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 Adonis, painted by a running brook; [thee ftrait And Citherea all in fedges hid;

Which feem to move, and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving fedges play with wind.
Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid,
And how fhe was beguiled and furprised,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

[wood 3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear the bleeds; And at that fight thall fad Apollo weep; So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waining age.

i

1 Man. And 'till the tears, that the hath fhed for thee, Like envious floods, e'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fair eft creature in the world,

And yet fhe is inferior to none..

Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dreamed 'till now?
I do not fleep; I fee, I hear, I fpeak;

I fmell fweet favours, and I feel foft 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' fmallest ale.

you

arei!

2 Man: Will't pleafe your Mightiness to wash your Oh, how we joy to fee your wits restored! [hands? Oh, that once more you knew but what Thefe fifteen years you have been in a dream, Or, when you waked, fo waked as if you flept. Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap:

But did I never speak 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 upon the hoftefs of the house;

And fay, you would prefent her at the leet, Because the bought ftone jugs, and no fealed 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 në fuch maid;

Nor no fuck men, as you have reckoned up; ** (6) Is Stpehen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Truf, and Henry Pimpernell,

And twenty more, fuch names and men as these, Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! All. Amen.

Sly. By th' maís, 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

Put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[Simon;

[The Servant gives him drink.

Enter Lady, with Attendants..

I thank thee;- thou shalt not lose by it.

(6) As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,] An unknown correfpondent, (whe.figns himfelf L. H) is pleased to propose this very reasonable conjecture,

-and old fohn Naps o' th' Green.

As Sly fays, he's the fon of old Sly of Burton-heath, and talks of the fat alewife of Wincot, he thinks he can with no propriety have any acquaintance in Greece. If, indeed, the Province of Greece were to be here understood, this ob fervation must neceffarily take place; but I have not difturbed the text, becaufe I do not know but that in the neighbourhood of Wincot and Burton-heath, there may be fome village called Greece, or Greys, &c.

Lady. How fares my noble Lord?

Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife?

Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me huf. band?

My men fhould call me Lord, I am your good man.
Ludy. My bufband and my Lord, my Lord aud
I am your wife in all obedience. [hufband,
Sly. I know it well: what must I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce Madam, or Joan Madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing elfe, fo Lords call Ladies.

Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay that I have dreamed, and flept above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandoned from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone:-Madam, undrefs you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not fo, until the fun befet:

For your phyficians have exprefly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet abfent me from your bed;
I hope this reafon ftands for

my excufe.

you,

Sly. Ay, it stands fo that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again: I will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood.

Enter a Meffenger.

Me. Your Honour's players, hearing your amendment,

Are come to play a pleasant comedy;
For fo your doctors hold it very meet,

Seeing too much fadnefs hath congealed your blood, And melancholy is the nurfe of frenzy.

Therefore they thought it good you hear a play, And frame your mind to mirth and merriment; Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life.

Sly. Marry, I will; let them play; is it not a commodity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick?!

Lady. No, my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, houfhold ftuff?

Lady. It is a kind of history.

Sly. Well, we'll fee't. Come, Madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip, we fhall ne'er be younger.

TRAN10, fince for the great defire I had
To fee fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arrived from fruitful Lombardy, (7)
The pleasant garden of great Italy;

And, by my father's love and leave, am armed
With his good will, and thy good company;
Most trusty servant, well approved in all,
Here let us breathe, and haply institute
A courfe of learning, and ingenious studies.
Pifa, renowned for grave citizens,

Gave me my being; and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world:
Vincentio's come of the Bentivolii,

(7) I am arrived for fruitful Lombard] Though all the impreffions concur in this, I take it to be a blunder of the editors, and not of the Author. Padua is not in Lombardy; but Pifa, from which Lucentio comes, is really in thofe territories.