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And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, Should well agree with our external parts ? To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : Come, come, you froward and unable worms, It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads, My mind hath been as big as one of yours, Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds, My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more, And in no sense is meet or amiable.
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown; A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, But now, I see our lances are but straws, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty That seeming to be most, which we indeed least Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And place your hands below your husbands' foot : And for thy maintenance: commits his body In token of which duty, if he please, To painful labour, both by sea and land ;
My hand is ready, may it do him ease ! To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Pet. Why, there's a wench !—come on, and Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
kiss me, Kate. And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt But love, fair looks, and true obedience,
ha 't. Too little payment for so great a debt.
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
toward. Even such, a woman oweth to her husband :
Luc. But a harsh hearing when women And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
froward. And not obedient to his honest will,
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed :What is she, but a foul contending rebel,
We three are married, but you two are sped. And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; I am asham'd, that women are so simple
[To LUCENTIO To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; And being a winner, God give you good night ! Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATH. When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. HOR. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
shrew. Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world,
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,
· Then vail your stomachs,-) Abase your pride, your spirit. Thus, in “Henry IV." Part II. Act I. Sc. 1, we are told the bloody Douglas
" 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame
Of those that turn'd their backs." b Thou hast tam'd a curst shrew.) Shrew here was doubtless intended to be pronounced shrow. See Note (a), p. 271.
such a feast: carousses begin after the manner of the Country
* They serve him with very strong wine, good Hipocras, which hee swallowed downe in great draughts, and frequently redoubled; so that, charged with so many extraordinaryes, he yeelded to death's cousin german, sleep. ***
Then the right Duke, who had put himselfe among the throng of his Officers to have the pleasure of this* mummery, commanded that this sleeping man should be stript out of his bra ve cloathes, and cloathed againe in bis old ragges, and so sleeping carried and layd in the same place where he was taken up the night before. This was presently done, and there did he snort all the night long, not taking any hurt either from the hardnesse of the stones or the night ayre, so well was his stomacke filled with good preservatives. Being awakened in the morning by some passenger, or it may bee by some that the good Duke Philip had thereto appointed, ha! said he, my friends, what have you done? you have rob'd mee of a Kingdome, and have taken mee out of the sweetest, and happiest dreame that ever man could have fallen into. * * * Being returned home to his house, hee entertaines his wife, neighbours, and friends, with this his dreame, as hee thought. * *
In his adaptation of the foregoing incident to the purposes of the stage, the writer of the old play has displayed á knowledge of character and an appreciation of humour and effect which entitle him, perhaps, to higher commendation than he has yet received. His Induction opens thus :
(1) SCENE I.—The following is the story mentioned in the Preliminary Notice as the most probable source whence the author of the "Taming of a Shrew” derived the notion of his Prelude :
THE WAKING MAN'S DREAME. In the time that Phillip, Duke of Burgundy (who by the gentlenesse and curteousnesse of his carriage purchaste the name of Good,) guided the reines of the country of Flanders, this prince, who was of an humour pleasing, and full of judicious goodnesse, rather then silly simplicitie, used pastimes which for their singularity are commonly called the pleasures of Princes: after this manner he no lesse shewed the quaintnesse of his wit then his prudence.
Being in Bruxelles with all his Court, and having at his table discoursed amply enough of the vanities and greatnesse of this world, he let each one say his pleasure on this subject, whereon was alleadged grave sentences and rare examples: walking towards the evening in the towne, his head full of divers thoughts, he found a Tradesman lying in a corner sleeping very soundly, the fumes of Bacchus having surcharged his braine. He caused his men to carry away this sleeper, with whom, as with a blocke, they mighte doe what they would, without awaking him; he caused them to carry him into one of the sumptuousest parts of his Pallace, into a chamber most state-like furnished, and makes them lay him on a rich bed. They presently strip him of his bad cloathes, and put him on a very fine and cleane shirt, in stead of his own, which was foule and filthy. They let him sleepe in that place at his ease, and whilest hee settles his drinke the Duke prepares the pleasantest pastime that can be imagined.
In the morning, this drunkard being awake drawes the curtaines of this brave rich bed, sees himselfe in a chamber adorned like a Paradice, he considers the rich furniture with an amazement such as you may imagine: he beleeves not his eyes, but layes his finger on them, and feeling them open, yet perswades himselfe they are shut by sleep, and that all he sees is but a pure dreame.
