SLY.
Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would
be loath to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry, in
despite of the flesh and the blood.
[Enter a SERVANT.]
SERVANT.
Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy;
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play,
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
SLY.
Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a commonty a
Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?
PAGE.
No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.
SLY.
What! household stuff?
PAGE.
It is a kind of history.
SLY.
Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let
the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.
[Flourish.]
