Array The griffin classics - William Shakespeare - Complete Collection

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,

And with a low submissive reverence

Say, “What is it your honor will command?”

Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers,

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say, “Will’t 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.

Persuade him that he hath been lunatic,

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 pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

1. Hun.

My lord, I warrant you we will play our part

As he shall 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.

[Exit Servingman.]

Belike some noble gentleman that means

(Travelling some journey) to repose him here.

Enter Servingman.

How now? who is it?

Serv.

An’t please your honor, players

That offer service to your lordship.

Enter Players.

Lord. Bid them come near. Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players. We thank your honor.

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

2. Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty.

Lord.

With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son.

’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but sure that part

Was aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.

[1. Play.]

I think ’twas Soto that your honor means.

Lord.

’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.

Well, you are come to me in happy time,

The rather for I have some sport in hand,

Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

There is a lord will hear you play to-night;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behavior

(For yet his honor never heard a play),

You break into some merry passion,

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

[1.] Play.

Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord.

Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

And give them friendly welcome every one.

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

Exit one with the Players.

Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,

And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;

That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,

And call him madam, do him obeisance.

Tell him from me, as he will win my love,

He bear himself with honorable action,

Such as he hath observ’d in noble ladies

Unto their lords, by them accomplished;

Such duty to the drunkard let him do,

With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

And say, “What is’t your honor will command,

Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,

May show 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 overjoyed

To see her noble lord restor’d to health,

Who for this seven years hath esteemed him

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if the boy have not a woman’s gift

To rain a shower of commanded tears,

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.]

¶

Enter aloft the drunkard [Sly] with Attendants, some with apparel, basin and ewer, and other appurtenances, and Lord.

Sly. For God’s sake, a pot of small ale.

1. Serv. Will’t please your [lordship] drink a cup of sack?

2. Serv. Will’t please your honor taste of these conserves?

3. Serv. What raiment will your honor wear to-day?

Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me honor 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 humor in your honor!

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 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 lying’st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—

3. Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!

2. Serv. 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 bestrow 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 shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1. Serv.

Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

2. Serv.

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.

3. Serv.

Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,