Sly

For God’s sake, get me a mug of weak beer!

First Servingman

Would your lordship not like a glass of foreign wine?

Second Servingman

Would your honor like to taste these candied fruits?

Third Servingman

What outfit does your honor want to wear today?

Sly

I’m Christophero Sly, not your honor or your lordship! I’ve never had foreign wine in my life. And I’d rather have salted beef than candied fruits! Don’t ask me what outfit I want to wear, either. I have no more jackets than I have backs, no more tights than I have legs, and no more shoes than I have feet. And sometimes, I have more feet than I have shoes. Or my shoes are so worn that my toes peek through the tops.

Lord

May the heavens take this foolish state of mind from your honor! Oh, how was this great man, with his noble lineage, with all his possessions and his reputation, taken over by such an unhealthy state?

Sly

Wait, are you trying to make me crazy? Am I not Christopher Sly, son of old Sly from Burtonheath, born to be a salesman, trained to be a comb-maker, fated to be a keeper of trained bears, and now a vagabond? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat bar owner from Wincot, if she knows me! If she says she doesn’t know me — if she says I don’t owe her fourteen pence for cheap beer alone, then I’m the biggest lying scoundrel in the Christian world. No, I’m not insane. Here’s —

Third Servingman

Oh, this is exactly what makes your wife sad!

Second Servingman

Oh, this is exactly what makes your servants sad!

Lord

This is why your family avoids your house, scared away by your strange madness. Oh noble lord, think about your lineage; bring back your former thoughts from exile; and exile instead your miserable, pathetic fantasies. Look how your servants tend to you, each in his position, waiting for your command. Do you want music? [Music] Listen! The god of music himself plays, and twenty caged nightingales sing! Do you want to sleep? We’ll put you on a couch softer and nicer than the romantic bed prepared for the queen Semiramis. If you want to walk, we’ll carpet the ground with flower petals; if you want to ride, your horses will be dressed up, their harnesses studded with gold and pearls. Do you like to hunt with hawks? You have hawks that’ll soar above the other birds. Or do you want to hunt with dogs? Your howling hounds will make the sky answer them, and make the hollow earth echo.

First Servingman

If you want to race, your greyhound dogs are as swift as trained deer — or even faster.

Second Servingman

Do you like paintings? Straight away we’ll get you Adonis painted by a running brook, and Cytherea hidden among grass that looks like it’s moving and swaying with her breath — just like real grass waves in the wind.

Lord

We’ll show you Io when she was a maiden, tricked and surprised, in a painting as lively as if you were watching the moment happening.

Third Servingman

Or Daphne rushing through a thorny forest, scratching her legs so it looks like she’s really bleeding, and like Apollo’s really weeping at this sight — so skillfully will the blood and tears be painted.

Lord

You’re a lord, and nothing but a lord. You have a wife far more beautiful than any woman in times like these.

First Servingman

And before the tears she sheds for you ran all over her face like terrible floods, she was the most beautiful creature in the world; and even now, she’s not inferior to anyone.

Sly

Am I a lord? And do I have a wife like that? Or am I dreaming? Or have I been dreaming until now? I’m not asleep. I can see, and hear, and speak; I smell sweet scents and feel soft things. Well, I’ll be! I guess I’m a lord, and not a vagabond — not Christopher Sly! Well, bring my wife here, let me see her — and I still want my mug of weak beer.

Second Servingman

Mighty lord, would you like to wash your hands? Oh, we’re so joyful to see you back to normal! Oh, we wish you only remembered who you are! For the last fifteen years you’ve been in a dream, and when you woke up, it seemed like you were still asleep.

Sly

The last fifteen years? Wow, that’s a long nap. And I didn’t talk during that whole time?

First Servingman

Oh, yes, you talked, my lord, but only silly words. Though you lay here in your splendid bedroom, you’d say you were being kicked out of a tavern, and yell at the hostess of the inn. You’d say you’d accuse her in court of cheating you out of ale by selling sketchily measured stone jugs instead of officially sealed quarts. Sometimes you’d call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly

Yeah, she’s the hostess’s maid.

Third Servingman

But sir, you don’t know that inn or that maid! And you don’t know the men you’ve listed, either: Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greece, and Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernel, and twenty more names and men like this,  which never existed, and have never been seen.

Sly

Then thank the Lord for my recovery!

All

Amen.

Sly

Thank you. You’ll be rewarded for your prayers.

Page

How is my noble lord?

Sly

Indeed, I’m well — look at all this food! Where’s my wife?

Page

Here, noble lord. What would you like from me?

Sly

Why do you, my wife, not call me husband? My servants should call me ‘lord,’ but I’m your husband.

Page

My husband and my lord, my lord and husband. I’m your obedient wife, either way.

Sly

[To others] I can tell. What should I call her?

Lord

Madam.

Sly

Alice madam, or Joan madam?

Page

Just madam. That’s what lords call ladies.

Sly

Madam wife, they say that I’ve dreamed and slept for fifteen years or more.

Page

Yes, and to me it feels like thirty years, all this time banned from your bed.

Sly

That’s a long time. Servants, leave me and her alone.

Madam, get undressed and come to bed.

Page

Oh very noble lord, please pardon me another night or two, or at least until the sun sets. Your doctors have specifically said — to avoid the danger of your former illness — that I should still stay out of your bed. I hope this reason holds up as my excuse.

Sly

Yeah, it holds up so much that I don’t think I can delay that long. But I don’t want to start dreaming again. So I’ll delay in spite of my lust.

Messenger

Your honor’s actors, hearing of your recovery, have come to perform a pleasant comedy, since this is what your doctors think is suitable. Seeing that too much sadness congealed in your blood — and melancholy leads to madness — the doctors thought it would be good for you to see a play, and experience joy and merriment, which prevents a thousand harms and lengthens life.

Sly

Okay, I’ll watch the play. But what is a comedy — a Christmas skit, or an acrobatic show?

Page

No, my good lord — it’s more pleasant stuff.

Sly

You mean, like stuff from a house?

Page

No, like a story.

Sly

Well, we’ll see. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let’s let our troubles go. We’re not getting any younger.