was of that excellent nature that any man might behold anything that he desired to see within the compass of fifty miles round about him. With this glass he had pleasured diverse kinds of people. For fathers did oftentimes desire to see thereby how their children did, and children how their parents did, one friend how another did, and one enemy sometimes how his enemy did, so that from far they would come to see this wonderful glass. It happened one day that there came to him two young gentlemen (that were countrymen and neighborsʼ children) for to know of him by his glass how their fathers did. He, being no niggard of his cunning, let them see his glass, wherein they straight beheld their wishes which they (through their own follies) bought at their livesʼ loss, as you shall hear. The fathers of these two gentlemen (in their sonsʼ absence) were become great foes. This hatred between them was grown to that height that wheresoever they met they had not only words but blows. Just at that time as it should seem that their sons were looking to see how they were in health, they were met and had drawn and were together by the ears. Their sons seeing this and having been always great friends knew not what to say to one another but beheld each other with angry looks. At last one of their fathers, as they might perceive in the glass, had a fall and the other, taking advantage, stood over him ready to strike him. The son of him that was down could then contain himself no longer but told the other young man that his father had received wrong. He answered again that it was fair. At last there grew such foul words between them, and their bloods were so heated, that they presently stabbed one the other with their daggers and so fell down dead.

Friar Bacon, seeing them fall, ran to them but it was too late, for they were breathless ere he came. This made him to grieve exceedingly. He, judging that they had received the cause of their deaths by this glass, took the glass in his hand and uttered words to this effect:

Wretched Bacon, wretched in thy knowledge, in thy understanding wretched; for thy art hath been the ruin of these two gentlemen. Had I been busied in those holy things, the which mine order ties me to, I had not had that time that made this wicked glass. Wicked I well may call it that is the causer of so vile an act. Would it were sensible, then should it feel my wrath, but being as it is, Iʼll ruin it for ruining of them. And with that he broke his rare and wonderful glass whose like the whole world had not. In this grief of his came there news to him of the deaths of Vandermast and Friar Bungay. This did increase his grief and made him sorrowful that in three days he would not eat anything but kept his chamber.

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Selection 5

How Friar Bacon burnt his books of magic and gave himself to the study of divinity only, and how he turned anchorite.

In the time that Friar Bacon kept his chamber he fell into diverse meditations, sometimes into the vanity of arts and sciences; then would he condemn himself for studying of those things that were so contrary to his order and soulʼs health, and would say that magic made a man a devil. Sometimes would he meditate on divinity, then would he cry out upon himself for neglecting the study of it and for studying magic. Sometime would he meditate on the shortness of manʼs life, then would be condemn himself for spending a time so short so ill as he had done his. So would he go from one thing to another and in all condemn his former studies.

And that the world should know how truly he did repent his wicked life he caused to be made a great fire, and sending for many of his friends, scholars, and others, he spoke to them after this manner: my good friends and fellow students, it is not unknown unto you how that, through my art, I have attained to that credit that few men living ever had. Of the wonders that I have done all England can speak, both king and commons. I have unlocked the secret of art and nature and let the world see those things that have lain hid since the death of Hermes, that rare and profound philosopher. My studies have found the secrets of the stars. The books that I have made of them do serve for precedents to our greatest doctors, so excellent hath my judgment been therein. I likewise have found out the secrets of trees, plants, and stones, with their several uses. Yet all this knowledge of mine I esteem so lightly that I wish that I were ignorant and knew nothing. For the knowledge of these things (as I have truly found) serveth not to better a man in goodness but only to make him proud and think too well of himself. What hath all my knowledge of natureʼs secrets gained me? Only this: the loss of a better knowledge, the loss of divine studies which makes the immortal part of man (his soul) blessed. I have found that my knowledge has been a heavy burden and has kept down my good thoughts, but I will remove the cause, which are these books, which I do purpose here before you all to burn. They all entreated him to spare the books because in them there were those things that after-ages might receive great benefit by. He would not hearken unto them but threw them all into the fire, and in that flame burnt the greatest learning in the world. Then did he dispose of all his goods. Some part he gave to poor scholars, and some he gave to other poor folks. Nothing left he for himself. Then caused he to be made in the church wall a cell where he locked himself in and there remained till his death. His time he spent in prayer, meditation, and such divine exercises, and did seek by all means to persuade men from the study of magic. Thus lived he some two years space in that cell, never coming forth. His meat and drink he received in at a window, and at that window he did discourse with those that came to him. His grave he digged with his own nails and was laid there when he died. Thus was the life and death of this famous friar, who lived most part of his life a magician and died a true penitent sinner and an anchorite.

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