BAPTISTA. ... Bianca, get you in;

And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,

For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.

KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best

Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.

BIANCA. Sister, content you in my discontent.

Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe;

My books and instruments shall be my company,

On them to look, and practise by myself.

LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!

HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?

Sorry am I that our good will effects

Bianca's grief.

GREMIO. Why will you mew her up,

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,

And make her bear the penance of her tongue?

BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd.

Go in, Bianca. Exit BIANCA

And for I know she taketh most delight

In music, instruments, and poetry,

Schoolmasters will I keep within my house

Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,

Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,

Prefer them hither; for to cunning men

I will be very kind, and liberal

To mine own children in good bringing-up;

And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;

For I have more to commune with Bianca. Exit

KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?

What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike,

I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha! Exit

GREMIO. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts are so good

here's none will hold you. There! Love is not so great,

Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly

out; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell; yet, for the love

I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man

to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her

father.

HORTENSIO. SO Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray. Though

the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon

advice, it toucheth us both- that we may yet again have access to

our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to

labour and effect one thing specially.

GREMIO. What's that, I pray?

HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

GREMIO. A husband? a devil.

HORTENSIO. I say a husband.

GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father

be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?

HORTENSIO. Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to

endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the

world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all

faults, and money enough.

GREMIO. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this

condition: to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.

HORTENSIO. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten

apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it

shall be so far forth friendly maintain'd till by helping

Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest free

for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man

be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you,

Signior Gremio?

GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in

Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her,

and bed her, and rid the house of her! Come on.

Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO

TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible

That love should of a sudden take such hold?

LUCENTIO. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,

I never thought it possible or likely.

But see! while idly I stood looking on,

I found the effect of love in idleness;

And now in plainness do confess to thee,

That art to me as secret and as dear

As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was-

Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,

If I achieve not this young modest girl.

Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;

Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.

TRANIO. Master, it is no time to chide you now;

Affection is not rated from the heart;

If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so:

'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.'

LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents;

The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.

TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid.

Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.

LUCENTIO. O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,

Such as the daughter of Agenor had,

That made great Jove to humble him to her hand,

When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.

TRANIO. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how her sister

Began to scold and raise up such a storm

That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?

LUCENTIO. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,

And with her breath she did perfume the air;

Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.

TRANIO. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance.

I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid,

Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:

Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd

That, till the father rid his hands of her,

Master, your love must live a maid at home;

And therefore has he closely mew'd her up,

Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.

LUCENTIO. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!

But art thou not advis'd he took some care

To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?

TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted.

LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio.

TRANIO. Master, for my hand,

Both our inventions meet and jump in one.

LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first.

TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster,

And undertake the teaching of the maid-

That's your device.

LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done?

TRANIO. Not possible; for who shall bear your part

And be in Padua here Vincentio's son;

Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends,

Visit his countrymen, and banquet them?

LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full.

We have not yet been seen in any house,

Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces

For man or master. Then it follows thus:

Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,

Keep house and port and servants, as I should;

I will some other be- some Florentine,

Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.

'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once

Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak.

When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;

But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.

TRANIO. So had you need. [They exchange habits]

In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,

And I am tied to be obedient-

For so your father charg'd me at our parting:

'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he,

Although I think 'twas in another sense-

I am content to be Lucentio,

Because so well I love Lucentio.

LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves;

And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid

Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.

Enter BIONDELLO.

Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?

BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?

Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes?

Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news?

LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,

And therefore frame your manners to the time.

Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,

Puts my apparel and my count'nance on,

And I for my escape have put on his;

For in a quarrel since I came ashore

I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.

Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,

While I make way from hence to save my life.

You understand me?

BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit.

LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:

Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.

BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too!

TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,

That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.

But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise

You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies.

When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;

But in all places else your master Lucentio.

LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go.

One thing more rests, that thyself execute-

To make one among these wooers. If thou ask me why-

Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. Exeunt

The Presenters above speak

FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes there

any more of it?

PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun.

SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady

Would 'twere done! [They sit and mark]

Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS

SLY. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

PAGE. How fares my noble lord?

SLY. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.

Where is my wife?

PAGE. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her?

SLY. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?

My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman.

PAGE. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;

I am your wife in all obedience.

SLY. I know it well. What must I call her?

LORD. Madam.

SLY. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?

LORD. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.

SLY. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd

And slept above some fifteen year or more.

PAGE. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,

Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

SLY. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.

