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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 observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished;
Such daty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy;
And say; what is't your Honour will command,
Wherein your lady and your humble wife,
May Mew 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 reftord to health,
Who for twice seven years hath esteem'd himself (5)
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 such a fhift;
Which in a napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat'ry eye.
See this dispatch'd, with all the halte thou canst;
Anon I'll give ihee more instructions. [Exit 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 ftay 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 Lords

(5) Who for these seven Years bath effeam'd bimself

No better tban a poor and loathsome Beggar. ] I have ventured to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I shall be justified in it by two fubfequent Passages. That the Poet design'd, the Tinker's supposed Lunacy thould be of fourteen Years standing at least, is evident' upon two parallel Passages in the Play to that Purpose.

SCENE

SCENE changes to à Bedchamber in the a:

Lord's House.

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Enter Sly with Attendants, Some with apparel, bafon and

ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

S.
FOR

OR God's fake, a pot of fmall ale.
; ' 1 Serv. Will’t please your Lordship drink a
cup

of sack? 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour tafte of these Conserves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to day?

Sly. I am Christophero 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 l'll wear, for I have no more 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. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour ! Oh, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such poffeflions, and so high esteem, Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit ! Sly. What, would you make me mad i am not 1.3

. Christophero Sly, old sty's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profession a tinker? alk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if the fay, I am not fourteen-pence on the score for sheer ale, fcore me up for the lying 'st 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 servants droop.

Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred fhun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.

Oh,

Oh, noble Lord, bethink thee of thy birth,

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
• And banish hence these abjeét lowly dreams.
Look, how thy servants do attend on thee;
Each in his office ready at thy beck. :
Wilt thou have mufick i hark, Apollo plays; [Mufick.
And twenty caged nightingales do fing.
Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say, thou wilt walk, we will bestrow the ground :
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou haft hawks, will soar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds fhall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Man. Say, thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou love piures i we will fetch thee Arait
Idonis, painted by a running brook;
And Citberea all in fedges hid ;
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll shew thee lo, as she was a maid,
And how she was beguiled and furpriz'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs, that one shall swear the bleeds :
And at that fight shall 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 Man. And 'till the tears, that she hath shed for thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the faireft creature in the world,
And yet she is inferior to none.
Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I such a Lady?

Or

!

1

Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now?
I do not sleep; I see, I hear, I speak;
I (mell sweet savours, and I feel soft things :
Upon my life, I am a Lord, indeed;
And not a Tinker, nor Christophero Sly,
Well, bring our Lady hither to our sight,
And once again, a pot o'th' smallest ale.

2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
Oh, how we joy to see your wits restor’d!
Oh, that once more you knew but what you are!
Thefe fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you fept.

Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly napi
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 say, ye were beaten out of door,
And rail'd

upon

the Hostess of the house;
And say, you would present her at the leet,
Because the bought stone-jugs, and no seald 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 house; nor no such maid;
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up;
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends !
All. Amen.
Sly. By th? mass, I think I am a Lord indeed.
What is thy name?

Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.

Siy. Şim? that's as much as to say, Simeon or Simon ; put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[The servant gives him drink.

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Enter

Enter Lady, with Attendants.

man.

I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Lady. How fares my noble Lord?
Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough.
Where's

my wife? Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her!

Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men should call me Lord, I am your good

Lady. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband; I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well; what must I call her ?
Lord. Madam,
Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam?
Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so lords call ladies.

Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and slept above some fifteen years and more.

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

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave ine and her alone : Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.

Sim, drink to her.

Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you,
To pardon me yet for a night or two:
Or, if not so, until the sun be fet;
For your phyficians have exprefly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould yet abfent me from your bed ;
I hope, this reason stands for my excuse.

Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath to fall into my

dream again : I will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood.

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