Page images
PDF
EPUB

And dart not fcornefull glances from those eies,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy gouernour.
It blots thy beautie, as frofts doe bite the meades,
Confounds thy fame, as whirlewindes fhake faire budds,
And in no fence is meete or amiable.

A woman mou'd, is like a fountaine troubled,
Muddie, ill seeming thicke, bereft of beautie,
And while it is fo, none fo drie or thirstie
Will daigne to fip, or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy foueraigne: one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance. Commits his bodie
To painfull labour, both by fea and land:

To watch the night in ftormes, the day in cold,
Whilft thou ly'ft warme at home, fecure and fafe,
And craues no other tribute at thy hands,
But loue, fare lookes, and true obedience;
Too litle payment for fo great a debt.
Such dutie as the subject owes the prince,
Euen fuch a woman oweth to her husband:

And when she is froward, peeuifh, fullen, fower,
And not obedient to his honest will:
What is she but a foule contending rebell,
And gracelesse traitour to her louing lord?
I am afham'd that women are fo fimple,

To offer warre, where they should kneele for peace :
Or feeke for rule, fupremacie, and sway,

When they are bound to ferue, loue, and obay.
Why are our bodies foft, and weake, and smooth,
Vnapt to toyle, and trouble in the world,
But that our foft conditions and our harts.
Should well agree with our externall parts?

[blocks in formation]

Come, come, you froward and vnable wormes
My minde hath bin as bigge as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reafon haplie more,

To bandie word for word, and frowne for frowne;
But now I fee our launces are but strawes:

Our strength as weake, our weakneffe paft compare,
That feeming to be moft, which we indeed leaft are.
Then vale your ftomackes, for it is no boote,
And place your hands below your husbands foote:
In token of which dutie, if he please,

My hand is readie may it do him cafe.

Pet. Why ther's a wench: come on, and kiffe me Kate,
Luc. Well go thy wayes old lad for thou fhalt ha't.
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward.
Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward.
Pet. Come Kate, wee'l to bed,

We three are married, but you two are fped.
'Twas I won the wager though you hit the white.
And being a winner, God giue you good night.

Exit Petruchio. Hor. Now go thy wayes thou haft tam'd a curft shrow. Luc. 'Tis a wonder by your leaue, she will be tam'd fo.

FINI S.

His True Chronicle HISTORY

OF THE

LIFE and DEATH of

King Lear, and his Three Daughters.

WITH THE

Vnfortunate Life of EDGAR,

Sonne and Heire to the Earle of Glocefter, and his fullen and affumed Humour of Tom of Bedlam.

As it was plaid

Before the KING'S MAIESTY at White-Hall, vppon S. Stephens Night, in Chriftmas Hollidaies.

By his MAIESTIES Seruants, playing vfually at the Globe on the Banck-Side.

Printed for NATHANIEL BUTTER, 1608.

There is befides this Edition another of the fame Year, which (with that published by Jane Bell in 1655) is but a Copy from the First, and retains even the Printer's Errors.

M. WILLIAM SHAKE-SPEARE,

His HISTORY, of

KING LEAR.

I

Enter Kent, Glocester, and Baftard.

Kent.

Thought the king had more affected the duke of Albeney then Cornewall.

Gloft. It did alwaies feeme fo to vs, but now in the diuifion of the kingdomes, it appeares not which of the dukes he values most, for equalities are fo weighed, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moytie.

'Kent. Is not this your fonne, my lord?

Gloft. His breeding fir hath beene at my charge. I haue so often blusht to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd to it. Kent. I cannot conceiue you.

Gloft. Sir, this young fellowes mother could, whereupon fhe grew round wombed, and had indeed fir a fonne for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed, do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the iffue of it being

fo proper.

Gloft. But I haue fir a fonne by order of law, fome yeare elder then this, who yet is no deerer in my account, thogh this knaue came fomething fawcely into the world before he was fent for, yet was his mother faire, there was good sport at his making, and the whorefon must be acknowledged, do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

Baft. No my lord,

Gloft.

« PreviousContinue »