ADVERTISEMENT.

The following PROLOGUE was Spoken to the Dramatic Pastoral, called the Winter's Tale, and this Comedy; both of which are altered from Shakespear, and were perform'd the same Night.

Some of the Lines of the PROLOGUE are only relative to the Winter's Tale, yet as the Publication of that Pastoral is defer'd for some Time, and as the PROLOGUE has been particularly desir'd, it is hop'd that it will not be disagreeable to the Reader to see it prefix'd to this Comedy.

PROLOGUE TO THE WINTER's TALE. AND CATHARINE and PETRUCHIO. (Both from Shakespear.) Written and Spoken by Mr. GARRICK.

To various Things the Stage has been compar'd,
As apt Ideas strike each humorous Bard:
This Night, for want of better Simile,
Let this our Theatre a Tavern be:
The Poets Vintners, and the Waiters we.
So as the Cant, and Custom of the Trade is,
You're welcome Gem'min, kindly welcome Ladies.
To draw in Customers, our Bills are spread,
You cannot miss the Sign, 'tis Shakespear's Head.
From this same Head, this Fountain-head divine,
For different Palates springs a different Wine!
In which no Tricks, to strengthen, or to thin 'em—
Neat as imported—no French Brandy in em'—
Hence for the choicest Spirits flow Champaign;
Whose sparkling Atoms shoot thro' every Vein,
Then mount in Magic Vapours to th' enraptur'd Brain!
Hence flow for martial Minds Potations strong,
And sweet Love Potions, for the Fair and Young.
For you my Hearts of Oak, for your Regale, [To the Upper Gallery
There's good old English Stingo, mild and stale.
For high, luxurious Souls with luscious Smack:
There's Sir John Falstaff, is a Butt of Sack:
And if the stronger Liquors more invite ye;
Bardolph is Gin, and Pistol Aqua Vitæ.
But shou'd you call for Falstaff, where to find him,
He's gone—nor left one Cup of Sack behind him.

Sunk in his Elbow-Chair, no more he'll roam;
No more, with merry Wags, to Eastcheap come;
He's gone,—to jest, and laugh, and give his Sack at Home.
As for the learned Critics, grave and deep,
Who catch at Words, and catching fall asleep;
Who in the Storms of Passion—hum,—and haw!
For such, our Master will no Liquor draw—
So blindly thoughtful, and so darkly read,
They take Tom Durffy's, for the Shakespear's Head.

A Vintner once acquir'd both Praise and Gain,
And sold much Perry for the best Champaign.
Some Rakes, this precious Stuff did so allure;
They drank whole Nights—what's that—when Wine is pure?
“Come fill a Bumper, Jack—, I will my Lord—
“Here's Cream!—Damn'd fine!—immense!—upon my Word!”
Sir William, what say you?—The best, believe me—
In this—Eh Jack!—the Devil can't deceive me.
Thus the wise Critic too, mistakes his Wine,
Cries out with lifted Hands, 'tis great!—Divine!
Then jogs his Neighbour, as the Wonders strike him;
This Shakespear! Shakespear!—oh there's nothing like him!
In this Night's various, and enchanted Cup,
Some little Perry's mixt for filling up.
The Five long Acts, from which our Three are taken,
Stretch'd out to* ^note sixteen Years, lay by, forsaken.
Lest then this precious Liquor run to waste,
'Tis now confin'd and bottled for your Taste.
'Tis my chief Wish, my Joy, my only Plan,
To lose no Drop of that immortal Man!

Dramatis Personæ.

[Servants], [Servant], [Haberdasher]

Petruchio	Mr. Woodward.
Baptista	Mr. Burton.
Hortensio	Mr. Mozeen.
Grumio	Mr. Yates.
Music-Master [Music Master]	Mr. Jefferson.
Biondello	Mr. Blakes.
Pedro	Mr. Clough.
Taylor	Mr. H. Vaughan.
Nathaniel	Mr. W. Vaughan.
Peter	Mr. Ackman.
Nicholas	Mr. Atkins.
Philip	Mr. Marr.
Joseph	Mr. Lewis.
Catharine [Katherina]	Mrs. Clive.
Bianca	Mrs. Bennet.
Curtis	Mrs. Bradshaw.

