2 Serv. Will't please your Honour taste of these conferves!

3 Serv. What raiment will your Honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Chriftopher Sly, call not me Honour, nor Lordship: I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conferves 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 sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.

Lord. Heav'n cease this idle humour in your Honour! Oh that a mighty man of fuch defcent, Of fuch poffeffions, and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Chriftophero Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath, by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation 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 lying'st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: here's

1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn.. 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants

droop.

Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your

houfe,

As beaten hence by your strange 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 music? hark, Apollo plays; [Music.

And twenty caged nightingales do fing.

Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrow the ground:

Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,

4

Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will foar.
Above the morning-lark. Or wilt thou hunt ?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

I Man. Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

[fwift,

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee

Adonis, painted by a running brook;

And Cytherea all in sedges hid;

[ftraight

Which feem to move, and wanton with her breath,
Ev'n as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll thew thee Io, as she was a maid,

And how she 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 shall swear she bleeds :
And at that fight shall fad Apollo weep :
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord: Thou hast a Lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waining age.

1. Man. And till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world, And yet she 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 see, I hear, I speak;
I fmell sweet savours, and I feel soft 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' th' smallest ale.
2 Man. Wilt please your Mightiness to wash your
[hands?

Oh, how we joy to fee your wits restor'd!
Oh, that once more you knew but what you are!'
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you slept.

Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap: But did I never speak of all that time?

I Man. Oh, yes, my Lord, but very idle words.

For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, you were beaten out of door,
And rail'd upon the hostess of the house;
And fay, you would present her at the leet,
Because she bought stone-jugs, and no seal'd quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

[maid,

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house, nor no fuch:
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up;
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

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

Sly. By th' 'mass, I think I am a Lord indeed.

What is thy name?

Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.

Sly. Sim? that's as much as to say Simeon or Simon;

put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[The fervant gives him drink..

SCENE V. Enter Lady, with attendants..

I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
Lady. How fares my Noble Lord?

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.. Where's my_wife?

Lady. Here, Noble Lord, what is thy will with her?
Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
My men should call me Lord, I am your good-man.
Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and huf-
I am your wife in all obedience.
[band;

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

Sly. Alce Madam, or Joan Madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing elfe; 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 seems thirty unto me,

Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her.

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

For your physicians have expressly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed;
I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

L

Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry so long; but I would be loth to fall into my dream again. will therefore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood.*

SCENE.. VI.

Enter a Messenger.

Mefs. Your Honour's players, hearing your amend

Are come to play a pleasant comedy;

For fo your Doctors hold it very meet,

[ment,

Seeing too much sadness 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 thousand harms, and lengthens life.

Sly Marry, I will; let them play; is it not a com-
modity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick ?
Lady. No, my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
Sly. What, houshold stuff?
Lady. It is a kind of hiftory.

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

The

298

The TAMING of the SHREW.

ACTI.

SCENEI.

Luc.

A ftreet in Padua.

Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

Ranio, fince for the great defire I 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 :
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all,
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A course of learning, and ingenious studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
Gave me my being; and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world:
Vincentio's come of the Bentivolii,
Vincentio his fon, brought up in Florence,
It shall become to serve 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 specially to be atchiev'd.
Tell me thy mind, for I have Pisa left,
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep,
And with fatiety seeks to quench his thirst,

Tra. Me pardonato, gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself:
Glad that you thus continue your refolve,
To fuck the sweets of sweet philofophy:
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral difcipline,
Let's be no Stoics, nor no stocks, I pray;
Or fo devote to Aristotle's checks,