Page . Well, what remedy? Fenton, Heav'n give thee joy!

What cannot be efchew'd, must be embrac'd. Eva. I will alfo dance and eat plums at your wedding.

Fal. When night-dogs run, all forts of deer are chac d.

Mrs Page. Well, I will mufe no further. Master
Fenton,

Heav'n give you many, many merry days!
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this fport o'er by a country fire,
Sir John and all.

Ford. Let it be fo: -Sir John,

To Master Brook you yet fhall hold your word; For he, to-night, fhall ly with Mistress Ford. [Exeunt omnes.

+ In the first sketch of this play, which, as Mr Pope obferves, is much inferior to the latter performance, the only fentiment of which I regret the omiffion occurs at this critical time. When Fenton brings in his wife, there is this dialogue.

Mrs Ford. Come, Mistress Page, I must be bold with you, 'Tis pity to part love that is fo true.

Mrs Page, afide.] Although that I have miffed in my in

tent,

Yet I am glad my husband's match is crossed.

-Here, Fenton, take her

Eva. Come, Mafter Page, you must needs agree.
Ford. I' faith, Sir, come, you fee your wife is pleased.
Page. I cannot tell, and yet my heart is cafed;

And yet it doth me good the doctor miffed.

Come hither, Fenton, and come hither, daughter. Johnson.

Characters in the Induction..

A Lord, before whom the play is fuppos'd to be play'd. CHRISTOPHER SLY, a drunken tinker.

Hostess.

Page, players, huntsmen, and other fervants attending on the Lord.

Dramatis Perfonæ.

BAPTISTA, father to Catharina and Bianca; very rich. VINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa.

LUCENTIO, fon to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a fuitor to Catharina.

GREMIO,

HORTENSIO,

} pretenders to Bianca.

TRANIO,

BIONDELLO,

}

fervants to Lucentio.

GRUMIO, fervant to Petruchio.

PEDANT, an old fellow fet up to perfonate Vincentio.

CATHARINA, the Shrew.

BIANCA, her fifter.

WIDOW.

Taylor, haberdashers; with fervants attending on
Baptifta and Petruchio.

SCENE, fometimes in Padua; and sometimes in
Petruchio's house in the country.

THE

TAMING of the SHREW.

INDUCTION.

SCENE I.
Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Enter Hostels and Sly.

Sly.

"LL pheese you, in faith.

I

Hoft. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly. Y'are a baggage; the Slies are no rogues. Look in the Chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror; therefore, paucus pallabris *; let the world flide: Sefa.

Hoft. You will not pay for the glaffes you have burst?

Sly. No, not a denier: go by, Jeronimo † -go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Hoft. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the Thirdborough.

Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll anfwer him by law; I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly. [Falls afleep.

Meaning pocas palabras, Spanish, few words. Theob. + Go by, Jeronimo, was a kind of by-word in the author's days, as appears by its being used in the fame manner by Ben Johnfon, Beaumont and Fletcher, and other writers near that time. It arofe first from a paffage, in an old play, called Hieronymo, or, The Spanish Tragedy.

Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with a Train. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee tender well my hounds,

Brach, Merriman, the poor cur is imbost;

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 lofe the dog for twenty pound.

Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my Lord; He cried upon it, at the meereft loss,

And twice to-day pick'd out the dulleft fcent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool; if Eccho were as fleet,
I would efteem him worth a dozen fuch.
But fup them well, and look unto them all,
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

Hun. I will, my Lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? fee, doth he breathe?

2 Hun. He breathes, my Lord. Wère he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold, to fleep fo foundly.
Lord. O monftrous beast! how like afwine he lyes!
-Grim death, how foul and loathfome is thy
image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapt in fweet cloaths, rings put upon his fingers, A moft 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 chufe. 2 Hun. It would seem strange unto him, when he wak'd.

Lord. Even as a flatt'ring dream, or worthless
fancy.

Then take him up, and manage well the jeft:.
Carry him gently to my faireft chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton picures;