# Famous history of the learned Friar Bacon

The Famous
HISTORY
Of the Learned
FRIAR BACON.
giving
Stirling, Printed in this present Year.
The Famous
HISTORY
OF THE LEARNED
FRIAR BACON.
CHAP.I.
THE famous friar Bacon whose name has spread through the world, was born in Lancashire; his father’s name was Ralph Bacon, and his name Roger. From his infancy he was observed to have a profound pregnant wit; he grew up, a great reader of books, and desirous of learning, which to admiration he took so fast, that his schoolmaster could teach him no further; and being ​about to send him home with commendations to his father, he fearing the worst humbly besought him to prevail if possible with his father, that he might be sent to the University, where he had a desire to go learn the liberal sciences.
His school master denied him not his request, but went home with him, and, taking the old man aside told him he had learned his son as far as he was able, that he took it in extremely well, and was willing to improve it at the University; and that he was verily persuaded, by the promptness he perceived in him, if he would be at a little charge with him there, he would be so great a proficient as would advance him to an eminent station.
The old man heard this with some indignation, but concealed his anger till the school master was gone; and then taking his son to task, said. How now, sirrah! have not I been at cost enough already, but are you itching to put me to more? Methinks I have given you such learning as to enable you, in time, to be a constable, or church warden of the parish, and far out-do those in the office that can neither read nor write; let that suffice: As for the rest of your business for the future, it is to learn horse language, and whistle well, that you may be dextrous at driving the plough and cart, and managing ​the sheep and oxen; for sirrah! continued he, have I any body else to leave my farm to but you, and yet you take upon you, forsooth, to be a scholard, and consequently a gentleman; for they all profess themselves so, though never so beggarly, living lazily, and eating up the fat of other men’s labours, marry gaup! Goodman Twoshoes, your great-grandfather, your grandfather, and I, have thought it no scorn to dig and delve; and pray what better are you than us ? Here sirrah, take this whip, and go with me to plough, or I’ll so lace your fine scholardship, that you had better this had never been mentioned to me.
​When the Friar came into the king’s presence, he did him obeisance, and was kindly welcomed by him. Then said the king, worthy Bacon, having heard much of your fame, the cause of my sending for you, was to be a spectator of some fine curiosities in your art. The Friar excused at first; but the king pressing it, promised on his royal word no harm should come to him, he bid all keep silence, and waving his magic ward, there presently, to their great amazement, ensued the most melodious music they had ever heard, which continued very ravishing for near half an hour. Then waving his wand, another kind of music was heard, and presently dancers in antic shapes at a masquerade, entered the room; and having danced incomparably well, they vanished. Waving his wand the third time, louder music was heard; and whilst that played, a table was placed by an invisible hand, richly spread with all the dainties that could be thought of: Then he desired the king and queen to draw their seats near, and partake of the repast he had prepared for their highnesses; which after they had done, all vanished. He waved the fourth ⟨time⟩, and thereupon the place was perfumed with all the sweets of Arabia, or that the whole world could produce. Then waving the fifth time, there came in Russians, ​Persians and Polanders, dressed in the finest soft fur, silks, and downs of rare fowls, that are to be found in the universe, which he bid them feel; and then the strangers, having danced after their own country fashion vanished.
​Whilst he was thus speaking, in came the cook-maid, brought by a spirit at the window, with a spit and a roasted shoulder of mutton on it, being thus surprized as she was taking it from the fire; and wishfully staring about her, and espying the gentleman, she cried. O my sweet knight, are you here? Pray, sir, remember you promised to provide linen and other necessaries for me; our stolen pleasures have swelled, and I’ve two months to reckon; and hereupon she ran towards him, to embrace him; but he turning aside, she was carried out at another window to her master’s house again.
This was the cause of both amazement and laughter, tho’ the gentleman was much ashamed and confounded to be thus exposed, still muttering revenge; but Friar Bacon told him, his best way was to put up all, since he had verified all his promises, and bid him have a care how he gave a scholar the lye again.
The king and queen well pleased with the entertainment, highly commending his art, and promising him their favour and protection, took their leave of the Friar, returning to London, and he to his study at Brazen Nose College.
CHAP.II.
