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:- And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers; Some one be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what apparel he will wear; It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty §. 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he shall think, by our true diligence, He is no less than what we say he is. * Pitcher. Naturally. + Napkin. § Moderation. Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; And each one to his office, when he wakes. [Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:[Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, Re-enter a Servant. How now? who is it? Serv. An it please your honour, Players that offer service to your lordship. Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome.. 1 Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 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,Well, you are come to me in happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behaviour (For yet his honour never heard a play), You break into some merry passion, And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, should smile, he grows impatient. If you 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain our selves, Were he the veriest antick in the world. Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.[Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrahı, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a Servant. Tell him from me (as he will win my love), To see her noble lord restor❜d to health, See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; [Exit Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; I'll in to counsel them: haply*, my presence [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's house. Sly is discovered in a rich night gown, with attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other 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-10nour, nor lordship: I never 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, sonietimes, 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, Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; by * Perhaps. birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, 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 1 Serv. O, this is it that makes your lady mourn. 2 Sero. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten heuce by your strange lunacy. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, Wilt thou have musick? hark! Apollo plays, [Musick. And twenty caged nightingales do sing: On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: 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: And Cytherea all in sedges hid; * Distracted. |