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Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the thirdborough.

[Exit.

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, (2) I'll answer him by law I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground and falls asleep.

:

Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Trash Merriman,—the poor cur is emboss'd;

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. (3)
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

First Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:

Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,

I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all:
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

First Hun. I will, my lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

Sec. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

or rather Andrew our elder journeyman: what, drawers become courtiers? now may I speake with the old ghost in Ieronimo,

When this eternall substance of my soule
Did live imprisoned in this wanton flesh,
I was a courtier in the court of Fesse."

First Part, p. 57, ed. 1631.

(In Clem's second quotation the original has "in my wanton flesh," and "I was a courtier in the Spanish court.")-The words "go to thy cold bed, and warm thee" have been erroneously described as parodying a line in The Spanish Tragedy: see note on King Lear, act iii. sc. 4, where they are spoken by Edgar.-The Spanish Tragedy (as well as the drama entitled Jeronimo, which forms the First Part of it) may be found (reprinted with villanous incorrectness) in Dodsley's Old Plays.

Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies !— Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!— Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,

Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,-
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

First Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
Sec. Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he

wak'd.

Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. (4) Then take him up, and manage well the jest:

Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters,

And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet (5)
Procure me music ready, when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,
And, with a low submissive reverence,
Say, "What is it your honour will command ?"
Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say,

"Will't please your lordship cool your hands?" Some one be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;

And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.(6)

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs:

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

First 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.

[Sly is borne out. A trumpet sounds.

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:- [Exit Servant.

Belike, some noble gentleman, that means,
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.-

How now! who is it?

Serv.

Re-enter Servant.

An it please your honour,

Players that offer service to your lordship.

Lord. Bid them come near.

Enter Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players. We thank your honour.

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

Sec. Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty.
Lord. With all my heart.—This fellow I remember,

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son :

'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Was aptly fit, and naturally perform'd. (7)

First Play. (8) 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 assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
But I am doubtful of your modesties;
Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—
For yet his honour never heard a play,—
You break into some merry passion,
And so offend him; for, I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile, he grows impatient.

First 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 Barthol'mew my page, [To another Servant. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:

That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;

And call him madam, do him all

obeisance.

Tell him from me,-as he will win my love,

He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy ;
And say,
"What is't your honour will command,
Wherein your lady and your humble wife
May show her duty and make known her love?"
And then, with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom,-
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd

To see her noble lord restor❜d to health,

Who for this seven years(10) hath esteemed him(11)
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift;
Which in a napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst:
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman:

I long to hear him call the drunkard husband;

[Exit Servant.

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
May well abate the(12) over-merry spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house.

SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with basin, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed like a servant.

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

First Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

Sec. Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

Third 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; 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: here's

First Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!
Sec. Serv. O, this it is(13) 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,

And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.

Look how thy servants do attend on thee,

Each in his office ready at thy beck.

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