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What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
chuse. 2 Hún. It would seem strange unto him, when he
wak'd. Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jeft: Carry him gently to my faireft chamber, And 'hang it round with all my wanton pictures; Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet. Procure me mufick ready, when he wakes, To make a dulcer and a heav'nly 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 balon Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers; Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper ; And say, wilt 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; Perswade him, that he hath been lunatick. And when he says he is, - say, that he dreams ; For he is nothing but a mighty lord : This do, and do it kindly, gentle Sirs : It will be paftime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty.
i Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he fhail 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. [Some bear out Sly. Sound Trumpets.
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds.
Ser. An't please your Honour, Players
Play. We thank your Honour.
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Sim. I think, 'twas Soto that your Honour means. (4)
Lord. 'Tis very true; thou didit it excellent:
Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain our selves;
(4) I think, 'twas Soto.] I take our Author here to be paying a Compliment to Beaumont and Fletcher's Women pleas'd, in which Comedy there is the Character of Soto, who is a Farmer's Son, and a very facetious Serving-man. Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope prefix the Name of Sim to the Line here spoken ; but the first folio has it Sincklo; which, no doubt, was the Name of one of the Players here introduc'd, and who had play'd the Part of Soto with Applause. T 2
Were he the verieft antick in the world.
2 Player. [to the other.] Go get a dishclout to make clean your shoes, and I'll speak 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 Wellcome, ev'ry one: Let them want nothing that the house affords.
[Exit one with the Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page, And see him drest 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 obsery'd in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished; Such duty to the drunkard let him do, With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesie; And say; what is’t your Honour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, May shew 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 twice seven years hath esteem'd himself (s) (5) Who for these seven years bath esteemid bimself
No better than a poor and loathsom Reggar.] I have ventur'd to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, I shall be justified in it by two subsequent Passages. That the Poet design'd, the Tinker's suppos'd Lunacy fhould be of 14 years standing at least, seems to me evident upon these Testimonies.
These fifteen Years you have been in a Dream,
wak'd, so wak'd as if you sept. Sly. These fifteen years! by my Fay, a goodly Nap. And, again, Sly afterwards lays to the Page, whom he takes to be his Lady.
Madam Wife, they say, that I have dream'd and slept above fome fifteen Years and more.
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
SCENE changes to a Bedchamber in the
Enter Sly with attendants, some with apparel, bason and
ewer, and other appurtenances. Reenter Lord. Sly. OR God's sake, a pot of small ale.
I Serv. Will’t please your lordship drink a
cup of fack? 2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these
Conserves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to
Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me Honour, nor lordship: I ne'er drank fack in my life: and if you give me any Conserves, give me Conserves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment l'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes; or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather. Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour!
Oh, that a mighty man of such Descent,
Sly. What, would you make me mad ? am not I Christophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bearherd; and now by present profession a tinker? ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not; if the say, I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: here's
i Man. Oh, this it is, that makes your lady mourn. 2 Man. Oh, this it is, that makes your servants droop, Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shun your
house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. Oh, noble Lord, bechink 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 mufick? hark, Apollo plays; [Mufick. And twenty caged nightingales do sing Or wilt thou Neep? we'll have thee to a Couch, Sofrer and sweeter than the luftful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk, we will be row 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 foar Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt? Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 1 Man. Say, thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are
as swift As breathed stags : ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Doft thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee
strait Adonis, painted by a running brook;