SCENE, PADUA.

Catharine and Petruchio. ACT I. Scene 1 SCENE, Baptista's House. Enter BAPTISTA, PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.

Baptista.
Thus have I, 'gainst my own Self-Interest,
Repeated all the worst you are t'expect
From my shrewd Daughter, Cath'rine; if you'll venture,
Maugre my plain and honest Declaration,
You have my free Consent, win her, and wed her.

Petruchio.
Signior Baptista, thus it stands with me.
Anthonio, my Father, is deceased:
You knew him well, and knowing him, know me,
Left solely Heir to all his Lands and Goods,
Which I have better'd, rather than decreas'd.
And I have thrust myself into the World,
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may:
My Business asketh Haste, old Signior,
And ev'ry Day I cannot come to wooe.
Let Specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That Cov'nants may be kept on either Hand.

Baptista.
Yes, when the special Thing is well obtain'd,
My Daughter's Love, for that is all in all.

Petruchio.
Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, Father,
I am as peremptory, as she proud-minded;
And where two raging Fires meet together,
They do consume the Thing that feeds their Fury.
Tho' little Fire grows great with little Wind,
Yet extreme Gusts will blow out Fire and all;
So I to her, and so she yields to me;
For I am rough, and wooe not like a Babe.

Grumio.

Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his Mind is: Why give him Gold enough and marry him to a Puppet, or an old Trot with ne'er a Tooth in her Head. Tho' she have as many Diseases as two and fifty Horses; why nothing comes amiss, so Money comes withal.

Baptista.
As I have shew'd you, Sir, the coarser Side,
Now let me tell you she is young and beauteous,
Brought up as best becomes a Gentlewoman;
Her only Fault (and that is Fault enough)
Is that she is intolerably froward;
If that you can away with, she is yours.

Grumio.

I pray you, Sir, let him see her while the Humour lasts. O'my Word an' she knew him as well as I do, she would think Scolding would do little Good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a Score Knaves, or so; why, that's nothing; an' he begin once, she'll find her Match. I'll tell you what, Sir, an' she stand him but a little, he will throw a Figure in her Face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more Eyes to see withal than a Cat—You know him not, Sir.

Baptista.
And will you woo her, Sir?

Petruchio.
Why came I hither but to that Intent?
Think you a little Din can daunt my Ears?
Have I not, in my Time, heard Lions roar?
Have I not heard the Sea puff'd up with Winds?
Have I not heard great Ord'nance in the Field?
And Heav'n's Artillery thunder in the Skies?
Have I not in a pitched Battle heard
Loud 'Larums, neighing Steeds, and Trumpets clangue?
And do you tell me of a Woman's Tongue;
That gives not half so great a Blow to hear,

As will a Chesnut in a Farmer's Fire;
Tush, tush! scare Boys with Bugs.

Baptista.
Then thou'rt the Man,
The Man for Cath'rine, and her Father too:
That shall she know, and know my Mind at once.
I'll portion her above her gentler Sister,
New-married to Hortensio:
And if with scurril Taunt, and squeamish Pride,
She make a Mouth, and will not taste her Fortune,
I'll turn her forth to seek it in the World;
Nor henceforth shall she know her Father's Doors.

Petruchio.
Say'st thou me so? Then as your Daughter, Signior,
Is rich enough to be Petruchio's Wife;
Be she as curst as Socrates' Zantippe,
She moves me not a Whit—Were she as rough,
As are the swelling Adriatick Seas,
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

Baptista.
Well may'st thou wooe, and happy be thy Speed;
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy Words.

Petruchio.
Aye, to the Proof, as Mountains are for Winds,
That shake not, tho' they blow perpetually.

Catharine and the Music-master make a Noise within.

Music-master, within.
Help! help!

Catharine, within.
Out of the House, you scraping Fool.

Petruchio.
What Noise is that?

Baptista.
Oh, nothing; this is nothing—
My Daughter Catharine, and her Music-master;
This is the third I've had within this Month:
She is an Enemy to Harmony. Enter MUSICK-MASTER.
  How now, Friend, why dost look so pale?

