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incompatible with the fable and dramatis persone of Shakespeare; the reader will, however, be pleased to find them subjoined to the notes. The origin of this amusing fiction may probably be traced to the sleeper awakened of the Arabian Nights;' but similar stories are told of Philip, the good Duke of Burgundy, and of the Emperor Charles the Ffth. Marco Paulo relates something similar of the Ismaelian prince Alo-eddin, or chief of the mountainous region, whom he calls, in common with other writers of his time, the old man of the mountain.' Warton refers to a collection of short comic stories in prose, set forth by maister Richard Edwards, master of her majesties revels in 1570,' (which he had seen in the collection of Collins, the poet,) for the immediate source of the fable of the old drama. The incidents related by Heuterus, in his 'Rerum Burgund.,' lib. iv., are also to be found in Goulart's Admirable and Memorable Histories,' translated by E. Grimeston, quarto, 1607. The story of Charles V. is related by Sir Richard Barckley, in A Discourse on the Felicitie of Man,' printed in 1598; but the frolic, as Mr. Holt White observes, seems better suited to the gayety of the gallant Francis, or the revelry of our own boisterous Henry.
"Of the story of the TAMING OF THE SHREW no immediate English source has been pointed out. Mr. Douce has referred to a novel in the Piacevoli Notti' of Straparola, notte viii. fav. 2, and to El Conde Lucanor,' by Don Juan Manuel, Prince of Castile, who died in 1362,-as containing similar stories. He observes that the character of Petruchio bears some resemblance to that of Pisardo in Straparola's novel, notte viii. fav. 7.
"Schlegel remarks that this play has the air of an Italian comedy;' and indeed the love-intrigue of Lucentio is derived from the Suppositi of Ariosto, through the translation of George Gascoigne. Johnson has observed the skilful combination of the two plots, by which such a variety and succession of comic incident is ensured, without running into perplexity. Petruchio is a bold and happy shetch of a humourist, in which Schlegel thinks the character and peculiarities of an Englishman are visible. It affords another example of Shakespeare's deep insight into human character, that in the last scene the meek and mild Bianca shows she is not without a spice of self-will. The play inculcates a fine moral lesson, which is not always taken as it should be.
"Every one who has a true relish for genuine humour, must regret that we are deprived of Shakespeare's continuation of this Interlude of Sly, who is indeed of kin to Sancho Panza.' We think, with Hazlitt, the character of Sly, and the remarks with which he accompanies the play, as good as the play itself.'"
As this play was not printed during the author's life, but appeared first in the folio of 1623, there are no clashing various readings, other than such as have been proposed to correct some evident or probable misprints, which are neither very gross nor numerous.
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go, by S. Jeronimy, Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. [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.
Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd,
1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
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!
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.
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers;
Some one be ready with a costly suit,
1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we will play our part,
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes.—
[SLY is borne out. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds :[Exit Servant. Belike, some noble gentleman, that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.Re-enter Servant. How now? who is it? Serv. An it please your honour, Players that offer service to your lordship. Lord. Bid them come near.
Lord. 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
1 Play. Fear not, my lord: we can contain our
selves, 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. Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [To a Servant. 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 noble 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 bonour will command, Wherein your lady, and your humble wife May show 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 overjoy'd To see her noble lord restor'd to health, Who for this seven years hath esteemed him No better then 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,
SCENE II.-A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. SLY is discovered, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with bason, ewer, and appurtenances. Enter LORD, dressed like a Servant.
Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?
2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?
3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear today?
Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me honour, nor lordship: I ne'er 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, sometime, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
O! that a mighty man, of such descent,
Sly. What! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son, of Burtonheath; by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by
present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife 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 Christendoin. What! I 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 house,
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
1 Sere. Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook,
Lord. We'll show thee Io as she was a maid,
3 Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds; And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: 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,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:
Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.-
2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands?
[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
But did I never speak of all that time?
1 Serv. O! yes, my lord, but very idle words ;— For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door, 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 maid,
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up,-
Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amen ls