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Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred fhun your

house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. Oh, 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 mufick? hark, Apollo plays ; [Mufick. And twenty caged nightingales do fing. Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch, Softer and sweeter than the luftful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say, thou wilt walk, we will bestrow 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.

1 Man. Say, thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are

as swift

As breathed ftags ; ay, feeter than the roe. 2 Man. Dost thou love pictures ? we will fetch thee

strait
Adonis, painted by a running brook ;
And Citħerea all in sedges hid ;
Which seem to move, and wanton with her breath,
Ev'n as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll shew thee To, as she was a maid,
And how she was beguiled and surprised,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs, that one fall swear the bleeds :
And at that fight shall fad Apollo weep:
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord :
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waining age.

1 Man. And 'till the tears, that she hath shed for

thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world,
And yet she 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 sleep ; I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet 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'th' smallest ale.
2 Man. Will’t please your Mightiness to wash your

hands?
Oh, how we joy to see your wits 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 tho' you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door,
And rail'd upon the Hostess of the house ;
And say, you would present her at the Leet,
Because the bought ftone-jugs, and no seal'd quarts :
Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no house ; nor no such

maid ;
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up;
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends !
All. Amen.

Sly. By th' Mafs, I think I am a Lord indeed.
What is thy name?

Man.

man.

Man. Sim, an't please your Honour.

Sly. Sim? that's as much as to say, Simeon or Simon put forth thy hand and fill the pot.

[The servant gives hin drink. Enter Lady, with Attendants. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Lady. How fares my noble Lord ?

Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough. Where's my wife ?

Lady. Here, noble Lord, what is thy will with her?

Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men should call me lord, I am your good

Lady. My husband and my lord, my Lord and hos band; I am your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well : what must I call her?

ord. Madam. Sly. Alce madam, or Yoan madam ? Lord. Madam, and nothing else, fo lords call ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee.. Sim, drink to her

. Madam wife, they fay, that I have dream'd, and lept above fome fifteen years and more.

Lady. Ay, and the time seems 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. Sim, drink to her.

Lady. Thrice-noble Lord, let me entreat of you, To pardon me yet for a night or two: Or, if not so, until the sun be set; For your Physicians have exprefly charg'd, In peril to incur your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your I hope, this reason stands for my excuse. Sly. Ay, it stands fo, that I may hardly tarry

fo long ; but I would be loath to fall into my dream again: I will therefore tarry in despight of the flesh and the blood.

Enter

bed ;

Enter a Messenger.

Mell. Your Honour's Players, hearing your amend

ment, re come to play a pleasant Comedy ; or fo your Doctors hold it very meet, eeing too much sadness hath congeald your blood; nd melancholy is the nurse of frenzy. 'herefore, they thought it good you hear a play, nd frame your mind to mirth and merriment; Vhich bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life.

Sly. Marry, I will ; let them play ; is it not a Comlodity ? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick?

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 see't: come, Madam wife, fit by ny fide, and let the world slip, we shall ne'er be lounger.

Tbe

The TAMING of the SHREW.

A C T I.

SCENE, a Street in PADUA,

Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

LUCENT I O.
Rranio, fince for the great desire I had

To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arriv'd from fruitful Lombardy, (6)
The pleasant garden of great Italy;
And, by my father's love and leave, am

arm'd
With his good-will, and thy good company :
Moit trusty servant, well approv'd in all,
Here let us breathe, and haply institute
A course cof learning, and ingenious studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
Gave me my Being ; and my

father first,
A merchant of great traffick through the world :
Vincentio's come of the Bentivolii,
Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence,

(6) I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,] Tho' all the In préstions concur in this, I take it to be a Blunder of the Editors, and not of the Author. Padua is not in Lombardı; but Pisa, from which Lucentio comes, is really in those Territories

. It

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