Which in a napkin being close convey'd, [Exit Servant. I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; ter, When they do homage to this simple peasant. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house. BLY is discovered in a rich night gown, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and other appurtenances. dressed like a servant. Enter LORD, 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 honor taste of these conserves? 3 Ser. What raiment will your honor wear to day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honor, SHAK. V. K nor lordship: I never 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 humor in your honor! O, that a mighty man, of such descent, Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; 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 lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught.1 Here's 1 Ser. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Ser. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; 1 Distracted. Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, Look, how thy servants do attend on thee, Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, [music. 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: 1 Ser. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Ser. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis, painted by a running brook; And Cytherea1 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 surprised, 1 Venus. |