Assoone as he was knowne to be awake, in comes the officers of the Dukes house, who were instructed by the Duke what they should do. There were pages bravely apparelled, Gentlemen of the chamber, Gentleman waiters, and the High Chamberlaine, who, all in faire order and without laughing, bring cloathing for this new guest: they honour him with the same great reverences as if hee were a Soveraigne Prince; they serve him bare headed, and aske him what suite hee will please to weare that day.
This fellow, affrighted at the first, beleeving these things to be inchantment or dreames, reclaimed by these submissions, tooke heart, and grew bold, and setting a good face on the matter, chused amongst all the apparell that they presented unto him that which he liked best, and which hee thought to be fittest for him: he is accommodated like a King, and served with such ceremonies, as he had never seene before, and yet beheld them without saying any thing, and with an assured countenance. This done, the greatest Nobleman in the Dukes Court enters the chamber with the same reverence and honour to him as if he had been their Soveraigne Prince. * * *
Being risen late, and dinner time approaching, they asked if he were pleased to have his tables covered. He likes that very well: *** he eates with the same ceremony which was observed at the Dukes meales, he made good cheere, and chawed with all his teeth, but only drank with more moderation than he could have wisht, but the Majesty which he represented made him refraine. All taken away, he was entertained with new and pleasant things: * * * they made him passe the afternoone in all kinds of sports: musicke, dancing, and a Comedy, spent some part of the time. **
Super time approaching, * * * he was led with sound of Trumpets and Hoboyes into a faire hall, where long Tables were set, which were presently covered with divers sorts of dainty meates, the Torches shined in every corner, and made a day in he midst of a night. * * * Never was the imaginary Duke at
“Enter a Tapster, beating out of his doores Slie Droonken.
Tapsler. You whorson droonken slaue, you had best be gone,
Slie. Tilly, vally, by crisee Tapster Ile fese you anon.
He fals asleepe.
Seruingman. My lord, tis nothing but a drunken sleepe,
Lord. Fie, how the slauish villaine stinkes of drinke.
(2) SOENE II.-Enter Lord, dressed like a servant.] Compare Shakespeare's admirable picture of the tinker's transmutation with the corresponding scene in the original :
. Our extracts are quoted literatim from the edition of 1594.
“ Enter two with a table and a banquet on it, and two other with
Slie asleepe in a chaire, richlie apparelled, and the musicke
plaieng. One. So: sirha now go call my Lord, And tel him that all things is ready as he wild it.
Another. Set thou some wine vpon the boord And then Ile go fetch my Lord presentlie.
Enter the Lord and his men. Lord. How now, what is all thinges readie! One. I my Lord.
Lord. Then sound the musick, and Ile wake him straight, And see you doo as earst I gaue in charge. My lord, My lord, he sleepes soundlie : My Lord.
Slie. Tapster, gis a little small ale. Heigh ho.
Wil. And if your honour please to ride abroad,
Tom. And if your honour please to hunt the deere,
Slie. By the masse I think I am a Lord indeed,
Lord. Simon and it please your bonour.
(1) SCENE I. --Gremio.] In the first folio, Gremio is called “a Pantelowne." N Pantalone was the old baffled amoroso of the early Italian Comedy, and, like the Pedant and the Braggart, formed a never-failing source of ridicule upon the Italian stage.
(2) SCENE I.-I wis, it is not half way to her heart.] The word I wis, in its origin, is the Anglo-Saxon adjective gewis, certain, sure, which is still preserved in the modern German gewiss, and Dutch gewis. It is always used adverbially in the English writers of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, and it invariably means certainly, truly. The change of the Anglo-Saxon ge to y or i, appears to have been made in the thirteenth century,
ACT II. Kate. In faith sir no, the woodcock wants his taile.
(1) SOENE I.-Exeunt PETROCHIO and KATHARINA severally,] Compare the interview of the hero and heroine in the old comedy :
“ Enter Kate.
Slie. Simon, thats as much as to say Simion or Simon Put foorth thy hand and fill
the pot. Give me thy hand, Sim am I a lord indeed?" &c. &c.
(3) SCENE II.-Enter the Page, &c.] In the old play the scene proceeds as follows:
"Enter the boy in Womans attire.
Boy. Oh that my louelie Lord would once vouchsafe
Slie. Harke you mistrese, will you eat a peece of bread,
Lord. May it please you, your honors plaiers be come;
Exit boy. Slie. Come Sim, where be the plaiers? Sim stand by me and weele flout the plaiers out of their cotes.