FRIAR BACON kept a man to wait on him, who, though but a simple fellow yet a merry droll, and full of ⟨waggeries⟩; his name was Miles; and though his master and those of the order often fasted on set days, Miles loved his guts too well to pinch them; and tho' outwardly he seemed to fast for compliance, he'd always kept a private reserve to eat in a corner, which Bacon knew by art, and resolved to put a trick upon him. It so happened on Good Friday in Lent, a strict fast was held, and Miles seemed very devout; for when his master bid him, however, take a bit of bread and a sip of wine early in the morning to keep him from fainting, he refused it, saying, he was a ⟨great⟩ sinner, and therefore ought to do more than this for his mortification, and to gain absolution making a great many pretences ⟨of⟩ sanctity, and how well he was inclined ⟨to⟩ keep the holy fast. 'Tis well, said the Friar if I catch you not tripping; hereupon ⟨Miles⟩ went to his cell, pretending to pray, but indeed ​to eat a fine pudding he had concealed, which he had no sooner put into his mouth at one end, but it stuck there; he could neither eat it, nor get it out. The use of his hands failed, and he was taken with a shivering all over, so that thinking he should have died presently, he cried pitiously out for help. Whereupon Friar Bacon, calling the scholars together, went in to see what was the matter; and perceiving him in that plight, said, smiling, Now I see what a penitent servant I have, who was so conscientious he would not touch a bit of bread, but would willingly have devoured two pounds of pudding to have broke his fast. He pitiously entreated him to dissolve the charm and deliver him and he would never do so again. Nay, said the Friar you shall do penance for this; so taking hold of the end of the pudding, he led him out to the scholars, saying, See here’s a queasy stomach’d fellow that would not touch a bit of bread to day! When they saw him in this plight, they all fell heartily a laughing; but Friar Bacon, not so contented, led him to the college-gate, and by enchantment fixing the end of the pudding to the bar, he was made so fast to it as if it had been by a cable rope, and on his back were placed these lines.
This is Friar Bacon’s man, who vow’d to fast, But, dissembling, thus it took at last; ​The pudding more religion had than he; Tho' he would eat it, it will not down you see, Then of hypocrisy pray all beware. Lest like disgrace be each dissembler’s share.
Miles all the while was jeered and sported with by all the scholars and town’s people, but after four hours penance, his master dissolved the charm, and released him; and he ever after kept the fasts, not so much out ⟨of⟩ religion, as for fear that a worse trick should be put upon him.
CHAP.III.
WHen Friar Bacon flourished at Oxford a young gentleman, by his prodigality, having run out his estate and involved himself in debt, grew exceeding pensive ⟨and⟩ melancholy, purposing to make himself away in order to put an end to his miseries ⟨and⟩ the scorns that were daily put upon him ⟨by⟩ his former companions, being also utterly ⟨cast⟩ off by his friends; so walking by a wood side, full of sorrow, he met as he ⟨thought⟩ ​an old man in good cloathing, who saluted ⟨him⟩, and demanded the cause of his melancholy, and why he walked so solitary. At ⟨first⟩ he refused to tell him, as thinking he ⟨could⟩ do him no good; but the other urging it, promised to assist him if he wanted ⟨any⟩ thing: he said, I am in want. I want ⟨fine⟩ cloaths as I used to have; I want money ⟨to⟩ buy food, pay debts, redeem my mortgag’d ⟨land⟩, and many things more; can you help me to enough to do it? I can, said the old man, on one condition. What’s that? said the gentleman; if it be any thing tolerable ⟨I⟩ shall not refuse it; for I cannot be well worse, or in greater hardship than I am now. Why, said the other, the matter is not so much; you shall only oblige yourself when I have furnished you with money to do all you have named, and you have paid every one you owe a farthing to, to become obedient to me, and be disposed of at my pleasure. Now the young man taking him for an Usurer, and very rich, supposed this obligation was only a fetch to marry his daughter, or some kinswoman of his, which he could be well contented to do, not doubting to have a good portion, and therefore scrupled not to do as he desired. Upon this he bid him meet him the next morning, about the same time, when he would have the writing ready; and on signing he should have the money. So ​they parted; and the gentlemen delayed no coming, without asking advice, and was ⟨as⟩ punctually met; but when he saw the writing in blood, he was startled a little; but the old man told him, it was only a whim ⟨of⟩ his own to have it so written to distinguish it from other men’s, and put his debtors more in mind to repay the money he lent them. Upon this speech, and the gentleman’s seeing store of gold and silver brought by three or four of whom he supposed to be servants, he believed it. But how, said he, shall I write with the same? O, said he, let me see, I'll prick your right vein; which he did, whilst the gentleman found an unusual trembling, and an inward remorse in his mind: however, taking the bloody pen in his hand, he desperately subscribed and sealed the writing. Then telling the money into a cloak bag, he laid it on his horse, and they, with much ceremony, took leave of each other. The gentleman laughed in his sleeve to think how he would find him out, seeing he had not asked, nor himself told him, where he lived.
