THE

TAMIN G

OF THE

SHRE W.

Cc 2

Characters in the Induction.

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

Hoftefs.

Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker.

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

Dramatis Personx.

Baptifta, Father to Catharina and Bianca; very rich.
Vincentio, an old gentleman of Pifa.

Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a fuitor to Catharina.
Gremio,
Pretenders to Bianca.

Hortenfio,

Tranio, } Servants to Lucentio.

Biondello,

Grumio, Servant to Petruchio.

Pedant, an old fellow fet up to perfonate Vincentio.

Catharina, the Shrew.

Bianca, ber Sifter.

Widow.

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

SCENE, fometimes in Padua; and fometimes in Petruchio's Houfe in the Country.

THE

THE

TAMING of the SHREW.

INDUCTIO N.

I

SCENE I

Before an Alehoufe on a Heath.

Enter Hoftefs and Sly.

SLY.

'LL pheeze you, in faith.

Hoft. A pair of ftocks, you rogue! Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues. Look in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror; therefore, * paucus pallabris; let the world flide: Selja. Hoft. You will not pay for the glaffes you have burst?

2

Sly. No, not a deniere: Go by, Jeronimo-go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Hoft.

1 paucus pallabris ;] Meaning pocas palabras, Spanish, few Mr. Theobald.

words. 2 Go by S. Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.] All the editions have coin'd a Saint here, for Sly to swear by. But

Cc 3

the

Hoft. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the Third-borough.

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 borns, Enter a Lord from bunting, with a Train. Lord. Huntfman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

(a) Leech Merriman, the poor cur is imbost;
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 meerest loss,

And twice to day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Truft me, I take him for the better dog.

the poet had no fuch intentions. There is a fuftian old 'play, call'd, Hieronymo; Or, The Spanish Tragedy: which, I find, was the common butt of rallery to all the poets of Shakespear's time and a paffage, that appear'd very ridiculous in that play, is here humourously alluded to. Hieronymo, thinking himself injur'd, applies to the King for juftice; but the courtiers, who did not defire his wrongs fhould be fet in a true light, attempt to hinder him from an audience.

Hiero. Juftice, ob! juftice to Hieronymo.

Lor. Back;feeft thou not, the King is bufie?
Hiero. Oh, is he fo?

King. Who is He, that interrupts our Bufinefs?

Hier. Not I:Hieronymo, beware; go by, go by.

So Sly here, not caring to be dun'd by the Hoftefs, cries to her in effect, Don't be troublefom, don't interrupt me,

GO BY.

Mr. Theobald.

3 I must go fetch the Headborough.] Vulg. A poor witticism (as Mr. Theobald rightly calls it) restored by him.

[(a) Leech Merriman. Oxford Editor-Vulg. Brach Merriman.]

Lord.

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.

Hunt. I will, my lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? fee, 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 fwine he lies!
Grim death, how foul and loathfome is thy image!
Sirs, I will practife on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in sweet cloaths; rings put upon his fingers;
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 seem strange 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 with 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 found;
And if he chance to speak, be ready ftraight,
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 bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper;

And fay, wilt please your lordship cool your hands?