I’ll pheeze you, in faith.

A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Y’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we

came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the

world slide. Sessa!

You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm

thee.

I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.

Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not

budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.

Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.

Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d,

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.

Saw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good

At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

Why, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;

He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice today pick’d out the dullest scent;

Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,

I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

But sup them well, and look unto them all;

Tomorrow I intend to hunt again.

I will, my lord.

[_Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey’d to bed,

Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,

A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,

Would not the beggar then forget himself?

Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.

Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.

Then take him up, and manage well the jest.

Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;

Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters,

And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.

Procure me music ready when he wakes,

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,

And with a low submissive reverence

Say ‘What is it your honour will command?’

Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’

Someone be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

And that his lady mourns at his disease.

Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;

And, when he says he is—say that he dreams,

For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,

As he shall think by our true diligence,

He is no less than what we say he is.

Take him up gently, and to bed with him,

And each one to his office when he wakes.

Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds.

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

How now! who is it?

An it please your honour, players

That offer service to your lordship.

Bid them come near.

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

We thank your honour.

Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

So please your lordship to accept our duty.

With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;

’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Was aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.

I think ’twas Soto that your honour means.

’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 assist me much.

There is a lord will hear you play tonight;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—

For yet his honour never heard a play,—

You break into some merry passion

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antick in the world.

Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

And give them friendly welcome everyone:

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,

And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;

That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,

And call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.

Tell him from me—as he will win my love,—

He bear himself with honourable action,

Such as he hath observ’d in noble ladies

Unto their lords, by them accomplished;

Such duty to the drunkard let him do,

With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

And say ‘What is’t your honour will command,

Wherein your lady and your humble wife

May show her duty and make known her love?’

And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,

And with declining head into his bosom,

Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d

To see her noble lord restor’d to health,

Who for this seven years hath esteemed him

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if the boy have not a woman’s gift

To rain a shower of commanded tears,

An onion will do well for such a shift,

Which, in a napkin being close convey’d,

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I’ll give thee more instructions.

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman;

I long to hear him call the drunkard husband;

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter

When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio.

Tranio, since for the great desire I had

To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,

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,

My trusty servant well approv’d in all,

Here let us breathe, and haply institute

A course of learning and ingenious studies.

Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,

Gave me my being and my father first,

A merchant of great traffic through the world,

Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii.

Vincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,

It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv’d,

To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:

And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,

Virtue and that part of philosophy

Will I apply that treats of happiness

By virtue specially to be achiev’d.

Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left

And am to Padua come as he that leaves

A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,

And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

_Mi perdonato_, gentle master mine;

I am in all affected as yourself;

Glad that you thus continue your resolve

To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.

Only, good master, while we do admire

This virtue and this moral discipline,

Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;

Or so devote to Aristotle’s checks

As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur’d.

Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,

And practise rhetoric in your common talk;

Music and poesy use to quicken you;

The mathematics and the metaphysics,

Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you:

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en;

In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.

If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,

We could at once put us in readiness,

And take a lodging fit to entertain

Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.

But stay awhile; what company is this?

Master, some show to welcome us to town.

Gentlemen, importune me no farther,

For how I firmly am resolv’d you know;

That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter

Before I have a husband for the elder.

If either of you both love Katherina,

Because I know you well and love you well,

Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.

To cart her rather: she’s too rough for me.

There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?

[_To Baptista_] I pray you, sir, is it your will

To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,

Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

I’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;

I wis it is not half way to her heart;

But if it were, doubt not her care should be

To comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,

And paint your face, and use you like a fool.

From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!

And me, too, good Lord!

Husht, master! Here’s some good pastime toward:

That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.

But in the other’s silence do I see

Maid’s mild behaviour and sobriety.

Peace, Tranio!

Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.

Gentlemen, that I may soon make good

What I have said,—Bianca, get you in:

And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,

For I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.

A pretty peat! it is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.

Sister, content you in my discontent.

Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:

My books and instruments shall be my company,

On them to look, and practise by myself.

Hark, Tranio! thou mayst hear Minerva speak.

Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?

Sorry am I that our good will effects

Bianca’s grief.

Why will you mew her up,

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,

And make her bear the penance of her tongue?

Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv’d.

Go in, Bianca.

