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Wind borns. Enter a Lord from bunting, with a Train.
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my

hounds ;
(Brach, Merriman ! the poor cur is imbost ;)
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd Brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the meerest loss,
And twice to day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool ; if Eccbo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such

1
But fup them well, and look unto them all,
To morrow I intend to hunt again.

Hun. I will, my lord.
Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk ? see, doth

he breathe ?
2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Were he not warm'd

with ale,
This were a bed but cold, to sleep so foundly.

Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies!
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thy image!
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in sweet 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?

i Hun. Believe me, Lord, I think he cannot chuse.
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 jest:
Carry him gently to my fairelt chamber,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures ;
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.

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Procure me mufick ready, when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heav'nly found ;
And if he chance to speak, be ready ftraight,
And with a low submislave reverence
Say, what is it your Honour will command?
Let one attend him with a silver bason
Full of Rose water, and bestrew'd with flowers ;
Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper;
And say, wilt please your lordship cool your hands ?
Some one be ready with a costly suit,
And ask him what apparel he will wear ;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his Lady mourns at his disease ;
Perswade him, that he hath been lunatick.
And when he says he is, fay, that he dreams s
For he is nothing but a mighty lord :
This do, and do it kindly, gentle Sirs :
It will be pallime passing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty.
1 Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our party

. As he shall 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, go

see what trumpet is that sounds. Belike, some noble gentleman that means, [Ex. Servanı:. Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter Servant. -
How now? who is it?

Ser. An't please your Honour, Players-
That offer service 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 fiay with me to night? z Play. So please your Lordship to accept our duty.

Lord

(For yet

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest fon : 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, 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 some sport in hand,
Wherein your cunning can aflift 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,

his honour never heard a Play,) You break into some merry Passion, And so offend him: 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 verielt antick in the world.

2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a Dishclout to makeclean your shoes, and I'll speak for the properties.

[Exit Player. My lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little Vinegar to make our devil roar.

Lard. Go, firrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome, every one: Let them want nothing that the house affords.

[Exit one with the Playersa. Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page, And see him drest in all suits like a lady. That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,

(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 Soro, 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 Saso with Applause..

And

And call him Madam, do him all obcisance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love)
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplish'd ;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesie;
And say; what is't your Honour will command,
Wherein
your lady, and

your

humble wife, May shew her duty, and make known her love ? And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being over-joy'd To see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who for twice seven years hath esteem'd himself (5) No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : And if the boy hath not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An Onion will do well for such a shift; Which in a Napkin being close convey'd, Shall in despight enforce a wat'ry eye. See this dispatch’d, with all the hafte chou canst ; Anon I'll give thee more instructions. [Ex. Servant, I know the boy will well usurp 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 spleen ; Which otherwise will go into extreams. [Exit Lord,

(5) Wbo for these seven years barb efteem'd bimfelf

No better than a poor and loathsom Beggar.] I have ventur’d to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I fall be justified in it by two subsequent Passages. That the Poet defign'd, the Tinker's suppos'd Lunacy should be of 14 years standing at least, is evident upon two parallel Pallages in the Play to that Purpose.

SCENE

5 CEN E changes to a Bed-Chamber in the

Lord's House.

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cup of fack?

Enter Sly with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and

ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.
POR God's fake, a pot of small ale.

i Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these Con

serves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to

day? Sly. I am Chriflopbero Sly, call not me Honour, nor lordship : I ne'er drank fack in my life: and if you give me any Conserves, give me Conserves of beef : ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more moes than feet ; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes ; or such 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 such descent, Of such poffeffions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a fpirit !

Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-beath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd, and now by present profession, a tinker? ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if she say, I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, Score me up for the lying's knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught : here's

1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn.
2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your servants
droop.

Lord.

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