A Lord. Christopher Sly, a drunken tinker. Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and other servants attending on the Lord. Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua. Persons in the Induc tion. Lucentio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katharina. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio. Scene, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country. To the Original Play of The Taming of a Shrew, entered on the Stationers' books in 1594, and printed in quarto in 1607. A Lord, &c. Sly, A Tapster. Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Alphonsus, a merchant of Athens. Jerobel, Duke of Cestus. Aurelius, his son, Ferando, Polidor, suitors to the daughters of Alphonsus. Valeria, servant to Aurelius. Sander, servant to Ferando. Phylotus, a merchant who personates the Duke. TAMING OF THE SHREW. INDUCTION. SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath. Enter Hostess and Sly. Sly. I'LL pheese you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues: Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris†; let the world slide: Sessa ‡! Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have bursts? Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy ;Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Beat or knock. + Few words. Be quiet. Broke. This line and the scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from an old play called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy. Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the thirdborough*. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Bracht Merriman,-the poor cur is emboss'd‡, 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss, And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 1 Hun. I will my lord. Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord: Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, An officer whose authority equals a constable. + Bitch. |