Second Servingman

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!
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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
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,
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Second Servingman
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you waked, so waked as if you slept.
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,
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Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers.
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Third Servingman
Tomorrow, today, presently; you shall have the drum strook up this afternoon. ‘Tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.
Second Servingman
Why then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers.
First Servingman
Let me have war,
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