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Lord

Tell him from me — as he will win my love —
He bear himself with honorable action   
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
Unto their lords by them accomplishèd.    
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?'

Lord

Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew, my page,    
And see him dressed in all suits like a lady.
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber
And call him 'madam'; do him obeisance.    

Lord

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players

We thank your honor.

Lord

Do you intend to stay with me tonight?    

First Player

So please your lordship to accept our duty.    

Lord

With all my heart. This fellow I remember
Since once he played a farmer's eldest son;
'Twas where you wooed the gentlewoman so well.
I have forgot your name; but sure that part    
Was aptly fitted and naturally performed.    

Second Player

I think 'twas Soto that your honor means.

Lord

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!    
Sirs, I will practice on this drunken man.    
What think you, if he were conveyed to bed,
Wrapped 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.    

Lord

What's here? One dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?    

Second Huntsman

He breathes, my lord. Were he not warmed 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!    

Hostess    

You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?     

Sly

No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy. Go to thy cold    
bed and warm thee.        

Hostess

A pair of stocks, you rogue!    

Sly

You’re a baggage, the Slys are no rogues. Look in the     
chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror.     
Therefore, paucas pallabris, let the world slide. Sessa!     
[A country inn. Enter Christopher Sly, a drunkard, and the inn’s hostess, the owner’s wife.]

Sly

I'll feeze you, in faith.     

Hostess

A pair of stocks, you rogue!    

Sly

You’re a baggage, the Slys are no rogues. Look in the     
chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror.     

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