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TAMING OF THE SHREW.
PERSONS REPRESENTED. A LORD.
TRANIO, CHRISTOPHER SLY,
} Servants to Lucena a drunken Tinker, Persons in GRUMIO,
. to PetruHOSTESS, PAGE, PLAY. \the Induc- CURTIS,
ERS, HUNTSMEN, and (tion. PEDANT, an old Fellow set up to other SERVANTS at
personate Vincentio. tending on the LORD, BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of
Padua. VINCENTIO, an old Gentleman of KATHARINA, the Shrew, 1 DaughPisa.
BIANCA, her Sister, Sters to LUCENTIO, Son to Vincentio, in dove Baptista. with Bianca.
WIDOW, PETRUCHIO, a Gentleman of Ve
rona, a Suitor to Katharina. TAILOR, HABERDASHER, and SERGREMIO, } Suitors to Bianca.
VANTS attending on BAPTISTA HORTENSIO,
and PETRUCHIO. SCENE.—Sometimes in PADUA; and sometimes in Petruchio's
House in the Country.
CHARACTERS IN THE INDUCTION To the inal Play of The Taming of a Shrew, entered on the
Stationers' books in 1594, and printed in quarto, in 1607. A LORD, &c.
VALERIA, Servant to Aurelius. SLY.
SANDER, Servant to Ferando. A TAPSTER.
PHYLOTUS, a Merchant who perPAGE, PLAYERS, HUNTSMEN, &c. sonates the Duke.
KATE, PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Daughters to Alphon.
EMELIA, ALPHONSUS,& Merchant of Athens. PHYLEMA, JEROBEL, Duke of Cestus. AURELIUS, his Son, Suitors to the TAILOR, HABERDASHER, and SERFERANDO,
Daughters of VANTS to FERANDO and ALPHONPOLIDOR,
Alphonsus. SUS. SCENE.-Athens; and sometimes Ferando's Country House.
SCENE I.-Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Enter HOSTESS and SLY.
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 burst ? Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, Jeronimy ;-Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Kost. 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
1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,
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!
* Beat ; pay you off. + A word to the wise.
Be quiet. Ý A line introduced, in ridicule, from Kyd's play of the Spanish Tragedy, the hero of which, Jeronimo, Sly confounds with Saint Jerome (Dyce).
|| An officer whose authority equals a constable. T Strained,
***A small scenting-hound.
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy.
foul head with warm distilled waters,
This do, and do it kindly,* gentle Sirs;
1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you we'll play our part,
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; And each one to his office, when he wakes.
[Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:- (Exit SERVANT. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.
Re-enter a SERVANT.
Serv. An it please your honour,
1 Play. We thank your honour.
2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty.
1 Play. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.
Lord. 'Tis very true;-thou didst it excellent.-
1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antick in the world.
Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.
(Exeunt SERVANT and PLAYERS. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a SERVANT. And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, And call him-madam, do him obeisance,Tell him from me (as he will win my love), He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observed in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished: Such duty to the drunkard let him do, With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; And say,–What is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, May show her duty, and make known her love ? And then-with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restored to health, Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: And if the boy have not a woman's gift, To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift; Which in a napkin being close convey'd, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst; Anon I'll give thee more instructions.- [Exit SERVANT. I know the boy will well usurp the grace, Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman: I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband : VOL. II.
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,
SCENE II.-4 Bedchamber in the LORD's House, Sly is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attendants ; some
with apparel, others with basin, ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter LORD, dressed like a Servant. 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 honour taste of these conserves ? 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
Sly. I am Christopher Sly; call not me-honour, nor lordship. I never 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, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Barton-heath; by birth a pedlar, þy educa tion a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Woncot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught:t Here's 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop.
Lord. Hence cames it that your kindred shun your house,
+ Distraught distracted.