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Belike, some noble gentleman; that means,
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter a Servant.
How now? who is it?

Ser. An it please your Honour,
Players that offer service to your Lordship:
Lord. Bid them come near:

Enter Players.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.

i Play. We thank your Honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your Lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I Te•

member, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son; 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally, performid.

2 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your Honour means,

Lord. 'Tis very truc; - thou didst it excellent Well, you are come to me in happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me ruch. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest, over-eying of his odd bchaviour, (For yet his Honour never heard a play, ) You break into some merry passion, And so offend him; for I tell you, Sirs, If youl

should smile, he grows impatient. · Play. Fear not, my Lord; we can contain our

selves, Were he thie veriest antick in the world.

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendl welcome every one;

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Let them want nothing that my house affords.

[ Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,

[ To a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lały: That done, conduct 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 action, Such as he hath obsery'd in noble ladies Urto their lords, ty them accomplished: Such duty to the drunkard let him do, With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; And say,

What is't your Honour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, May show 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 overjoy'd To see her noble lord restord to health, Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him 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 despite enforce a wairy eye.' See this despatch'd with all the haste thou can'st; 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 drunkari, husband; And how my men will stay themselves froin laughter When they do homage to this simple peasant. l'H in to counsel them haply, my presence

May well abate the ovet-merry'spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.


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A. Bedchamber in the Lord's House. SLY is discovered in a rich night gown,

with Attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, cwer, and other appurtenances. Enter

Lord, dress'd 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 ?

& Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these conserves?

3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour Weax to-day?

Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me-Hoyout, nor Lordship: I ne'er drank sack in my life, and if you give me any conseryes, give me conserves of beef: Ne'er ask 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

0, that a mighty man, of such descent,
Of such possessions, 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 pedalar, by education a card-maker, ly trans

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mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the far 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 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 yourkindred shun your

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
0, noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And bañish hence these abject lowly drcams:
Look, how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy Deck.
Wilt thou have musick! hark! Apollo plays,

And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
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.“
Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground;
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar.
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
i Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are

as 'swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the 'roe. & Seru. 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 breathe 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 át that sight shall sad Apolo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and noxking 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

Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the fairçst creature in tlie 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 rill now?
I do not sleep: I see, 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 10 our sight;
And once again, a pot o'the smallest ale.
2 Serv. Will't please your Mighiiness to wash

your hands? [Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd! O, that once more you knew but what you are ! These fifreen years you have been in a dream; Qr, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slepus.

Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never speak of all that time?

i Serv. O, yes, my Lord; but very idle words:

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