You and you no cross shall part: Or have a woman to your lord: SONG. Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Faq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, 140 The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. 191 [To duke] You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: [To Oli.] You to your land and love and great 150 [To Sil.] You to a long and well-deserved bed: Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES DE BOYS. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two: 170 I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. 200 Jaq. To see no pastime I: what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they'll end, in true delights, EPILOGUE. [A dance. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women-as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them-that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, me farewell. [Exeunt. SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath. Enter HOSTESS and SLY. Sly. I'll pheeze you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Sly. Ye are a baggage: the Slys 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. ΤΟ Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. [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. [Falls asleep. Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train. 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. First 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: 20 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. First Hun. I will, my lord. 30 Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? Sec. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. servants to Lucentio. GRUMIO, servants to Petruchio. A Pedant. KATHARINA, the shrew,} daughters to Baptista. BIANCA, Widow. Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio. SCENE: Padua, and Petruchio's country house. Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! A most delicious banquet by his bed, 4I Sec. Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he waked. Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. Then take him up and manage well the jest: Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers; Some one be ready with a costly suit 60 First Hun. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, As he shall think by our true diligence 70 90 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 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest over-eyeing of his odd behaviour,For yet his honour never heard a playYou break into some merry passion And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile he grows impatient. A Player. Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world. 100 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. 130 An onion will do well for such a shift, When they do homage to this simple peasant. SCENE II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house. Enter aloft SLY, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with basin and ewer and other appurtenances; and Lord. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. First Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? Sec. Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? Third Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor lordship:' I ne'er 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, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather. Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, 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 be 110 straught: here's '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, 120 Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! Sec. Serv. O, this is it that makes your servants droop! Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, 30 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 50 As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. Adonis painted by a running brook, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Lord. We'll show thee fo as she was a maid, Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds, 60 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. First Serv. And till the tears that she hath Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, And yet she is inferior to none. Where is my wife? Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Madam, undress you and come now to bed. Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? 70 For your physicians have expressly charged, Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; Upon my life, I am a lord indeed And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. Sec. Serv. Will't please your mightiness to 79 O, how we joy to see your wit restored! In peril to incur your former malady, 121 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 Messenger. 130 ACT I. SCENE I. Padua. A public place. Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO. And by my father's love and leave am arm'd A merchant of great traffic through the world, Glad that you thus continue your resolve ΙΟ 20 Hor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 60 Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear: I wis it is not half way to her heart; But if it were, doubt not her care should be Tra. Hush, master! here's some good pastime toward: That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. Luc. But in the other's silence do I see Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. Peace, Tranio ! 70 Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What I have said, Bianca, get you in: And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. 80 Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: My books and instruments shall be my company, On them to look and practise by myself. Luc. Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? Sorry am I that our good will effects Bianca's grief. Gre. Why will you mew her up, 30 Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, 40 Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; Enter BAPTISTA, KATHARINA, BIANCA, GREMIO, and HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by. 50 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther, There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife? To make a stale of me amongst these mates? Kath. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What, shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I knew not what to take, and what to leave, ha? [Exit. Gre. You may go to the devil's dam: your gifts are so good, here's none will hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out: our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father. Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both, that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress and be happy rivals in Bianca's love, to labour and effect one thing specially. Gre. What's that, I pray? 121 |