Play. Fear not, my Lord, we can contain ourselves ; Were he the veriest antick in the world.

2 Player. [to the other.] Go get a difhclout to make clean your fhoes, and I'll fpeak for the properties.

[Exit Player. My Lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegar to make our devil roar. Lord. Go firrah, take them to the buttery. And give them friendly welcome, ev'ry one: Let them want nothing that the house affords.

[Exit one with the Players.
Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page,
And fee him dreft in all fuits like a Lady.
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
And call him Madam, do him all obeifance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love)
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath obferv'd in noble Ladies
Unto their Lords, by them accomplished;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With foft low tongue, and lowly courtesy;
And fay; what is't your Honour will command,
Wherein your Lady, and your humble wife,
May fhew her duty, and make known her love?
And then with kind embracements, tempting kiffes,
And with declining head' into his bosom,
Bid him fhed tears, as being overjoy'd

To fee her noble Lord reftor'd to health,
Who for twice feven years hath efleem'd himself (5)
(5) Who for thefe seven years bath fleem'd himself.

No better than a poor and loathjum beggar.)

I have ventur'd to alter a word here, against the authority of the printed copies; and hope, I fhall be juftified in it by two fubfequent paffages. That the poet defign'd, the tinker's fuppos'd lunacy fhould be of fourteen years standing at least, feems to me evident upon these teftimonies.

Thefe fifteen years you have been in a dream,

Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you flept.

Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.

And, again, Sly afterwards fays to the Page, whom he takes to be his Lady.. Madam wife, they jay, that I have dream'd and flept above fome fifteen. years and more.

No.

No better than a poor and loathfom beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a fhower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for fuch a shift;
Which, in a napkin being clofe convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat❜ry eye.

See this difpatch'd, with all the hafte thou canft;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions.

[Exit Servant.
I know, the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gate, and action of a gentlewoman.

I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband;
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this fimple peafant;
I'll in to counfel them: Haply, my prefence
May well abate the over-merry fpleen;
Which otherwife would go into extreams.

[Exit Lord.

SCENE changes to a Bedchamber in the
Lord's Houfe.

Enter Sly with attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and
ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

Sly.

F

OR God's fake, a pot of fmall ale.

Serv. Will't please your Lordship drink a cup of fack?

2 Serv. Will't please your Honour tafte of thefe conferves?

3 Serv. 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 afk me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more ftockings than legs, nor no more fhoes than feet; nay, fometimes, more feet than fhoes; or fuch fhoes as my toes look through the over-leather.

Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour!
Oh, that a mighty man of fuch defcent,
Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem,
Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit.

Sly.

Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-heath, by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker? ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not; if she say, I am not fourteen pence on the score for fheer ale, fcore me up for the lying'ft knave in chrif tendom. What, I am not beftraught: 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,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look, how thy fervants do attend on thee;
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have mufick? hark, Apollo plays;
And twenty caged nightingales do fing.
Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the luftful bed
On purpofe trimm'd up for Semiramis.

[Mufick

Say, thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trapp'd,
Their harness ftudded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou haft hawks, will foar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?

Thy hounds fhall make the welkin anfwer them,

And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Man. Say, thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as

As breathed flags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

[fwift

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee

Adonis, painted by a running brook;

[ftrait

And Citherea all in fedges hid;

Which feem to move, and wanton with her breath,

Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as he was a maid,

And how he was beguiled and furpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Qr Daphne roaming through a thorny wood

Scratching

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.

Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord: Thou haft a Lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waining age.

1 Man. And 'till the tears, that the hath fhed 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?
Or do I dream? or have I dreamed 'till now?
I do not fleep; I fee, I hear, I speak;
I fmell fweet favours, and I feel soft things:
Upon my life, I am a Lord, indeed;
And not a tinker, nor Chriftophero Sly.
Well, bring our Lady hither to our fight,
And, once again, a pot o'th' fmallest ale.

2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
Oh, how we joy to fee your wits restor❜d!
Oh, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you flept.

Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap: But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words.
For tho' you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door,
And rail'd upon the hoftefs of the house;
And fay, you would prefent her at the leet,
Because the bought ftone jugs, and no feal'd quarts:
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house; nor no fuch maid; Nor no fuch men, as you have reckon❜d up; (6) As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,

And

(6) As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,] An unknown correfpondent, (who figns himself L. H.) is pleas'd to propofe this very reafonable conjecture,

and old John Naps o' th' Green.

As

And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell,

And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe,
Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends !
All. Amen..

Sly. By th' mafs, I think, I am a Lord indeed. What is thy name?

Man. Sim, an't pleafe your Honour.

Sly. Sim? that's as much as to fay, Simeon or Simon} put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[The Servant gives him drink.

Enter Lady, with attendants.

I thank thee;thou shalt not lofe by it.
Lady. How fares my noble Lord ?

Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?

Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband? my men fhould call me Lord, I am your good man.

Lady. My hufband and my Lord, my Lord and hufbands I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well: what must I call her?

Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so Lords call Ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and slept above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time feems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone:Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

As Sly fays, he's the fon of old Sly of Burton-beath, and talks of the fat alewife of Wincot; he thinks, he can with no propriety have any acquaintance in Greece. If, indeed, the province of Greece were to be here, understood, this obfervation must neceffarily take place; but I have not disturb'd the text, because I do not know, but that, in the neighbourhood of Wincot and Burton-beath, there may be fome village call'd Greece, or Greys, &c.

Lady,