Such as he hath obferv'd in noble ladies To fee her noble lord reftor'd to health, I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; Which otherwife will go into extreams. [Exit Lord. In former editions, Who for thefe feven Years bath efteem'd himfeif No better than a poor and loathfome Beggar.] I have ventur'd to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I fhall be juftified in it by two fubfequent Paffages. That the Poet defign'd, the Tinker's fuppos'd Lunacy fhould be of fourteen Years ftanding at least, is evident upon two parallel Paffages in the Play to that Purpose. THEOBALD. *It is not unlikely that the onion was an expedient used by the actors of interludes. 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 small ale. FOR 1 Serv. Wilt please your Lordship drink a cup of fack? 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these Conferves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear today? 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 shoes 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, Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker? afk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not; if fhe fay, I am not fourteen pence on the fcore for fheer ale, fcore me up for the lying'ft knave in Christendom. 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 shun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. Oh, noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth, ; Wilt thou have mulick? hark, Apollo plays; [Mufick. Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch, On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground: 1 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 ftrait Adonis, painted by a running brook; And Citherea all in fedges hid Which feem to move and wanton with her breath, Lord. We'll fhew thee lo, as the was a maid, 3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear fhe bleeds: And And at that fight fhall fad Apollo weep: So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Than any woman in this waining age. 1 Man. And 'till the tears, that the hath fhed for Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a Lady? 2 Man. Wilt please your Mightiness to wash your hands? Oh, how we joy to fee your wits reftor'd! 1 Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words. * 3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no houfe; nor no fuch maid; Nor no fuch men, as you have reckon'd up; Leet,] At the Court leet, or courts of the manor. 2 As As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe, Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! Sly. By th' Mafs, I.think I am a Lord indeed. 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 lose by it. Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is chear enough. Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men should call me Lord, I am your good man. Lady. My hufband and my Lord, my Lord and hufband; I am your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well: what muft I call her? Sly. Alice madam, or Joan madam ? Lord. Madam, and nothing else, fo Lords call La [dies. Sly. Come fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and flept above some fifteen years and more. Lady. Ay, and the time feems thirty unto me, Sly. |