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Pet, 'A has a little gall’d me, I confess ;


What? And, as the jest did glance away from me,


She will not. 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two * outright.

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. BAP. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,

Enter KATHARINA, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all, Pet. Well, I say—no: and, therefore, for BAP. Now, by my holidam, here comes assurance,

Katharina ! Let's each one send unto his wife ;

Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send And he, whose wife is most obedient

for me? To come at first when he doth send for her,

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? Shall win the wager which we will propose.

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. HOR. Content : what is the wager ?

Pet. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come, Luc.

Twenty crowns. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Pet. Twenty crowns !

Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. I'll venture so much of my hawk, or hound,

[Exit KATHARINA. But twenty times so much upon my wife.

Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Luc. A hundred, then.

Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. HOR, Content.

Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet PET. A match ; 'tis done.

life, Hor. Who shall begin ?

An awful rule, and right supremacy ;
That will I.

And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

BAP. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio ! Bion. I go.

[Exit. The wager thou hast won; and I will add BAP. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes.

Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns, Luc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all my- Another dowry to another daughter, self.

For she is chang’d, as she had never been.

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; Re-enter BIONDELLO.

And show more sign of her obedience,
How now! what news ?

Her new-built virtue and obedience.
Sir, my mistress sends


word That she is busy, and she cannot come.

Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come ! See, where she comes; and brings your froward Is that an answer ?

wives, GRE.

Ay, and a kind one too: As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. Katharine, that


becomes Pet. I hope, better.

Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go, and entreat my wife, (KATHARINA pulls off her cap, and throws it down. To come to me forthwith. [Exit BIONDELLO. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Per.

0, ho! entreat her! Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! Nay, then she must needs come.

Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you

this? Hor.

I am afraid, sir, Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too: Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,

Hath cost mean hundred crowns since supper-time. Re-enter BIONDELLO.

Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. Now where's my wife ?

Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headBion. She says, you have some goodly jest in

strong women, hand;

What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. She will not come ; she bids you come to her. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will PET. Worse and worse; she will not come !

have no telling O vile,

Pet. Come I and first begin with her. Intolerable, not to be endur'd !

Wid. She shall not. Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ;

Pet. I say, she shall;—and first begin with her. Say, I command her come to me. [Exit GRUMIO. Kath. Fie, fie ! unknit that threat'ning unkind

Hor. I know her answer.

you not;




b An hundred crowns - ] The old reading is, “Hath cost me five hundred crowns." Pope made the correction.

(*) First folio, too. a For assurance,-) For is the correction of the second folio; the first has sir.


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, Per. 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 are 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,


tam'd so.

a 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.




(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 shew:d 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 sumptuou sest 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 the midst of a night. * * * Never was the imaginary Duke at

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 brave cloathes, and cloathed againe in his 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 sone 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 pur. poses of the stage, the writer of the old play has displayed a knowledge of character and an appreciation of humour and effect which entitle him, perhaps, to higher commend. ation than he has yet received. His Induction opens thus:

“Enter a Tapster, beating out of his doores Slie Droonken.*

Tapster. You whorson droonken slaue, you had best be gone,
And empty your droonken panch some where else
For in this house thou shali not rest to night. Exit Tapster.

Slie. Tilly, vally, by crisee Tapster Ile fese you anon.
Fils the tother pot and alls paid for, looke you
I doo drinke it of mine owne Instegation, Omne bene
Heere Ile lie awhile, why Tapster I say,
Fils a fresh cushen heere.
Heigh ho, heers good warme lying.

He fals asleepe.

Enter a Noble man and his men from hunting.
Lord. Now that the gloomie shaddow of the night,
Longing to view Orions drisling lookes,
Leapes from th' antarticke world vnto the skie,
And dims the Welkin with her pitchie breath,
And darkesome night oreshades the christall heauens,
Here breake we off our hunting for to night;
Cupple vppe the hounds and let vs hie vs home,
And bid the huntsman see them meated well,
For they haue all deseru'd it well to daie,
But soft, what sleepie fellow is this lies heere?
Or is he dead, see one what he dooth lacke!

