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Such as he hath obferv'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplish'd;
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 bosom,
Bid him' fhed tears, as being overjoy'd

To fee her noble lord reftor'd to health,
Who for twice feven years has 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 fhift:
Which in a Napkin being clofe convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat❜ry eye,
See this dispatch'd, with all the hafte thou canft;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions. [Exit Servant.
I know the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gate, and action of a gentlewoman,

I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband;
And how my men will ftay themfelves for laughter,
When they do homage to this fimple peafant.
I'll in to counfel them: haply, my prelence
May well abate the over-merry fpleen;

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,
Of fuch poffeflions, and fo high esteem,
Should be infufed with fo foul a spirit!

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,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banith hence thefe abject lowly dreams,
Look, how thy fervants do attend on thee
Each in his office ready at thy beck.

;

Wilt thou have mulick? hark, Apollo plays; [Mufick.
And twenty caged nightingales do fing.

Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter 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.

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

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Which feem to move and wanton with her breath,
Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee lo, as the was a maid,
And how he 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 fhe bleeds:

And

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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 the hath fhed for
thee,

Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the faireft creature in the world,
And yet he is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a Lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dreamt 'till now?
I do not fleep; I fee, I hear, I fpeak;
I fmell sweet favours, and I feel soft 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' fmalleft ale.

2 Man. Wilt please your Mightiness to wash your hands?

Oh, how we joy to fee your wits reftor'd!
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 sleept.
Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap:
But did I never fpeak 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 Hoftefs of the House;
And fay, you would prefent her at the Leet,
Because the bought flone-jugs, and not feal'd quarts;
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly: Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

*

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

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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' Mafs, 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 lose by it.
Lady. How fares my noble Lord ?

Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is chear 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 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?
Lord. Madam.

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,
Being all this time abandon'd from
your bed.

Sly.

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