And that his lady mourns at his disease: Persuade him, that he hath been lunatick; And, when he fays he is,say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. P This do, and do it kindly, gentle firs; It will be paftime paffing excellent, If it be hufbanded with modefty. 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he fhall think, by our true diligence, He is no lefs than what we fay 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. Sound trumpets. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that founds : Belike, fome noble gentleman; that means, [Exit Servant. Travelling fome journey, to repofe him here. Re-enter a Servant. 'How now? who is it? Ser. An't please your honour, players, That offer fervice to your lordship. Lord. Bid them come near: Enter Players. Now, fellows, you are welcome. Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? • And, when he says he is,]—“ he is" may be only opposed to "hath "been lunatic," in the preceding line.-who he is, tells you kindly,]-naturally. his name. If it be bufbanded with modefty.]-If it be kept within due bounds, if the joke be not spoil'd by laughing outright. 'Twas 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman fo well: I have forgot your name; but, fure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. Play. I think, 'twas 'Soto 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 affist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night : But I am doubtful of your modesties; Left, over-eying of his odd behaviour, (For yet his honour never heard a play) You break into fome merry paffion, And fo offend him; for I tell you, firs, If you fhould fmile, he grows impatient. Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the verieft antick in the world. Lord. Go, firrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one; [Exit one with the players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, t And fee him drefs'd in all ' fuits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, Tell him from me, (as he will win my love) Soto]-A character in Fletcher's Women pleas'd. T 3 * fuits]-points. Wherein Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, Bid him shed tears, as being over-joy'd To fee her noble lord reftor'd to health, See this dispatch'd with all the hafte thou canst; I know, the boy will well ufurp the grace, [Exit Servant. I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband; I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen, Which otherwife would grow into extremes. [Exit Lord. A Room in the Lord's Houfe. Enter Sly, with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord. Sly. For God's fake, a pot of small ale. 1 Man. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of fack? " twice. 2 Man. Will't please your honour taste of these con ferves? 3 Man. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Chriftophero Sly; call not me-honour, nor lordship: I ne'er drank fack in my life; and if you give me any conferves, give me conferves of beef: Ne'er alk me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more fhoes than feet; nay, fometimes, more feet than shoes, or fuch shoes as my toes look through the overleather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour ! Oh, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem, Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit! Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Chriftopher Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profeffion 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 fheer ale, score me up for the lying'ft knave in Chrif tendom. What, I am not bestraught: Here's 1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred fhun your house, As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy. Oh, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, Burton-beath ;]-Burton-daffet, and Wincot, or Wilmecote, are Villages in Warwickshire, the latter near to Stratford upon Avon. beftraught :]-distracted. Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have mufick? hark! Apollo plays, [Mufick. Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch, On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk; we will beftrow the ground: 1 Man. Say, thou wilt courfe; thy greyhounds are as As breathed ftags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftraight Adonis, painted by a running brook; And Cytherea all in fedges hid Which feem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving fedges play with wind. Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid; And how she was beguil'd 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 fhall fwear fhe bleeds : And at that fight fhall fad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Than any woman in this waining age. y Cytherea]-Venus. |