Enter aloft Christopher Sly, the drunkard, with
Attendants, some with apparel, basin and ewer, and
other appurtenances, and Lord dressed as an Attendant. SLY For God’s sake, a pot of small ale. FIRST SERVINGMAN
Will ’t please your Lord drink a cup of sack? SECOND SERVINGMAN
Will ’t please your Honor taste of these conserves? THIRD SERVINGMAN
What raiment will your Honor wear today? SLY I am Christophero Sly! Call not me “Honor” nor 5
“Lordship.” I ne’er drank sack in my life. An 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 10
more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look
through the over-leather. LORD, as Attendant
Heaven cease this idle humor in your Honor!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem 15
Should be infusèd 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
peddler, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation
a bearherd, and now by present profession a 20
tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife 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— 25 THIRD SERVINGMAN
O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. SECOND SERVINGMAN
O, this is it that makes your servants droop. LORD, as Attendant
Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, 30
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. 35
And twenty cagèd nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimmed up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground. 40
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapped,
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 45
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. FIRST SERVINGMAN
Say thou wilt course. Thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathèd stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. SECOND SERVINGMAN
Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook, 50
And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. LORD, as Attendant
We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid
And how she was beguilèd and surprised, 55
As lively painted as the deed was done. THIRD SERVINGMAN
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. 60 LORD, as Attendant
Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord;
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age. FIRST SERVINGMAN
And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o’errun her lovely face, 65
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 dreamed till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak, 70
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’ the smallest ale. 75 | In a plush bedroom in the Lord's house, Sly demands a pot of "small ale." (Historical tidbit: "small ale" is the Elizabethan equivalent of cheap, light beer.) Sly is surrounded by servants who offer tasty snacks, expensive booze, and the coolest clothes, all of which Sly rejects on the grounds that he is Christopher Sly, the guy who eats discounted beef, drinks cheap beer, owns only one outfit, and often goes barefoot. When the Lord insists that Sly act like a nobleman, Sly objects again. He's blue-collar all the way. In fact, he's barely even blue-collar since he can't hold down a job. If they don't believe him they can go ask "Marian Hacket, the fat ale wife," who will confirm that Sly isn't some rich guy. Undaunted, the Lord and his servants keep at it, insisting Sly's behavior is upsetting his wife, his servants, and all his rich friends. They offer him more luxuries and tell him he can have anything he wants—music, mid-day naps, riding, hawking, hunting, pornography. The final enticement is news that Sly has the hottest wife in town, and she really misses her man. Sly wonders if he's dreaming and decides that no, he is awake and therefore he must be a nobleman. His first command as a "nobleman" is something like this: "Bring me my woman…and another pitcher of Coors light!" |
SECOND SERVINGMAN
Will ’t please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
O, how we joy to see your wit restored!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you waked, so waked as if you slept. 80 SLY
These fifteen years! By my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time? FIRST SERVINGMAN
Oh, yes, my lord, but very idle words.
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say you were beaten out of door, 85
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet
Because she brought stone jugs and no sealed
quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 90 SLY Ay, the woman’s maid of the house. THIRD SERVINGMAN
Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckoned up,
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greete,
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell, 95
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. SLY I thank thee. Thou shalt not lose by it. 100 | As the Lords prepare Sly to see his "wife" by washing his hands and tidying up, they tell him he's been out of it for fifteen years. Sly is astonished. Fifteen years? Yep. They go on to tell him that he talked in his sleep a lot about being a beggar, arguing with the Hostess at a bar, and that kind of stuff. Sly thanks the Lord he's finally better. |
Enter Page as Lady, with Attendants. PAGE, as Lady How fares my noble lord? SLY Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife? PAGE, as Lady
Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her? SLY
Are you my wife, and will not call me “husband”? 105
My men should call me “lord.” I am your goodman. PAGE, as Lady
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, as Attendant “Madam.” 110 SLY “Alice Madam,” or “Joan Madam”? LORD
“Madam,” and nothing else. So lords call ladies. SLY
Madam wife, they say that I have dreamed
And slept above some fifteen year or more. PAGE, as Lady
Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, 115
Being all this time abandoned from your bed. SLY
’Tis much.—Servants, leave me and her alone.—
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. PAGE, as Lady
Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two; 120
Or if not so, until the sun be set.
For your physicians have expressly charged,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed.
I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 125 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 Honor’s players, hearing your amendment, 130
Are come to play a pleasant comedy,
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your
blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. 135
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. SLY Marry, I will. Let them play it. Messenger exits. Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling 140
trick? PAGE, as Lady
No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff. SLY What, household stuff? PAGE, as Lady It is a kind of history. SLY Well, we’ll see ’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my 145
side, and let the world slip. We shall ne’er be
younger. They sit. | Bartholomew the Page enters the room dressed like a woman and says all the things an obedient and loving noblewoman would say: "I'm obedient to you," and "not sleeping with you for the past fifteen years has been a real bummer." Sly orders everybody out of the room and tells Bart to take off her clothes and hop in the sack. Bart is in quite a fix, so he says Sly's doctor has put the kibosh on sex for at least twenty-four hours, because it might cause Sly to relapse. Sly responds with a lame pun on his erection and says he'll just have to wait a little longer. A messenger enters the room and announces that some actors want to perform for Sly as a "welcome back from your coma" gift. The messenger says that, according to the doctor, a play is just the right kind of medicine for a guy recovering from a fifteen-year-long nap. Sly tells his wife to slide her bootylicious self on over next to him so they can watch the play together. |