PLOT AND CHARACTERS.

THE history of the early drama of England involves a great many curious questions, that may be called literary mysteries. One of these is the origin of 'The Taming of the Shrew.' Without entering upon the question of its date, which involves several nice considerations, it may be sufficient to regard it as a rival-or it may be, in some respects, a copy-of another play, which has come down to us, called 'The Taming of a Shrew.' Some hold that this drama of 'a Shrew,' was written by Greene; others, by Marlowe. There are decided resemblances to the style of each of these writers throughout that old play; and it has been satisfactorily shown, by an American correspondent of 'The Pictorial Shakspere,' that there are many passages in Marlowe's undoubted works which contain lines and images that are also found in that play. The conjectural opinion of the present editor is, that there was an older play than either "The Taming of a Shrew,' or 'The Taming of the Shrew,' which gave the groundwork of the plot and characters to both writers. Shakspere, with his natural facility, has produced a composition so infinitely superior to what might have been the work of a rival, that the examination of the two plays offers a very instructive example of the nature of his powers, in comparison with those of some other poet, not deficient in genius of a certain order, but wanting those higher feelings of art which belong to the great master of dramatic invention and expression.

The outline of the 'Induction' to 'The Taming of the Shrew,' is found in the other play. But how rude is the drawing, how feeble and flashy the colouring, compared with the work of Shakspere! There are the same characters in each 'Induction '-Sly, a Lord, a Page. The 'Tapster' of a Shrew' is transformed into the Hostess of the Shrew.' Hazlitt has justly said, that the Sly of Shakspere reminds us

of Sancho Panza. The Sly of the other Induction is nothing but a vulgar tinker. Throughout the Comedy itself we trace the same process of improvement in the characterisation. The Kate of Shakspere has a violent temper, and a "scolding tongue;" but she is not coarse and thoroughly unfeminine as her predecessor. Shakspere's Petrucio gives us the assurance that his character is assumed; Ferando, the type of Petrucio, is a sort of natural bully, unworthy of any woman. Shakspere's Grumio is a clown after the exquisite fashion of Launce and Touchstone. His original, Sander, is one of the stupid and low buffoons of the early stage, that Shakspere transformed into the most clever of humorists. There cannot be a doubt that the later author had the original play before him; that he sometimes adopted particular images and forms of expression,-occasionally whole lines; but that he invariably took the incidents of those scenes in which the process of taming the shrew is carried forward. There can only be one solution of the motives which led to this bold adaptation of the performance of another, and that not a contemptible production like 'The Famous Victories' upon which 'Henry IV.' and 'Henry V.' may be said to have been founded. Shakspere found the old 'Taming of a Shrew' a favourite, in its rude mirth and high-sounding language; and in presenting a nearly similar plot to the audience at his own theatre, he was careful not to disturb their recollections of what had afforded them the principal entertainment in what he had to re-model. Infinitely more spirited and characteristic was the drama which he produced; but it would leave the same impressions as the older play upon the majority of his audience.

We subjoin two parallel passages from each play; the first from the Induction, when Sly is in the Lord's mansion:—

ANONYMOUS AUTHOR.

LORD. How now? what is all things ready?

ONE. Yea, my lord.

LORD. Then sound the music, and I'll wake him straight,

And see you do as erst I gave in charge.

My lord, my lord, he sleeps soundly, my lord.

SLY. Tapster, give 's a little small ale: heigh-ho.

LORD. Here's wine, my lord, the purest of the grape.

SLY. For which lord?

LORD. For your honour, my lord.

SLY. Who, I? Am I a lord? Jesus, what fine apparel have I got !
LORD. More richer far your honour hath to wear,

And if it please you I will fetch them straight.
WIL. And if your honour please to rise abroad,
I'll fetch your lusty steeds more swift of pace
Than winged Pegasus in all his pride,

That ran so swiftly over Persian plains.

Tом. And if your honour please to hunt the deer,
Your hounds stand ready coupled at the door,
Who in running will o'ertake the roe,

And make the long breath'd tiger broken-winded.
SLY. By the mass, I think I am a lord indeed.
What's thy name?

LORD. Simon, an if it please your honour.

SLY. Sim, that 's much to say Simion, or Simon, Put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

Give me thy hand, Sim; am I a lord indeed?

LORD. Ay, my gracious lord, and your lovely lady
Long time hath mourned for your absence here,
And now with joy behold where she doth come
To gratulate your honour's safe return.

SHAKSPERE.

SLY. What would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife 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 lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here 's

1 SERV. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.

2 SERV. O, 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.

O, 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 music? hark! Apollo plays,

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 bestrew 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.

The other parallel passage is from the Comedy; in the first Scene, between the Shrew and her wooer:

ANONYMOUS AUTHOR.

ALF. Ha, Kate, come hither, wench, and list to me:
Use this gentleman friendly as thou canst.

FER. Twenty good morrows to my lovely Kate.
KATE. You jest, I am sure; is she yours already?
FER. I tell thee, Kate, I know thou lov'st me well.
KATE. The devil you do! who told you so?
FER. My mind, sweet Kate, doth say I am the man,
Must wed, and bed, and marry bonny Kate.

KATE. Was ever seen so gross an ass as this?
FER. Ay, to stand so long, and never get a kiss.
KATE. Hands off, I say, and get you from this place;
Or I will set my ten commandments in your face.

FER. I prithee do, Kate; they say thou art a shrew,
And I like thee the better, for I would have thee so.
KATE. Let go my hand, for fear it reach your ear.
FER. No, Kate, this hand is mine, and I thy love.
KATE. I'faith, sir, no, the woodcock wants his tail.
FER. But yet his bill will serve if the other fail.
ALF. How now, Ferando? what, my daughter?
FER. She's willing, sir, and loves me as her life.
KATE. 'Tis for your skin, then, but not to be your wife.
ALF. Come hither, Kate, and let me give thy hand
To him that I have chosen for thy love,

And thou to-morrow shalt be wed to him.

KATE. Why, father, what do you mean to do with me,
To give me thus unto this brainsick man,
That in his mood cares not to murder me
And yet I will consent and marry him,

(For I, methinks, have liv'd too long a maid,)

And match him too, or else his manhood's good.

ALF. Give me thy hand; Ferando loves thee well, And will with wealth and ease maintain thy state. Here, Ferando, take her for thy wife,

And Sunday next shall be our wedding-day.

SHAKSPERE.

PET. Good-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

[Aside.

KATH. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing; They call me-Katharine, that do talk of me.

PET. 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,
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates; and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ;-
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

KATH. 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.

BAP. Now, Signior Petrucio: How speed you with my daughter? PET. How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAP. Why how now, daughter Katharine? in your dumps?
KATH. Call you me daughter? now I promise you,
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,

To wish me wed to one half lunatic;

A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,

That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

PET. Father, 't is 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 have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.