SCENE IV. Changes to a Bedchamber in the Lord's Houfe. Enter Sly with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord. Sly. OR God's fake, a pot of small ale. Sly. E 1 Serv. Will't pleafe your Lordship drink a cup of fack? 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these 3 Conferves? Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear today? Sly. I am Chriftophero Sly, call not me Honour, nor Lordfhip: I ne'er drank fack in my life and if you give me any Conferves, give me Conferves of beef. Ne'er afk me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more ftockings than legs, nor no more fhoes than feet; nay, fometimes, more feet than fhoes; or fuch fhoes as my toes look through the over-leather. Lord. Heav'n ceafe this idle humour in your Ho nour! Oh, that a mighty man of fuch descent, Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker? afk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if fhe fay, I am not fourteen pence on the score for fheer ale, fcore me up for the lying'ft knave in Christendom. What, I am not beftraught: here's Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop. Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred fhun your house. As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy. Oh, noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth, Wilt thou have mufick? hark, Apollo plays ; [Mufick. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground: 1 Man. Say, thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftrait Adonis, painted by a running brook; And Citherea all in fedges hid; Which feem to move and wanton with her breath, Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind. Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as she was a maid, And how she was beguiled and furpris'd, As lively painted as the deed was done. 3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear fhe bleeds: And And at that fight fhall fad Apollo weep: So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Than any woman in this waining age. 1 Man. And 'till the tears, that fhe hath fhed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I such a Lady? 2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands? Oh, how we joy to fee your wits restor❜d! Oh, that once more you knew but what you are! 1 Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words. 3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house; nor no fuch maid; Nor no fuch men, as you have reckon'd up; Leet,] At the Court leet, or courts of the manor. As As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe, Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! Sly. By th' Mass, I think I am a Lord indeed. Man. Sim, an't please your Honour. Sly. Sim? that's as much as to fay, Simeon or Simon ; put forth thy hand and fill the pot. [The fervant gives him drink. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. Lady. How fares my noble Lord? Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough. Where's my wife? Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men fhould 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 elfe, fo lords call la [dies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and slept above some fifteen years and more. Lady. Ay, and the time feems 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-Sim, drink to her. Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you, Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again: I will therefore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood. SCENE Enter a Messenger. VI. Meff. Your Honour's Players, hearing your amend ment, Are come to play a pleasant Comedy; For fo your Doctors hold it very meet, Seeing too much fadnefs hath congeal'd your blood; Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, Sly. Marry, I will; let them play; is it not a Commodity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick? Lady. No, my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, houfhold ftuff? Lady. It is a kind of hiftory. Sly. Well, we'll fee't: come, Madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip, we fhall ne'er be younger. THE |