A Lord.

Christopher Sly, a drunken tinker. Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and other servants attending on the Lord.

Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua.
Vincentio, an old gentleman of Pisa.

Persons in

the Induc

tion.

Lucentio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katharina.

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio.

Scene, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country.

To the Original Play of The Taming of a Shrew, entered on the Stationers' books in 1594, and printed in quarto in 1607.

A Lord, &c.

Sly,

A Tapster.

Page, Players, Huntsmen, &c.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Alphonsus, a merchant of Athens.

Jerobel, Duke of Cestus.

Aurelius, his son,

Ferando,

Polidor,

suitors to the daughters of

Alphonsus.

Valeria, servant to Aurelius.

Sander, servant to Ferando.

Phylotus, a merchant who personates the Duke.

TAMING

OF

THE SHREW.

INDUCTION.

SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath.

Enter Hostess and Sly.

Sly.

I'LL pheese you, in faith.

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues: Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris†; let the world slide: Sessa ‡!

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have bursts?

Sly. No, not a denier: Go by, says Jeronimy ;Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Beat or knock.

+ Few words.

Be quiet.

Broke.

This line and the scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from an old play called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy.

Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the thirdborough*.

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

[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.

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

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:

Bracht 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.

1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. 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;
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

1 Hun. I will my lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

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

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord. 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,

An officer whose authority equals a constable.
Strained,

+ Bitch.