I Man. And, 'till the tears, that fhe hath fhed for thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the faireft creature in the world;
And yet fhe 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 fleep: I fee, I hear, I fpeak;
I fmell fweet favours, and I feel foft things:-
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;

And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.—
Well, bring our lady hither to our fight;
And once again, a pot o' the fmallest 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, 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?

1 Man. Oh, yes, my lord; but very idle words :-
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hoftefs of the house;

And fay, you would prefent her at the 2 leet,
Because she brought ftone-jugs, and no feal'd quarts:
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, fir, you know no house, nor no such maid; Nor fo fuch men, as you have reckon'd up,

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps o' the green,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell;

2 leet,]-court leet.

2

a of Greece.

And

And twenty more fuch 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. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants.

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 fhould 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 muft I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam?

Lord. Madam, and nothing elfe; fo lords call ladies. Sly. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and

Лlept

Above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time feems 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.

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 exprefsly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I fhould yet abfent me from your
I hope, this reafon ftands for my excufe.

bed:

Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry so long.

But.

But I would be loth to fall into my dreams again; I will therefore tarry, in defpight of the flesh and the blood.

Enter a Messenger.

Meff. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy,

For fo 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 monty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick.

h

com

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 fee't: Come, madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip; we shall ne'er be younger.

ACT I. SCENE I

A Street in Padua.

Flourish. Enter Lucentio, and bis man Tranio.

Luc. Tranio, fince-for the great defire I had
To fee fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arriv'd in fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy;

And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd

b commodity-comedy.

With his good will, and thy good company,
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all;
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A courfe of learning, and ingenious studies.
Pifa, renowned for grave citizens,

Gave me my being, and my father firft,

A merchant of great traffick through the world,
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii.

с

Vincentio his fon, brought up in Florence,

d

It fhall become, to ferve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I ftudy,
Virtue, and that part of philofophy

с

Will I apply, that treats of happiness
By virtue specially to be atchiev'd.
Tell me thy mind: for I have Pifa left,
And am to Padua come; as he that leaves
A fhallow plafh, to plunge him in the deep,
And with fatiety feeks to quench his thirst.

Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle mafter mine,
I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your refolve,
To fuck the sweets of fweet philofophy.
Only, good mafter, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral difcipline,
Let's be no ftoicks, nor no ftocks, I pray;
Or fo devote to Ariftotle's ethicks,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd:
Talk logick with acquaintance that you have,
And practise rhetorick in your common talk;
Mufick, and poefy, ufe to quicken you;

The mathematicks, and the metaphyficks,

Fall to them, as you find your ftomach ferves you:
No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta’en ;-
In brief, fir, ftudy what you most affect.

Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well doft thou advise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come afhore,

We could at once put us in readiness;
And take a lodging, fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua fhall beget.

But stay a while: What company is this?

Tra. Mafter, fome fhow, to welcome us to town.

Enter Baptifta, with Katharina and Bianca. Gremio and
Hortenfio. Lucentio and Tranio ftand by.

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
For how I firmly am refolv'd you know;
That is, not to beftow my youngest daughter,
Before I have a husband for the elder:

If either of you both love Katharina,

Because I know you well, and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
Gre. To cart her rather: She's too rough for me:
There, there, Hortenfio, will you any wife?

Kath. I pray you, fir, is it your will

To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

Hor. Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for

you,

Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

Kath. I'faith, fir, you fhall never need to fear;

I-wis, it is not half way to her heart :

But, if it were, doubt not, her care fhall be

To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool,
And paint your face, and ufe you like a fool.

Hor. From all fuch devils, good Lord, deliver me!

Gre.