And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor :
It blots thy beauty, as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.

A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance: commits his body
To painful labour, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience,-
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such, a woman oweth to her husband:
And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she, but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am asham'd, that women are so simple
To offer war, where they should kneel for
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,

peace;

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

Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms,
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great; my reason, haply, more,
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown;
But now,
I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most, which we indeed least

are.

Then vail your stomachs," for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husbands' foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,

My hand is ready, may it do him ease!

PET. Why, there's a wench!-come on, and kiss me, Kate.

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha 't.

VIN. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward.

Luc. But a harsh hearing when women froward.

are

PET. Come, Kate, we'll to bed :We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; [To LUCENTIO And being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATH.

HOR. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew.b

Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt.(2)

"'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 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

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 extraordinar yes, 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 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 a 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:

"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 shalt 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.

Slie. For which Lord?

Lord. For your honour my Lord.

Exit.

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 I will fetch them straight.

Wil. And if your honour please to ride abroad,

Ile 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 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.

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.

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?"

(1) SCENE I.-Gremio.] In the first folio, Gremio is called "a Pantelowne." Il 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 apon 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,

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."

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

"Enter Kate.

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

Feran. Twentie good morrowes to my louely Kate Kate. You iest I am sure, is she yours alreadie? Peran. 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 thou 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. Feran. No Kate, this hand is mine and I thy loue.

Kate. In faith sir no, the woodcock wants his taile.
Feran. But yet his bil wil serue, if the other faile.
Alfon. How now, Ferando, what saies my daughter?
Feran. Shees willing sir and loues me as hir life.
Kate. Tis for your skin then, but not to be your wife.
Alfon. Come hither Kate and let me giue thy hand
To him that I haue chosen for thy loue,
And thou tomorrow shalt be wed to him.

Kate. Why father what do you meane to doo with me,
To giue me thus vnto this brainsick man,
That in his mood cares not to murder me?

She turnes aside and speakes.

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.
Alfon. Giue me thy hand Ferando loues thee wel
And will with wealth and ease maintaine thy state,
Here Ferando take her for thy wife,

And Sunday next shall be your wedding day.

Feran. Why so, did I not tell thee I should be the man Father, I leaue my loulie Kale with you,

Prouide your selues against our mariage daie;

For I must hie me to my countrie house

In hast to see prouision may be made,

To entertaine my Kate when she dooth come.
Alfon. Doo so, come Kate why doost thou looke
So sad, be merrie wench thy wedding daies at hand.
Sonne fare you well, and see you keepe your promise.

Exit Alfonso and Kate."

(2) SCENE I.-Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.] “A common phrase," says Nares, "which we may suppose to have been derived from some game (possibly primero), wherein the standing boldly upon a ten was often successful. A card of ten meant a tenth card, a ten, &c. I conceive the force of the phrase to have expressed, originally, the confidence or impudence of one who, with a ten, as at brag, faced, or out-faced one who had really a faced card against him. To face, meant, as it still does, to bully, to attack by impudence of face."

(3) SCENE I.-If I fail not of my cunning.] At the termination of this scene in the original, the following bit of by-play is introduced:

"Slie. Sim, when will the foole come againe ?
Lord. Heele come againe my Lord anon.
Slie. Gis some more drinke here, souns wheres
The Tapster, here Sim eate some of these things.
Lord. So I doo my Lord.

Slie. Here Sim, I drinke to thee.

Lord. My Lord heere comes the plaiers againe, Slie. O braue, heers two fine gentlewomen."

(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?

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

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 perfuming the door.

Maid. Strew, strew.

Man. The muscadine stays for the bride at church:
The priest and Hymen's ceremonies tend
To make them man 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 sopes were hallowed 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 immensurable 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 Feranao and Kate and Alfonso and Polidor and Amelia and Aurelius and Philema.

Feran. Father farwell, my Kate and I must home, Sirra go 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?

Feran. 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 tenpence
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.
Feron. Sounes villaine art thou here yet?
Come Kate our dinner is prouided at home.

Ex. Sander

Kate. But not for me, for here I meane to dine

Ile haue 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.

Feran. 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,
We will ere long returne to them againe,
Come Kate stand not on termes we will awaie,
This is my day, tomorrow thou shalt rule,
And I will doo what euer thou commandes.
Gentlemen farwell, wele take our leues,
It will be late before that we come home.

Exit Ferando and Kate.”

(1) SCENE I.

He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak; 'tis charity to shew. [Exit.] Subjoined is the parallel scene of the older play

Enter Ferando againe.

San. I hurt his foote for the nonce man.
Feran. 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.

Exit.'

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 à 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.

(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.
San. You say true indede: why looke you Mistris,
What say you to a peese of beeffe and mustard now?
Kate. Why I say tis excellent meate, canst thou helpe me to

some?

San. I, I could helpe you to some but that

I doubt the mustard is too colerick for you,

But what say you to a sheepes head and garlick?
Kate. Why any thing, I care not 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.

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 puzzle 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) SCENE 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 Ferando and Kate and Sander. San. Master the haberdasher has brought my Mistresse home hir cappe here.

Feran. Come hither sirra: what haue you there? Habar. A veluet cappe sir and it please you. Feran. Who spoake for it? didst thou Kate? Kate. What if I did, come hither sirra, giue me The cap, Ile see if it will fit me.

She sets it one hir head. Feran. O monstrous, why it becomes thee not, Let me see it Kate: here sirra take it hence, This cappe is out of fashion quite.

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
To haue thee put on such a curtald cappe,
Sirra begon with it.