_Hostess._ O, where am I, or what's become of me?
_Hostess._ Hostess at Henley, mistress of the Bell.
_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.
_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?
_Miles._ Marry, sir, now that my hostess is gone to provide supper, conjure up another spirit, and send Doctor Burden flying after.
_Bacon._ Thus, rulers of our academic state, You have seen the friar frame his art by proof; And as the college callèd Brazen-nose[188] Is under him, and he the master there, So surely shall this head of brass be fram'd, And yield forth strange and uncouth aphorisms; And hell and Hecate shall fail the friar, But I will circle England round with brass.
_Miles._ So be it, _et nunc et semper_; amen. [_Exeunt._