A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. |
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SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants: some with apparel, others with basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord, dressed like a servant. |
Sly. For God's sake! a pot of small ale. |
First Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? |
Sec. Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? |
Third 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, |
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 cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife 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— |
First Serv. O! this it is that makes your lady mourn. |
Sec. Serv. O! this it is that makes your servants droop. |
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns 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 music? hark! Apollo plays, [Music. |
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 hollow earth. |
First Serv. Say thou wilt course; thy grey-hounds are as swift |
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. |
Sec. 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. |
Third 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: |
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful |
Than any woman in this waning age. |
First Serv. And till the tears that she hath shed for thee |
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, |
She was the fairest creature in the world; |
And yet she is inferior to none. |
Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? |
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? |
I do not sleep; I see, I hear, I speak; |
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things: |
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed; |
And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. |
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; |
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. |
Sec. Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands? [Servants present a ewer, basin, 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? |
First 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. |
Third Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid, |
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, |
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, |
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell, |
And twenty more such names and men as these, |
Which never were nor no man ever saw. |
Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! |
All. Amen. |
Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. |
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Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants. |
Page. How fares my noble lord? |
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 or 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 loath to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry, in spite of the flesh and the blood. |
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Enter a Servant |
Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, |
Are come to play a pleasant comedy; |
For so your doctors hold it very meet, |
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood. |
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy: |
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play, |
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, |
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. |
Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick? |
Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. |
Sly. What! household stuff? |
Page. It is a kind of history. |
Sly. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side, |
And let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger. [Flourish. |
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