Beaumont and Fletcher wrote what may be called a sequel to this comedy, viz. The Woman's Prize, or the Tamer Tam'd; in which Petruchio is subdued by a second wife. STEEVENS. Our author's Taming of the Shrew was written, I imagine, in 1594. MALONE.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

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

Induction.

Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to Katharina.

Pedant, an old Fellow set up to personate Vincentio.

Katharina, the Shrew;

Bianca, her Sister,

} Daughters to Baptista.

Widow.

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

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

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:2 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 burst ?*

' I'll pheese you,] To pheese or fease, is to separate a twist into single threads. In the figurative sense it may well enough be taken, like teaze or toze, for to harrass, to plague, or to beat. Perhaps I'll pheese you, may be equivalent to I'll comb your head, a phrase vulgarly used by persons of Sly's character on like

occasions.

2 -no rogues:] That is, vagrants, no mean fellows, but gentlemen. JOHNSON.

3

paucas pallabris] Sly, as an ignorant fellow, is purposely made, to aim at languages out of his knowledge, and knock the words out of joint. The Spaniards say, pocas palabras, i. e. few words: as they do likewise, Cessu, i. e. be quiet.

4 you have burst?] To burst and to break were anciently synonymous. Burst is still used for broke in the North of England,

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

6

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:

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.

5

Go by, says Jeronimy;-Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.] These phrases are allusions to a fustian old play, called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy, which was the common butt of raillery to all the poets in Shakspeare's time.

6the thirdborough.] The office of Thirdborough is the same with that of Constable, except in places where there are both, in which case the former is little more than the constable's assistant. 7 Brach Merriman,-the poor cur is emboss'd,] The Commentators are not agreed as to the meaning of brach; it is a species of hound, but of what kind, uncertain. Mr. Malone thinks that Brach is a verb; and Sir T. Hanmer reads Leech Merriman: i. e. apply some remedies to him.

Emboss'd is a hunting term. When a deer is hard run, and foams at the mouth, he is said to be emboss'd. A dog also when he is strained with hard running (especially upon hard ground,) will have his knees swelled, and then he is said to be emboss'd: from the French word bosse, which signifies a tumour.

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,

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 wak'd.

Lord. 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 with warm distilled waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me musick 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 flowers;