Exeunt SERVANTS

Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.

PAGE. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you

To pardon me yet for a night or two;

Or, if not so, until the sun be set.

For your physicians have expressly charg'd,

In peril to incur your former malady,

That I should yet absent me from your bed.

I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

SLY. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would

be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in

despite of the flesh and the blood.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,

Are come to play a pleasant comedy;

For so your doctors hold it very meet,

Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,

And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

Therefore they thought it good you hear a play

And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,

Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

SLY. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a

Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?

PAGE. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.

SLY. What, household stuff?

PAGE. It is a kind of history.

SLY. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let

the world slip;-we shall ne'er be younger.

[They sit down]

A flourish of trumpets announces the play

ACT I. SCENE I. Padua. A public place

Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO

LUCENTIO. Tranio, since for the great desire I had

To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,

The pleasant garden of great Italy,

And by my father's love and leave am arm'd

With his good will and thy good company,

My trusty servant well approv'd in all,

Here let us breathe, and haply institute

A course of learning and ingenious studies.

Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,

Gave me my being and my father first,

A merchant of great traffic through the world,

Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii;

Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence,

It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv'd,

To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds.

And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,

Virtue and that part of philosophy

Will I apply that treats of happiness

By virtue specially to be achiev'd.

Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left

And am to Padua come as he that leaves

A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,

And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

TRANIO. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine;

I am in all affected as yourself;

Glad that you thus continue your resolve

To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.

Only, good master, while we do admire

This virtue and this moral discipline,

Let's be no Stoics nor no stocks, I pray,

Or so devote to Aristotle's checks

As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.

Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,

And practise rhetoric in your common talk;

Music and poesy use to quicken you;

The mathematics and the metaphysics,

Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en;

In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.

If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,

We could at once put us in readiness,

And take a lodging fit to entertain

Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.

Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA

and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO,

suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by

But stay awhile; what company is this?

TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town.

BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,

For how I firmly am resolv'd you know;

That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter

Before I have a husband for the elder.

If either of you both love Katherina,

Because I know you well and love you well,

Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.

GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me.

There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?

KATHERINA. [To BAPTISTA] I pray you, sir, is it your will

To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,

Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;

Iwis it is not halfway to her heart;

But if it were, doubt not her care should be

To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool,

And paint your face, and use you like a fool.

HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!

GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord!

TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward;

That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.

LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see

Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.

Peace, Tranio!

TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.

BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good

What I have said- Bianca, get you in;

And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,

For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.

SCENE II.

A bedchamber in the LORD'S house

Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin

and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD

SLY. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

FIRST SERVANT. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

THIRD SERVANT. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

SLY. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I

ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,

give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear,

for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than

legs, nor no more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than

shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.

LORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!

O, that a mighty man of such descent,

Of such possessions, and so high esteem,

Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

SLY. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old

Sly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a

cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present

profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of

Wincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on

the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in

Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale] Here's-

THIRD SERVANT. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!

SECOND SERVANT. O, this is it that makes your servants droop!

LORD. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.

O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth!

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,

And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.

Look how thy servants do attend on thee,

Each in his office ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music]

And twenty caged nightingales do sing.

Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a couch

Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.

Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground.

Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd,

Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.

Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar

Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?

Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them

And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.

FIRST SERVANT. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

SECOND SERVANT. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight

Adonis painted by a running brook,

And Cytherea all in sedges hid,

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath

Even as the waving sedges play wi' th' wind.

LORD. We'll show thee lo as she was a maid

And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,

As lively painted as the deed was done.

THIRD SERVANT. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,

Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds

And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

LORD. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.

Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waning age.

FIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee

Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,

She was the fairest creature in the world;

And yet she is inferior to none.

SLY. Am I a lord and have I such a lady?

Or do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now?

I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;

I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.

Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,

And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.

Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;

And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.

SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?

O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!

O, that once more you knew but what you are!

These fifteen years you have been in a dream;

Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.

SLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.

But did I never speak of all that time?

FIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;

For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,

Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;

And rail upon the hostess of the house,

And say you would present her at the leet,

Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.

Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

SLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

THIRD SERVANT. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,

Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,

As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,

And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;

And twenty more such names and men as these,

Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

SLY. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!

ALL. Amen.

LORD. Take him up gently, and to bed with him;

And each one to his office when he wakes.

[SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds]

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds-

Exit SERVANT

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter a SERVINGMAN

How now! who is it?

