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Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor.-Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. Clo. Foh, pr'ythee. stand away: A paper from fortune's close-stool, to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

Enter Lafeu.

Laf.

Enter Bertram.

He looks well on't.

King. I am not a day of season,
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a bail
In me at once: But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth,
The time is fair again.
My high-repented blames,
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
King.
All is whole;

Ber.

Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat), that has fallen into the unclean fish-pond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud-Not one word more of the consumed time. died withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; Let's take the instant by the forward top; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles The inaudible and noiseless foot of time of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit. Steals ere we can effect them: You remember Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly The daughter of this lord ? scratched.

Lof. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her? There's a quart d'ecu for yon: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you shall ha't; save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. Laf. You beg more than one word then.-Cox' my passion! give me your hand :-How does your

drum ?

me.

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow. Par. I praise God for you.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

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Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen ;
Extended or contracted all proportions,
To a most hideous object: Thence it came,
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
King.
Well excus'd:
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt: But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardoa slowly carried,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone our rash faults,
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.

Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven
bless!

Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease!

Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Must be digested, give a favour from you,
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come,-By my old beard,
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead,
Was a sweet creature; such a ring as this,
The last that e'er 1 took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.

Ber.

Hers it was not.

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Count.

Son, on my life,

I have seen her wear it: and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate.

Laf.
I am sure, I saw her wear it.
Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it: noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd but when I had subscrib'd
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour.
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.

King.

Plutus himself,

That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed
(Where you have never come), or sent it us

Upon her great disaster.

Ber.

She never saw it.

Dia.

Good my lord,

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho- He had not my virginity.

nour;

And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me,
Which I would fain shut out: If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman,-'twill not prove so:-
And yet I know not-thou didst hate her deadly,
And she is dead; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring.-Take him away.-
[Guards seize Bertram.
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little.-Away with him;
We'll sift this matter further.

Ber.

If you shall prove This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. [Exit Bertram, guarded. Enter a Gentleman.

King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.
Gent.
Gracions sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not;
Here's a petition from a Florentine,

Who hath, for four or five removes, come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,

Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
Is here attending her business looks in her
With an importing visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads. Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: Grant it me, O king; in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone.

DIANA CAPULET.

Laf. I will boy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him for this, I'll none of him. :

King. The heavens have thought well on thee,

Lafeu,

To bring forth this discovery.-Seek these suitors :-Go, speedily, and bring again the count.

[Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, Was foully snatch'd. Count.

Now, justice on the doers! Be-enter Bertram, guarded.

King, I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to

you,

And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, Yet you desire to marry.-What woman's that?

Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and Diana. Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, Derived from the ancient Capulet; My suit, as I do understand, you know, And therefore know how far I may be pitied.. Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour Both suffer under this complaint we bring, And both shall cease, without your remedy. King. Come hither, count; Do you know these women?

Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny But that I know them: Do they charge me further? Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife? Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.

Dia.

If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine;
You give away myself, which is known mine;
For I by vow am so embodied yours,

That she, which marries you, must marry me,
Either both, or none.

Laf. Your reputation [To Bertram] comes too short
for my daughter, you are no husband for her.
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature,
Whom sometime I baye laugh'd with: let your high-

ness

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He's quoted for a most perfidious slave,
With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd;
Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth:
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?

King.
Ber. I think, she has certain it is, I lik'd her,
And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
Her insuit coming with her modern grace
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
And I had that, which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.

She hath that ring of yours.

Dia.

I must be patient; You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife,

May justly diet me. I pray you yet
Send for your ring, I will return it home,
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband),
And give me mine again,

Ber.
I have it not.
King. What ring was yours, I pray you?
Dia.
Sir, much like

The same upon your finger.

King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of Jate.

Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. King. The story then goes false, you threw it him Out of a casement.

Dia.

I have spoke the truth. Enter Parolles.

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts you. Is this the man you speak of?

Dia,

Ay, my lord. King Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep of), By him, and by this woman here, what know you?

Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman; tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have.

King. Come, come, to the purpose: Did he love this woman?

Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how !

King. How, I pray you?

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orator.

Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage ? Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st? Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go between them, as I said; but more than that, he loved her,for, indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan,

and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: But thou art too fine in thy evidence therefore stand aside.This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia.
Ay, my good lord.
King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you?
Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
King. Who lent it you?

Dia.

It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it then? Dia.

I found it not. King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? Dia.

I never gave it him. Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure.

King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now; To prison with her and away with him. Unless thou tell'st me where thou had'st this ring, Thou diest within this hour. Dia.

I'll never tell you.

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Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty;
He knows, I am no maid, and he'll swear to't:
I'll swear, I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life;
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
[Pointing to Lafeu.
King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her.
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.-Stay, royal sir;
[Exit Widow.

The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for,
And he shall surety me. But for this lord,
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him:
He knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd:

And at that time he got his wife with child:
Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick;
So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick:
And now behold the meaning.

Re-enter Widow, with Helena.