Musick-master.
For Fear, I promise you, if I do look pale.

Baptista.
What, will my Daughter prove a good Musician?

Music-master.
I think she'll sooner prove a Soldier;
Iron may hold with her, but never Lutes.

Baptista.
Why, then, thou canst not break her to the Lute?

Music-master.
Why, no; for she hath broke the Lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her Frets,
And bow'd her Hand, to teach her fingering,
When with a most impatient devilish Spirit,
Frets call you them? quoth she, I'll fret your Fool's Cap:
And with that Word, she struck me on the Head,
And through the Instrument my Pate made way,
And there I stood amazed for awhile,
As on a Pillory, looking thro' the Lute:
While she did call me Rascal-fidler,
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile Terms,
As she had studied to misuse me so.

Petruchio.
Now by the World, it is a lusty Wench,
I love her ten times more than e'er I did;
Oh how I long to have a Grapple with her!

Music-master.
I wou'd not make another Trial with her,
To purchase Padua; for what is past,
I'm paid sufficiently: If at your Leisure,
You think my broken Fortunes, Head and Lute
Deserve some Reparation, you know where
T'enquire for me; and so good Gentlemen,
I am your much disorder'd humble Servant. [Exit.

Baptista.
Not yet mov'd, Petruchio! do you flinch?

Petruchio.
I am more and more impatient, Sir; and long
To be a Part'ner in these favourite Pleasures.

Baptista.
O, by all Means, Sir,—Will you go with me,
Or shall I send my Daughter Kate to you?

Petruchio.
I pray you do, I will attend her here. [Exit Bap.
  Grumio, retire, and wait my Call within. [Exit Grum.
Since that her Father is so resolute,
I'll wooe her with some Spirit when she comes;
Say that she rail, why then, I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a Nightingale:
Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear
As Morning Roses, newly wash'd with Dew;
Say she be mute, and will not speak a Word,
Then I'll commend her Volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing Eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her Thanks,
As tho' she bid me stay by her a Week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the Day
When I shall ask the Banes, and when be married:
But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter CATHARINE.

Catharine.
How! turn'd adrift, nor know my Father's House!
Reduc'd to this, or none, the Maid's last Prayer;
Sent to be woo'd like Bear unto the Stake?
Trim wooing like to be!—and he the Bear,
For I shall bait him—yet the Man's a Man.

Petruchio.
Kate in a Calm!—Maids must not be Wooers.
Good Morrow, Kate, for that's your Name I hear.

Catharine.
Well have you heard, but impudently said,
They call me Catharine, that do talk of me.

Petruchio.
You lie in Faith, for you are call'd plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst,
But Kate—The prettiest Kate in Christendom.
Take this of me, Kate of my Consolation!
Hearing thy Mildness prais'd in ev'ry Town,
Thy Virtues spoke of, and thy Beauty sounded,
Thy Affability, and bashful Modesty,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to wooe thee for my Wife.

Catharine.
Mov'd! in good Time; let him that mov'd you hither,

Remove you hence! I knew you at the first,
You were a Moveable.

Petruchio.
A Moveable? Why, what's that?

Catharine.
A Joint-Stool.

Petruchio.
Thou hast hit it; come, sit on me.

Catharine.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

Petruchio.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.
Alass good Kate, I will not burthen thee,
For knowing thee to be but young and light.—

Catharine.
Too light for such a Swain as you to catch; [Going.

Petruchio.
Come, come you Wasp; i'faith you are too angry.

Catharine.
If I be waspish, 'best beware my Sting.

Petruchio.
My Remedy, then is to pluck it out.

Catharine.
Ay, if the Fool cou'd find it where it lies.

Petruchio.
The Fool knows where the Honey is, sweet Kate. [Offers to kiss her.

Catharine.
'Tis not for Drones to taste.

Petruchio.
That will I try. [She strikes him.
I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.—
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sower.

Catharine.
How can I help it, when I see that Face;
But I'll be shock'd no longer with the Sight. [Going.

Petruchio.
Nay, hear you, Kate; in sooth you 'scape not so.

