May well abate the over-merry spleen Scene II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house. [Exeunt. Enter aloft Sly, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with basin and ewer and other appur tenances, and Lord. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. First Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? Sec. Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these conserves? Third Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? nor lordship': I ne'er drank sack in my life; Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such possessions and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit! Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, 20 by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she "Will't please your Lordship drink a cup of sack?" First Serv. " know me not: if she say I am not fourteen Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, Each in his office ready at thy beck. 30 Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, [Music. Or wilt thou sleep? we 'll have thee to a couch On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 40 Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: soar Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt? First Serv. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 50 Sec. Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook, And Cytherea all in sedges hid, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord. We'll show thee Io as she was a maid And how she was beguiled and surprised, Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 61 First Serv. And till the tears that she hath shed for thee Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 70 Sec. Serv. Will 't please your mightiness to wash your hands? O, how we joy to see your wit restored! O, that once more you knew but what you are! 80 Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept. |