The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: S2v - Comedies, p. 208

Left Column


THE Taming of the Shrew.
Actus primus. Scœna Prima. [Prologue, Scene 1] Enter Begger and Hostes, Christophero Sly. Begger.

ILe pheeze you infaith.

Host.

A paire of stockes you rogue.

Beg.

Y'are a baggage, the Slies are no

Rogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came

[5]

in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Pau­ cas pallabris , let the world slide: Sessa.

Host.

You will not pay for the glasses you haue burst?

Beg.

No, not a deniere: go by S. Saint Ieronimie, goe to thy

cold bed, and warme thee.

Host.
[10]

I know my remedie, I must go fetch the Head­

borough.

Beg.

Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile answere

him by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come,

and kindly.

Falles asleepe. Winde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine. Lo.
[15]
Huntsman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds, Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imbost, And couple Clowder with the deepe‑mouth'd brach, Saw'st thou not boy how Siluer made it good At the hedge corner, in the couldest fault,
[20]
I would not loose the dogge for twentie pound.
Hunts. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord, He cried vpon it at the meerest losse, And twice to day pick'd out the dullest sent, Trust me, I take him for the better dogge. Lord.
[25]
Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete, I would esteeme him worth a dozen such: But sup them well, and looke vnto them all, To morrow I intend to hunt againe.
Hunts. I will my Lord. Lord.
[30]
What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth he breath?
2. Hun.

He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd

with Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes. Grim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image:
[35]
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed, Wrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers: A most delicious banquet by his bed, And braue attendants neere him when he wakes,
[40]
Would not the begger then forget himselfe?
1. Hun. Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot choose. 2. H. It would seem strange vnto him when he wak'd Lord. Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fancie.

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Right Column


Then take him vp, and manage well the iest:
[45]
Carrie him gently to my fairest Chamber, And hang it round with all my vvanton pictures: Balme his foule head in warme distilled waters, And burne sweet Wood to make the Lodging sweete: Procure me Musicke readie when he vvakes,
[50]
To make a dulcet and a heauenly sound: And if he chance to speake, be readie straight (And with a lowe submissiue reuerence) Say, what is it your Honor vvil command: Let one attend him vvith a siluer Bason
[55]
Full of Rose‑water, and bestrew'd with Flowers, Another beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper, And say wilt please your Lordship coole your hands. Some one be readie with a costly suite, And aske him what apparrel he will weare:
[60]
Another tell him of his Hounds and Horse, And that his Ladie mournes at his disease, Perswade him that he hath bin Lunaticke, And when he sayes he is, say that he dreames, For he is nothing but a mightie Lord:
[65]
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs, It wil be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modestie.
1. Hunts. My Lord I warrant you we wil play our part As he shall thinke by our true diligence
[70]
He is no lesse then what we say he is.
Lord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes. Sound trumpets. Sirrah, go see what Trumpet 'tis that sounds, Belike some Noble Gentleman that meanes
[75]
(Trauelling some iourney) to repose him heere. Enter Seruingman. How now? who is it ?
Ser. An't please your Honor, Players That offer seruice to your Lordship. Enter Players. Lord Bid them come neere:
[80]
Now fellowes, you are welcome.
Players. We thanke your Honor. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to night? 2. Player. So please your Lordshippe to accept our dutie. Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,
[85]
Since once he plaide a Farmers eldest sonne, 'Twas where you woo'd the Gentlewoman so well: I haue forgot your name: but sure that part Was

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