Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Since once he plaide a farmers eldest fonne,
Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman fo well:
I haue forgot your name: but fure that part
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd,

Sincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes.
Lord. 'Tis verie true, thou didst it excellent :

Well you are come to me in happie time,
The rather for I haue fome fport in hand,
Wherein your cunning can affift me much.
There is a lord will heare you play to night;
But I am doubtfull of your modesties,
Least (ouer-eying of his odde behauiour,
For yet his honor neuer heard a play)
You breake into fome merrie paffion,
And fo offend him: for I tell you firs,

If you should smile, he growes impatient.

Play. Feare not my lord we can containe ourfelues,

Were he the veriest anticke in the world.

Lord. Go firra, take them to the butterie,

And giue them friendly welcome euery one,
Let them want nothing that my house affoords.

Exit one with the Players.

Sirra go you to Bartholmew my page,

And see him dreft in all fuites like a ladie :

That done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber,
And call him madam, do him obeisance :
Tell him from me (as he will win my loue)
He bare himfelfe with honourable action,
Such as he hath obferu'd in noble ladies
Vnto their lords, by them accomplished,
Such dutie to the drunkard let him do :
With foft lowe tongue, and lowly curtefie,
And say: what is't your honor doth command,

Wherein

Wherein your ladie, and your humble wife,
May fhew her dutie, and make knowne her loue.
And then with kinde imbracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosome
Bid him shed teares, as being ouer ioyed
To see her noble lord reftor'd to health,
Who for this feuen yeares hath esteemed him
No better than a poore and loathsome begger :
And if the boy haue not a woman's guift
To raine a shower of commanded teares,
An onion will do well for fuch a shift,
Which in a napkin (being close-conuei'd)
Shall in defpight enforce a waterie eie :
See this dispatch'd with all the hast thou canst,
Anon Ile giue thee more instructions.

Exit a Seruingman.

I know the boy will wel vfurpe the grace,
Voice, gate, and action of a gentlewoman:
I long to heare him call the drunkard husband,

And how my men will stay themfelues from laughter,

When they do homage to this fimple peafant,

Ile in to counfell them: haply my prefence

May well abate the ouer-merrie spleene,

Which otherwife would grow into extreames.

Enter aloft the Drunkard with attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances, and Lord.

Beg. For Gods fake a pot of fmall ale.

1 Ser. Wilt please your lordship drinke a cup of facke? 2 Ser. Wilt please your honor tafte of thefe conferues? 3 Ser. What raiment will your honor weare to day.

Beg. I am Chriftophero Sly, call not me honor nor lordfhip: I ne're drank facke in my life and if you giue me any conferues, giue mee conferues of beefe: nere afk me what rai

B 4

:

ment

ment Ile weare, for I haue no more doublets then backes: no more stockings then legges: nor no more fhooes then feet, nay fomtime more feet then shoes, or fuch fhooes as my toes looke through the ouer leather.

Lord. Heauen ceafe this idle humor in your honor.
Oh that a mightie man of such discent,
Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteeme
Should be infused with so foule a spirit.

Beg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Chriftopher Slie, old Slies fonne of Burton-heath by byrth a pedler, by education a cardmaker, by tranfmutation a beare-heard, and now by present profession a tinker. Afk Marrian Hacket the fat alewife of Wincot, if fhee know me not: if fhe fay I am not xiiii. d. on the score for fheere ale; score mee vp for the lyingft knaue in Chriftendome. What I am not beftraught: here's

3 Man. Oh this it is that makes your ladie mourne. 2 Man. Oh this is it that makes your feruants droop. Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred fhuns your houfe As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacie.

Oh noble lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:

Looke how thy feruants do attend on thee,

Each in his office readie at thy becke.

Wilt thou haue muficke? Harke Apollo playes,

Muficke.

And twentie caged nightingales do fing.

Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bed

On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.

Say thou wilt walke: we will beftrow the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trap'd,
Their harneffe ftudded all with gold and pearle.
Doft thou loue hawking? Thou haft hawkes will foare

Aboue

Aboue the morning larke. Or wilt thou hunt,
Thy bounds fhall make the welkin answer them
And fetch fhrill ecchoes from the hollow earth.

1 Man. Say thou wilt course, thy gray-hounds are as swift As breathed ftags: I fleeter then the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee strait Adonis painted by a running brooke,

And Citherea all in fedges hid,

Which feeme to moue and wanton with her breath,

Euen as the wauing fedges play with winde.

Lord. Wee'l fhew thee Io, as he was a maid, And how she was beguiled and furpriz'd,

As liuelie painted, as the deede was done.

- 3 Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood, Scratching her legs, that one fhal fweare fhe bleeds, And at that fight shall fad Apollo weepe,

So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne.

Lord. Thou art a lord and nothing but a lord: Thou haft a ladie farre more beautifull,

Then any woman in this waining age.

1 Man. And til the teares that she hath shed for thee, Like enuious flouds ore run her louely face,

She was the fairest creature in the world,

And

yet fhe is inferiour to none.

Beg. Am I a lord and haue I fuch a ladie?
Or do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now?
I do not fleepe: I fee, I heare, I fpeake:
I fmel fweet fauors, and I feele foft things:
Vpon my life I am a lord indeede,
And not a tinker, nor Chriftopher Slie.
Well, bring our ladie hither to our fight,

And once againe a pot o'th smallest ale.

2 Man. Wilt please your mightineffe to wash your hands

Oh how we ioy to fee your wit reftor'd,

:

Oh

Oh that once more you knew but what you are:
These fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame,
Or when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you slept.
Beg. These fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap,
But did I neuer fpeake of all that time.

1 Man. Oh yes my lord, but verie idle words
For though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye weare beaten out of doore,
And raile vpon the hofteffe of the house,

And fay you would prefent her at the leete,
Because the brought ftone-iugs, and no feal'd quarts:
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Beg. I, the womans maid of the house.

3 Man. Why fir you know no house, nor no fuch maid Nor no fuch men as you haue reckon'd vp,

As Stephen Slie, and old Ichn Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell,

And twentie more fuch names and men as these,

Which neuer were, nor no man euer faw.

Beg. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends.

All. Amen.

Enter Ladie with attendants.

Beg. I thanke thee, thou shalt not loose by it.
Lady. How fares my noble lord?

Beg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough.
Where is my wife?

Lady. Heere noble lord, what is thy will with her

Beg. Are you my wife and will not call mee hufband?

My men fhould call mee lord, I am your good-man.

Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband

I am your wife in all obedience.

Beg. I know it well, what muft I call her?

Lord. Madam.

Beg.