Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you. Ros. I care not if I have: it is my study To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there followed by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love. Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears; And so am I for Phebe. It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Sil. If this be so, why blame you me love you? Orl. If this be so, why blame you me love you? 110 to to Ros. Who do you speak to, 'Why blame you me to love you?' Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you, no more of this: 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. [To Sil. I will help you, if I can: [To Phc.] I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet me all together. [To Phe.] I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married tomorrow: [To Orl.] I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-mor- | row: [To Sil.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To Orl] As you love Rosalind, meet: [To Sil] as you love Phebe, meet and as I love no woman, I'll meet. fare you well: I have left you commands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. So 131 [Exeunt. SCENE III. The forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married. Aud. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire to desire to be a woman of the world. Here come two of the banished duke's pages. Enter two Pages. First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met. Come, sit, sit, and a song. 9 Sec. Page. We are for you: sit i' the middle. First Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? Sec. Page. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune, like two gipsies on a horse. SONG. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, &c. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, &c. And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, &c. 21 30 Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: 30 Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY. Faq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools. Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all! Jag. Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears. Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one. 50 Faq. And how was that ta'en up? Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. Jag. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow. very well. Duke S. I like him Touch. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear; according as marriage binds and blood breaks: a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster. Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again it was not well cut,' he disabled my judgement: this is called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again it was not well cut,' he would say, I lied: this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. Faq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool. Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalkinghorse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter HYMEN, ROSALIND, and CELIA. If sight and shape be true, Why then, my love adieu! Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he: I'll have no husband, if you be not he: Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. Peace, ho! I bar confusion: "Tis I must make conclusion Hym. Of these most strange events: Here's eight that must take hands To join in Hymen's bands, If truth holds true contents. 130 You and you no cross shall part: Or have a woman to your lord: Wedding is great Juno's crown: O blessed bond of board and bed! 140 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, The duke hath put on a religious life And thrown into neglect the pompous court? Jaq. To him will I out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. 191 [To duke] You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: [To Orl] You to a love that your true faith doth merit: [To Oli.] You to your land and love and great 150 [To Sil.] You to a long and well-deserved bed: Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me! Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. Enter JAQUES de Boys. Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two: 170 I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleasures: I am for other than for dancing measures. 200 Jaq. To see no pastime I: what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites, As we do trust they 'll end, in true delights, EPILOGUE. A dance. Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women-as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them-that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all, me farewell. [Exeunt. BAPTISTA, a rich gentleman of Padua. VINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa. LUCENTIO, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. GRUMIO, CURTIS, A Pedant. servants to Petruchio. BIANCA, Widow. PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on to Katharina. GREMIO, HORTENSIO, suitors to Bianca. INDUCTION. SCENE 1. Before an alehouse on a heath. Sly. I'll pheeze you, in faith. Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue! Sly. Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues: look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! Hest. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, 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. [Falls asleep. Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train. Baptista and Petruchio. Sec. Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he waked. Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. 50 Then take him up and manage well the jest: hands?' Some one be ready with a costly suit 60 First Hun. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, As he shall think by our true diligence 70 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. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: [Exit Servingman. Belike, some noble gentleman that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here. Re-enter Servingman. How now! who is it? Serv. Enter Players. 80 Now, fellows, you are welcome. Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re- Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son: A Player. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. 90 Lord. "Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. A Player. Fear not, my lord: we can contain Were he the veriest antic in the world. 100 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, [Exit a Servingman. I know the boy will well usurp the grace, When they do homage to this simple peasant. SCENE II. A bedchamber in the Lord's house. Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. Sec. Serv. Will't please your honour taste of Third Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to day? 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 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 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! I am not be110 straught: here's And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. And with declining head into his bosom, 120 Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! Sec. Serv. O, this is it that makes your servants droop! Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, 30 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. And twenty caged nightingales do sing: |