_Ralph._ Sirrah, I am the master of these good fellows; mayst thou not know me to be a lord by my reparrel? _Miles._ Then here's good game for the hawk; for here's the master-fool, and a covey of coxcombs: one wise man, I think, would spring you all. _P. Edw._ Gog's wounds! Warren, kill him. _War._ Why, Ned, I think the devil be in my sheath; I cannot get out my dagger. _Erms._ Nor I mine: swones,[192] Ned, I think I am bewitched. _Miles._ A company of scabs! the proudest of you all draw your weapon, if he can.--[_Aside_]. See how boldly I speak, now my master is by. _P. Edw._ I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut And conjur'd fast by magic in my sheath, Villain, here is my fist. [_Strikes_ MILES _a box on the ear._ _Miles._ O, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered! _Ralph._ Ned, strike him; I'll warrant thee by mine honour. _Bacon._ What! means the English prince to wrong my man? _P. Edw._ To whom speakest thou? _Bacon._ To thee. _P. Edw._ Who art thou? _Bacon._ Could you not judge, when all your swords grew fast, That Friar Bacon was not far from hence? Edward, King Henry's son and Prince of Wales, Thy fool disguis'd cannot conceal thyself: I know both Ermsby and the Sussex Earl, Else Friar Bacon had but little skill. Thou com'st in post from merry Fressingfield, Fast-fancied[193] to the Keeper's bonny lass, To crave some succour of the jolly friar: And Lacy, Earl of Lincoln, hast thou left, To treat fair Margaret to allow thy loves; But friends are men, and love can baffle lords; The earl both woos and courts her for himself. _War._ Ned, this is strange; the friar knoweth all. _Erms._ Apollo could not utter more than this. _P. Edw._ I stand amaz'd to hear this jolly friar, Tell even the very secrets of my thoughts:-- But, learnèd Bacon, since thou know'st the cause Why I did post so fast from Fressingfield, Help, friar, at a pinch, that I may have The love of lovely Margaret to myself, And, as I am true Prince of Wales, I'll give Living and lands to strength thy college state. _War._ Good friar, help the prince in this. _Ralph._ Why, servant Ned, will not the friar do it?--Were not my sword glued to my scabbard by conjuration, I would cut off his head, and make him do it by force. _Miles._ In faith, my lord, your manhood and your sword is all alike; they are so fast conjured that we shall never see them. _Erms._ What, doctor, in a dump! tush, help the prince, And thou shalt see how liberal he will prove.