SERVANT. An't please your honour, players

That offer service to your lordship.

LORD. Bid them come near.

Enter PLAYERS

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

PLAYERS. We thank your honour.

LORD. Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty.

LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son;

'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

PLAYER. I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.

LORD. 'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.

Well, you are come to me in happy time,

The rather for I have some sport in hand

Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

There is a lord will hear you play to-night;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,

For yet his honour never heard a play,

You break into some merry passion

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antic in the world.

LORD. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

And give them friendly welcome every one;

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

Exit one with the PLAYERS

Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page,

And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady;

That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,

And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.

Tell him from me- as he will win my love-

He bear himself with honourable action,

Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies

Unto their lords, by them accomplished;

Such duty to the drunkard let him do,

With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

And say 'What is't your honour will command,

Wherein your lady and your humble wife

May show her duty and make known her love?'

And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,

And with declining head into his bosom,

Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed

To see her noble lord restor'd to health,

Who for this seven years hath esteemed him

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if the boy have not a woman's gift

To rain a shower of commanded tears,

An onion will do well for such a shift,

Which, in a napkin being close convey'd,

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I'll give thee more instructions. Exit a SERVINGMAN

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

Voice, gait, and action, of a gentlewoman;

I long to hear him call the drunkard 'husband';

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter

When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes. Exeunt

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

by William Shakespeare

1594

Dramatis Personae

Persons in the Induction

A LORD

CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker

HOSTESS

PAGE

PLAYERS

HUNTSMEN

SERVANTS

BAPTISTA MINOLA, a gentleman of Padua

VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa

LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca

PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina

Suitors to Bianca

GREMIO

HORTENSIO

Servants to Lucentio

TRANIO

BIONDELLO

Servants to Petruchio

GRUMIO

CURTIS

A PEDANT

Daughters to Baptista

KATHERINA, the shrew

BIANCA

A WIDOW

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and

Petruchio

SCENE: Padua, and PETRUCHIO'S house in the country

SC_1

INDUCTION. SCENE I.

Before an alehouse on a heath

Enter HOSTESS and SLY

SLY. I'll pheeze you, in faith.

HOSTESS. 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!

HOSTESS. 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.

HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.

Exit

SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth 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 bunting, 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.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. 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.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord.

LORD. What's here? One dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

SECOND HUNTSMAN. 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 practise 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 not the beggar then forget himself?

FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

SECOND HUNTSMAN. 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 jest:

Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;

Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters,

And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet;

Procure me music ready when he wakes,

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,

And with a low submissive reverence

Say 'What is it your honour will command?'

Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers;

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'

Some one be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

And that his lady mourns at his disease;

Persuade him that he hath been lunatic,

And, when he says he is, say that he dreams,

For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part

As he shall think by our true diligence

He is no less than what we say he is.

LORD. Take him up gently, and to bed with him;

And each one to his office when he wakes.

[SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds]

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds-

Exit SERVANT

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

There was an Old Person of Spain,
Who hated all trouble and pain;
So he sate on a chair
with his feet in the air,
That umbrageous Old Person of Spain.

There was an Old Man who said, “Well!
Will nobody answer this bell?
I have pulled day and night,
till my hair has grown white,
But nobody answers this bell!”

There was an Old Man with an Owl,
Who continued to bother and howl;
He sat on a rail,
and imbibed bitter ale,
Which refreshed that Old Man and his Owl.

There was an Old Man in a casement,
Who held up his hands in amazement;
When they said, “Sir, you’ll fall!”
he replied, “Not at all!”
That incipient Old Man in a casement.

There was an Old Person of Ewell,
Who chiefly subsisted on gruel;
But to make it more nice,
he inserted some Mice,
Which refreshed that Old Person of Ewell.

There was an Old Man of Peru.
Who never knew what he should do;
So he tore off his hair,
and behaved like a bear,
That intrinsic Old Man of Peru.

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, “It is just as I feared!--
Two Owls and a Hen,
four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard.”

There was a Young Lady whose eyes
Were unique as to color and size;
When she opened them wide,
people all turned aside,
And started away in surprise.

There was a Young Lady of Ryde,
Whose shoe-strings were seldom untied;
She purchased some clogs,
and some small spotty Dogs,
And frequently walked about Ryde.

There was a Young Lady whose bonnet
Came untied when the birds sate upon it;
But she said, “I don’t care!
all the birds in the air
Are welcome to sit on my bonnet!”

