Heft. You will not pay for the glaffes you have burst? Sly. No, not a deniere: go by, Jeronimo to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

-go

Hoft. I know my remedy; I muft go fetch the third borough.

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll anfwer him by law; I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep.

SCENE II.

Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with a train. Lord. Huntfman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:

Leech Merriman, the poor cur is imboft;

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd Brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner in the coldest fault?

I would not lofe the dog for twenty pound.

Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my Lord; He cried upon it at the meerest loss,

And twice to-day pick'd out the dulleft fcent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,

I would efteem him worth a dozen fuch.

But fup them well, and look unto them all,
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

Hun. I will, my Lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold to fleep fo foundly.

Lord. O monftrous beaft! how like a fwine he lies! Grim death, how foul and lothfome is thy image! Sirs, I will practife on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,

Go by, Jeronimo, was a kind of by-word in the author's days, as appears by its being ufed in the lame manner by Ben Johnson, Beaumont, and Fletcher, and other writers near that time. Ji arose fift from a paffage in an old play called Heironymo, or, The Spanish tragedy.

Wrapp'd

Wrapp'd in fweet cloaths; rings put upon his fingers;
A moft delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes;
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

1 Hun. Believe me, Lord, I think he cannot chuse,

2 Hun. It would feem ftrange unto him when he wak'd.

Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless fancy,
Then take him up, and manage well the jeft:
Carry him gently to my faireft chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;
Balm his foul head with warm diftilled waters,
And burn fweet wood to make the lodging fweet.
Procure me mufic ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heav'nly found;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,
And with a low fubmiffive reverence

Say, what is it your Honour will command?
Let one attend him with a filver bafon'

Full of rofe-water, and beftrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper;

And fay, Wilt please your Lordfhip cool your hands?
Some one be ready with a coftly fuit,

And afk him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease;
Perfuade him that he hath been lunatic.
And when he fays he is, -fay that he dreams;
For he is nothing but a mighty Lord.
This do, and do it kindly, gentle Sirs:
It will be paftime paffing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modefty.

1 Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he fhall think, by our true diligence,

He is no lefs than what we fay he is.

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him And each one to his office when he wakes.

[Some bear out Sly.

Sound trumpets. Sirrah, go fee what trumpet is that founds.

Belike, fome noble gentleman that means, [Ex. fervant. Travelling fome journey, to repofe him here.

SCENE III. Re-enter fervant.

How now? who is it?

Ser. An't please your Honour, players That offer fervice to your Lordship. Lord. Bid them come near.

Enter Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Play. We thank your Honour.

Lord. Do you intend to ftay 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 fon:

'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman fo well: I have forgot your name; but, fure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd.

Sim. I think 'twas Soto that your Honour means. Lord. 'Tis very true; thou didft it excellent. Well, you are come to me in happy time, The rather for I have fome sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can affist me much. There is a Lord will hear you play to-night; But I am doubtful of your modefties, Left, over-cying of his odd behaviour, (For yet his Honour never heard a play), You break into fome merry paffion, And fo offend him: for I tell you, Sirs, If you fhould fmile, he grows impatient.

Play. Fear not, my Lord, we can contain ourselves; Were he the verieft antic in the world.

2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a difhclout to make elean your fhoes, and I'll fpeak for the properties. [Exit player. My Lord, we must have a fhoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegar to make our devil roar. Lord. Go firrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one : Let them want nothing that the house affords. [Exit one with the players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, And fee him drefs'd in all fuits like a lady.

That

That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
And call him Madam, do him all obeifance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love),
He bear himfelf with honourable action,
Such as he hath obferv'd in noble ladies
Unto their Lords, by them accomplished;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With foft low tongue, and lowly courtefy;
And fay, What is't your Honour will command, we
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,
May fhew her duty, and make known her love?
And then with kind embracements, tempting kiffes,
And with declining head into his bofom,
Bid him fhed tears, as being overjoy'd
To fee her Noble Lord reftor'd to health,
Who for twice feven years hath esteem'd himself
No better than a poor and lothfome beggar,
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a fhower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for fuch a shift;
Which in a napkin being clofe convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat'ry eye.
See this difpatch'd with all the hafte thou canst;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions. [Exit Servant.
I know the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gate, and action of a gentlewoman.

A

I long to hear him call the drunkard husband;
And how my men will fay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this fimple peafant.

I'll in to counfel them: haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry fpleen,

Which otherwife will

go into extremes.

SCENE

[Exit Lord.

IV.

Changes to a bedchamber in the Lord's houfe.

Enter Sly with attendants, fome with apparel, bafon, and ever, and other appurtenances.

Re-enter Lord.

Sly. For God's fake, a pot of fmall ale.

1 Sere. Will't pleafe your Lordfhip drink a cup of fack?

2 Serv.

2 Serv. Will't pleafe your Honour taste of thefe conferves?

3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Chriftopher Sly, call not me Honour, nor Lordship: 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 Honour! Oh that a mighty man of fuch defcent, Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem, Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-marker, by tranfmutation a bear-herd, 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

1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants

droop.

kindred fhun your

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.

Oh, Noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banifament,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.

Look how thy fervants do attend on thee,

Each in his office ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have mufic? hark, Apollo plays; [Mufic..
And twenty caged nightingales do fing.

Or wilt thou fleep we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and fweeter than the luftful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.

Say thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trapp'd,