Seruingman. My lord, tis nothing but a drunken sleepe,
His head is too heauie for his bodie,
And he hath drunke so much that he can go no furder.

Lord. Fie, how the slauish villaine stinkes of drinke.
Ho, sirha arise. What so sounde asleepe!
Go take him vppe and beare him to my house,
And beare him easilie for feare he wake," &c. &c.

(2) SCENE 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 v pon the boord And then lle 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.
Lord. Heers wine my lord, the purest of the grape.
Slie. For which Lord ?
Lord. For your honour my Lord.
Slie. Who I, am I a Lord Jesus what fine apparell haue I got.

Lord. More richer farre your honour hath to weare,
And if it please you

will fetch them straight.
Wil. And if your honour please to ride abroad,
lle fetch you lustie steedes more swift of pace
Then winged Pegasus in all his pride,
That ran so swiftlie ouer the Persian plaines.

Tom. And if your honour please to hunt the deere,
Your hounds stand readie cuppeld at the doore.
Who in running will oretake the Row,
And make the long breathde Tygre broken winded.

Slie. By the masse I think I am a Lord indeed,
Whats thy name?

Lord. Simon and it please your honour.

Slie. Simon, thats as much as to say Simion or Simon
Put foorth thy hand and fill the pot.
Give me thy hand, Sim ain 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.
Slie. Sim, Is this she?
Lord. I my Lord.
Slie. Masse tis a prettie wench, what's her name?

Boy. Oh that my louelie Lord would once vouchsafe
To looke on me and leaue these frantike fits,
Or were I now but halfe so eloquent,
To paint in words what ile performe in deedes,
I know your honour then would pittie me.

Slie. Harke you mistrese, will you eat a peece of bread,
Come sit downe on my knee, Sim drinke to hir Sim,
For she and I will go to bed anon.

Lord. May it please you, your honors plaiers be come ;
To offer your honour a plaie.

Slie. A plaie Sim, O braue, be they my plaiers ?
Lord. I my Lord.
Slie. Is there not a foole in the plaie?
Lord. Yes my lord.
Slie. When wil they plaie Sim?
Lord. Euen when it please your honor, they be readie.
Boy. My lord Ile go bid them begin their plaie.
Slie. Doo, but looke that you come againe.
Boy. I warrant you, my lord, I will not leave you thus.

Erit 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?”


(1) SCENE I.-Gremio.) In the first folio, Gremio is called a Panteloune.' 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.

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.

(2) SCENE I.-I wis, it is not half way to her heart.] The word I vis, in its origin, is the Anglo-Saxon adjective gevis, 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,

• See the Glossary to Sir Frederic Madden's "Syr Gawayne. Printed for the Bannat, ne Club, 1839."


(1) SCENE I.--Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA severally.) Compare the interview of the hero and heroine in the old comedy :

“ Enter Kale.

Alfon. Ha Kate, Come hither wench & list to me, Vse this gent an friendlie as thou canst.

Feran. Twentie good morrowes to my louely Kate Kate. You iest I am sure, is she yours alreadie ? Feran. I tell thee Kate I know thou lou'st me well

Kate. The deuill you doo, who told you so?
Feran. My mind sweet Kate doth say I am the man,
Must wed, and bed, and marrie bonnie Kate.

Kate. Was euer seene so grose an asse as this?
Feran. I, to stand so long and neuer get a kisse.

Kate. Hands off I say, and get you from this place; Or I wil set my ten commandments in your face.

Feran. I prethe doo Kate; they say ihou art a shrew, And I like thee the better for I would haue thee so.

Kate. Let go my hand for feare it reech your eare.
Foran. No Kate, this hand is mine and i thy loue.

Kate. In faith sir no, the woodcock wants his taile.

