Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with a Train. UNTSMAN, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

Lord. H

Leech Merriman, the poor cur is imbost;

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 lose the dog for twenty pound.

Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the mereft lofs,

And twice to day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Truft me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem 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? fee, 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 loathfome is thy image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in fweet clothes; 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 chufe. 2 Hun. It would seem ftrange unto him, when he wak'd.

Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless

fancy.

Then

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 lordship cool your hands?
Some one be ready with a coftly fuit,
And ask 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 pastime 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 less 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. Servant. Travelling fome journey, to repose him here.

SCENE

SCENE

Re-enter Servant.

How now? who is it?

III.

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 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 affift me much. There is a Lord will hear you play to-night; But I am doubtful of your modefties, Left, over-eying of his odd Behaviour, (For yet his honour never heard a Play,) You break into fome merry Paffion, And so offend him: for I tell you, Sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient.

Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourselves; Where he the veriest antic in the world.

2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a dishclout to make clean your hoes, and I'll speak for the properties. [Exit Player. My lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little Vinegar to make our devil

roar.

Lord.

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 dreft in all fuits like a lady.

That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
And call him Madam, do him all obeisance,
Tell him from me (as he will win my love)
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath obfery'd in noble ladies
Unto their Lords, by them accomplished;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With foft low tongue, and lowly courtesy;
And fay; what is t
your Honour will command,
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 shed tears, as being over-joy'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 loathfome 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 close convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat'ry eye.

See this difpatch'd, with all the hate thou canft;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions. [Exit Servant.
I know the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman.
I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband;
And how my men will flay themfelves from laughter,
When they do homage to this fimple peafant;
I'll in to counfel them: haply, my prefence
May well abate the over merry spleen ;
Which otherwife will go into extremes.

[Exit Lord.

SCENE

SCENE IV.

Changes to a Bedchamber in the Lord's Houfe.

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

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

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

2 Serv. Will't pleafe your Honour tafte of these 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 stockings 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 cease this idle humour in your Honour! Oh, that a mighty man of fuch defcent, Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high efteem, Should be infused with fo foul a fpirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by present 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't 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.