Soon after he summoned all his creditors, paid them to a farthing, redeemed his land, went gallant, and recover’d his esteem in the world: but one evening as he was looking over his writings in his closet, he heard somebody rap at the door; when opening it, he saw the party he had borrowed the money ​with the writing in his hand, who told ⟨him⟩, he was now come to demand him, and ⟨he⟩ must now go along with him; for to his ⟨knowledge⟩ he had paid his debts and done ⟨whatever⟩ was agreed to. The gentleman, ⟨wondering⟩ how he should know this so soon, ⟨denied⟩ it. Nay, replied he, fiercely, deny it ⟨not⟩, for I’ll not be cheated of my bargain: ⟨and⟩ thereupon changed into a horrible shape, ⟨struck⟩ him almost dead with fear, for now ⟨he⟩ perceived it was the devil. Then he told ⟨him⟩, if he did not meet on the morrow in ⟨the⟩ same place he had lent him the money, ⟨he⟩ would come the next day, and tear him ⟨to⟩ pieces; and says he, if I prove not what ⟨I⟩ say, you shall be quiet. And so vanished out of the window in a flash of flame, with horrible bellowings. The gentleman, seeing himself in this case, began to weep bitterly, and wished he had been contented in his sad condition, rather than have taken such a desperate way to enrich himself: and was almost at his wits end.
Friar Bacon, knowing by his art what had past, came to comfort him; and having heard the whole story, bid him not despair, but pray, and repent of his sins, and he would contrive to shew the devil a trick that should release him from his obligation. This greatly comforted the gentleman and he promised to do whatever the Friar should order him. Then ​says he, meet at the time appointed, and will be near: offer to put the decision of ⟨the⟩ controversy to the next that comes by, ⟨and⟩ that shall be myself; and I will find a ⟨way⟩ infallibly to give it on your side. ⟨Accordingly⟩ he met, and the devil consented to put it ⟨to⟩ arbitration. The Friar Bacon appearing, ⟨Lo,⟩ said the gentleman, here’s a proper judge. This learned Friar shall determine it: and it goes against me, you have free liberty do with me as you please. Content, said the devil. Then each of them told their ⟨story⟩ and the writing was produced, with all ⟨the⟩ acquittances he had taken; for the ⟨devil⟩ contrary to his knowledge, had stolen them and the other writings belonging to his estate out of his closet. The Friar, weighing we(illegible text) the matter, asked the gentleman, ⟨whether⟩ he had paid the devil any of the money ⟨he⟩ borrowed of him. No, replied he, not ⟨one⟩ farthing. Why then, said he, Mr ⟨Devil⟩ his debts are not discharged; you are ⟨his⟩ principal creditor, and, according to ⟨this⟩ writing, can lay no claim to him till ⟨every⟩ one of his debts are discharged. How! how, replied the devil, am I out-witted then O Friar, thou art a crafty knave! ⟨And⟩ thereupon vanished in a flame, raising ⟨a⟩ mighty tempest of thunder, lightening, and rain; so that they were wet through ⟨before⟩ they could get shelter. Then Bacon ⟨charged⟩ ​⟨in⟩, he should never pay the devil a farthing ⟨of⟩ his debt, whatever shape he came in, or ⟨office⟩ he used to wheedle him out of it, ⟨and⟩ then he could have no power over him. ⟨The⟩ gentlemen on this, living a temperate ⟨frugal⟩ life, grew very rich, and leaving no ⟨children⟩, at his death bequeathed his estate ⟨to⟩ Brazen Nose College, because Friar Bacon ⟨a⟩ member of it, had delivered him from so ⟨great⟩ a danger of body and soul.
CHAP.IV.