Catharine.
I chafe you, if I tarry, let me go.

Petruchio.
No, not a Whit, I find you passing gentle;
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find Report a very Liar,

For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in Speech, yet sweet as spring-time Flowers;
Thou can'st not frown, thou can'st not look ascance,
Nor bite the Lip as angry Wenches will,
Nor hast thou Pleasure to be cross in Talk:
But thou with Mildness entertain'st thy Wooers,
With gentle Conf'rence, soft and affable.

Catharine.
This is beyond all Patience; don't provoke me:

Petruchio.
Why doth the World report that Kate doth limp?
Oh sland'rous World! Kate like the Hazle Twig,
Is strait, and slender, and as brown in Hue
As Hazle Nuts, and sweeter than the Kernels.
O let me see thee walk, thou do'st not halt.

Catharine.
Go, Fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

Petruchio.
Did ever Dian' so become a Grove,
As Kate this Chamber, with her princely Gaite?
Oh be thou Dian', and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian' sportful.

Catharine.
Where did you Study all this goodly Speech?

Petruchio.
It is extempore, from my Mother Wit.

Catharine.
A witty Mother, witless else her Son.

Petruchio.
Am I not wise?

Catharine.
Yes, in your own Conceit,
Keep yourself warm with that, or else you'll freeze.

Petruchio.
Or rather warm me in thy Arms, my Kate!
And therefore setting all this Chat aside,
Thus in plain Terms; your Father hath consented
That you shall be my Wife; your Dowry 'greed on,
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.

Catharine.
Whether I will or no!—O Fortune's Spite!

Petruchio.
Nay, Kate, I am a Husband for your Turn;
For by this Light, whereby I see thy Beauty,
(Thy Beauty that doth make me like thee well)
Thou must be married to no Man but me:
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate.

Catharine.
That will admit Dispute, my saucy Groom.

Petruchio.
Here comes your Father; never make Denial,
I must and will have Catharine to my Wife. Enter BAPTISTA.

Baptista.
Now, Signior, now, how speed you with my Daughter?

Petruchio.
How shou'd I speed but well, Sir? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.

Baptista.
Why, how now, Daughter Catharine, in your Dumps?

Catharine.
Call you me Daughter? Now I promise you,
You've shew'd a tender Fatherly Regard,
To wish me wed to one half lunatick;
A Mad-cap Ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with Oaths to face the Matter out.

Baptista.
Better this Jack than starve, and that's your Portion—

Petruchio.
Father, 'tis thus; yourself and all the World
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her;
If she be curst, it is for Policy;
For she's not froward, but modest as the Dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the Morn;
For Patience, she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece, for her Chastity;
And, to conclude, we've 'greed so well together,
We have fix'd to-morrow for the Wedding-day.

Catharine.
I'll see thee hang'd To-morrow, first—Tomorrow!

Baptista.
Petruchio, hark; she says she'll see thee hang'd first:
Is this your Speeding?

Petruchio.
Oh! be patient, Sir,
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you;
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us Twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curs'd in Company.

Catharine.
A Plague upon his Impudence! I'm vex'd—
I'll marry my Revenge, but I will tame him. [Aside.

Petruchio.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me; Oh! the kindest Kate!
She hung about my Neck, and Kiss on Kiss,
She vy'd so fast, protesting Oath on Oath,
That in a Twink she won me to her Love.
Oh! you are Novices; 'tis a World to see
How tame, when Men and Women are alone—
Give me thy Hand, Kate, I will now away
To buy Apparel for my gentle Bride:
Father, provide the Feast, and bid the Guests.

Baptista.
What dost thou say, my Catharine? Give thy Hand.

Catharine.
Never to Man shall Cath'rine give her Hand:
Here 'tis, and let him take it, an' he dare.

Petruchio.
Were it the Fore-foot of an angry Bear,
I'd shake it off; but as it is Kate's, I kiss it.

Catharine.
You'll kiss it closer, e'er our Moon be wain'd.—

Baptista.
Heav'n send you Joy, Petruchio—'tis a Match.

