Induction
Scene I
Before an alehouse on a heath.
Enter Hostess and Sly. | |
Sly | I’ll pheeze you, in faith. |
Hostess | A pair of stocks, you rogue! |
Sly | Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! |
Hostess | You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? |
Sly | No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. |
Hostess | I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. Exit. |
Sly | Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law: I’ll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. Falls asleep. |
Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train. | |
Lord |
Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:
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First Huntsman |
Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
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Lord |
Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
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First Huntsman | I will, my lord. |
Lord | What’s here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? |
Second Huntsman |
He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,
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Lord |
O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
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First Huntsman | Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. |
Second Huntsman | It would seem strange unto him when he waked. |
Lord |
Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.
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First Huntsman |
My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,
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Lord |
Take him up gently and to bed with him;
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Re-enter Servingman. | |
How now! who is it? | |
Servant |
An’t please your honour, players
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Lord | Bid them come near. |
Enter Players. | |
Now, fellows, you are welcome. | |
Players | We thank your honour. |
Lord | Do you intend to stay with me to-night? |
A Player | So please your lordship to accept our duty. |
Lord |
With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
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A Player | I think ’twas Soto that your honour means. |
Lord |
’Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
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A Player |
Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves,
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Lord |
Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
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Scene II
A bedchamber in the Lord’s house.
Enter aloft Sly, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with 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, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather. |
Lord |
Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
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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 card-maker, 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 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,
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First Servant |
Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
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Second Servant |
Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
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Lord |
We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid,
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Third Servant |
Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
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Lord |
Thou art a lord and nothing but a lord:
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First Servant |
And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
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Sly |
Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
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Second Servant |
Will’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?
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Sly |
These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
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First Servant |
O, yes, my lord, but very idle words:
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Sly | Ay, the woman’s maid of the house. |
Third Servant |
Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
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Sly | Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! |
All | Amen. |
Sly | I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it. |
Enter the Page as a lady, with attendants. | |
Page | How fares my noble lord? |
Sly |
Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
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Page | Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her? |
Sly |
Are you my wife and will not call me husband?
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Page |
My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
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Sly | I know it well. What must I call her? |
Lord | Madam. |
Sly | Al’ce madam, or Joan madam? |
Lord | “Madam,” and nothing else: so lords call ladies. |
Sly |
Madam wife, they say that I have dream’d
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Page |
Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
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Sly |
’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
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Page |
Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you
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Sly | Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood. |
Enter a Messenger. | |
Messenger |
Your honour’s players, heating your amendment,
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Sly | Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick? |
Page | No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. |
Sly | What, household stuff? |
Page | It is a kind of history. |
Sly | Well, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world slip: we shall ne’er be younger. Flourish. |