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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 lose the dog for twenty pound. |
FIRST HUNTSMAN. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; |
He cried upon it at the merest loss, |
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 Echo were as fleet, |
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. |
But sup them well, and look unto them all; |
To-morrow I intend to hunt again. |
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, |
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. |
LORD. O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies! |
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! |
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. |
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, |
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, 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? |
FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. |
SECOND HUNTSMAN. It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd. |
LORD. Even as a flatt'ring dream or worthless fancy. |
Then take him up, and manage well the jest: |
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, |
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures; |
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, |
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet; |
Procure me music ready when he wakes, |
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 honour 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. |
FIRST HUNTSMAN. 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. |
[SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds] |
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds- |
Exit SERVANT |
Belike some noble gentleman that means, |
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. |
Re-enter a SERVINGMAN |
How now! who is it? |
SERVANT. An't please your honour, players |
That offer service to your lordship. |
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? |
PLAYER. 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. |
PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour 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-eying of his odd behaviour, |
For yet his honour 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. |
PLAYER. 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 Bartholomew my page, |
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