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2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these conserves !
3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to-day?
Sly. I am Christopher 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 I'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, 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 Christophero Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Alk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife 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 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 fhun your
house, As benten hence by your strange 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 servants do attend on thee, Lach in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have music hark, Apollo plays; [Music. ind twenty caged nightingales do sing. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the luftful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrow the ground: Or wilt thou ride thy horses fhall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
I Man. Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as As breathed stags ; ay, fleeter than the roe. [fwift,
2 Man. Doft thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee
Lord. We'll thew thee lo, as she was a maid,
3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord : Thou hast a Lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waining age.
1. Man. And till the tears that she hath shed for thee,
Sly. Am I a Lord, and have I fuch a Lady?
2 Man. Wilt please your Mightiness to wash your
Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap! But did I never speak of all that time?
I Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words,
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house, nor no such :
Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends !!
Sly. By th' 'mass, I think I am a Lord indeed.
Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.
Sly. Sim?' that's as much as to say Simeon or Simon;": put forth thy hand and fill the pot.
[The servant gives him drink. . SC EN E. V. Enter Lady, with attendants.. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
Lady. How fares my Noble Lord?' Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. . Where's
wife ? Lady. Here, Noble Lord, what is thy will with her?
Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband ? My men should call me Lord, I am your good-man.
Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and hufa I am your wife in all obedience.
[band; Sly. I know it well : what must I call her. Lord. Madam. Sly. llce Madam, or Joan Madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else; fo Lords call Ladies.
Sly: Come, sit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and Nept above some fifteen
years Lady. Ay, and the time seems 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,
Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me intreat of you
siy. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loth to fall into my dream again.
L will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood.
Enter a Melenger.
Mes. Your Honour's players, hearing your amend
Sly Marry, I will; let them play ; is it not a commodity ? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick ?
Lady. No, my good Lord, it is more plealing, stuff.
Sly. Well, we'll fee't: coine, Madam wife, fit by iny side, and let the world. Nip, we shall ne'er be younger
The TAMING of the SHREW.
A C I 1.
SCE NE I.
A fireet in Padua.
Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
The pleasant garden of great Italy;
Tra. Me pardonato, gentle mafter mine,
resolve, To suck the sweets of sweet philofophy : Only, good master, while we do admire Tlis virtue, and this moral discipline, Let's be no Stoics, por no stocks, I pray ; Or so devote to Aristotle's checks,