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Say, what is it your Honour will command ?
i Hun. My Lord, I'll warrant you we'll play
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; And each one to bis office when he wakes."
[Some bear our Sly. Sound Trumpets. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds. Belike some noble gentleman that means,
[Exit Servant. Travelling some journey, to repose hiin 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 please your Lordfhip to accept our duty.
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he played a farmer's eldest fon; 'Twas where you wood the gentlewoman fo well: I have forgot your name ; but, fure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally performed. 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 sport in hand, Wherein your cunning can aslist nie much. There is a Lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties, Left, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet bis Honour never heard a play), You break into some merry pafsion, And so offend hiin: for, I tell you, Sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient. Play. Fear not, my Lord; we can contain our.
felves, Were he the veriest antic in the world.
2 Play. [to the-otbor). Go, get a dishclout 30 make clean your shoes, and I'll speak for the properties.
FExit Player. My Lord, we must have a, shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegar to make our devil roar.
(4) I think 'twas Soto) I take our Author here to be paying a compliment to Beaumont and Fletcher's Women Pleale, 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 introduced, and who had played the part of Soto with applause.
Lord. Gu, firrah, take them to the buttery, !
[Exit one with the Players:
No better than a poor mid loath foine beggar :) Fhave ventured to alter a word here, against the authority of the printed copies; and hope, Ithall be justified in it by two subsequent passages. That the Poet designed the tinker's supposed lunacy should be of fourteen years standing: at least, seems to me evident upon these testimonies..! in
These fifteen years bave you been in a dream,!!,
Or,. when you waked; so waked as if you slepto** Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a'goodly, nap: And, again, Sly, afterwards says to the page, whium he takes to be his lady,
Madam wife, they say that I have dreamed and lepre bove fome fifteen years and more
To rain a fhower of commanded tears,
I know the boy will well usurp the grace, *. Voice, gait, and a&ion of a gentlewoman.
I long to hear him calkthe drunkard husband;
SCENE changes to a Bedchamber in tbe Lord's Houfe
Bafon and Ewer, and other. Appurtenances. Re-
iServ. Will't pleafe your Lordship drink a cup of fack?
2. Serv. Will't please. your Honour to taste of these conserves? 3
Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to-day?
Sly. I aan Christophero Sly; call not me Honour, nor Lordfhip : I ne'er drank fack in my life : and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of betf: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have po niore doublets than backs, no more ftockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet : nay, fometimes, more feet than shoes; or such shoes as. my toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your HoOh, that a mighty man of such descent, [pour ! Of such poffeflions, and so high elteem, is Should be infused with fo fout a spirit !
Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not 1 Chistophero Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd, and now by present profellion a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the far ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for theer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom.. What, I am not bestraught: here's
1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your Lady
-2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your servants
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 these abječt lowly dreams. Look, how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck..
1 Wilt thou have music? hark, Apollo plays; [Music. And twenty caged nightingales do fing. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the luitful bed On purpose trimmed up for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walk, we will beitrow the ground: Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapped, Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will foar Above the morning tark. Or wilt thou hunt? Thy hounds that make the welkin answer them, And fetch thrill echoes from the hollow earth.