And for I know she taketh most delight

In music, instruments, and poetry,

Schoolmasters will I keep within my house

Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,

Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,

Prefer them hither; for to cunning men

I will be very kind, and liberal

To mine own children in good bringing up;

And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;

For I have more to commune with Bianca.

Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What! shall I be appointed

hours, as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave?

Ha!

You may go to the devil’s dam: your gifts are so good here’s none will

hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our

nails together, and fast it fairly out; our cake’s dough on both sides.

Farewell: yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any

means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will

wish him to her father.

So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our

quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us

both,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be

happy rivals in Bianca’s love,—to labour and effect one thing

specially.

What’s that, I pray?

Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

A husband! a devil.

I say, a husband.

I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very

rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?

Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud

alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, and a man could

light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough.

I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition: to

be whipp’d at the high cross every morning.

Faith, as you say, there’s small choice in rotten apples. But come;

since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth

friendly maintained, till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter to a

husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to’t

afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets

the ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?

I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin

his wooing, that would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and

rid the house of her. Come on.

I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible

That love should of a sudden take such hold?

O Tranio! till I found it to be true,

I never thought it possible or likely;

But see, while idly I stood looking on,

I found the effect of love in idleness;

And now in plainness do confess to thee,

That art to me as secret and as dear

As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,

Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,

If I achieve not this young modest girl.

Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst:

Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.

Master, it is no time to chide you now;

Affection is not rated from the heart:

If love have touch’d you, nought remains but so:

Gramercies, lad; go forward; this contents;

The rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.

Master, you look’d so longly on the maid.

Perhaps you mark’d not what’s the pith of all.

O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,

Such as the daughter of Agenor had,

That made great Jove to humble him to her hand,

When with his knees he kiss’d the Cretan strand.

Saw you no more? mark’d you not how her sister

Began to scold and raise up such a storm

That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?

Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,

And with her breath she did perfume the air;

Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.

Nay, then, ’tis time to stir him from his trance.

I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,

Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:

Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd,

That till the father rid his hands of her,

Master, your love must live a maid at home;

And therefore has he closely mew’d her up,

Because she will not be annoy’d with suitors.

Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!

But art thou not advis’d he took some care

To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?

Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now ’tis plotted.

I have it, Tranio.

Master, for my hand,

Both our inventions meet and jump in one.

Tell me thine first.

You will be schoolmaster,

And undertake the teaching of the maid:

That’s your device.

It is: may it be done?

Not possible; for who shall bear your part

And be in Padua here Vincentio’s son;

Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends;

Visit his countrymen, and banquet them?

_Basta_, content thee, for I have it full.

We have not yet been seen in any house,

Nor can we be distinguish’d by our faces

For man or master: then it follows thus:

Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,

Keep house and port and servants, as I should;

I will some other be; some Florentine,

Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.

’Tis hatch’d, and shall be so: Tranio, at once

Uncase thee; take my colour’d hat and cloak.

When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;

But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.

So had you need.

In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,

And I am tied to be obedient;

For so your father charg’d me at our parting,

‘Be serviceable to my son,’ quoth he,

Although I think ’twas in another sense:

I am content to be Lucentio,

Because so well I love Lucentio.

Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves;

And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid

Whose sudden sight hath thrall’d my wounded eye.

Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?

Where have I been? Nay, how now! where are you?

Master, has my fellow Tranio stol’n your clothes?

Or you stol’n his? or both? Pray, what’s the news?

Sirrah, come hither: ’tis no time to jest,

And therefore frame your manners to the time.

Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,

Puts my apparel and my count’nance on,

And I for my escape have put on his;

For in a quarrel since I came ashore

I kill’d a man, and fear I was descried.

Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,

While I make way from hence to save my life.

You understand me?

I, sir! Ne’er a whit.

And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:

Tranio is changed to Lucentio.

The better for him: would I were so too!

So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,

That Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest daughter.

But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master’s, I advise

You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:

When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;

But in all places else your master, Lucentio.

Tranio, let’s go.

One thing more rests, that thyself execute,

To make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,

Sufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.

My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

Yes, by Saint Anne, I do. A good matter, surely: comes there any more

of it?

My lord, ’tis but begun.

’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would ’twere done!