I thank thee;—thou shalt not lose by it.

Lady.

How fares my noble Lord?

Sly.

Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough. Where's my wife?

Lady.

Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her?

Sly.

Are you my wife, and will not call me husband? My men should call me lord, I am your good man.

Lady.

My husband and my lord, my Lord and husband;

Sly.
I know it well: what must I call her?

Lord.

Madam.

Sly.

Alce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord.

Madam, and nothing else, so lords call ladies.

Sly.

Come, sit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they say, that I have dream'd, and slept above some fifteen years and more.

Lady.
Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly.

'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone:— Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

Lady.
Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you,
To pardon me yet for a night or two:
Or, if not so, until the sun be set;
For your Physicians have expressly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed;
I hope, this reason stands for my excuse.

Sly.

Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again: I will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood.