THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

INDUCTION.

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.

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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:
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.

First Hun. I will, my lord.

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.

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Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine
he lies!

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?

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First Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

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:
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head in 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 basin
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

hands?'

Some one be ready with a costly suit

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

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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.

First Hun. My lord, I warrant you we will 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.

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds :

[Exit Servingman.

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

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Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players. We thank your honour.

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Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?
A Player. 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.

A Player. 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
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 play-
You 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.

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one : Let them want nothing that my house affords.

[Exit one with the Players.

Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:

85. gentlewoman; trisyllabic

(géntlooman).

92. cunning, skill.

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