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Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor.-Pr'ythee, get thee further.

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper.

Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away: A paper from fortune's close-stool, to give to a nobleman! Look, here he comes himself.

Enter Lafeu.

Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, (but not a musk-cat), that has fallen into the unclean fish-pond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is muddied withal: Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may; for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [Exit. Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath cruelly scratched.

Lof. And what would you have me to do? 'tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive long under her! There's a quart d'ecu for you: Let the justices make you and fortune friends; I am for other business.

Par. I beseech your honour, to hear me one single word.

Laf. You beg a single penny more come, you shall ha't; save your word.

Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.

Laf. You beg more than one word then. Cox' my passion! give me your hand: -How does your

drum?

Par. O my good lord, you were the first that found

me.

Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that lost thee.

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring me out.

Laf. Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil? one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me; I had talk of you last night though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat; go to, follow.

Par. I praise God for you.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

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But first I beg my pardon, The young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady,

Offence of mighty note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all he lost a wife,

Whose beauty did astonish the survey

Of richest eyes: whose words all ears took captive; Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, Humbly call'd mistress.

King.

Praising what is lost,

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King. I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail In me at once: But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth, The time is fair again.

Ber.

Dear sovereign, pardon to me.

King.

My high-repented blames,
All is whole;

Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant by the forward top;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them: You remember
The daughter of this lord ?

Ber. Admiringly, my liege at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue:
Where the impression of mine eye infixing,
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the line of every other favour;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stolen;
Extended or contracted all proportions,
To a most hideous object: Thence it came,
That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself,
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.

King.

Well excus'd:

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt: But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone our rash faults,
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust,
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust:
Our own love waking cries to see what's done,
While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin:
The main consents are had; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.
Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven

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I am sure, I saw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it.
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd: but when I had subscrib'd

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, hither;

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That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science,
Than I have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you: Then, if you know
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her: she call'd the saints to surety,
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed
(Where you have never come), or sent it us

Upon her great disaster.

Ber.

She never saw it.

Dia.

Good my lord,
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think

King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho- He had not my virginity. nour;

And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me,

King. What say'st thou to her? Ber.

Which I would fain shut out: If it should prove That thou art so inhuman, 'twill not prove so: And yet I know not: thou didst hate her deadly,

And was a common gamester to the camp.

And she is dead; which nothing, but to close Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,

More than to see this ring. Take him away.

[Guards seize Bertram.

My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him;
We'll sift this matter further.

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Gracions sovereign,

Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not;
Here's a petition from a Florentine,

Who hath, for four or five removes, come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
Is here attending her business looks in her
With an importing visage; and she told me,
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern

Your highness with herself.

King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widow er; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country for justice: Grant it me, O king; in you it best lies; otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. DIANA CAPULET.

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll him for this, I'll none of him.

Lafeu,

King. The heavens have thought well on thee,
To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors: -
Go, speedily, and bring again the count.
[Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants,

I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady,
Was foully snatch'd.
Count.

Now, justice on the doers!

Re-enter Bertram, guarded.

King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you,

And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry. What woman's that?

Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow and Diana.
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capulet;
My suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may he pitied..

Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour

Both suffer under this complaint we bring,

And both shall cease, without your remedy.

She's impudent, my lord;

Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were
He might have bought me at a common price:
Do not believe him: O, behold this ring,
Whose high respect, and rich validity,
Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that,
He gave it to a commoner o'the camp,
If I be one.

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80,

Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue,
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife;
That ring's a thousand proofs.

King.

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Methought, you said,

You saw one here in court could witness it.
Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce

So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles.
Laf. 1 saw the man to-day, if man he be.
King. Find him, and bring him hither,

Ber.

What of him ?

He's quoted for a most perfidious s'ave,
With all the spots o'the world tax'd and debosh'd;

Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth:

Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing?

King.

She hath that ring of yours.

Ber. I think, she has certain it is, I lik'd her,

And boarded her i'the wanton way of youth:
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint,
As all impediments in fancy's course
Are motives of more fancy; and, in fine,
Her insuit coming with her modern grace
Subdued me to her rate: she got the ring;
And I had that, which any iuferior might
At market-price have bought.

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King. Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I charge you, Not fearing the displeasure of your master (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off),

King. Come hither, count; Do you know these By him, and by this woman here, what know you?

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and of limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew of their going to bed and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things that would derive me ill will to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I know.

King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married: But thou art too fine in thy evidence therefore stand aside.This ring, you say, was yours?

Dia.

Ay, my good lord. King. Where did you buy it? or who gave it you? Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. King. Who lent it you?

Dia.

It was not lent me neither. King. Where did you find it then? Dia. I found it not.

King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, How could you give it him? I never gave it him.

Dia.

Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. King. Take her away, I do not like her now; To prison with her and away with him.Unless thou tell'st me where thou had'st this ring, Thou diest within this hour. Dia.

