Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your house, As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy. Oh noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, Say thou wilt walk, we will beftrow the ground: 1 Man. Say thou wilt courfe, thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed ftags; ay, fleeter than the roe. 2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftrait Adonis painted by a running brook, And Cytherea all in sedges hid, Which feem to move, and wanton with her breath, Ev'n as the waving fedges play with wind. Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid, And how the was beguiled and furpris'd, As lively painted as the deed was done. 3 Man. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear the bleeds; And at the fight fhall fad Apollo weep: So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Than any woman in this waining age. 1 Man. And 'till the tears that the hath fhed for thee, Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, She was the faireft creature in the world, And And yet the is inferior to none. Sly. Am I a lord, and have I fuch a lady? you 2 Man. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands? Oh, how we joy to fee your wits reftor'd! Oh that once more you knew but what are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream, Or when you wak'd, you wak'd as if you flept. Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap: But did I never fpeak of all that time? 1 Man. O yes, my lord, but very idle words. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 3 Man. Why, Sir, you know no houfe, nor no fuch maid, Nor no fuch men as you have reckon'd up, As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps o' th' Green, And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe, Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! Sly, By th' mafs I think I am a lord indeed. What is thy name? Man. Simon, an't please your honour. Sly. Sim that's as much as to fay Simeon or Simon ; put forth thy hand and fill the pot. [Gives bim drink, SCENE V. Enter Lady with Attendants. Bly. I thank thee, thou shalt not lose by it. Lady, How fares my noble lord? Sty Sly. Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough, Where is my wife? Lady. Here, noble lord, what is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me hufband? My men fhould call me lord, I am your good man. Lady. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband, I am your wife in all obedience. Sly. I know it well: what muft I call her? Sly. Alce Madam, or Joan Madam ? Lord. Madam, and nothing else, fo lords call ladies. Sly. Come, fit down on my knee. Sim, drink to her. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, and slept above fome fifteen years and more. Lady. Ay, and the time feems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone : Madam, undrefs you, and come now to bed. Sim, drink to her. Lady. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, For your phyficians have exprefly charg'd, I hope this reason ftands for my excufe. Sly. Ay, it ftands fo, that I may hardly tarry fo long; but I would be loth to fall into my dream again: I will there fore tarry in defpight of the flesh and the blood. SCENE VI. Enter a Messenger. Melf. Your honour's Players, hearing your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy; For fo your doctors hold it very meet, Seeing fo much fadnefs hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy ; Sly. Marry, I will; let them play; is it not a commo dity? a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick? Lady. Lady. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff. Lady. It is a kind of history. Sly. Well, we'll fee't: come, Madam wife, fit by my fide, and let the world flip, we fhall ne'er be younger. The TAMING of the SHREW. Luc. ACT I. SCENE I. PAD UA. Flourish. Enter Lucentio and Tranio. defire 1 had To fee fair Padua, nursery of arts, Gave me my being, and my father firft A merchant of great traffick through the world, Lucentio his fon, brought up in Florence, H Tre Tra. Me pardonato, gentle mafter mine, you As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd. Such friends, as time in Padua fhall beget. 4. Tra. Mafter, fome fhow to welcome us to town. Enter Baptifta with Catharina and Bianca, Gremio and Bap. Gentlemen both, importune me no farther, That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter, If either of you both love Catharina, Because I know you well, and love you well, Gre. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me. There, there, Hortenfio, will you any wife? Catb. pray you, Sir, is it your will and pleasure To make a ftale of me amongst these mates? Hor. Mates, maid, how mean you that? no mates for Gulets you were of gentler milder mould. Bath, Piaith, Sir, you shall never need to fear, [you ; |