_Lacy._ Or else Lord Lacy is unfit to live.-- May it please your highness give me leave to post To Fressingfield, I'll fetch the bonny girl, And prove in true appearance at the court, What I have vouchèd often with my tongue. _K. Hen._ Lacy, go to the 'querry of my stable, And take such coursers as shall fit thy turn: Hie thee to Fressingfield, and bring home the lass: And, for her fame flies through the English coast, If it may please the Lady Elinor, One day shall match your excellence and her. _Elin._ We Castile ladies are not very coy; Your highness may command a greater boon: And glad were I to grace the Lincoln Earl With being partner of his marriage-day. _P. Edw._ Gramercy, Nell, for I do love the lord, As he that's second to myself in love. _Ralph._ You love her?--Madam Nell, never believe him you, though he swears he loves you. _Elin._ Why, Ralph? _Ralph._ Why, his love is like unto a tapster's glass that is broken with every touch; for he loved the fair maid of Fressingfield once out of all ho.[227]--Nay, Ned, never wink upon me: I care not, I. _K. Hen._ Ralph tells all; you shall have a good secretary of him.-- But, Lacy, haste thee post to Fressingfield; For ere thou hast fitted all things for her state, The solemn marriage-day will be at hand. _Lacy._ I go, my lord. [_Exit._ _Emp._ How shall we pass this day, my lord? _K. Hen._ To horse, my lord; the day is passing fair: We'll fly the partridge, or go rouse the deer. Follow, my lords; you shall not want for sport. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--FRIAR BACON'S _Cell_. _Enter, to_ FRIAR BACON _in his cell,_ FRIAR BUNGAY. _Bun._ What means the friar that frolick'd it of late, To sit as melancholy in his cell, As if he had neither lost nor won to-day? _Bacon._ Ah, Bungay, my Brazen Head is spoil'd, My glory gone, my seven years' study lost! The fame of Bacon, bruited through the world, Shall end and perish with this deep disgrace. _Bun._ Bacon hath built foundation of his fame So surely on the wings of true report, With acting strange and uncouth miracles, As this cannot infringe what he deserves. _Bacon._ Bungay, sit down, for by prospective skill I find this day shall fall out ominous: Some deadly act shall 'tide me ere I sleep: But what and wherein little can I guess, My mind is heavy, whatso'er shall hap. [_Knocking within._ Who's that knocks? _Bun._ Two scholars that desire to speak with you. _Bacon._ Bid them come in.-- _Enter two_ Scholars. Now, my youths, what would you have? _First Schol._ Sir, we are Suffolkmen and neighbouring friends: Our fathers in their countries lusty squires; Their lands adjoin: in Cratfield mine doth dwell, And his in Laxfield. We are college-mates, Sworn brothers, as our fathers live as friends.