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THE

TAMING of the SHREW.

INDUCTION. SCENE, before an Aleboufe on a Heath.

Enter Hoftefs and Sly.

SLY.

'LL pheese you, in faith.

Hoft. A pair of ftocks, you rogue ! Siy. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues. Look in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror, therefore, paucus

pallabris; (1) let the world flide: Seffa.

Hoft. You will not pay for the glaffes you have burft ? Sly. No, not a deniere: go by Jeronimo.

to thy cold bed, and warm thee. (2)

go

Hoft.

(1) paucus pallabris.] Sly, as an ignorant Fellow, is purposely made to aim at Languages out of his Knowledge, and knock the words out of Joint. The Spaniards fay, pocas palabras, i. e. few words: as they do likewife, Cella, i. e. be quiet.

(2) Go by S. Jeronimy, go to thy cold Bed, and warm thee.] All the Editions have coined a Saint here, for Sly to wear by.

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Hoft. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the Thirdborough. (3)

4

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll anfwer him by law; I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly.

[Falls afleep.

But the Poet had no fuch Intentions. The Paffage has particular Humour in it, and must have been very pleafing at that time of day. But I must clear up a Piece of Stage hiftory, to make it underflood. There is a fuftian old Play, called, Hieronymo; Or, The Spanish Tragedy: which, I find, was the common Butt "of Pallery to all the Poets of Shakespeare's Time: and a Paffage, that appeared very ridiculous in that Play, is here humorously alluded to. Hieronymo, thinking himself injured, applies to the King for Juftice; but the Courtiers, who did not defire his Wrongs fhould be fet in a true Light, attempt to hinder him from an Audience.

Hiero. Juftice, ob! juftice to Hieronymo,

Lor. Back;- -fee'ft thou not, the King is buy?
Hiero. Oh, is be fo?

King. Who is He, that interrupts our Business?

Hiero. Not I:

- Hieronymo, beware; go by, go by.. So Sly here, not caring to be dun'd by the Hoftefs, cries to her in Effect," Don't be troublefom, don't interrupt me, go by;" and, to fix the Satire in his Allufion, pleasantly calls her Fero

nymo.

(3)

I must go fetch the Headborough.

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth Borough, &c.] This corrupt. Reading had paffed down through all the Copies, and none of the Editors pretended to guefs at the Poet's Conceit. What an infipid, unmeaning Reply does Sly make to his Hoftefs? How do third, or fourth, or fifib Borough relate to Headborough: The Author intended but a poor Witticifm, and even that is loft. The Hofiefs would fay, that he'll fetch a Conflable: and this Officer the calls by his other Name, a Third-borough: and upon this Term Sly founds the Conundrum in his Answer to her. Who does not, perceive, at a fingle glance, fome Conceit ftarted by this certain Correction? There an Attempt at Wit, tolerable enough for a Tinker, and one drunk too. Third-borough is a Saxon-term fufficiently explained by the Gloffaries and in our Statute books, po farther back than the 28th Year of Henry VIIIth, we find it used to fignify a. Confable.

Wind borns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with a Train.

Lord. Huntfman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds; (Brach, Merriman! the poor cur is imboft ;) And couple Clowder with the deep'd-mouth'd Brach. Saw'ft thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge-corner in the coldeft fault? I would not lofe the dog for twenty pound. Hun Why, Belman is a good as he, my He cried upon it at the meereft lofs, And twice o day pick'd out the dullest scent: Trust me, ake him for the better dog.

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Lord:

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Eccho were as fleet,

I would efteem him worth a dozen fuch.
But fup 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? fee, doth be breathe?

2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold, to fleep fo foundly.

Lord. O monftrous beaft! how like a fwine he lies t Grim death, how foul and loathfome is thy image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapt in fweet cloaths; rings put upon his fingers;
A moft 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 chufe. 2 Hun. It would feem flrange unto him, when he wak'd. Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jeft: Carry him gently to my faireft chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;
Balm his foul head with warm diftilled waters,
And burn fweet wood to make the lodging fweet.
Produce me mufick ready, when he wakes,

To

To make a dulcet and a heav'nly found;
And if he chance to speak, be ready ftraight,
And with a low fubmiffive reverence

Say, what is it your Honour will command?
Let one attend him with a filver bafon
Full of rofe water, and beftrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer; a third a diaper;

And fay, will't please your lordship cool your hands?
Some one be ready with a coftly fuit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his Lady mourns at his disease ;
Perfuade him, that he hath been lunatick.
And when he fays he is,fay, that he dreams;
For he is nothing but a mighty lord:
This do, and do it kindly, gentle Sirs:
It will be paftime paffing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modefty.

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· Hun. My Lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, As he fhall think, by our true diligence,

He is no less than what we fay he is.

Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him; And each one to his Office, when he wakes...

Sound Trumpets.

[Some bear out Sly. Sirrah, go fee what trumpet is that founds. Belike, fome noble gentleman that means, Travelling fome journey, to repofe 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.

Now, Fellows, you are welcome.

Play. We thank your Honour.

[Ex. Servant.

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

2 Play. So please your Lordship to accept our duty.

Lord.

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest fon:
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman fo well:
I have forgot your name; but, fure, that part
Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd.

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Sim. I think, 'twas Soto that your Honour means. (4)
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 affift me much.
There is a Lord will hear you play to-night;
But I am doubtful of your modefties,
Left, over-eying of his odd Behaviour,
(For yet his honour never heard a play,)
You break into some merry passion,
And fo offend him for I tell you, Sirs,
If you fhould fmile, he grows impatient.

Play. Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourfelves

Were he the verieft antick in the world.

2 Play. [to the other.] Go get a Dishclout to make clean your shoes, and I'll fpeak for the properties.

[Exit Player. My lord, we must have a fhoulder of mutton for a property, and a little vinegar to make our devil roar. Lord. Go, firrah, take them to the buttery. And give them friendly welcome, every one: Let them want nothing that the house affords.

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[Exit one with the Players. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, And fee him dreft in all fuits like a lady. That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,

(4) I think, 'twas Soto.] I take our Author here to be paying a Compliment to Beaumont and Fletcher's Women pleas'd, in which Comedy there is the Character of Soto, who is a Farmer's Son, Mr. Rowe and Mr. Pope and a very facetious Serving-man.

prefix the Name of Sim to the Line here fpoken; but the first folio has it Sincklo; which, no doubt, was the Name of one of the Players here introduced, and who had played the Part of Soto with Applaufe.

And

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