Petruchio.
Father, and Wife, adieu. I must away,
Unto my Country-house, and stir my Grooms,
Scower their Country-rust, and make 'em fine,
For the Reception of my Catharine.
We will have Rings, and Things, and fine Array,
To-morrow, Kate, shall be our Wedding-day. [Exit. Petruchio.

Baptista.
Well, Daughter, tho' the Man be somewhat wild,
And thereto frantic, yet his Means are great;
Thou hast done well to seize the first kind Offer,
For by thy Mother's Soul 'twill be the last.

Catharine.
My Duty, Sir, hath followed your Command.

Baptista.
Art thou in Earnest? Hast no Trick behind?
I'll take thee at thy Word, and send t'invite
My Son-in-law, Hortensio, and thy Sister.
And all our Friends to grace thy Nuptials, Kate. [Exit. Baptista.

Catharine.
Why yes; Sister Bianca now shall see
The poor abandon'd Cath'rine, as she calls me,
Can hold her Head as high, and be as proud,
And make her Husband stoop unto her Lure,

As she, or e'er a Wife in Padua.
As double as my Portion be my Scorn;
Look to your Seat, Petruchio, or I throw you.
Cath'rine shall tame this Haggard;—or if she fails,
Shall tye her Tongue up, and pare down her Nails. [Exit. Catharine.

ACT. II. Enter BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, CATHARINE, BIANCA and Attendants.

Baptista.
Signior Hortensio, this is the 'pointed Day,
That Cath'rine and Petruchio should be married;
And yet we hear not of our Son-in-law.
What will be said? what Mockery will it be,
To want the Bridegroom when the Priest attends
To speak the ceremonial Rites of Marriage?
What says Hortensio to this Shame of ours?

Catharine.
No Shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my Hand oppos'd against my Heart,
Unto a mad-brain Rudesby, full of Spleen,
Who woo'd in Haste, and means to wed at Leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick Fool,
Hiding his bitter Jests in blunt Behaviour:
And to be noted for a merry Man,
He'll wooe a Thousand, 'point the Day of Marriage,
Make Friends, invite; yea, and proclaim the Banes,
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now muse the World point at poor Catharine,

And say, lo! there is mad Petruchio's Wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.

Bianca.
Such hasty Matches seldom end in Good.

Hortensio.
Patience, good Cath'rine, and Bianca too;
Upon my Life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever Fortune stays him from his Word;
Tho' he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

Catharine.
Wou'd I had never seen his Honesty.—
Oh! I could tear my Flesh for very Madness. [Exit. Catharine.

Baptista.
Follow your Sister, Girl, and comfort her. [Exit. Bianca.
I cannot blame thee now to weep and rage,
For such an Injury would vex a Saint;
Much more a Shrew of thy impatient Humour.—

Hortensio.
Was ever Match clapt up so suddenly!

Baptista.
Hortensio; faith I play a Merchant's Part,
And venture madly on a desp'rate Mart.

Hortensio.
'Twas a Commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you Gain, or perish on the Seas.

Baptista.
The Gain I seek is Quiet in the Match.

Hortensio.
No doubt Petruchio's got a quiet Catch. Enter BIONDELLO.

Biondello.
Master, Master, News; and such News as you never heard of.

Baptista.

Is Petruchio come?

Biondello.

Why no, Sir.

Baptista.

What then?

Biondello.

He is coming; but how? Why in a new Hat, and an old Jerkin; a Pair of old Breeches, thrice turned; a Pair of Boots that have been Candle Cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rusty Sword, ta'en out of the Town Armory, with a broken Hilt, and chapeless, with two broken Points; his Horse hip'd with an old mothy Saddle, the Stirrups of no Kindred; besides possess'd with the Glanders, and like to mose in the Chine, troubled with the Lampasse, infected with the Farcy, full of Windgalls, sped with

Spavins, raied with the Yellows, past Cure of the Fives, stark spoiled with the Staggers, be-gnawn with the Bots, waid in the Back, and Shoulder shotten, near legg'd before, and with a half check'd Bit; and a Head-stall of Sheep-leather, which being restrained, to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with Knots, one girt six Times piec'd, and a Woman's Crupper of Velure, which hath two Letters for her Name, fairly set down in Studs, and here and there piec'd with Pack-thread.

