Imatges de pàgina
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Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy.

Oh noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy fervants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have mufick? hark, Apollo plays,
And twenty caged nightingales do fing.
Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and fweeter than the luftful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis,

Say thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trapp'd,
Their harness ftudded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou haft hawks will foar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt ?
Thy hounds fhall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth,

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1 Man. Say thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftrait Adonis painted by a running brook,

And Cytherea all in sedges hid,

Which feem to move, and wanton with her breath,

Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid,

And how the was beguiled and furpris'd,

As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear the bleeds; And at the fight fhall fad Apollo weep:

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord &
Thou haft a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waining age.

1 Man. And 'till the tears that the hath fhed for thee, Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,

She was the faireft creature in the world,

And

And yet the is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord, and have I fuch a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now?
I do not fleep; I fee, I hear, I fpeak:
Ifmell fweet favours, and I feel foft things:
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,
And not a tinker, nor Chriftophero Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our fight,
And once again, a pot o' the fmalleft ale.

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2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands? Oh, how we joy to fee your wits reftor'd! Oh that once more you knew but what are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream, Or when you wak'd, you wak'd as if you flept. Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap: But did I never fpeak of all that time?

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1 Man. O yes, my lord, but very idle words.
For tho' you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door,
And rail'd upon by the hoftefs of the house,
And fay you would prefent her at the Leet,
Because the bought ftone-jugs, and no feal'd quarts:
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no houfe, nor no fuch maid, Nor no fuch men as you have reckon'd

up,

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps o' th' Green,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell,

And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe,
Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

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

Sly, By th' mafs I think I am a lord indeed.

What is thy name?

Man. Simon, an't please your honour.

Sly. Sim that's as much as to fay Simeon or Simon ; put

forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[Gives bim drink, SCENE V. Enter Lady with Attendants. Bly. I thank thee, thou shalt not lose by it.

Lady, How fares my noble lord?

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Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough, Where is my wife?

Lady. Here, noble lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men fhould call me lord, I am your good man.

Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband, I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well: what muft I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce Madam, or Joan Madam ?

Lord. Madam, and nothing else, fo lords call ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and slept above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time feems thirty unto me,

Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone : Madam, undrefs you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

Lady. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you,
To pardon me yet for a night or two:
Or if not fo, until the fun be fet;

For your phyficians have exprefly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould yet abfent me from your bed;

I hope this reason ftands for my excufe.

Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loth to fall into my dream again: I will there fore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood.

SCENE VI. Enter a Messenger.

Melf. Your honour's Players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy;

For fo your doctors hold it very meet,

Seeing fo much fadnefs 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 thoufand harms, and lengthens life.

Sly. Marry, I will; let them play; is it not a commo

dity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick?

Lady.

Lady. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
Sly. What, houfhold stuff?

Lady. It is a kind of history.

Sly. Well, we'll fee't: come, Madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip, we fhall ne'er be younger.

The TAMING of the SHREW.

Luc.

ACT I. SCENE I.

PAD UA.

Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

defire 1 had

To fee fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arriv'd from 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,
Moft trufty fervant, well approv'd in all;
Here let us breathe, and happily inftitute
A course of learning, and ingenious studies.
Pifa, renowned for
grave citizens,

Gave me my being, and my father firft

A merchant of great traffick through the world,
Vincentio come of the Bentivolii ;

Lucentio his fon, brought up in Florence,
It shall become, to ferve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
To virtue and that part of philofophy
Will I apply, that treats of happiness,
By virtue fpecially to be atchiev'd.
Tell me thy mind, for I have Pifa left,
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A fhallow plafh to plunge him in the deep,
And with fatiety feeks to quench his thirst,
VOL, III,

H

Tre

Tra. Me pardonato, gentle mafter mine,
I am in ali affected as your felf;
Glad that you thus continue your refolve,
To fuck the fweets of fweet philofophy:
Only, good mafter, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral difcipline,
Let's be no Stoicks, nor no ftocks, I pray;
Or fo devote to Ariftotle's checks,

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As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.
Talk logick with acquaintance that have,
And practife rhetorick in your common talk
Mufick and poefie ufe to quicken you;
The mathematicks, and the metaphyficks,
Fall to them as you find your ftomach ferves you :
No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en:
In brief, Sir, ftudy what you most affect.
Luc. Gramercy, Tranio, well doft thou advise
If, Biondello, thou wert come afhore,
We could at once put us in readiness,
And take a lodging fit to entertain

Such friends, as time in Padua fhall beget.
But ftay a while, what company is this?

4.

Tra. Mafter, fome fhow to welcome us to town.
SCENE II.

Enter Baptifta with Catharina and Bianca, Gremio and
Hortenfio. Lucentio and Tranio ftand by.

Bap. Gentlemen both, importune me no farther,
For how I firmly am refolv'd you know;

That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter,
Before I have a husband for the elder:

If either of you both love Catharina,

Because I know you well, and love you well,
Leave fhall you have to court her at your pleasure.

Gre. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me.

There, there, Hortenfio, will you any wife?

Catb. pray you, Sir, is it your will and pleasure

To make a ftale of me amongst these mates?

Hor. Mates, maid, how mean you that? no mates for

Gulets you were of gentler milder mould.

Bath, Piaith, Sir, you shall never need to fear,

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