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Some one be ready with a costly fuit,
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 see what trumpet is that founds. Belike, fome noble gentleman that means, [Ex. Servant. Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
Ser. An't please your Honour, Players
Play. We thank your Honour,
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son: 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
I have forgot your name; but, fure, that part
Sim. I think, 'twas Soto that your Honour means.
Lord. 'Tis very true; thou didft it excellent:
Sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient.
Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourselves; Were he the veriest antick in the world.
2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a Dishclout to make clean your Ihoes, and I'll speak for the properties.
[Exit Player, My lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and ta little Vinegar to make our devil roar.
Lord. Go, firrah, take them to the buttery,
[Exit one with the Players. 4 a little Vinegar to make our devil roar.) When the acting the mysteries of the old and new Testament was in yogue ; at the representation of the mystery of the Passion, Judas and the Devil made a part.
And the Devil, whereever he came, was always to suffer fome disgrace, to make the people laugh: As here, the buffonery was to apply the gall and vinegar to make him roar. And the Passion being that, of all the mysteries, which was most frequently represented,
vinegar bceame at length the standing implement to torment the Devil: And used for this purpose even after the mysteries ceased, and the moralities came in vogue; where the Devil continued to have a considerable part.The mention of it here was to ridicule so absurd a circumstance in these old farces.
Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page,
S C Ε Ν Ε
Changes to a Bedchamber in the Lord's House.
Enter Sly with Attendants, fome with apparel, bason
and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord. Sky. FOR God's fake, a pot of small ale.
1 Serv. Willt please your lordship drink a cup of fack! 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these
Conserves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to
day? Sly. I am Christopher 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, sometimes, more feet than shoes; or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour!
Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-beath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranimutation a bearherd, and now by present profession a tinker? ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Win. cot, if she know me not; if she say, I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: here's
i Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, 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. Oh, 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 neep? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the luftful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk, we will bestrow the ground: Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, Their harness ftudded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks, will foar 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 Man. Say, thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are
As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee
Lord. We'll shew thee To, as she was a maid,
3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one Thall swear she bleeds: