_Bacon._ To what end is all this? _Second Schol._ Hearing your worship kept within your cell A glass prospective, wherein men might see Whatso their thoughts or hearts' desire could wish, We come to know how that our fathers fare. _Bacon._ My glass is free for every honest man. Sit down, and you shall see ere long, How or in what state your friendly fathers live. Meanwhile, tell me your names. _First Schol._ Mine Lambert. _Second Schol._ And mine Serlsby. _Bacon._ Bungay, I smell there will be a tragedy. _Enter_ LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY, _with rapiers and daggers_.[228] _Lam._ Serlsby, thou hast kept thine hour like a man: Thou'rt worthy of the title of a squire, That durst, for proof of thy affection And for thy mistress' favour, prize[229] thy blood. Thou know'st what words did pass at Fressingfield, Such shameless braves as manhood cannot brook: Ay, for I scorn to bear such piercing taunts, Prepare thee, Serlsby; one of us will die. _Serl._ Thou see'st I single [meet] thee [in] the field, And what I spake, I'll maintain with my sword: Stand on thy guard, I cannot scold it out. And if thou kill me, think I have a son, That lives in Oxford in the Broadgates-hall, Who will revenge his father's blood with blood. _Lam._ And, Serlsby, I have there a lusty boy, That dares at weapon buckle with thy son, And lives in Broadgates too, as well as thine: But draw thy rapier, for we'll have a bout. _Bacon._ Now, lusty younkers, look within the glass, And tell me if you can discern your sires. _First Schol._ Serlsby, 'tis hard; thy father offers wrong, To combat with my father in the field. _Second Schol._ Lambert, thou liest, my father's is th' abuse, And thou shalt find it, if my father harm. _Bun._ How goes it, sirs? _First Schol._ Our fathers are in combat hard by Fressingfield. _Bacon._ Sit still, my friends, and see the event. _Lam._ Why stand'st thou, Serlsby? doubt'st thou of thy life? A veney,[230] man! fair Margaret craves so much. _Serl._ Then this for her. _First Schol._ Ah, well thrust! _Second Schol._ But mark the ward. [LAMBERT _and_ SERLSBY _fight and stab each other._ _Lam._ O, I am slain! [_Dies._ _Serl._ And I,--Lord have mercy on me! [_Dies._ _First Schol._ My father slain!--Serlsby, ward that. _Second Schol._ And so is mine!--Lambert, I'll quite thee well. [_The two_ Scholars _stab each other and die._ _Bun._ O strange stratagem!