Baptista.

Who comes with him?

Biondello.

O Sir, his Laquey, for all the World caparison'd like the Horse, with a Linnen Stock on one Leg, and a Kersey Boot Hose on the other, gartered with a Red and Blue List, an old Hat, and the Humour of forty Fancies prick'd upon it for a Feather; a Monster! a very Monster in Apparel, and not like a Christian Foot-Boy, or a Gentleman's Lacquey.

Baptista
I am glad he's come, howsoever he comes. Enter PETRUCHIO, and GRUMIO, fantastically habited.

Petruchio.
Come, where be these Gallants? Who is at Home?

Baptista.
You're welcome, Sir.

Petruchio.
Well am I come then, Sir.

Baptista.
Not so well 'parell'd as I wish you were.

Petruchio.
Why were it better, I should rush in thus:
But where is Kate? where is my lovely Bride?
How does my Father? Gentles, methinks you frown:
And wherefore gaze this goodly Company?
As if they saw some wond'rous Monument,
Some Comet, or unusual Prodigy?

Baptista.
Why, Sir, you know this is your Wedding-Day,
First, we were sad, fearing you would not come,
Now sader, that you come so unprovided,
Fye! doff this Habit, Shame to your Estate;
An Eye-sore to our solemn Festival.

Hortensio.
And tell us what Occasion of Import
Hath all so long detained you from your Wife.
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

Petruchio.
Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:
Let it suffice, I'm come to keep my Word;
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;

The Morning wears; 'tis Time we were at Church.

Hortensio.
See not your Bride in these unreverent Robes;
Go to my Chamber, put on Cloaths of mine.

Petruchio.
Not I, believe me, thus I'll visit her.

Baptista.
But thus I trust you will not marry her.

Petruchio.
Goodsooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with Words;
To me she's married, not unto my Cloaths:
Could I repair what she will wear in me,
As I could change these poor Accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.
But what a Fool am I to chat with you,
When I should bid Good-morrow to my Bride,
And seal the Title with a lovely Kiss?
What ho! my Kate! my Kate! [Exit. Pet.

Hortensio.
He hath some Meaning in this mad Attire:
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better e're he go to Church.

Baptista.
I'll after him, and see the Event of this. [Exeunt all but Grumio.

Grumio.

He's gone swearing to Church with her. I wou'd sooner have led her to the Gallows. If he can but hold it, 'tis well—And if I know

any Thing of myself and Master, no two Men were ever born with such Qualities to tame Women.— When Madam goes home, we must look for another-guise Master than we have had. We shall see old Coil between 'em.—If I can spy into Futurity a little, there will be much Clatter among the Moveables, and some Practice for the Surgeons. By this the Parson has given 'em his Licence to fall together by the Ears.

Pedro.

Grumio, your Master bid me find you out, and speed you to his Country House, to prepare for his Reception, and if he finds not Things as he expects 'em, according to the Directions that he gave you, you know, he says, what follows: This Message he delivered before his Bride, ev'n in her Way to Church, and shook his Whip in Token of his Love.

Grumio.

I understand it, Sir, and will convey the same Token to my Horse immediately, that he may take to his Heels, in order to save my Bones, and his own Ribs.

Pedro.
So odd a Master, and so fit a Man,
Were never seen in Padua before. Enter BIONDELLO.
Now, Biondello, came you from the Church?

Biondello.
As willingly as e'er I came from School.

Pedro.
And is the Bride, and Bridegroom coming home?

Biondello.
A Bridegroom say you? 'tis a Groom indeed;
A grumbling Groom, and that the Girl shall find.

Pedro.
Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

Biondello.
Why, he's a Devil; a Devil! a very Fiend!

Pedro.
Why she's a Devil; a Devil! the Devil's Dam.

Biondello.
Tut! she's a Lamb, a Dove, a Fool to him:
I'll tell you, Brother Pedro, when the Priest
Should ask if Catharine should be his Wife?
Aye, by Gogs-Wounds, quoth he, and swore so loud,
That all amaz'd the Priest let fall his Book;
And as he stoop'd again to take it up,
This mad-brain'd Bridegroom took him such a Cuff,
That down fell Priest and Book, and Book and Priest.
Now take them up, quoth he, if any list.

