What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in fweet cloaths; rings put upon his fingers;
A most 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 strange unto him, when he wak'd.

Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless fancy.
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 sweet wood to make the lodging fweet.
Procure me mufick 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;
Perfwade him, that he hath been lunatick.
And when he says 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 paftime paffing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modefty.

1 Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he fhail think, by our true diligence,

He is no less than what we say 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,

Sirrah, go fee what trumpet 'tis that founds.
Belike, fome noble gentleman that means, [Ex. Servant.
Travelling fome journey, to repofe him here.

Re-Enter Servant.

How now? who is it?

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 stay with me to night?
2 Play. So pleafe your Lordfhip to accept our duty.
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;

'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. (4)
Lord. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent:
Well, you are come to me in happy time,
The rather for I have fome fport 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 fo offend him: for I tell you, Sirs,
you fhould fmile, he grows impatient.

If

Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain our felves

(4) I think, 'twas Soto.] I take our Author here to be paying a Compliment to Beaumont and Fletcher's Women pleas'd, in which Comedy there is the Character of Soto, who is a Farmer's Son, and a very facetious Serving-man. Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope prefix the Name of Sim to the Line here spoken; but the first folio has it Sincklo which, no doubt, was the Name of one of the Players here introduc'd, and who had play'd the Part of Soto with Applause.

T 2

Were

Were he the verieft antick in the world.

2 Player. [to the other] Go get a difhclout to make clean your shoes, and I'll fpeak for the properties. [Exit Player. My lord, we must have a fhoulder of mutton for a property; and a little vinegar to make our devil roar. Lord. Go firrah, take them to the buttery. And give them friendly Wellcome, ev'ry one: Let them want nothing that the house affords.

[Exit one with the Players.

Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew 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 obferv'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With foft low tongue, and lowly courtefie;
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 kisses,
And with declining head into his bofom,
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd

To see her noble lord reftor'd to health,
Who for twice seven years hath efteem'd himself (5)

(5) Who for these seven years bath efteem'd himself

No better than a poor and loathfom Reggar.]

I have ventur'd to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I fhall be justified in it by two fubfequent Paffages. That the Poet defign'd, the Tinker's fuppos'd Lunacy fhould be of 14 years standing at least, seems to me evident upon these Testi

monies.

Thefe fifteen Years you have been in a Dream,

Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you flept.
Sly. These fifteen years! by my Fay, a goodly Nap.

And, again, Sly afterwards fays to the Page, whom he takes to be his
Lady.

Madam Wife, they fay, that I have dream'd and flept above fome fifteen Years and more.

No

No better than a poor and loathfome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for fuch a fhift;
Which, in a napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat'ry eye.
See this difpatch'd, with all the haft thou canft;
Anon I'll give thee more instructions. [Ex. 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 stay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this fimple peasant;
I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate the over-merry fpleen;

Which otherwise would go into extreams. [Exit Lord.

SCENE changes to a Bedchamber in the Lord's Houfe.

Enter Sly with attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances. Reenter Lord.

Sly.

'OR God's fake, a pot of small ale.

FOR

1 Serv. Will't 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 to day?

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 ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more ftockings 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 Ho

nour!

Oh, that a mighty man of fuch Defcent,
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 Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker? ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not; if the fay, I am not fourteen pence on the score 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 fhun 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 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 mufick? hark, Apollo plays; [Mufick.
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.

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.

I Man. Say, thou wilt course, 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