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 bosom,—
Bid him shed tears, as being over-joy'd

To fee her noble lord reftor'd to health,

Who for "this feven years hath esteem'd himself
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift,
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift;
Which in a napkin being clofe convey'd,
Shall in despight enforce a watry eye.

See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions.-

I know, the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman:

[Exit Servant.

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

I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate the over-merry fpleen,

Which otherwife would grow into extremes. [Exit Lord.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Lord's Houfe.

Enter Sly, with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

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

1 Man. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of fack?

u twice.

;

2 Man. Will't please your honour taste of these con

ferves?

3 Man. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Chriftophero 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 overleather.

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! Oh, that a mighty man, of fuch descent, Of fuch poffeffions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

W

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Chriftopher Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, 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 she say I am not fourteen-pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Chriftendom. 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. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred fhun your house, As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy.

Oh, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth;

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence thefe abject lowly dreams :
Look, how thy fervants do attend on thee,

"Burton-heath ;]-Burton-daffet, and Wincot, or Wilmecote, are Villages in Warwickshire, the latter near to Stratford upon Avon.

beftraught :]-distracted.

Each in his office ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have mufick? hark! Apollo plays, [Mufick.
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,
Their harness ftudded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou haft hawks, will foar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds fhall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth.

I Man. Say, thou wilt courfe; thy greyhounds are as fwift

As breathed ftags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftraight

Adonis, painted by a running brook;

And Cytherea all in fedges hid;

Which feem to move and wanton with her breath,

Even as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid;

And how she was beguil'd and furpriz❜d,

As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood; Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear fhe bleeds: And at that fight fhall fad Apollo weep,

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: Thou haft a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waining age.

Cytherea]-Venus.

1 Man. And, 'till the tears, that she hath shed for thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran 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 fleep: I fee, I hear, I fpeak;
I smell fweet favours, and I feel foft things:-
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;
And not a tinker, nor Chriftophero Sly.-
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.

2 Man. Will't please your mightiness to wash your

hands?

Oh, how we joy to see your wit restor❜d!

Oh, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you slept,
Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Man. Oh, yes, my lord; but very idle words :-
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hoftefs of the house;

And fay, you would prefent her at the leet,

Because she brought stone-jugs, and no feal'd quarts:
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, fir, you know no house, nor no fuch maid; Nor fo fuch men, as you have reckon'd up,

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps 'o' the green,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell;

And twenty more fuch 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.

Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants.

Lady. How fares my noble lord?

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife?

Lady. 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. Lady. 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. Alce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing else; fo lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and

Пept

Above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. 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.

Lady. Thrice noble lord, let me intreat of you,

To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not fo, until the fun be fet:
For your physicians have exprefsly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould yet abfent me from your bed;

I hope, this reafon stands for my excuse.

Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long.

But