Pedro.
What said the Wench, when he rose up again?

Biondello.
Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore,
As if the Vicar went to cozen him.
But after many Ceremonies done,
He calls for Wine; a Health, quoth he, as if
H'ad been aboard carousing to his Mates
After a Storm; quafft of the Muscadel,
And threw the Sops all in the Sexton's Face;
Having no other Cause, but that his Beard
Grew thin and hungerly, and seem'd to ask
His Sops, as he was drinking. This done, he took
The Bride about the Neck, and kiss'd her Lips
With such a clamorous Smack, that at the Parting
All the Church echo'd; and I seeing this,
Came thence for very Shame; and after me
I know the Rout is coming:
Such a mad Marriage never was before— [Musick.
Hark, hark, I hear the Minstrels play. Enter PETRUCHIO (singing) CATHARINE, BIANCA, HORTENSIO, and BAPTISTA.

Petruchio.
Gentlemen and Friends, I thank you for your Pains;
I know you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepar'd great Store of Wedding-Cheer;
But so it is, my Haste doth call me hence;
And therefore, here I mean to take my Leave.

Baptista.
Is't possible you will away To-night?

Petruchio.
I must away To-day, before Night come.
Make it no wonder, if you knew my Business,
You would intreat me rather go than stay;
And honest Company, I thank you all,
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet and virtuous Wife:
Dine with my Father, drink a Health to me,
For I must hence, and farewell to you all.

Hortensio.
Let me intreat you, stay till after Dinner.

Petruchio.
It may not be.

Biondello.
Let me intreat you, that my Sister stay;
I come on Purpose to attend the Wedding;
And pass this Day in Mirth and Festival.

Petrucio.
It cannot be.

Catharine.
Let me intreat you.

Petruchio.
I am content.—

Catharine.
Are you content to stay?

Petruchio.
I am content, you shall intreat my Stay;
But yet not stay, intreat me how you can.

Catharine.
Now if you love me stay.

Petruchio.
My Horses, there; what ho, my Horses, there—

Catharine.
Nay then,
Do what thou can'st, I will not go To-day;
No, nor To-morrow, nor 'till I please myself.
The Door is open, Sir, there lies your Way;
You may be jogging, while your Boots are green.
For me, I'll not go, 'till I please myself;
'Tis like you'll prove a Jolly surly Groom,
To take it on you at the first so roundly.

Baptista.
O Kate content thee; pr'ythee be not angry.

Catharine.
I will be angry; what hast thou to do;
Father be quiet, he shall stay my Leisure.

Hortensio.
Ay, marry, Sir, Now it begins to work:

Catharine.
Gentlemen, forward to the bridal Dinner.
I see a Woman may be made a Fool,
If she had not a Spirit to resist.

Petruchio.
They shall go forward, Kate, at thy Command.
Obey the Bride, you that attend on her:
Go to the Feast, revel and domineer;
Carouse full Measure to her Maidenhead;
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves;
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret,
I will be Master of what is mine own;
She is my Goods, my Chattles; she is my House,
My Houshold-stuff, my Field, my Barn,
My Horse, my Ox, my Ass, my any-thing;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
I'll bring my Action on the proudest he,
That stops my Way in Padua; Petruchio,
Draw forth thy Weapon, thou'art beset with Thieves;
Rescue thy Wife then, if thou be a Man;
Fear not sweet Wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate;
I'll buckler thee against a Million, Kate. [Exuent Pet. and Cath.

Baptista.
Nay, let them go, a Couple of quiet Ones.

Hortensio.
Of all mad Matches never was the like.
What's your Opinion of your gentle Sister?

Bianca.
That being mad herself, she's madly matched.

Baptista.
Neighbours and Friends, tho' Bride and Bridegroom want
For to supply the Places at the Table;
You know there wants no Junkets at the Feast:
Hortensio, you, supply the Bridegroom's Place,
And let Bianca take her Sster's Room.

