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An onion will do well for such a shift,

Which, in a napkin being close convey'd,

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I'll give thee more instructions. Exit a SERVINGMAN

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

Voice, gait, 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 simple peasant.

I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes. Exeunt

SCENE II.

A bedchamber in the LORD'S house

Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin

and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD

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 overleather.

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 Burton Heath; 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 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. [Taking a pot of

ale]

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 wi' th' wind.

LORD.

We'll show thee lo 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