A Lord, before whom the Play is fuppos'd to be

Chriftophero Sly, a drunken Tinker.

Hoftefs.

Page, Players, Huntfmen, and other Servants attending on the Lord.

The Perfons of the Play it felf are

Baptifta, Father to Katharina and Biancha, very rich.

Vincentio, an old Gentleman of Pisa.

Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in Love with Biancha. Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to Katharina,

Gremio, } Pretenders to Biancha.

Hortenfio,

Tranio,

Biondello,

Servants to Lucentio.

Grumio, Servant to Petruchio.

Pedant, an old Fellow fet up to perfonate Vin

Taylor, Haberdashers, with Servants attending on Baptifta and Petruchio.

SCENE in the latter End of the third, and beginning of the fourth Act in Petruchio's Houfe in the Country; for the rest of the Play in Padua.

The

The Taming of the Shrew.

ACTI SCENE I

Enter Hoftess and Sly.

SLT.

LL pheeze you, in Faith.

Hoft. A Pair of Stocks, you Rogue. Sly. Y'are a Baggage; the Slies are no Rogues. Look in the Chronicles, we came with Richard Conqueror; therefore Paucus pallabris, let the World flide: Seffa.

Hoft. You will not pay for the Glaffes you have burst? Sly. No, not a Deniere: Go by S. Jeronimy, go to thy cold Bed, and warm thee.

Hoft. I know my Remedy; I must go fetch the Headborough.

[Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth Borough, I'll anfwer him by Law; I'll not budge an Inch, Boy, let him come, and kindly. [Falls afleep. Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from Hunting, with a Train. Lord. Huntfman, I charge thee tender well my Hounds, Brach Merriman, the goor Cur is imboft,

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.
Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my Lord;
He cried upon it at the meereft Lofs,

And

And twice to Day pick'd out the dulleft Scent:
Truft me, I take him for the better Dog.

Lord. Thou art a Fool, if Eccho were as fleet,
I would efteem him worth a Dozen fuch.
But fup them well, and look unto them all,
To Morrow I intend to hunt again.

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 fleep fo foundly.

Lord. O monftrous Beaft! how like a Swine he lyes!
Grim Death, how foul and loathfome is thine Image!
Sirs, I will pra&ife on this drunken Man.
What think you if he were convey'd to Bed,
Wrapt in fweet Cloaths: Rings put upon his Finger;
A moft 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 chufe. 2 Hun. It would feem ftrange unto him when he wak'd. Lord. Even as a flatt'ring Dream, or worthless Fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the Jeft:

Carry him gently to my faireft Chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton Pictures;
Balm his foul Head in warm diftilled Waters,
And burn fweet Wood to make the Lodging fweet.
Procure me Mufick ready when he wakes,
To make a Dulcet and a Heav'nly Sound;
And if he chance to fpeak, be ready straight,
And with a low fubmiffive Reverence,
Say, what is it your Honour will command;
Let one attend him with a filver Bafon

Full of Rofe-water, and beftrew'd with Flowers,
Another bear the Ewer; a third a Diaper,

And fay, will pleafe your Lordship cool your Hands? }
Some one be ready with a coftly Suit,

And ask him what Apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his Hounds and Horfe,
And that his Lady mourns at his Disease;
Perfuade him that he hath been Lunatick,

And