Lord. Ile cal them my lord. Hoe where are you there?”
and the letters y or i are used indifferently, one being as right as the other. But although the word is really an adverb, Sir Frederic Madden thinks it questionable whether, in the latter part of the fifteenth century, it was not regarded as a pronoun and a verb, equivalent to the German ich weiss.* That it was so considered in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries seems pretty generally admitted. In Shakespeare it is always printed with a capital letter, I wis; and we have no doubt he used it as a pronoun and a verb, not knowing its original sense as an adverb.
• See the Glossary to Sir Frederic Madden's “Syr Gawayne. Printed for the Bannatyne Club, 1839."
Kate. The deuill you doo, who told you so?
Kate. Was euer seene so grose an asse as this?
Kate. Hands off I say, and get you from this place;
Feran. I prethe doo Kate; they say thou art a shrew,
Kate. Let go my hand for feare it reech your eare.
(2) SCENE I.-Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.] “A Peran. But yet his bil wil serue, if the other faile.
common phrase," says Nares, “which we may suppose to Aifon. How now, Perando, what saies my daughter?
have been derived from some game (possibly primero), Feran. Shees willing sir and loues me as hir life. Kale. Tis for your skin then, but not to be your wife.
wherein the standing boldly upon a ten was often successful. Alfon. Come hither Kale and let me giue thy hand
A card of ten meant a tenth card, a ten, &c. I conceive To him that I haue chosen for thy loue,
the force of the phrase to have expressed, originally, the And thou tomorrow shalt be wed to him.
confidence or impudence of one who, with a ten, as at Kate. Why father what do you meane to doo with me, To giue me thus vnto this brainsick man,
brag, faced, or out-faced one who had really a faced card That in his mood cares not to murder me?
against him. To face, meant, as it still does, to bully, to She turnes aside and speakes.
attack by impudence of face.'
(3) SCENE I.- If I fail not of my cunning.) At the terAljon. Giue me thy hand Ferando loues thee wel
mination of this scene in the original, the following bit of And will with wealth and ease maintaine thy state, Here Ferando take her for thy wife,
by-play is introduced :And Sunday next shall be your wedding day. Peran. Why so, did I not tell thee I should be the man
“Slie. Sim, when will the foole come againe ? Father, I leaue my loulie Kale with you,
Lord. Heele come againe my Lord anon. Prouide your selues against our mariage daie;
Slie. Gis some more drinke here, souns whereg For I must hie me to my countrie house
The Tapster, here Sim eate some of these things. In hast to see prouision may be made,
Lord. So I doo my Lord. To entertaine my Kate when she dooth come.
Slie. Here Sim, I'drinke to thee. Alfon. Doo so, come Kate why doost thou looke
Lord. My Lord heere comes the plaiers againe, So sad, be merrie wench thy wedding daies at hand.
Slie. O braue, heers two fine gentlewomen." Sonne fare you well, and see you keepe your promise.
Exii Alfonso and Kate."
(1) SCENE II.—Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.) The answerable scene to this in the old piece, though not without humour, is much inferior :
“ Enter Perando baselie attired, and a red cap on his head.
Peran. Godmorow father, Polidor well met,
Alfon. I marrie son, we were almost perswaded,
Peran. Thus richlie father you should haue said,
in Robert Armin's Comedy of “The History of the Two Maids of Moreclacke," 1609, the play begins with :
"Enter a Maid strewing flowers, and a serving-man persuming the door.
Maid. Strew, strew.
So at the marriage of Mary and Philip in Winchester Cathedral, 1554, we read :-"The trumpets sounded, and they returned to their traverses in the quire, and there remayned untill masse was done ; at which tyme, wyne and sopes were ballowed and delyvered to them both."Appendix to LELAND's Collectanea.
(3) SCENE II.-Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and GRUMIO.] Perhaps in no part of the play is the immedsurable superiority of Shakespeare to his predecessor more evident than in the boisterous vigour and excitation of this scene. Compared with it, the corresponding situation in the original is torpidity itself :“ Enter Perando and Kate and Alfonso and Polidor and Amelia ACT IV.
Pol. Fie Ferando not thus atired for shame
Feran. Tush Polidor I haue as many sutes
Alfon. I prethie Ferando let me intreat
Feran. Not for the world if I might gaine it so,
and Aurelius and Philema.
Alfon. Your horse? 'What son I hope you doo but iest
Kate. Lét him go or tarry I am resolu'de to stay,
Peran. Tut Kate I tell thee we must needes go home,
San. Which horse, your curtall ?
