2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these conferves?

your

3 Serv. What raiment will 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'li wear, for 1 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 descent, Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem, Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher 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 fheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Chrif tendom. What! I am not beftraught: here's

I 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 houfe,

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 these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy fervants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have mufic? hark, Apollo plays;
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.

[Mufic.

Say thou wilt walk, we will beftrew the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trapp'd,
Their harnefs ftudded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou haft hawks will foar
Above the morning-lark. Or wilt thou hunt?

Bb 3

Thy

Thy hounds fhall make the welkin anfwer them,
And fetch fhrill echos from the hollow earth.

i Man. Say thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

[fwift 2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee Adonis, painted by a running brook;

And Cytherea all in fedges hid;

[traight

Which seem to move, and wanton with her breath,

Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid, And how she was beguiled and furpris'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 the 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.

1 Man. And till the tears that he hath fhed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world,

And yet fhe is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a Lady;
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep; 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 fight,
And once again a pot o' th' smallest ale.

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

Oh, how we joy to fee your wits restor'd!

[hands? Oh, that once more you knew but what you are! Thefe fifteen years you have been in a dream,

Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if

you flept.

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 tho' you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door,
And rail'd upon the hostess of the houfe;

And

And fay, you would prefent her at the leet.

Because the bought ftone-jugs, and no feal'd quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

[maid,

3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house, nor no fuch
Nor no fuch 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 fuch names and men as thefe,
Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends!
All. Amen..

Sly. By th' mass, I think I am a Lord indeed.
What is thy name?

Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.

Sly. Sim? that's as much as to fay Simeon or Simon;

put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[The fervant gives him drink.

SCENE V. Enter Lady, with attendants.

I thank thee;—-thou shalt not lofe by it.
Lady. How fares my Noble Lord?

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

Lady. Here, Noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men fhould call me Lord, I am your good-man.

I

Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
am your
wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well: what muft I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce Madam, or Joan Madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing elfe; fo Lords call Ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and slept above fome fifteen years and more.

Lord. Ay, and the time feems 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. to her.

Sim, drink

Lad

Laly. 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 phyficians have exprefsly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould yet abfent me from your bed;
I hope this reafon ftands for my excufe.

Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long: but I would be loath to fall into my dream again. I will therefore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood.

SCENE VI. Enter a Messenger.

Me. Your Honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy;

For fo your Doctors hold it very meet,

Seeing too much fadnefs hath congeal'd your blood;
And melancholy is the nurfe 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: is it not a com--
modity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick?
Lady. No, my good Lord, it is more pleafing ftuff.
Sly. What, houfhold-ftuff?

Lady. It is a kind of hiftory.

Sly. Well, we'll fee't: come, Madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip, we fhall ne'er be younger.

THE

TRANIO

Luc. RANIO, fince for the great defire I had To fee fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arriv'd from fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy;

And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his good-will, and thy good company:
Moft trufty fervant, well approv'd in all,
Here let us breathe, and haply institute
A courfe of learning, and ingenious ftudies.
Pifa, renowned for grave citizens,

Gave me my being: and my father first,

A merchant of great traffic through the world:
Vincentio's come of the Bentivolii,

Vincentio his fon, brought up in Florence,
It fhall become to ferve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with, his virtuous deeds:
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I ftudy,
To virtue and that part of philofophy
Will I apply, that treats of happiness.
By virtue fpecially to be atchiev'd.
Tell me thy mind, for I have Pifa left,
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A fhallow plash, to plunge him in the deep,
And with fatiety feeks to quench his thirft.
Tra. Me pardonato, gentle mafter mine,
I am in all affected as yourself:
Glad that you thus continue your refolve,
To fuck the fweets of fweet philofophy:
Only, good mafter, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral discipline,
Let's be no Stoics, nor no flocks, I pray;
Or fo devote to Ariftotle's checks,

As