To the Original Play of The Taming of a Shrew, 4to. 1607. A Lord &c. Sly. A Tapster. Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c.

Persons Represented. Alphonsus, a Merchant of Athens. Jerobel, Duke of Cestus. Aurelius, his Son, Suitor to one of the Daughters of Alphonsus. Ferando, Suitor to one of the Daughters of Alphonsus. Polidor, Suitor to one of the Daughters of Alphonsus. Valeria, Servant to Aurelius. Sander, Servant to Ferando. Phylotus, a Merchant who personates the Duke. Kate, Daughter to Alphonsus. Emelia, Daughter to Alphonsus. Phylema, Daughter to Alphonsus. Taylor, Haberdasher, and Servants to Ferando and Alphonsus. SCENE, Athens; and sometimes Ferando's Country House.

1 ^note

INDUCTION. SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath. Enter Hostess and Sly.

Sly.

I'll pheese you^{2 note}

Host.

A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly.

Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no^{3 note}

Host.

You will not pay for the glasses you have burst^{6 note}

Sly.

No, not a denier: Go by, Jeronimy;—Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee^{7 note}

Host.

I know my remedy, I must go fetch the thirdborough^{8 note}

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.

Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with a train.

Lord.
Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:
Brach Merriman,—the poor cur is imbost^{1 note}

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good^{2 note}

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:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord.
Thou art a fool; if Eccho 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.

Hun.
I will, my lord.

Lord.
What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

2 Hun.
He breathes, my lord: Were he not warm'd with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

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,
Wrap'd in sweet cloaths, 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?

1 Hun.
Believe me, lord, I think he cannot chuse.

2 Hun.
It would seem strange unto him when he wak'd.

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 with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me musick 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 bason,
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,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him, that he hath been lunatick;
And, when he says he is,—say that he dreams^{2 note}

If it be husbanded with modesty^{3 note}.

1 Hun.
My lord, I warrant you, we'll 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. Sound trumpets.
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:—
Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, [Exit Servant.
Travelling some journey, to repose him here.— Re-enter a Servant.
How now? who is it?

Ser.
An't please your honour, players,
That offer service to your lordship.

Lord.
Bid them come near:— Enter Players^{4 note}






.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Play.
We thank your honour.

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

2 Play.
So please your lordship to accept our duty^{5 note}

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.

Sincklo.
I think, 'twas Soto that your honour means^{6 note}

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-eying 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.

Play.
Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,
Were he the veriest antick in the world^{7 note}

^note

“My lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegar to make our devil roar† ^note

The shoulder of mutton might indeed be necessary afterwards for the dinner of Petruchio, but there is no devil in this piece, or in the original on which Shakespeare form'd it; neither was it yet determined what comedy should be represented. Steevens.

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 Bartholomew my page,
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
And call him—madam, do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love)
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy;
And say,—What is't your honour will command,
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,
May shew her duty, and make known her love?
And then—with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom,—
Bid him shed tears, as being over-joy'd
To see her noble lord restor'd to health,
Who for twice seven years hath esteemed him^{8 note}

Which in a napkin being close convey'd,
Shall in despight enforce a watry eye.
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.— [Exit Servant.
I know, the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman:
I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband;
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter,
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them: haply, my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen,
Which otherwise would grow into extremes. [Exit Lord. SCENE II. A room in the lord's house. Enter Sly^{1 note}























, 9Q0380 with Attendants, some with apparel, bason and ewer, and other appurtenances. Re-enter Lord.

Sly.

For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

1 Man.
Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

2 Man.
Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

3 Man.
What raiment will your honour wear today?

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, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord.
Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
Oh, that a mighty man, of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Sly.

What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son ^{2 note}

by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, 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 lying'st knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught^{3 note}

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

2 Man.
Oh, this it is that makes your servants droop.

Lord.
Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house,
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 servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have musick? hark! Apollo plays, [Musick.

And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Or wilt thou sleep? 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,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks, will soar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

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

2 Man.
Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
Adonis, painted by a running brook;
And Cytherea all in sedges hid;
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord.
We'll shew thee Io, as she was a maid;
And how she was beguiled and surpris'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 sight shall sad 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 such a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd 'till now?

I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:—
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.—
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.

2 Man.
Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands?
Oh, how we joy to see your wit 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, so 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?

1 Man.
Oh, yes, my lord; but very idle words:—
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house;
And say, you would present her at the ^{4 note}leet,
Because she brought stone-jugs, and no seal'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 house, nor no such maid;
Nor so such men, as you have reckon'd up,—
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece^{5 note}

And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Sly.
Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!

All.
Amen^{6 note}




.

Sly.
I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it. Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants^{7 note}

























.

Lady.
How fares my noble lord?

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—husband?
My men should 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 must I call her?

Lord.
Madam.

Sly.
Alce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord.
Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.

Sly.
^{8 note}

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^{9 note}.

Lady.
Thrice noble lord, let me intreat of you,
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set:
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.

Sly.

Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loth to fall into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in despight of the flesh and the blood.

Mess.
Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy,
For so your doctors hold it very meet;
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 it: Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick^{1 note}?

Lady.

No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.

Sly.

What, houshold stuff?

Lady.

It is a kind of history.

Sly.

Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger.

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