_Bun._ Dwell'st thou in Beccles, and hear'st not of these news? Lacy, the Earl of Lincoln, is late fled From Windsor court, disguisèd like a swain, And lurks about the country here unknown. Henry suspects him of some treachery, And therefore doth proclaim in every way, That who can take the Lincoln Earl shall have, Paid in the Exchequer, twenty thousand crowns. _Lacy._ The Earl of Lincoln! friar, thou art mad: It was some other; thou mistak'st the man: The Earl of Lincoln! why, it cannot be. _Mar._ Yes, very well, my lord, for you are he: The Keeper's daughter took you prisoner: Lord Lacy, yield, I'll be your gaoler once. _P. Edw._ How familiar they be, Bacon! _Bacon._ Sit still, and mark the sequel of their loves. _Lacy._ Then am I double prisoner to thyself: Peggy, I yield; but are these news in jest? _Mar._ In jest with you, but earnest unto me; For why these wrongs do wring me at the heart. Ah, how these earls and noblemen of birth Flatter and feign to forge poor women's ill. _Lacy._ Believe me, lass, I am the Lincoln Earl: I not deny but, 'tirèd thus in rags, I liv'd disguis'd to win fair Peggy's love. _Mar._ What love is there where wedding ends not love? _Lacy._ I meant, fair girl, to make thee Lacy's wife. _Mar._ I little think that earls will stoop so low. _Lacy._ Say, shall I make thee countess ere I sleep? _Mar._ Handmaid unto the earl, so please himself: A wife in name, but servant in obedience. _Lacy._ The Lincoln Countess, for it shall be so: I'll plight the bands and seal it with a kiss. _P. Edw._ Gog's wounds, Bacon, they kiss! I'll stab them. _Bacon._ O, hold your hands, my lord, it is the glass. _P. Edw._ Choler to see the traitors gree so well Made me think the shadows substances. _Bacon._ 'Twere a long poniard, my lord, to reach between Oxford and Fressingfield; but sit still and see more. _Bun._ Well, Lord of Lincoln, if your loves be knit, And that your tongues and thoughts do both agree, To avoid ensuing jars, I'll hamper up the match. I'll take my portace[199] forth, and wed you here: Then go to bed and seal up your desires. _Lacy._ Friar, content.--Peggy, how like you this? _Mar._ What likes my lord is pleasing unto me. _Bun._ Then hand-fast hand, and I will to my book. _Bacon._ What sees my lord now? _P. Edw._ Bacon, I see the lovers hand in hand, The friar ready with his portace there To wed them both: then am I quite undone. Bacon, help now, if e'er thy magic serv'd; Help, Bacon; stop the marriage now, If devils or necromancy may suffice, And I will give thee forty thousand crowns. _Bacon._ Fear not, my lord, I'll stop the jolly friar For mumbling up his orisons this day.