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When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

[Exeunt.]

¶

Enter aloft the drunkard [Sly] with Attendants, some with apparel, basin and ewer, and other appurtenances, and Lord.

Sly. For God’s sake, a pot of small ale.

1. Serv. Will’t please your [lordship] drink a cup of sack?

2. Serv. Will’t please your honor taste of these conserves?

3. Serv. What raiment will your honor wear to-day?

Sly. I am Christophero Sly, call not me honor nor lordship. I ne’er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet—nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord.

Heaven cease this idle humor in your honor!

O that a mighty man of such descent,

Of such possessions, and so high esteem,