Bianca.
My Sister's Room! were I in her's indeed,
This Swaggerer shou'd repent his Insolence. [Exeunt Om. Enter GRUMIO.

Grumio.

Fie, fie on all Jades, and all mad Masters, and all foul Ways! Was ever Man so beaten? Was ever Man so raide! was ever Man so weary? I am sent before to make a Fire, and they are coming after to warm them: Now were I not a little Pot, and soon hot, my very Lips might freeze to my Teeth, my Tongue to the Roof of my Mouth, my Heart in my Belly, e're I should come by a Fire, to thaw me, but I with blowing the Fire shall warm myself, for considering the Weather, a taller Man than I will take Cold: Holla, hoa, Curtis!

Enter CURTIS.

Curtis.

Who is it that calls so coldly?

Grumio.

A piece of Ice. If thou doubt it, thou may'st slide from my Shoulder to my Heel, with no greater a Run but my Head and my Neck. A Fire, good Curtis.

Curtis.

Is my Master and his Wife coming, Grumio?

Grumio.

Oh, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore, Fire, Fire, cast on no Water.

Curtis.

Is she so hot a Shrew as she's reported?

Grumio.

She was, good Curtis, before the Frost; but thou know'st Winter tames Man, Woman, and Beast, for it hath tam'd my old Master, and my new Mistress, and my self, Fellow Curtis.

Curtis.

Away, you thick-pated Fool, I am no Beast.

Grumio.

Where's the Cook? Is Supper ready, the House trim'd, Rushes strew'd, Cobwebs swept,

the Serving-men in their new Fustian, their white Stockings, and every Officer his Wedding-garments on? Be the Jack's fair within, the Jill's fair without, Carpets laid, and every Thing in Order?

Curtis.

All ready: and therefore, I pray thee, what News?

Grumio.

First know my Horse is tired, my Master and Mistress fall'n out.

Curtis.

How?

Grumio.

Out of their Saddles into the Dirt; and thereby hangs a Tale.

Curtis.

Let's ha't good Grumio.

Grumio.

Lend thine Ear.

Curtis.

Here.

Grumio.

There.

Curtis.

This is to feel a Tale, not to hear a Tale.

Grumio.

And therefore is call'd a sensible Tale: And this Cuff was but to knock at your Ear, and beseech listning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul Hill, my Master riding behind my Mistress.—

Curtis.

Both on one Horse?

Grumio.

What's that to thee? tell thou the Tale. But had'st thou not crost me, thou should'st have heard how her Horse fell, and she under her Horse, thou should'st have heard in how miry a Place, how she was bemoild, how he left her with the Horse upon her, how he beat me because her Horse stumbled, how she waded through the Dirt to pluck him off me; how he swore, how she pray'd, that never pray'd before! how I cry'd, how the Horses ran away, how her Bridle was burst, how I lost my Crupper; how my Mistress lost her Slippers, tore and bemit'd her Garments, limp'd to the Farm-house, put on Rebecca's old Shoes and Petticoat; with many Things worthy of Memory, which now shall die in Oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to thy Grave.

Curtis.

By this Reckoning he is more Shrew than she.

Grumio.

Ay, for the Nonce—and that, thou and the proudest of you all shall find, when he come home. But what talk I of this? call forth Nathaniel, Joseph,

Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest: let their Heads be sleek-comb'd, their blue Coats brush'd, and their Garters of an indifferent Knit; let them curt'sy with their left Legs, and not presume to touch a Hair of my Master's Horse Tail, till they kiss their Hands. Are they all ready?

Curtis.

They are.

Grumio.

Call them forth.

Curtis.

Do you hear, ho! Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, &c. Where are you?

Nathaniel.

Welcome home, Grumio.

Philip.

How now, Grumio?

Peter.

What, Grumio!

Nicholas.

Fellow Grumio!

Nathaniel.

How now, old Lad!

Grumio.

Welcome you; how now, you; what you; Fellow you; and thus much for greeting. Now,

my spruce Companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

Nathaniel.

All things are ready, how near is our Master?

Grumio.

E'en at Hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not—Cock's Passion Silence, I hear my Master.