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Unto their lords, by them accomplished : ,
[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. i 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? a 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 ! 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 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 sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught*: Here's
hees as sometimhan legre double whakive me
1. Serv. O, this is it 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, And banish hence these abject lowly dreams : Look how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have musick? hark ! Apollo plays.
Musick. 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. 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 Io, 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 :
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 wit 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?
I Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words :-
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants.
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
Sly. I know it well :- What must I call her?
- 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; 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 should yet absent me from your bed : I hope, this reason stands for my excuse.
Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loth to fall into my dreams