Persuade him, that he hath been lunatick; This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 1 Hunt. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, 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. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: [Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, Re-enter a Servant. How now? who is it? An it please your honour, Players that offer service to your lordship. Lord. Bid them come near: Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome, 1 Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty 9, Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remem ber, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;- 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto 1o that your honour means. 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 assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties: Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet 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. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain our selves, Were he the veriest antick in the world ". Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one; Let them want nothing that my house affords.[Exit Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: And call him-madam, do him 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 duty 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 show 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 overjoy'd To see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : And if the boy have not a woman's gift, To rain a shower of commanding tears, An onion will do well for such a shift; Which in a napkin being close convey'd, Shall in dispite enforce a watry eye. See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst; Anon I'll give thee more instructions. [Exit Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, May well abate the over-merry spleen, [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. SLY is discovered in a rich night gown, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dress'd like a Servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Ser. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Ser. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? 3 Ser. What raiment will your honour wear today? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honour, nor lordship: I ne'er drank sack 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 shoes than feet; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath 12; by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, 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'st knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: Here's 1 Ser. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. And banish hence these abject lowly dreams: Look, how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have musick? hark! Apollo plays, And twenty caged nightingales do sing: [Musick. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: |