There was a Young Lady of Parma,
Whose conduct grew calmer and calmer:
When they said, “Are you dumb?”
she merely said, “Hum!”
That provoking Young Lady of Parma.

There was an Old Person of Sparta,
Who had twenty-five sons and one “darter;”
He fed them on Snails,
and weighed them in scales,
That wonderful Person of Sparta.

There was an Old Man on whose nose
Most birds of the air could repose;
But they all flew away
at the closing of day,
Which relieved that Old Man and his nose.

There was a Young Lady of Turkey,
Who wept when the weather was murky;
When the day turned out fine,
she ceased to repine,
That capricious Young Lady of Turkey.

There was an Old Man of Aosta
Who possessed a large Cow, but he lost her;
But they said, “Don’t you see
she has run up a tree,
You invidious Old Man of Aosta?”

There was a Young Person of Crete,
Whose toilette was far from complete;
She dressed in a sack
spickle-speckled with black,
That ombliferous Person of Crete.

There was a Young Lady of Clare,
Who was madly pursued by a Bear;
When she found she was tired,
she abruptly expired,
That unfortunate Lady of Clare.

There was a Young Lady of Dorking,
Who bought a large bonnet for walking;
But its color and size
so bedazzled her eyes,
That she very soon went back to Dorking.

There was an Old Man of Cape Horn,
Who wished he had never been born;
So he sat on a Chair
till he died of despair,
That dolorous Man of Cape Horn.

There was an old Person of Cromer,
Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
When he found he grew stiff,
he jumped over the cliff,
Which concluded that Person of Cromer.

There was an Old Man of the Hague,
Whose ideas were excessively vague;
He built a balloon
to examine the moon,
That deluded Old Man of the Hague.

There was an Old Man of the West,
Who never could get any rest;
So they set him to spin
on his nose and his chin,
Which cured that Old Man of the West.

There was an Old Person of Cheadle
Was put in the stocks by the Beadle
For stealing some pigs,
some coats, and some wigs,
That horrible person of Cheadle.

There was an Old Person of Anerley,
Whose conduct was strange and unmannerly;
He rushed down the Strand
with a Pig in each hand,
But returned in the evening to Anerley.

There was a Young Lady of Wales,
Who caught a large Fish without scales;
When she lifted her hook,
she exclaimed, “Only look!”
That ecstatic Young Lady of Wales.

There was a Young Lady of Welling,
Whose praise all the world was a-telling;
She played on the harp,
and caught several Carp,
That accomplished Young Lady of Welling.

There was an Old Person of Tartary,
Who divided his jugular artery;
But he screeched to his Wife,
and she said, “Oh, my life!
Your death will be felt by all Tartary!”

There was an Old Man of Whitehaven,
Who danced a quadrille with a Raven;
But they said, “It’s absurd
to encourage this bird!”
So they smashed that Old Man of Whitehaven.

There was a Young Lady of Sweden,
Who went by the slow train to Weedon;
When they cried, “Weedon Station!”
she made no observation,
But thought she should go back to Sweden.

There was an Old Person of Chester,
Whom several small children did pester;
They threw some large stones,
which broke most of his bones,
And displeased that Old Person of Chester.

There was an Old Man of the Cape,
Who possessed a large Barbary Ape;
Till the Ape, one dark night,
set the house all alight,
Which burned that Old Man of the Cape.

There was an Old Person of Burton,
Whose answers were rather uncertain;
When they said, “How d’ ye do?”
he replied, “Who are you?”
That distressing Old Person of Burton.

There was an Old Person of Ems
Who casually fell in the Thames;
And when he was found,
they said he was drowned,
That unlucky Old Person of Ems.

There was a Young Girl of Majorca,
Whose Aunt was a very fast walker;
She walked seventy miles,
and leaped fifteen stiles,
Which astonished that Girl of Majorca.

There was a Young Lady of Poole,
Whose soup was excessively cool;
So she put it to boil
by the aid of some oil,
That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.

There was an Old Lady of Prague,
Whose language was horribly vague;
When they said, “Are these caps?”
she answered, “Perhaps!”
That oracular Lady of Prague.

There was an Old Man who said, “How
Shall I flee from this horrible Cow?
I will sit on this stile,
and continue to smile,
Which may soften the heart of that Cow.”

