Wind horns. Enter a Lord from bunting, with a Train. Lord. Huntfman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

(Brach, Merriman! the poor cur is imbost ;)
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd Brach,
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner in the coldest fault ?
I would not lofe the dog for twenty pound.

Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord ;
He cried upon it at the meerest lofs,
And twice to day pick'd out the dullest scent :
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Eccho were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen fuch.
But fup them well, and look unto them all,
To morrow I intend to hunt again.

Hun. I will, my lord.

Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk? fee, doth he breathe?

2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold, to fleep fo foundly.

Lord. O monftrous beaft! how like a fwine he lies!.
Grim death, how foul and loathfome is thy image!
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in sweet cloaths; rings put upon his fingers;
A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him, when he wakes;
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

1 Hun. Believe me, Lord, I think he cannot chufe.
2 Hun. It would feem ftrange 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 diftilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet..

Pro

Procure me mufick ready, when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heav'nly found;
And if he chance to speak, be ready ftraight,
And with a low fubmiffive reverence

Say, what is it your Honour will command ?
Let one attend him with a filver bason
Full of Rofe-water, and beftrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper ;
And fay, wilt please your lordship cool your hands?
Some one be ready with a coftly suit,
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horfe,
And that his Lady mourns at his disease ;
Perfwade him, that he hath been lunatick.
And when he fays he is, fay, that he dreams;
For he is nothing but a mighty lord :
This do, and do it kindly, gentle Sirs :
It will be paftime paffing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty.

1 Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part,
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
He is no less than what we fay 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.
Sirrah, go fee what trumpet is that founds.
Belike, fome noble gentleman that means, [Ex. Servant.
Travelling fome journey, to repofe him here.

Sound Trumpets.

Re-enter Servant.

How now? who is it?

Ser. An't please your Honour, Players
That offer fervice to your lordfhip.
Lord. Bid them come near :

Enter Players.

Now, Fellows, you are welcome.
Play. We thank Honour.
your
Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to night?
2 Play. So please your Lordship to accept our duty.,

Lord.

Which Com mer's Son, Mr. Pope P the firft fol

of one of

the Part of

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest fon :
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman fo well:
I have forgot your name; but, fure, that part
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd.

Sim. I think, 'twas Soto that your Honour means. (4)
Lord. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent :
Well, you are come to me in happy time,
The rather for I have fome sport in hand,
Wherein your cunning can affift me much.
There is a Lord will hear you play to night;
But I am doubtful of your modefties,
Left, over-eying of his odd Behaviour,
(For yet his honour never heard a Play,)
You break into fome merry Paffion,
And fo offend him: for I tell you, Sirs,
If you should fmile, he grows impatient.

Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain our felves; Were he the veriest antick in the world.

2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a Dishclout to make clean your shoes, and I'll fpeak 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, every one: Let them want nothing that the house affords. [Exit one with the Players.

Sirrah, go you to Bartholmew my page,
And fee him dreft in all fuits like a lady.
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,

(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 firft 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 Applaufe.

And

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 observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished ;
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With foft low tongue, and lowly courtefie;
And fay; what is't your Honour will command,
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,
May fhew her duty, and make known her love?
And then with kind embracements, tempting kiffes,
And with declining head into his bofom,
Bid him fhed tears, as being over-joy'd
To see her noble lord restor❜d to health,
Who for twice feven years hath efteem'd himself (5)
No better than a poor and loathfome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a fhower of commanded tears,
An Onion will do well for fuch a shift;
Which in a Napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in defpight enforce a wat'ry eye.
See this dispatch'd, with all the haft thou canft;
Anon I'll give thee more inftructions. [Ex. Servant.
I know the boy will well ufurp the grace,
Voice, gate, 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 fimple peafant;
I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen;
Which otherwise will go into extreams.

[Exit Lord.

(5) Who for these seven years hath esteem'd himself. No better than a poor and loathfom· Beggar.]

I have ventur'd to alter a Word here, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and hope, 1 shall be justified in it by two fubfequent Paffages. That the Poet defign'd, the Tinker's fuppos'd Lunacy should be of 14 years standing at least, is evident upon two parallel Passages in the play to that Purpose.

SCENE

SCENE changes to a Bedchamber in the Lord's Houfe.

Enter Sly with Attendants, fome with apparel, bafon and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

Sly. FOR

OR God's fake, a pot of fmall ale.

1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of fack?

2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these Conferves?

3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to day?

Sly. I am Chriftophero Sly, call not me Honour, nor lordship: I ne'er drank fack in my life: and if you give me any Conferves, give me Conferves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more ftockings than legs, nor no more fhoes than feet; nay, fometimes, more feet than fhoes; or fuch fhoes as my toes look through the over-leather.

Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour!

Oh, that a mighty man of fuch descent,
Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem,
Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? am not I Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's Son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bearherd, and now by prefent profeffion 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 fheer ale, fcore me up for the lying't knave in Christendom. What, I am not beftraught:

here's

I Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn. z Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop.

Lord.