_Bacon._ Masters, for that learn'd 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. [_Conjures._ _Per omnes deos infernales, Belcephon!_ _Enter_ Hostess _with a shoulder of mutton on a spit, and a_ Devil. _Miles._ O, 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._ O, 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,[186] A motion mov'd 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 fearèd 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._ O, yes, good sir, he is my daily guest.-- What, Master Burden! 'twas but yesternight That you and I at Henley play'd at cards. _Burd._ I know not what we did.--A pox of all conjuring friars! _Clem._ 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, Think'st 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[187] 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 miss'd, 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? [_Exeunt_ Hostess _and_ Devil. _Burd._ The devil take thee and Henley too. _Miles._ Master, shall I make a good motion? _Bacon._ What's that?