There was a Young Lady of Troy,
Whom several large flies did annoy;
Some she killed with a thump,
some she drowned at the pump,
And some she took with her to Troy.

There was a Young Lady of Hull,
Who was chased by a virulent Bull;
But she seized on a spade,
and called out, “Who’s afraid?”
Which distracted that virulent Bull.

There was an Old Person of Dutton,
Whose head was as small as a button;
So to make it look big
he purchased a wig,
And rapidly rushed about Dutton.

There was an Old Man who said, “Hush!
I perceive a young bird in this bush!”
When they said, “Is it small?”
he replied, “Not at all;
It is four times as big as the bush!”

There was a Young Lady of Russia,
Who screamed so that no one could hush her;
Her screams were extreme,--
no one heard such a scream
As was screamed by that Lady of Russia.

There was a Young Lady of Tyre,
Who swept the loud chords of a lyre;
At the sound of each sweep
she enraptured the deep,
And enchanted the city of Tyre.

There was an Old Person of Bangor,
Whose face was distorted with anger;
He tore off his boots,
and subsisted on roots,
That borascible Person of Bangor.

There was an Old Man of the East,
Who gave all his children a feast;
But they all ate so much,
and their conduct was such,
That it killed that Old Man of the East.

There was an Old Man of the Coast,
Who placidly sat on a post;
But when it was cold
he relinquished his hold,
And called for some hot buttered toast.

There was an Old Man of Kamschatka,
Who possessed a remarkably fat Cur;
His gait and his waddle
were held as a model
To all the fat dogs in Kamschatka.

There was an Old Person of Gretna,
Who rushed down the crater of Etna;
When they said, “Is it hot?”
he replied, “No, it’s not!”
That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who sat on a Horse when he reared;
But they said, “Never mind!
you will fall off behind,
You propitious Old Man with a beard!”

There was an Old Man of Berlin,
Whose form was uncommonly thin;
Till he once, by mistake,
was mixed up in a cake,
So they baked that Old Man of Berlin.

There was an Old Person of Rhodes,
Who strongly objected to toads;
He paid several cousins
to catch them by dozens,
That futile Old Person of Rhodes.

There was an Old Man of the South,
Who had an immoderate mouth;
But in swallowing a dish
that was quite full of Fish,
He was choked, that Old Man of the South.

There was an Old Man of Melrose,
Who walked on the tips of his toes;
But they said, “It ain’t pleasant
to see you at present,
You stupid Old Man of Melrose.”

There was an Old Man of the Dee,
Who was sadly annoyed by a Flea;
When he said, “I will scratch it!”
they gave him a hatchet,
Which grieved that Old Man of the Dee.

There was a Young Lady of Lucca,
Whose lovers completely forsook her;
She ran up a tree,
and said “Fiddle-de-dee!”
Which embarrassed the people of Lucca.

There was an Old Man of Coblenz,
The length of whose legs was immense;
He went with one prance
from Turkey to France,
That surprising Old Man of Coblenz.

There was an Old Man of Bohemia,
Whose daughter was christened Euphemia;
But one day, to his grief,
she married a thief,
Which grieved that Old Man of Bohemia.

There was an Old Man of Corfu,
Who never knew what he should do;
So he rushed up and down,
till the sun made him brown,
That bewildered Old Man of Corfu.

There was an Old Man of Vesuvius,
Who studied the works of Vitruvius;
When the flames burnt his book,
to drinking he took,
That morbid Old Man of Vesuvius.

There was an Old Man of Dundee,
Who frequented the top of a tree;
When disturbed by the Crows,
he abruptly arose,
And exclaimed, “I’ll return to Dundee!”

There was an Old Lady whose folly
Induced her to sit in a holly;
Whereon, by a thorn
her dress being torn,
She quickly became melancholy.

There was an Old Man on some rocks,
Who shut his Wife up in a box:
When she said, “Let me out,”
he exclaimed, “Without doubt
You will pass all your life in that box.”

There was an Old Person of Rheims,
Who was troubled with horrible dreams;
So to keep him awake
they fed him with cake,
Which amused that Old Person of Rheims.

There was an Old Man of Leghorn,
The smallest that ever was born;
But quickly snapt up he
was once by a Puppy,
Who devoured that Old Man of Leghorn.

There was an Old Man in a pew,
Whose waistcoat was spotted with blue;
But he tore it in pieces,
to give to his Nieces,
That cheerful Old Man in a pew.