This do, and do it kindly,a gentle sirs; It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty. 1 Hun. 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 't is that sounds: [Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, Now, fellows, you are welcome. 'T was where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 1 Play. I think, 't was Soto that your honour means. Lord. 'T is 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: a Kindly-naturally. But I am doubtful of your modesties; 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic 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.— [Exeunt Servant and Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page, [To a Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : I long to hear him call the drunkard husband; Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [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, dressed like a servant. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 1 Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? 2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these conserves? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? 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, sometime, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit! Sly. What! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son, of Burton-heath; a 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,b if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the İyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: Here 's 1 Serv. 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 your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth; Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, Look how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. 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: a Barton-on-the-Heath is a small village on the borders of Warwickshire and Oxfordshire. In Domesday Book,' according to Dugdale, it is written Bertone-so that the Burton of the text may be correct. b We believe that in this passage, as in Henry IV., Part II.,' the place to which Shakspere alludes is the hamlet of Wilmecote, anciently Wylmyncote, about three miles to the north of Stratford, in the parish of Aston Cantlow. Wilmecote is a straggling village with a few old houses, amongst whose secluded fields our poet, no doubt, passed many of his boyish hours. * Bestraught, synonymous with distraught, distracted. Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt? 1 Serv. 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, Lord. We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid; 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 Serv. 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? I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:- 2 Serv. Will 't please your mightiness to wash your hands? [Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. |