Ralph: Welcome back, everyone. We're in the studio here with -- well, with this lord here. 

Lord: And this lord here, don't forget. 

Ralph: Ah, yes. Well, I believe his name is Sly. 

Sly: Can someone bring me some beer? Your cheapest beer, please. 

Lord: Well, perhaps Your Lordship would like a cup of sack. 

Ralph: I'm sorry. Sack? 

Lord: You know, it's a dry white wine imported from Spain. It's wonderful stuff. Or maybe Your Honor would like some fruit jam, preserved with sugar, if you can believe it? And you really should decide on what Your Honor will wear today if you're going to be seen on this show in front of everybody. 

Sly: I am Christophero Sly. Stop calling me Honor and Lordship. I never drank sack in my life. And if you're going to bring me anything to eat, salted beef would be great. And stop asking me what I'm going to wear today. Why, I have no more doublets than I have backs to put them on, no more stockings than legs, no more shoes than feet. Actually, sometimes I have more feet than shoes, or shoes where my toes stick out the front. 

Lord: You really need to get over this bad humor, Your Honor. To see someone of your noble lineage, someone who owns so much as you, who is respected by so many, in such a sour mood-- 

Sly: Are you trying to drive me crazy? What is this? 

Ralph: Sorry. Noninterference policy. 

Sly: Am I not Christopher Sly? Old Sly's son, a burden he, born to a door to door salesman, trained to be a card maker. 

Ralph: I'm sorry. Card maker? 

Lord: You know, a card-- the comb they use for making wool. 

Sly: And then I got a job as bear heard. 

Ralph: Herding bear? 

Lord: Just the performing bears, goes town to town. 

Sly: Though I've been working mostly as a tinkerer lately. 

Ralph: Ah. Now, this one I know. A tinkerer is someone who travels around to fix people's pots and pans. 

Lord: Not exactly a job for a lord. None of those are. 

Sly: Oh, thank god. Cheers. 

Lord: This is the kind of talk that makes your lady mourn, that makes your servants sad. You've alienated everybody with this crazy behavior of yours. Noble Lord, try to remember who you really are. Banish these lowly dreams of yours. You have servants waiting to attend on your every need. You want music? Apollo will play, and nightingales will sing. You want to take a nap? They'll take you to the softest, sweetest couch the world has ever known. Horseback riding? Hunting? Hawking? You name it, it's yours. 

Sly: Really? 

Ralph: Yes. This much is true. If you ask for any of those things, you're going to get them. 

Lord: Thou art a lord and nothing but a lord. Thou hast a lady far more beautiful than any woman in this waning age. 

Ralph: Oh, dear. Why am I getting pulled into this? So I'm just reporting here, but as one servant puts it, your lady was the fairest creature in the world before the flood of tears that she's cried over your illness. And even still, there's no one more beautiful. 

Sly: Whoa. 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. I smell sweet savors and feel soft things. Upon my life, I am a lord indeed, and not a tinkerer nor Christopher Sly. That lady you were talking about-- can we call her hither? I want to see her. 

Lord: Certainly. One second. 

Ralph: Welcome, Lady. 

Page: How fares my noble lord? 

Sly: Pretty good. Really good. It's nice enough around here. Where's my wife? 

Page: Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her? 

Sly: If you're my wife, then why aren't you calling me husband? My men call me Lord, but I am your husband. 

Page: My husband and my lord. My lord and my husband. I am your wife in all obedience. 

Sly: Of course you are. What am I supposed to call her? 

Ralph: Oh, let's see. I think you just call her madam. 

Sly: Just madam? Al'ce madam or Joan madam? 

Ralph: Looks like it's just madam. That's what lords call ladies. 

Sly: That's it? 

Ralph: Yeah. 

Sly: Madam wife, they say I have been asleep in a dream for the past 15 years or more. 

Page: Aye. And the time seems 30 unto me, being all this time abandoned from your bed. 

Sly: Abandoned from my bed? Well, that is a long time to be abandoned from my bed. Too long, in fact. You know, I think we're going to head out now, if you don't mind. I think we should just get undressed and go to bed. 

Ralph: Oh, dear. 

Page: Thrice- noble lord. Let me entreat of you to pardon me yet for a night or two, or at least until the sun is set. The doctors have ordered that I should stay out of your bed for now, for fear that you should slip back into your former disease. 

Ralph: To return to his bad dream, you mean? The bad dream of living life as the lowly Christopher Sly. 

Page: Exactly. I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly: Oh, it stands. It definitely stands. 

Ralph: Oh, dear. 

Sly: But I certainly wouldn't want to fall back into my bad dreams again. So we can wait, despite the flesh and the blood. 

Ralph: Yes. Well, it's just at this time that a messenger comes in, thank goodness, to announce that a troupe of actors, having heard that you've been cured, have come to perform a play for you, a pleasant comedy. The doctors think that some mirth and merriment would be good for your health. 

Sly: Well, all right then. So a comonty is it? Like a Christmas skit or some tumbling tricks or something? 

Ralph: Did you just say comonty I said comedy. 

Sly: Right, comonty. 

Ralph: No, comedy. 

Sly: That's what I said, comonty. 

Ralph: No, comedy. You've been saying comonty. 

Sly: Right. comonty. 

Ralph: Comedy. 

Sly: Help me out, dear. 

Page: My lord, it is much more pleasing stuff than Christmas skits or some tumbling tricks. 

Sly: What? Household stuff. 

Page: It's a story. A tale. 

Sly: All right. Whatever. We will see it. Come, madam wife. Sit by my side and, let the world slip. We will never be younger. All right. Let's do this. 

Ralph: Oh. OK. 

Sly: All right. 

Ralph: Off to Italy, and on with our story. Just-- we'll watch it right out there. Just take-- 

Sly: Oh, I see.