FRiar Bacon, being now a profound proficient in the art of magic, and many ⟨other⟩ sciences, contrived, with one Friar Bungey, who was his pupil, to do something memorable for the good of his country, and many things they cast in their minds: At ⟨last⟩ they remembered that England had often been harassed and invaded by the Romans, Saxons, Danes, Normans, and other nations, ​at sundry times, to the great effusion of ⟨blood⟩ and often alteration of the constitution ⟨of⟩ governments; and if any thing might ⟨be⟩ contrived to prevent the like for the ⟨future⟩ they should thereby raise a lasting ⟨monument⟩ to their names.
Bacon upon this concluded to frame a he(illegible text) of brass; and if by their art, they ⟨could⟩ cause it to speak, and answer their ⟨demands⟩ they required that all the sea-girt shores ⟨of⟩ England and Wales should be walled ⟨with⟩ brass, and brazen towers be raised on ⟨the⟩ frontiers of Scotland, to hinder the ⟨incursions⟩ and rovings of the hardy Scots.
They laboured to do this by art, but ⟨could⟩ not; so they conjured up a spirit, to ⟨enquire⟩ of the infernal council, whether it might ⟨be⟩ done, or not. The spirit, however, was unwilling to answer till Friar Bacon ⟨threatened⟩ with his charms to bind him in chains in ⟨the⟩ red sea or to a burning rock, and make him the sport of wrecking whirlwinds.
​⟨At⟩ this they much rejoiced, and watched (illegible text)urns very carefully for six weeks, and no (illegible text)e was uttered: At length tired out, and (illegible text)ken for want of their natural rest, they ⟨concluded⟩ some other might watch as well ⟨as⟩ they, till they refreshed themselves in re(illegible text) and call them when the head began to ⟨speak⟩, which would be time enough; and ⟨cause⟩ this was a secret they did not care ⟨for⟩ having it known till they saw what they ⟨should⟩ make of it. Bacon thereupon, proposed ⟨his⟩ man Miles, and Bungey approved of it; they called Miles, told him the nature of ⟨the⟩ brazen head and what was intended, by ⟨giving⟩ him a strict charge, on his life, to ⟨wake⟩ them as soon as ever he heard it speak. For that, master, said he, let me alone; I ⟨warrant⟩ you I'll do your business effectually, ⟨never⟩ fear it. So he got him a long sword ⟨by⟩ his side, and a tabor and pipe to play, and ⟨keep⟩ him awake if any drowsiness, or the ⟨like⟩, should overtake him.
The charge being given, and he thus ⟨accoutred⟩, the two Friars went to rest in the ⟨next⟩ apartment. Miles then began to pipe ⟨and⟩ sing songs of his sweethearts and frolics.
Bessy that is so frolic and gay,
Like a cat she loves with her tail to play ;
Though sometimes she’ll pant and frown,
All's well if you lay her down. ​She'll never say nay, but sport and ⟨play⟩
O Bessy to me is the queen of the May
For Margery she is peevish and proud;
Come fidlers then, and scrape the ⟨crowd⟩
Whilst his merriment passed, after a ⟨hour's⟩ noise, like thunder almost spent, the ⟨head⟩ spoke distinctly, Time is. O ho! says ⟨Miles,⟩ is this all the news you can tell me ? W(illegible text) copper nose has my master taken all pains about you, and you can speak no ⟨wiser?⟩ Dost thou think I am such a fool to br(illegible text) his sweet slum for this? No, speak wiser, ⟨or⟩ he shall sleep on. Time is, quotha ! Wh(illegible text) know time is, and that thou shalt he(illegible text) goodman kettle jaws.
Time is for some to gain, Time is for some to lose; Time is for some to hand, But then they cannot choose.
Time is to go a score, Time is when one should pay; Tune is to reckon too But few care for that day.
Time is to graft the horn, Upon another's head; Time is to make maids bellies swell, Oh then 'tis time they’re wed.
​(illegible text)ear’st thou this, goodman copper nose? scholars know when time is, without babbling: We know when time is to (illegible text)k good sack, eat well, kiss our ⟨hostess⟩ and run on the score. But when time (illegible text) pay them, is indeed but seldom.
