Lean. Don Diego, you know my father well, Don Alphonfo de Luna; I am a scholar of this university, and am willing to fubmit to whatever punishment he, thro' your means, fhall inflict; but wreak not your vengeance here.

Dieg. Thus then my hopes and cares are at once fru. ftrated; poffefs'd of what I thought a jewel, I was defirous to keep it for myself; I rais'd up the walls of this houfe to a great height; I barr'd up my windows towards the street; I put double bolts on my doors; I banish'd all that had the shadow of man or male kind; and I ftood continually centinel over it myself, to guard my fufpicion from surprise: thus fecur'd, I left my watch for one little moment, and in that moment.

Leon. Pray, pray, guardian, let me tell you the ftory, and you'll find I am not to blame.

Dieg. No, child, I only am to blame, who fhould have confidered that fixteen and fixty agree ill together. But tho' I was too old to be wife, I am not too old to learn; and fo, I fay, fend for a fmith directly, beat all the grates from my windows, take the locks from my doors, and let egrefs and regress be given freely.

Leon. And will you be my husband, Sir?

Dieg. No, child, I will give you to one that will make you a better husband: here, young man, take her: if your parents confent, to-morrow fhall fee you join'd in the face of the church; and the dowry which I promised her, in cafe of failure on my fide of the contract, shall now go with her as a marriage-portion.

Lean. Signor, this is fo generous

Dieg. No thanks; perhaps I owe acknowledgments to you; but you, Urfula, have no excufe, no paffion to plead, and your age fhould have taught you better. I'll give you five hundred crowns, but never let me fee you

more.

Mun. And what you give me, Massa?

Dieg. Baftinadoes for your drunkennefs and infidelity. Call in my neighbours and friends. Oh! man! man! how fhort is your forefight, how ineffectual your prudence, while the very means you use are deftructive of your ends!

Go

Go forge me fetters that shall bind
The rage of the tempeftuous wind;
Sound with a needleful of thread
The depth of Ocean's fteepy bed;.
Snap like a twig the oak's tough tree;
Quench Etna with a cup of tea;
In thefe manoeuvres fhow your fkill,
Then hold a woman if you will.
Urf. Permit me to put in a word.

My mafter here is quite abfurd.

That men fhould rule our fex is meet;
But art, not force, must do the feat:
Remember what the fable says,

Where the fun's warm and melting rays,
Soon bring about what wind and rain,
With all their fufs, attempt in vain.
Mun. And, Maffa, be not angry, pray,
If Neger man a word should say;
Me have a fable pat as fhe,

Which wid dis matter will

agre:

An owl once took it in his head
Wid fome young pretty bird to wed;
But when his worship came to woo,
He could get none be de cuckoo.
Leon. Ye youth felect, who wish to tafte
The joys of wedlock pure and chafte,
Ne'er let the mistress and the friend
An abject flave and tyrant end.
While each with tender paffion burns,
Afcend the throne of rule by turns;
And place (to love, to virtue juft)
Security in mutual trust.

Lean. To fum up all you now have heard,
Young men and old, perufe the bard:
A female trufted to your care,
(His rule is pithy, fhort, and clear,)
Be to her faults a little blind;
Be to her virtues very kind;

Let all her ways be unconfin'd;
And clap your padlock on her mind.

VOL. III.

Bb

САТНА.

To various things the flage has been compar'd,
As apt ideas frike each humorous bard:

This night, for want of better fimile,
Let this our theatre a tavern be;
The poets vintners, and the waiters we.

So, as the cant and cuftom of the trade is,

"You're welcome, gem'min; and kindly welcome, ladies." To draw in customers, our bills are spread;

You cannot mifs the fign, 'tis Shakespeare's head.

From

From this fame bead, this fountain-head divine,
For different palates fprings a different wine!
In which no tricks, to ftrengthen or to thin 'em-
Neat as imported-no French brandy in 'em-
Hence, for the choiceft fpirits, flows Champaign;
Whofe Sparkling atoms foot thro' every vein,
Then mount in magic vapours to th' enraptur'd brain!
Hence flow, for martial minds, potations_ftrong;
And fweet love-potions, for the fair and young.
hearts of oak, for your regale,
There's good old English ftingo, mild and ftale.
For high, luxurious fouls, with luscious smack,
There's Sir John Falstaff, is a butt of fack:
And if the fronger liquors more invite ye,
Bardolph is gin, and Piftol aqua-vita.

For

you, my

[To the upper gallery.

But foou'd you call for Falstaff, where to find him;
He's gone-nor left one cup of fack behind him.
Sunk in his elbow-chair, no more he'll roam;

No

more, with merry wags, to Eaftcheape come: He's gone to jeft and laugh and give bis fack at home, As for the learned critics, grave and deep, Who catch at words, and catching fall asleep; Who in the forms of paffion-bum-and bar! For fuch our mafter will no liquor draw.

So blindly thoughtful, and fo darkly read,

They take Tom Durffy's for the Shakespeare's bead.
A vintner once acquir'd both praife and gain,
And fold much perry for the beft champaign.
Some rakes, this precious ftuff did fo allure,

They drank whole nights what's that—when wine is pure?
"Come fill a bumper, Jack-I will, my lord-

"Here's cream!-damn'd fine!—immenfe! upon my word!” Sir William, what fay you?—The beft, believe me

In this eb Jack!—the devil can't deceive me.

Thus the wife critic, too, miftakes his wine,

Cries out with lifted bands, 'tis great!divine!

Then jogs his neighbour, as the wonders ftrike him;

This Shakespeare! Shakespeare!-ob there's nothing like him!
In this night's various and inchanted cup,

Some little perry's mixt for filling up..

The five long acts, from which our three are taken,
Stretch'd out to fixteen years, lay by forsaken.

*

Left then this precious liquor run to wafte, 'Tis now confin'd and bottled to your tafte. 'Tis my chief wifh, my joy, my only plan, To lofe no drop of that immortal man !

* The action of the Winter's Tale, as written by Shakespeare, comprehends fixteen years. [N. B. This prologue was spoken to the dramatic paftoral, called the Winter's Tale, and to this comedy, both of which are altered from Shakespeare, and were performed the fame night.]

ACT I.

SCENE, Baptifta's House.

Enter BAPTISTA, PETRUCHIO, and GRUMIO.'
BAPTISTA.

ΤΗ

HUS have I, 'gainst my own felf-intereft,
Repeated all the worft you are t' expect
From my fhrewd daughter Cath'rine; if you'll venture,
Maugre my plain and honeft declaration,

You have my free confent, win her, and wed her.
Pet. Signor Baptifta, thus it stands with me:
Anthonio my father is deceased;

You knew him well, and knowing him know me,
Left folely heir to all his lands and goods;
• Which I have better'd, rather than decreas'd.'
And I have thruft myself into the world,
Haply to wive and thrive as beft I may :
My bufinefs afketh hafte, old Signor;
And ev'ry day I cannot come to woo.
Let fpecialties be therefore drawn between us,
That cov❜nants may be kept on either hand.

Bap. Yes, when the fpecial thing is well obtain'd, My daughter's love; for that is all in all.

Pet. Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as fhe proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do confume the thing that feeds their fury. Tho' little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gults will blow out fire and all;' So I to her, and fo fhe yields to me; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Grum. Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is why, give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in * her head. Tho' she had as many difeafes as two-andfifty horfes, why, nothing comes amifs, fo money comes withal.'

Bap. As I have fhow'd you, Sir, the coarfer fide, Now let me tell you, fhe is young and beauteous, Brought up as beft becomes a gentlewoman; Her only fault (and that is fault enough)

Is,