Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

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 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 bofom,
Bid him fhed tears, as being over-joy'd
To fee her noble lord restor❜d to health,
Who for twice feven years hath efteem'd himself (5)
No better than a poor and loathfome 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 fhift;
Which in a napkin being clofe convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a watery eye.

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

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

[Exit Servant,

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 counsel them: haply, my prefence
May well abate the over-merry fpleen ;
Which otherwife will go into extreams.

(5) Who for thefe feven Years bath efteam'd himself
No better than a poor and loathfome Beggar.].

[Exit Lord.

I have ventured 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 fuppofed Lunacy fhould be of fourteen Years ftanding at leaft, is evident upon two parallel Paffages in the Play to that Purpose.

SCENE

SCENE changes to à Bedchamber in the lar
Lord's Houfe.

Enter Sly with Attendants, fome with apparel, bason and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

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

Sly. a

1

Serv. Will't please your Lordship drink

cup of fack?

2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste 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 shoes; 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. What, would you make me mad am not I Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-beath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker afk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not; if fhe fay, I am not fourteen-pence on the score for fheer ale, fcore me up for the lying'ft knave in Christendom. 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,

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 answer them,
And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Man. Say, thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as fwift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftrait Adonis, painted by a running brook;

And Citberea 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 fhe was a maid,
And how the was beguiled 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 hall 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 fhe is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a Lady ?

Of

Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now?
I do not fleep; I fee, I hear, I fpeak;
Ifmell sweet favours, and I feel foft 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 reftor'd! Oh, that once more you knew but what you are! 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
But did I never fpeak 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 houfe; nor no fuch maid; Nor no fuch men, as you have reckon'd up;

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
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 please your Honour.

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

[The fervant gives him drink.

Enter

I thank thee;

Enter Lady, with Attendants.

-thou shalt not lose by it.

Lady. How fares my noble Lord?

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

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

man.

Lady. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband; 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, fo lords call ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and flept 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 ine and her alone :Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two:

Or, if not fo, until the fun be fet;

For your phyficians have exprefly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould
bed;
abfent me from
yet
I hope, this reafon ftands for my excufe.

your

Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again : I will therefore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood.

Enter

« AnteriorContinua »