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And twice to Day pick'd out the dullest Scent :
Lord. Thou art a Fool, if Eccho were as fleet,
Hun. I will, my Lord.
Lord. What's here? one Dead, or Drunk? See, doth he breathe? • 2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Were he not warm'd with Ale, this were a Bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. O monstrous Beast! how like a Swine he lyes!
1 Hun. Believe me, Lord, I think he cannot chuse.
Lord. Even as a flatering Dream, or worthless Fancy.
And when he says he is poor, say that he dreams,
i Hun. My Lord, I warrant you we will play our Part, As he shall think by our true Diligence, He is no less than what we say he is.
Lord. Take him up gently, and to Bed with him; And each one to his Office when he wakes.
[Sound Trumpets, Sirrah, go see what Trumpet 'tis that sounds, Belike some noble Gentleman that means, Travelling some Journey, to repose him here.
Enter Servant. How now? Who is it?
Ser. An't please your Honour, Players That offer Service to your Lordship. Lord. Bid them come near:
Play. We thank your Honour.
Lord. With all my Heart. This Fellow I remember,
Sim. I think 'twas Soto that your Honour means.
There is a Lord will hear you play to Night; · But I am doubtful of your Modesties,
Left over eying of his odd Behaviour,
Play. Fear not, my Lord, we can contain our selves, Were he the veriest Antick in the World.
Lord. Go Sirrah, take them to the Buttery, Let them want nothing that my House affords.
[Exit one with the Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my Page, And see him drest in all suits like a Lady: That done, condu& him to the Drunkard's Chamber, And call him Madam, do him Obeisance. Tell him from me, as he will win my Love, He bear himself with honourable Adion, Such as he hath observ'd in noble Ladies Unto their Lords, by them accomplished; Such Duty to the Drunkard let him do, With soft low Tongue, and lowly Courtefie ; And say; What is't your Honour will command, Wherein your Lady, and your humble Wife, May shew her Duty, and make known her Love; And then with kind Embracements, tempting Kisses, And with declining Head into his Bosom, Bid him fhed Tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble Lord restor'd to Health, Who for this feven Years hath esteem'd himself No better than a poor and loathsome Beggar: And if the Boy have not a Woman's Gift To rain a Shower of commanded Tears, An Onion will do well for such a Shift, Which in a Napkin being close convey'd, Shall in despight enforce a watry Eye. See this dispatch'd with all the haíte thou canst, Anon I'll give thee more Instructions. (Exit Servant. I know the Boy will well usurp the Grace, Voice, Gate, and Action of a Gentlewoman. I long to hear him call the Drunkard, Husband; And how my Men will stay themselves from Laughter, When they do Homage to this simple Peasant; I'll in to counsel them: Haply my Presence May well abate the over-merry Spleen, Which otherwise would grow into Extreams.
Enter Sly with Attendants, some with Apparel, Bafon and
Ewer, and other Appurtenances.
2 Serv. Will’t please your Honour taste of these Con„erves?
3 Serv. What Raiment will your Honour wear to Day?
Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me Honour, nor Lord. ship : I ne'er drank Sack in my Life; and if you give me any Conserves, give me Conserves of Beef: Ne'er ask me what Raiment I'll wear, for I have no more Doublets than Backs, no more Stockings than Legs, nor no more Shooes than Feet ; nay sometimes more Feet than Shooes, or such Shooes as my Toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heav'n cease this idle Humour in your Honour. Oh that a mighty Man of such Descent, Of such Possessions, and so high Efteem, Should be infused with so foul a Spirit.
Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Chria stophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Buiton-heath, by Birth a Pedler, by Education a Card-maker, by Transmutation a Bear. herd, and now by present Profession a Tinker. Ask Mar. rian Hacket, the fat Ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen Pence on the Score for Sheer Ale, score me up for the lying'st Knave in Christendom, What I am not bestraught: here's
I Man. Oh this it is that makes your Lady mourn.
Lord. Hence comes it that your Kindred shun your House,
[Mufick. And twenty caged Nightingales do ling. Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a Couch, Softer and sweeter than the lustful Bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. P2
In his own Conduc, purposely to take
Duke Sen. Welcome, young Man :
Jaq. Sir, by your patience: If I heard you rightly,
Faq. de B. He hath.
Jag. To him will I: Out of these Convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. You to your former Honour, I bequeath, [To the Duke. Your Patience, and your Virtue well deserves it : You to a Love that your true Faith doth merit; [To Orla. You to your Land, and Love, and great Allies; [To Oli. You to a long and well-deserved Bed ;
[To Syl. And you to Wrangling; for thy loving Voyage [To the Clown Is but for two months victuall'd: So to your Pleasures; I am for other than for Dancing Measures.
Duke Sen, Stay, Jaques, stay.
Jaq. To see no Paltime, I: What you would have, I'li stay to know at your abandon'd Cave.