Another beare the ewer: the third a diaper, And aske him what apparell he will weare: And that his lady mournes at his disease, If it be husbanded with modeftie. 1 Hunts. My lord I warrant you we wil play our part As he fhall thinke by our true dilligence He is no leffe than what we say he is. Lord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes. Sound Trumpets. Sirrah, go fee what trumpet 'tis that founds, Enter Seruingman. How now? who is it? Ser. An't please your honor, players That offer feruice to your lordship. Enter Players. Lord. Bid them come neere: Now fellowes, you are welcome. Players. We thanke your honor. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to night? 2 Player. So please your lordshippe to accept our dutie. Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Sincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes. Well you are come to me in happie time, you firs, If you should smile, he growes impatient. Play. Feare not my lord we can containe ourfelues, Lord. Go firra, take them to the butterie, Exit one with the Players. Sirra go you to Bartholmew my page, And fee him dreft in all fuites like a ladie: That done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber, Tell him from me (as he will win my loue) Wherein Wherein your ladie, and your humble wife, Exit a Seruingman. I know the boy will wel vfurpe the grace, When they do homage to this fimple peasant, Ile in to counfell them: haply my presence May well abate the ouer-merrie fpleene, 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 taste of these conferues? 3 Ser. What raiment will your honor weare to day. Beg. I am Chriftophero Sly, call not me honor nor lordship: 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. 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 cease this idle humor in your honor. 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 prefent profeffion a tinker. Afk Marrian Hacket the fat alewife of Wincot, if thee know me not: if she fay I am not xiiii. d. on the fcore for theere ale; score mee vp for the lying knaue in Christendome. 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 house 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 abie&t 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, On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walke: we will beftrow the ground. Aboue Aboue the morning larke. Or wilt thou hunt, 1 Man. Say thou wilt courfe, thy gray-hounds are as fwift As breathed ftags: I fleeter then the roe. 2 Man. Doft thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee ftrait 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 lo, as fhe 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 fhall fad Apollo weepe, So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne. Then any woman in this waining age. 1 Man. And til the teares that she hath fhed for thee, Like enuious flouds ore run her louely face, She was the fairest creature in the world, Beg. Am I a lord and haue I fuch a ladie? 2 Man. Wilt please your mightineffe to wash your hands: Oh how we joy to fee your wit reftor'd, |