Whilst thus he merrily discoursed, about an hour after, the same noise began as ⟨before⟩ and the head said, Time was. Well Miles, this blockish head is the foolishest ⟨thing⟩ my wise master ever troubled himself ⟨about⟩. How would he have laughed, had he ⟨been⟩ here, to hear it prat so simply! ⟨Therefore,⟩ thou brazen faced ass, speak wiser, or ⟨I will⟩ ne'er trouble my head to awake him. (illegible text)was, quotha! thou ass thou! I know (illegible text) and so thou shalt hear; for I find my ⟨master⟩ has watched and tutored thee to a purpose.
Time was when thou, a kettle, Was wont to hold good matter ; But Friar Bacon did thee spoil, When he thy sides did batter.
Time was when conscience dwelt, With men of each vocation; Time was when lawyers did not thrive, So well by men’s vexations.
​Time was when charity Was not deny’d a being ;
Time was when office kept no knave That time was worth the seeing.
Ay, ay, and time was for many other (illegible text) but what of that, goodman brazen-face see my master has placed me here on a foolish account: I think I’d as good ⟨get⟩ sleep too, as to stay watching here ⟨the⟩ purpose. Whilst he thus scoffed and t(illegible text)ed; the head spoke a third time, and ⟨said⟩ Time is past; and so, with a horrid (illegible text) fell down and broke to pieces. Where ⟨upon⟩ ensued lamentable shrieks and cries, ⟨flames⟩ of fire, and a rattling as of thunder, w(illegible text) awaking the two Friars, they came ⟨running⟩ in, in great disorder found Miles rolling ⟨on⟩ the floor, in a stinking pickle, almost (illegible text) with fear, and the head lying shattered ⟨about⟩ the room in a thousand pieces. Then (illegible text)ing brought him to his senses again, ⟨they⟩ demanded how this came. Nay, the (illegible text) knows better than I, said Miles, I ⟨believe⟩ was in this plaguy head; for when it ⟨fell it⟩ gave a bounce like a cannon. ⟨Wretched⟩ thou art! said Bacon, trifle not with ⟨my⟩ patience! Didst thou hear it speak, wa(illegible text) answer me that.
Why truly, said Miles, it did speak (illegible text) very simply, considering you have be(illegible text) ​(illegible text)ng a tutoring it, I protest I could have ⟨taught⟩ a jackdaw to have spoke better in two ⟨days⟩. It said Time is. Oh, villain! says ⟨Bacon⟩, hadst thou call’d me then, all England ⟨had⟩ been walled with brass, to my immortal ⟨fame⟩. Then continued Miles, about half an ⟨hour⟩ after, it said Time was Oh,wretch! ⟨How⟩ my anger burns against thee; had you ⟨but⟩ called me then, it might have done what ⟨ I desired⟩. Then, said he, it said, Time's past, (illegible text) so fell down with the horrid noise that ⟨waked⟩ you and made me, I’m sure, befoul ⟨my⟩ breeches; and since here’s so much to do ⟨about⟩ time, I think it’s time for me to retire ⟨and⟩ clean myself. Well villain! says Bacon, ⟨thou⟩ hast lost all our cost and pains by thy ⟨foolish⟩ negligence. Why, said Miles, I thought ⟨it⟩ would not have stopped when it once ⟨began⟩, but would have gone on and told me ⟨some⟩ pleasant story or have commanded me ⟨to⟩ have called you, and I should have done it, ⟨but⟩ I see the devil is a cunning sophister ⟨and⟩ all hell would not allow him tinkers ⟨and⟩ brass enough to do the work and ⟨therefore⟩ has put this trick upon us to get off ⟨from⟩ his promise. How, slave! said the Friar, art thou at buffoonry, now thou hast ⟨done⟩ me this great injury? Sirrah! because ⟨you⟩ think the head spake not enough to ⟨intice⟩ you to call us, you shall speak less in (illegible text)o months space, and with that, by ​enchantment, he struck him dumb to ⟨the⟩ end of that time, and would have ⟨done⟩ worse, had not Bungey had compassion ⟨for⟩ the fellow's simplicity, and persuaded ⟨him⟩ from it.
And thus ends the history of that ⟨famous⟩ Friar Bacon, who had done a deed ⟨which⟩ would have made his fame ring through ⟨the⟩ ages yet to come, had it not been for ⟨the⟩ simplicity of his man Miles.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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