LITMIR.BIZ

       German

      SCENE II

       Table of Contents

      A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.

      [SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with ATTENDANTS: some with apparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD, dressed like a servant.]

      SLY.

       For God’s sake! a pot of small ale.

      FIRST SERVANT.

       Will’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

      SECOND SERVANT.

       Will’t please your honour taste of these conserves?

      THIRD SERVANT.

       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 over-leather.

      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 Burtonheath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife 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—

      THIRD SERVANT.

       O! this it is that makes your lady mourn.

      SECOND SERVANT.

       O! this is it that makes your servants droop.

      LORD.

       Hence comes it that your kindred shuns 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:

       Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,

       [Music]

      And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

       Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch

       Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

       On purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.

       Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:

       Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,

       Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.

       Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar

       Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?

       Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them

       And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.

      FIRST SERVANT.

       Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift

       As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

      SECOND SERVANT.

       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

       Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

      LORD.

       We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid

       And how she was beguiled and surpris’d,

       As lively painted as the deed was done.

      THIRD SERVANT.

       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.

      FIRST SERVANT.

       And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee

       Like envious floods o’er-run 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 dream’d till now?

       I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;

       I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:

       Upon my life, I am a lord indeed;

       And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.

       Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;

       And once again, a pot o’ the smallest ale.

      SECOND SERVANT.

       Will’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?

       [Servants present a ewer, basin, and napkin.]

      O, how we joy to see your wit restor’d!

       O, that once more you knew but what you are!

       These fifteen years you have been in a dream,

       Or, when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.

      SLY.

       These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.

       But did I never speak of all that time?

      FIRST SERVANT.

       O! yes, my lord, but very idle words;

       For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,

       Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door,

       And rail upon the hostess of the house,

       And say you would present

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