King. Take her away. Dia.

I'll never tell you. I'll put in bail, my liege. King. I think thee now some common customer. Dia, By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this

while?

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Both, both; O, pardon!

Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid, I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, And, look you, here's your letter; This it says, When from my finger you can get this ring, And are by me with child, &c. This is done: Will you be mine, now you are doubly won? Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly, Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, Deadly divorce step between me and you!O, my dear mother, do I see you living?

Laj. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :Good Tom Drum [To Parolles], lend me a handkerchief: So, I thank thee; wait on me home, I'll make sport with thee: Let thy courtesies alone, they are

scurvy ones.

King. Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow!
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, [To Diana.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower;
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid,
Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid.-
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express:

All yet seems well; and if it end so meet,
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [ Flourish.

Advancing.

The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won, That you express content; which we will pay, With strife to please you, day exceeding day: Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. [Exeunt.

Taming of the Shrew.

Christopher Sły, a drunken Tinker. Hostess, Page, Players, Hurtsmen, and other Servants attending on the Lord.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

Persons in the

}

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

Induction.

Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in Love with Bianca. Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to Ka

Gremio,

tharina.

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Hortensio,

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

To the Original Play of The Taming of the Shrew, entered on the Stationers' Books in 1594, and printed

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Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants to Ferando and
Alphonsus.

SCENE, Athens; and sometimes Ferando's Country House.

Re-enter a Servant.

INDUCTION.

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hounds:

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

[he breathe?

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth 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 helies!

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,

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 choose. 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him, when he Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless Then take him up, and manage well the jest:Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

wak'd.

[fancy.

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head with 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 bason,
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say, Will't please your lordship cool your
Some one be ready with a costly suit,

ith flowers;

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;

[hands?

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 pa passing excellent,

pastime passing

If it be husbanded ausbanded with modesty.

1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you we'll play our part,

As he shall think, by our true diligence,
He is no less than what we say he is.

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

[Some bear out Sly. A Trumpet sounds. Sirrab, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: [Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman; that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

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Now, fellows, you are welcome.

1 Play. We thank your honour.

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord. 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.

1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honour neans.
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 assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
But I am doubtful of your modesties;
Lest, over-eyeing 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.
1 Play. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,
Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords.[Exeunt Servant and Players. [To a Servant.

Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, 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 nobles 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 com
May show
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife,

command,

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 over-joy'd,

To see her noble lord restor'd to health,

Who, for twice seven years, hath esteem'd 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 despatch'd with all the haste thou canst;
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.-

[Exit Servant.

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.

[Exeunt.

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3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day? Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me-honour, nor lordship: I never drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your ho

O, that a mighty man, of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

[nour!

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Šly's son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedler, ped by education a card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not if she say I am not fourteen-pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What, 1 am not bestraught: Here's

1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. [house, O, 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 music? hark! Apollo plays. [Music.

And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. F

Say, thou wilt walk; we will bestrew 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 ma make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe, [as swift 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee Adonis, painted by a running brook: [straight And Cytherea all in sedges hid;

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll show thee Io, as she was a maid;

And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

[wood;

3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds: And at that sight shall hall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: W Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waning age.

1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,1 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 til! now?

I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things:---
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;
And not not a a tinker, nor Christophero Sly.-
Well, Il, bring our lady hither to our sight;

[hands?

And once again, a pot o'the smallest ale. 2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your [Servants present an Ewer, Bason, and Napkin.

O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!

O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, so 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 Serv. O, yes, my yes, m lord ; but very idle words
though yo ugh you lay here in this goodly chamber,
would you say, ye were beaten out of door;

For
Yet woul

And rail upon the hostess of the house;
And say, you would present her at the leet,
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts:
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such
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.

[maid;

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

Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Enter the Page, as a Lady, with Attendants.

Page, How fares my noble lord?

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

Page. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me-husband?

My men shoul should call me lord; I am your goodman/
Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus-
I am your wife in all obedience.
[band;
Sly. I know it well.-What must I call her?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.

Sly. Madam wife, they say, that I have dream'd Above some fifteen year and more. [and slept

Page. 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.

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Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amendAre come to play a pleasant comedy, Ement, For so your doctors hold it very meet; Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it: Is not a commonty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-trick? Page. No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. Sly. What, household stuff? Page. It is a kind of history. Siy. Well, we'll see't

we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger.의 은 현재가 Jane dormanten They sit down.

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Luc. 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;

all;

And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his s good will, and thy good good company, 10
Most trusty trusty servant, well approv'd in
Here let us breathe, and happily 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, his son, brought up in Florence,

It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deedsvá
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, W
Virtue, and that part of philosophy
Will 1 apply, that that treats 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, ba daod

Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, if
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 cheeks,

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As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd:
Talk logic with acquaintance that you have,
And practice rhetoric in your common talk.rf
Music and poesy use to quicken you;

The mathematics, and the metaphysics,

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