SCENE I.-Before an Alehouse on a Heath. Enter HOSTESS and SLY. Sly. I'll pheese you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Sly. Y'are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa! Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? Sly. No, not a denier. Go, by S. Jeronimy, Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law. I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman,-the poor cur is emboss'd, I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss. And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Lord. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well, and look unto them all: To-morrow I intend to hunt again. This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd. Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest. Some one be ready with a costly suit, 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we will play our part, As he shall think, by our true diligence, Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes. [SLY is borne out. A trumpel sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:— [Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.— Re-enter Servant. How now? who is it? Serv. An it please your honour, Players that offer service to your lordship. Lord. Bid them come near. Enter 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:- 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord. 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: To see her noble lord restor❜d to health, [Exit Servant. [Exeunt. 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. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O! that a mighty man, of such descent, Am Sly. What! would you make me mad? not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son, of Burtonheath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, 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 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. [Music. And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 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, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 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; 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, And yet she is inferior to none. Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.- [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 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. 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, Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts. Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid, Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,-- Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! All. Amen. Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. 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 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; Or if not so, until the sun be set, Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy; Sly. Marry, I will let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumblingtrick? Page. No, my good lord: it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Sly. Well, we'll see 't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side, And let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger. |