Peran. Sounes you slaue stand you prating here?
Kate. Not for me: for Ile not go.
San. The ostler will not let me haue him you owe tenpence
Peran. Here villaine go pay him straight.
(2) SCENE II.-
quaff”d off the muscadel," &c.
Kate. But not for me, for here I meane to dine lle baue my will in this as well as you, Though you in madding mood would leaue your frends Despite of you Ile tarry with them still.
Peran. I Kate so thou shalt but at some other time, When as thy sisters here shall be espousd, Then thou and I will keepe our wedding day. In better sort then now we can prouide,
for here I promise thee before them all,
Exit Perando and Kale."
guessed at the first, a man of small sapientia.? And Dulippo (the Lucentio of Shakespeare) as soon as he spies him coming, exclaims, 'Is this he? go meet him : by my truth, HE LOOKS LIKE A GOOD SOUL, he that fisheth for him might be sure to catch a codshead.'" But, after all, as Mr. Singer observes, it is not necessary to depart from the reading of the old copy. Cotgrave explains Angelot a la grosse escaille, “An old angell ; and by metaphor a fellow of th' old, sound, honest, and worthie stamp.". So an ancient angel may here have meant only a good old simple soul. It is singular that, while so much consideration has been bestowed on this expression, one very similar in “The Tempest," Act II, Sc. 1, “ This ancient morsel," should scarcely have been noticed.
"Enter Perando and Kate.
San. Now, ad sum, sir.
Feran. Come hether you villaine Ile cut your nose,
He beates them all.
They couer the bord and fetch in the meate.
Exit Perando and Kate.
Will. I laft what a boxe he gaue Sander For pulling of his bootes.
Enter Perando againe. San. I hurt his foote for the nonce man. Peran. Did you so you damned villaine.
He beates them all out againe. This humor must I holde me to awhile, To bridle and holde backe my headstrong wife, With curbes of hunger: ease: and want of sleepe, Nor sleepe nor meate shall she inioie to night, Ile mew her vp as men do mew their hawkes, And make her gentlie come vnto the lure, Were she as stuborne or as full of strength As were the Thracian horse Alcides tamde, That King Egeus fed with flesh of men, Yet would I pull her downe and make her come As hungry hawkes do flie vnto there lure.
(3) SCENE III.—Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave.) We subjoin the analogous scene from the original play :
" Enter Sander and his Mistres. San. Come Mistris.
Kate. Sander I prethe helpe me to some meate, I am so faint that I can scarsely stande.
San. I marry mistris but you know my maister Has giuen me a charge that you must eate nothing, But that which he himselfe giueth you.
Kate. Why man thy Maister needs never know it.
Kate. Why any thing, I care pot what it be.
San. I but the garlike I doubt will make your breath stincke, and then my maister will course me for letting You eate it But what say you to a fat Capon?
Kate. Thats meate for a King sweet Sander helpe Me to some of it.
San. Nay ber lady then tis too deere for vs, we must Not meddle with the Kings meate.
Kate. Out villaine dost thou mocke me, Take that for thy sawsinesse.
She beates him.
(2) SCENE II.
but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill.”] For upwards of a century, the expression, "An ancient angel," has been a puzzló to commentators. Theobald, Hanmer, and Warburton concurred in substituting engle, or enghle (the most innocent meaning of which is gull, or dupe) for “angel ;” and this word has been supported strenuously by Gifford. In a note to Jonson's Poetaster, Act II. Sc. 1, he quotes a passage from Gascoigne's Supposes, the play Shakespeare is thought to have been under obligations to for this part of the plot, which he considers decisive :-“There Erostrato, the Biondello of Shakespeare, looks out for a person to gull by an idle story, judges from appearances that he has found him, and is not deceived : At the foot of the hill I met a gentleman, and as methought by his habits and his looks he should be none of the wisest.' Again, 'this gentleman being, as I
(4) SOENE III.-Exeunt.] The incidents in the foregoing scene closely resemble those in the following one from the old piece; it is in their treatment that the pre-eminence of Shakespeare is recognised :
“ Enter Perando and Kate and Sander. San. Master the haberdasher has brought my Mistresse home hir cappe here.
Feran. Come bither sirra : what haue you there?
Kate. What if I did, come hither sirra, giue me
Peran. O monstrous, why it becomes thee not,
Kate. The fashion is good inough : belike you meane to make a foole of me.
Feran. Why true he meanes to make a foole of thee