Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restor❜d to health, [Exit Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. SLY is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a Servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Sero. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? 3 Sero. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honour, nor lordship: I never 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 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! O, that a mighty man, of such descent, 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? Ask 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 lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: Here's 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, 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. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 3 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams: Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis, painted by a running brook: And Cytherea all in sedges hid; Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid; And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, As lively painted as the deed was done. 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood; Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds: And at that sight shall sad 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 waning age. 1 Serv And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? And not a tiuker, nor Christophero Sly.- And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands? [Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit restor❜d! you O, that once more you knew but what are! Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never speak of all that time? 1 Serv. O, 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 leet, Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid; Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. Page. How fares my noble lord ? Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife? Page. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me-hus band? My men should call me-lord; I am your goodman. Page. 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. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and slept Above some fifteen year and more. Page. 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. Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two; |