1593–1594 )
First Folio, 1623
taming
¶
Induction
Sc. I Sc. II
Act I
Sc. I Sc. II
Act II
Sc. I
Act III
Sc. I Sc. II
Act IV
Sc. I Sc. II Sc. III Sc. IV Sc. V
Act V
Sc. I Sc. II
[Dramatis Personae
Lord
Christopher Sly, a tinker
Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and Servants
Baptista, a rich gentleman of Padua
Vincentio, an old gentleman of Pisa
Lucentio, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, suitor to Katherina
–––––
Gremio,
Hortensio, suitors to Bianca
Tranio,
Biondello, servants to Lucentio
Grumio,
Curtis, servants to Petruchio
Pedant
Katherina, the shrew,
Bianca,
Widow, daughters to Baptista
Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio
Scene: Padua, and Petruchio’s country house]
[INDUCTION]
Scene I
Enter beggar, Christophero Sly, and Hostess.
Sly. I’ll pheeze you, in faith.
Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!
Sly. Y’ 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!
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the [thirdborough].
Exit.
Sly. Third, or fourth, or fift borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly.
Falls asleep.
Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his
Train.
Lord.
Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds
(Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss’d),
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 lose the dog for twenty pound.
[1.] Hun.
Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;
He cried upon it at the merest loss,
And twice to-day pick’d out the dullest scent.
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.
Lord.
Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all,
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
[1.] Hun.
I will, my lord.
Lord.
What’s here? One dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?
2. Hun.
He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord.
O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies!
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
Sirs, I will practice on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey’d to bed,
Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would
