For God 's sake , a pot of small ale . I am Christophero Sly ; call not me ‘ honour ’ 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 . What , would you make me mad ? Am not I Christopher Sly , old Sly 's son of Burton Heath ; by birth a pedlar , by education a cardmaker , by transmutation a bear-herd , and now by present profession a tinker ? Ask Marian Hacket , the fat ale-wife of Wincot , if she know me not ; if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale , score me up for the lying'st knave in Am I a lord and have I such a lady ? Or do I dream ? Or have I dream 'd till now ? I do not sleep : I see , I hear , I speak ; I smell sweet savours , and I feel soft things . Upon my life , I am a lord indeed , And not a tinker , nor Christopher Sly . Well , bring our lady hither to our sight ; And once again , a pot o ’ th ’ smallest ale . These fifteen years ! by my fay , a goodly nap . But did I never speak of all that time ? Ay , the woman 's maid of the house . Now , Lord be thanked for my good amends ! I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it . Marry , I fare well ; for here is cheer enough . Where is my wife ? Are you my wife , and will not call me husband ? My men should call me ‘ lord ’ ; I am your goodman . I know it well . What must I call her ? Al'ce madam , or Joan madam ? Madam wife , they say that I have dream 'd And slept above some fifteen year or more . ‘ Tis much . Servants , leave me and her alone . 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 . Marry , I will ; let them play it . Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick ? What , household stuff ? Well , we 'll see't . Come , madam wife , sit by my side and let the world slip ; - we shall ne'er be younger .A flourish of trumpets announces the play Yes , by Saint Anne do I . A good matter , surely ; comes there any more of it ? ‘ Tis a very excellent piece of work , madam lady Would ‘ twere done !