(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 Alfon. How now, Ferando, what saies my daughter!

have been derived from some game (possibly primero), F'eran. Shees willing sir and loues me as hir life. Kate. Tis for your skin then, but not to be your wife.

wherein the standing boldly upon a ten was often successful. Alfon. Come hither Kate 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,

brag, faced, or out-faced one who had really a faced card To giue me thus ynto this brainsick man, 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."
But yet I will consent and marrie him,
For I methinkes haue liued too long a maid,
And match him to, or else his manhoods good.

(3) SCENE I.-If I fail not of my cunning.) At the ter. Alfon Giue me thy hand Perando loues thee wel And will with wealth and ease maintaine thy state,

mination of this scene in the original, the following bit of Here Ferando take her for thy wife,

by-play is introduced :And Sunday next shall be your wedding day. Feran. 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 Kate with you,

Lord. Heele come againe my Lord anon. Prouide your selues against our mariage daie;

Slie. Gis some more drinke here, souns wheres 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 Ferando baselie attired, and a red cap on his head.

Feran. Godmorow father, Polidor well met,
You wonder I know that I haue staid so long.

Alfon. I marrie son, we were almost perswaded,
That we should scarse haue had our bridegroome heere,
But say, why art thou thus basely attired ?

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.
Man. The muscadine stays for the bride at church:
The priest and Hymen's ceremonies tend
To make them inan and wife.'

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 supes were hallowed and delyvered to them both." Appendix to LELAND's Collectanea.

Feran. Thus richlie father you should haue said,
For when my wife and I am married once,
Shees such a shrew, if we should once fal out
Sheele pul my costlie sutes ouer mine eares,
And therefore am I thus attired awhile,
For manie thinges I tell you's in my head,
And none must know thereof but Kate and I,
For we shall liue like lammes and Lions sure,
Nor Lammes to Lions neuer was so tame,
If once they lie within the Lions pawes
As Kate to me if we were married once,
And therefore come let vs to church presently.

Pol. Fie Ferando not thus atired for shame Come to my Chamber and there sute thy selfe, of twentie sutes that I did neuer were.

Feran. Tush Polidor I haue as many sutes
Fantasticke made to fit my humor so
As any in Athens and as richlie wrought
As was the Massie Robe that late adornd,
The stately legate of the Persian King,
And this from them haue I made choise to weare.

Alfon. I prethie Ferando let me intreat
Before thou goste vnto the church with vs
To put some other sute v pon thy backe.

Feran. Not for the world if I might gaine it so, And therefore take me thus or not at all."

Grumio.] Perhaps in no part of the play is the immea-
surable superiority of Shakespeare to his predecessor
more evident than in the boisterous vigour and excitation
of this scene. Compared with it, the corresponding situ-
ation in the original is torpidity itself :-
“ Enter Ferando and Kate and Alfonso and Polidor and Amelia

and Aurelius and Philema.
Feran. Father farwell, my Kate and I must home,
Sirra make ready my horse presentlie.

Alfon. Your horse? What son I hope you doo but iest
I am sure you will not go so suddainly.

Kate. Let him go or tarry I am resolu’de to stay,
And not to trauell on my wedding day.

Feran. Tut Kate I tell thee we must needes go home,
Villaine hast thou saddled my horse?

San. Which horse, your curtall ?

Peran. Sounes you slaue stand you prating here!
Saddell the bay gelding for your Mistris.

Kate. Not for me : for Ile not go.

San. The ostler will not let me haue him you owe ten pence
For his meate and 6 pence for stuffing my Mistris saddle.

Feran. Here villaine go pay him straight.
San. Shall I giue them another pecke of lauender.
Feran. Out slaue and bring them presently to the dore.
Alfon. Why son I hope at least youle dine with vs.
San. I pray you maister lets stay till dinner be don.
Peran. Sounes villaine art thou here yet!

E. Sander.
Come Kate our dinner is prouided at home.

(2) SCENE II.-
He calls for wine-

quaff' d of the muscadel," &c.]
The custom of taking wine and sops in the church upon
the conclusion of the marriage ceremonies is very ancient,
and in this country, in our author's time, it was almost
universal. The beverage usually chosen was Muscadel, or
Muscadine, or a medicated drink called Hippocras. Thus,

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