Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Ser. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch

thee straight

Adonis, painted by a running brook;
And Cytherea all in sedges hid;

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid;
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny

wood;

Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds:
And at that sight shall sad 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 waning age.

1 Ser. And, till the tears, that she hath shed for

thee,

Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world;
And yet she is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell 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' the smallest ale.

2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash

your hands?

[Servant presents a ewer, bason, and napkin.

O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap,
But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words:-
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house;
And say, you would present her at the leet,
Because she brought stone jugs, and no seal'd quarts:
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Serv. 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;

London Published by bra, Kearsley Dec. 12803

Engraved by C.Armstrong.

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 13.

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

Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.

Page. How fares my noble lord?

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

Page. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me

husband?

My men should call me-lord; I am your good-man. Page. 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. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ?

Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call la

dies.

Sly. Madam wife, they say, that I have dream'd, and slept

Above some fifteen year and more.

Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me;

Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much; - Servants, leave me and her

alone.

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.

VOL.V.