King.
Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes?
Is't real, that I see?
Hel.

No, my good lord;
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see,
The name, and not the thing."
Ber.

Both, both; O, pardon !
Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring,
And, look you, here's your letter; This it says,
When from my finger you can get this ring,
And are by me with child, &c.-This is done:
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won!
Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly,
Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you!-
O, my dear mother, do I see you living?

Laj. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :Good Tom Drum [To Parolles], lend me a handkerchief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow !
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid,
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.--
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:

All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.[ Flourish.
Advancing.

The king's a beggar, now the play is done:
All is well ended, if this suit be won,
That you express content; which we will pay,
With strife to please you, day exceeding day:
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts;
Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country.

To the Original Play of The Taming of the Shrew, entered on the Stationers' Books in 1594, and printed

in quarto in 1607.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

A Lord, &c.

Sly.

A Tapster.

Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c.

Alphonsus, a Merchant of Athens.

Jerobel, Duke of Cestus:

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Phylotus, a Merchant who personates the Duke.

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Phylema,

Aurelius, his Son, Suitors to the Daughters of Al-Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants to Ferando and

Ferando,

Polidor,

phonsus.

Alphonsus.

SCENE, Athens; and sometimes Ferando's Country House.

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

burst ?

Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy ;Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

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:

Brach Merriman, -the poor cur is emboss'd,
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

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:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well, and look unto them all; To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 1 Hun. I will, my lord. [he breathe? Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk? See, doth 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!

wak'd.

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,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?
1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him, when he
[fancy.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless
Then take him up, and manage well the jest:-
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me music ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,
And, with a low submissive reverence,
Say, What is it your honour will command ?
Let one attend him with a silver bason,
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say,-Will't please your lordship cool your
Some one be ready with a costly suit,
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;
And, when he says he is, say, that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ;

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

[hands?

1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you we'll play our part, As he shall think, by our true diligence, He is no less than what we say he is. 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. Sirrab, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

[Exit Servant.

Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

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Enter Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome. 1 Play. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. With all my heart.-This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ;"Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd."

1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord. "Tis very true;-thou didst it excellent.Well, you are come to me in happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand, much. Wherein your cunning can assist But I am doubtful of your modesties; There is a lord will hear you play to-night: Lest, over-eyeing of his odd behaviour (For yet his honour never heard a play), And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, You break into some merry passion,, If you should smile, he grows impatient. 1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic 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 observ'd in nobles 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,
May show her duty, and make known her love?
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,
And then-with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
Bid him shed tears, as being over-joy'd,
And with declining head into his bosom,-
To see her noble lord restor❜d to health,
Who, for twice seven years, hath esteem'd 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;
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. Sly is discovered in a rich Night Gown, with Attendants; some with Apparel, others with Bason, 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 Christophero 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 overleather.

[nour!

Lord, Heaven cease this idle humour in your hoO, that a mighty man, of such descent, Of such possessions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Šly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, 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 lyingest knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught: Here's

[house,

Music.

1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.
2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop.
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams:
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, *
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. F
Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl...
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe, [as swift
2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee
Adonis, painted by a running brook : [straight
And Cytherea all in sedges hid;
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid;
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

[wood;

3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds: And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 1/4 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waning age.

1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world;

And yet she is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? Or do I dream? or have I dream'd til! 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 Christophero Sly.-
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o'the smallest ale.

[hands?

2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your [Servants present an Ewer, Bason, and Napkin. O, how we joy to see your wit restor❜d! O, that once more you knew but what you are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream; Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap; But did I never speak of all that time?

1 Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words: For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door; And rail upon the hostess of the house; And say, you would present her at the leet, Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,- [maid; As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece, And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell; And twenty more such names and men as these, Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends! All. Amen.

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

Enter the Page, as a Lady, with Attendants. Page, How fares my noble lord?

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Sly. I know it well.-What must I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?. Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.

Sly. Madam wife, they say, that I have dream'd Above some fifteen year and more. [and slept Page. 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. 1953

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
Page. 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 dreams
again; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh
and the blood.

Enter a Servant,

Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendAre come to play a pleasant comedy, Ement, 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 gambol, or a tumbling-trick? Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? (51

Page. It is a kind of history,ca vár

Sly. Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger, que vel data warden They sit down.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Padua. A public Place.
Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I had To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,-

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I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy;
And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his good will, and thy good company, to tễ
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all;
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A course of learning, and ingenious studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
Gave me my being, and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world, * &
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii,
Vincentio, his son, brought up in Florence,
It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
Virtue, and that part of philosophy
Will I apply, that treats of happiness
By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd.
Tell me thy mind: for I have Pisa left,
And am to Padua come; as he that leaves
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep,
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst, bis diod
Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine,

I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve,
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral discipline,
Let's be no Stoics, nor no stocks, I pray;
Or so devote to Aristotle's cheeks,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd
Talk logic with acquaintance that you have,
And practice rhetoric in your common talk
Music and poesy use to quicken you;
The mathematics, and the metaphysics,

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