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Curt. Both on one horse?

Gru. What's that to thee?
Curt. Why, a horse.

Gru. Tell thou the tale.
But hadst thou not
croft me, thou fhould't have heard how her horse fell,
and the under her horfe: thou fhould't have heard in
how miry a place, how fhe was bemoil'd, how he left
her with the horfe upon her, how he beat me because
her horse stumbled, how the waded through the dirt
to pluck him off me; how he fwore, how the pray'd
that never pray'd before; how I cry'd, how the horses
ran away; how her bridle was burft, how I lost my
crupper; with many things of worthy memory, which
now fhall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd
to thy grave.

Curt. By this reckoning he is more fhrew than fhe. ; Gru. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all

fhall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this call forth Nathaniel, Jofeph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugerfop, and the reft: let their heads be fleekly comb'd, their blue coats brush'd, and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curt'fie with their left legs, and not prefume to touch a hair of my master's horfe tail, 'till they kifs their hands. Are they all ready?

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Curt. They are.

Gru. Call them forth.

Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to countenance my mistress.

Gru. Why, fhe hath a face of her own.

Curt. Who knows not that?

Gru. Thou, it feems, that call'ft for company to

countenance her.

Curt. I call them forth to credit her.

Enter four or five Serving-men.

Gru. Why, fhe comes to borrow nothing of them.
Nat. Welcome home, Grumio.

Phil. How now, Grumio?
Jof. What, Grumio!

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Nich. Fellow Grumio!

Nath. How now, old lad.

Gru. Welcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for greeting. Now, my fpruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? Nat. All things are ready; how near is our master? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not cock's paffion, filence! I hear my master.

Enter Petruchio and Kate.

Pet. Where be these knaves? what, no man at door to hold my ftirrup, nor to take my horfe? where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

All Serv. Here, here, Sir; here, Sir.

Pet. Here, Sir, here, Sir, here, Sir, here, Sir?
You loggerheaded and unpolish'd grooms:
What? no attendance? no regard? no duty?
Where is the foolish knave I fent before?

Did not I bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

Gru. Here, Sir, as foolish as I was before.
Pet. You peasant fwain, you whorefon, malt-horse

Gru. Nathaniel's coat, Sir, was not fully made;
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel:
There was no link to colour Peter's hat,

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And Walter's dagger was not come from fheathing:
There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory,
The reft were ragged, old and beggarly,

Yet as they are, here are they come to meet you.

Pet. Go, rafcals, go, and fetch my fupper in.
[Exeunt Servants.

Where is the life that late I led?
Where are those fit down, Kate,
And welcome. Soud, foud, foud, foud,

Enter Servants with Supper.

Why, when, I fay? nay, good fweet Kate, be merry.
Off with my boots, you rogue: you villains, when?

It was the Friar of Orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way.


Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry.
Take that, and mind the plucking off the other.

[Strikes him.

Be merry, Kate: fome water here; what hoa!

Enter one with water.

Where's my spaniel Troilus? firrah, get you hence,
And bid my coufin Ferdinand come hither:
One, Kate, that you must kifs, and be acquainted with,
Where are my flippers? fhall I have fome water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily:
You whorefon villain, will you let it fall?

Cath. Patience, I pray you, 'twas a fault unwilling. Pet. A whorelon, beatle-headed, flap-ear'd knave: Come, Kate, fit down, I know, you have a ftomach. Will you give thanks, fweet Kate, or elfe fhall I? What's this, mutton?

I Ser. Yes.

Pet. Who brought it?

Ser. I.

Pet. 'Tis burnt, and fo is all the meat:
What dogs are thefe? where is the rafcal cook?
How durft you, villains, bring it from the dreffer,
And ferve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups and all:
[Throws the meat, &c. about the flage.
You headless jolt-heads, and unmanner'd flaves!
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you ftraight.
Cath. I pray you, husband, be not fo difquiet;
The meat was well, if you were fo contented.

Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dry'd away,
And I exprefly am forbid to touch it:
For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better 'twere, that Both of us did fast,
Since, of our felves, our felves are cholerick,
Than feed it with fuch over-roafted flesh:
Be patient, for to morrow't fhall be mended,


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And for this night we'll faft for company.
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. [Exe.
Enter Servants feverally.

Nath. Peter, didft ever fee the like?

Peter. He kills her in her own humour.
Gru. Where is he?

Enter Curtis, a Servant.

Curt. In her chamber, making a fermon of conti-
nency to her,

And rails and fwears, and rates; that the, poor foul,
Knows not which way to ftand, to look, to speak,
And fits as one new-rifen from a dream.
Away, away, for he is coming hither.


Enter Petruchio.

Pet. Thus have I politickly begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end fuccessfully:
My faulcon now is sharp, and paffing empty,
And till fhe ftoop, the muft not be full-gorg'd,
For then the never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come, and know her keeper's Call
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites,
That bait and beat, and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to day, nor none shall eat.
Laft night the flept not, nor to night fhall not:
As with the meat, fome undeserved fault
I'll find about the making of the bed.
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, that way the fheets;
Ay; and, amid this hurly, I'll pretend,
That all is done in reverend care of her,
And in conclufion, the fhall watch all night;
And if the chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl,
And with the clamour keep her ftill awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;
And thus I'll curb her mad and headftrong humour,
He that knows better how to tame a Shrew,
Now let him fpeak, 'tis charity to fhew.


[Exit. SCENE

SCENE, before Baptifta's Houfe.

Enter Tranio and Hortenfio.

S't poffible, friend Licio, that Bianca (19) Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, Sir, fhe bears me fair in hand. Hor. To fatisfy you, Sir, in what I faid, Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. [They fland by.

Enter Bianca and Lucentio.

Luc. Now, miftrefs, profit you in what you read? Bian. What, mafter, read you? firft, refolve me that. Luc. I read That I profefs, the art of love. Bian. And may you prove, Sir, mafter of your art! Luc. While you, fweet dear, prove mistress of my heart. [They retire backward. Hor. Quick proceeders! marry! now, tell me, I pray, you that durft fwear that your mistress Bianca lov'd none in the world fo well as Lucentio.

(19) Is't poffible, friend Licio, &c.] This Scene Mr. Pope, upon what Authority I can't pretend to guefs, has in his Editions made the First of the Fifth A&t in doing which, he has fhewn the very Power and Force of Criticifm. The Confequence of this judicious Regulation is, that two unpardonable Abfurdities are fix'd upon the Author, which he could not poffibly have committed. For, in the first place, by this fhuffing the Scenes out of their true Pofition, we find Hortenfio, in the fourth Act, already gone from Baptifta's to Petruchio's Countryhoufe; and afterwards in the Beginning of the fifth A&t we find him firft forming the Refolution of quitting Bianca; and Tranio immediately informs Us, he is gone to the Taming-School to Petruchio. There is a Figure, indeed, in Rhetorick, call'd, segv Terepor: But this is an Abuse of it, which the Rhetoricians will never adopt upon Mr. Pope's Authority. Again, by this Mifplacing, the Pedant makes his first Entrance, and quits the Stage with Tranio in order to go and dress himself like Vincentio, whom he was to perfonate: but his Second Entrance is upon the very Heels of his Exit; and without any Interval of an Act, or one Word intervening, he comes out again equipp'd like Vincentio. If fuch a Critick be fit to publifh a Stage-Writer, I fhall not envy Mr. Pope's Admirers, if they fhould think fit to applaud his Sagacity. I have replac'd the Scenes in that Order, in which I found them in the Old Books.


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