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This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;
1 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.
[Suy is borne out. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’t is that sounds :
[Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
An 't please your honour, players
Enter five or six Players.*
Now, fellows, you are welcome. Players. 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 remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:'T was where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well. I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform’d.
1 Play. I think, 't was Soto that your honour means.
Lord. 'T is very true : thou didst it excellent.
1 Play. Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world.
1 is it: in f. e. 2 Anit: in f, e. 3 Not in f. e. 4 Enter Players : in f. e.
Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
[Exeunt Servant and Players.
SCENE II.—A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. Sly is discovered, with Attendants ; some with apparel,
others with bason, ewer, and 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 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these
conserves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me honour, nor lordship: 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 shoes than feet; nay, sometime, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
[honour ! Lord. Heaven cease this evil' 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 Christophero 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 alewife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for Warwickshire* ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught'. Here's
1 Serv. 0! this it is that makes your lady mourn.
1 idle : in f. e. 2 Barton-on-the-Heath, a village in Warwickshire, is supposed to be alluded to. 3 A place about four miles from Strat ford. 4 sheer : in f. e. 5 Distraught, distracted.
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground:
as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch theo
Lord. We'll show thee Io as she was a maid
3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord :
1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee,
Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady?
[Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. O, how we joy to see your wits restor'd! 0, that once more, you knew but what you are ! These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you wak’d, so 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 Serv. 0! 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, Because she brought stone jugs, and not seal’d? quarts. Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. [maid,
3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 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. 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 husband ? My men should call me lord : I am your good-man.
Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and husI am your wife in all obedience.
Sly. I know it well.—What must I call her ?
Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd,
Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.
Sly. ’T is 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;
2 Sealed or stamped as full quart measure.
1 Court leet.
3 above :
in f. e.