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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 shed tears, as being over-joy'd
To see her noble lord restor'd to health,
Who for this seven 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 hafte thou canst;
Anon I'll give thee more instructions. [Exit Servant.
I know, the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait, 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 extremes. [Exit Lord.


A Room in the Lord's House. Enter Sly, with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and

ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Man. Will’t please your lordship drink a cup of fack?

u twice.

2 Man. Will’t please your honour taste of these con

serves ? 3 Man. What raiment will your honour wear to-day ?

Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honour, nor fordship: I ne'er drank fack in my life ; and if

and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef: Ne'er alk me what raiment l'll wear ; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! Oh, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such poffeffions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit !

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of " Burton-heath ; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Alk Marian 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

1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your servants droop.

Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. Oh, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : Look, how thy servants do attend on thee,

"Burton-heath ;]-Burton-dasset, and Wincot, or Wilmecote, are Vil. lages in Warwickshire, the latter near to Stratford upon Avon.

* beftraught :]-distracted.

[blocks in formation]

Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have musick ? hark ! Apollo plays, [Mufick.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Or wilt thou Neep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.
Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrow the ground:
Or wilt thou ride ? thy hories shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks, will foar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
1 Man. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as

fwift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee

Adonis, painted by a running brook ;
And Cytherea all in fedges hid;
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll shew thee Io, as she was a maid ;
And how she was beguild and surpriz'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood;
Scratching her legs, that one shall fwear she bleeds :
And at that fight shall fad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waining age.

y Cytherea)-Venus.

1 Man. And, 'till the tears, that she hath shed for thee, Like envious foods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairelt creature in the world ; And yet

she is inferior to none.
Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now ?
I do not neep: I fee, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things :-
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ;
And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.-
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o'the smallest ale.
2 Man. Will't please your mightiness to wash your

Oh, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!
Oh, that once more you knew but what you are !
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you ,

wak’d, fo wak'd as if you slept,
Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Man. Oh, yes, my lord; but very idle words :-
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ;
And rail upon the hostess of the house ;
And say, you would present her at the 2 leet,
Because she brought stone.jugs, and no seal’d quarts:
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, fir, you know no house, nor no such maid; Nor so such men, as you have reckon'd upAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps o' the green, And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ;

* leet,]-court leet.

of Greece.


And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw,

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
All. Amen.
Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants.
Lady. How fares my noble lord ?

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife?

Lady. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with her ?

Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me-husband? My men should call me-lord, I am your good-man.

Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband; I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well :- What must I call her ?
Lord. Madam.
Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam ?
Lord. Madam, and nothing else ; so lords call ladies.
Sly. Madam wife, they say, that I have dream'd, and

Above some fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me;
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much ;-Servants leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you, and come now to-bed.

Lady. Thrice noble lord, let me intreat of you,
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set :
For your physicians have expressly charg’d,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I Mould yet absent me from


bed : I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry so long.


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