lively painted as the deed was done.
3. Serv.
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.
1. Serv.
And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o’errun 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 have I dream’d till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savors, and I feel soft things.
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight,
And once again a pot o’ th’ smallest ale.
2. Serv.
Will’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?
O how we joy to see your wit restor’d!
O that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or when you wak’d, so wak’d as if you slept.
Sly.
These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap,
But did I never speak of all that time?
1. Serv.
O yes, my lord, but very idle words,
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door,
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet,
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal’d quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly.
Ay, the woman’s maid of the house.
3. Serv.
Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckon’d up,
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Sly.
Now Lord be thanked for my good amends!
All.
Amen.
Enter [the Page as a] lady, with Attendants.
Sly.
I thank thee, thou shalt not lose by it.
Page.
How fares my noble lord?
Sly.
Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?
Page.
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 goodman.
Page.
My husband and my lord, my lord and husband,
I am your wife in all obedience.
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,
And slept above some fifteen year or more.
Page.
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.
Page.
Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or
