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endeavoured to undo the son, it was a reasonable Val. If my happiness could receive addition; return of nature.
this kind surprise would make it double. Sir S. Very good, Sir. Mr. Buckram, are you Sir S. You're a crocodile. ready ? Come, Sir, will you sign and seal ? For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden
Val. If you please, Sir; but first I would ask eclipse. this lady one question.
Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool, and I'm Sir S Sir, you must ask me leave first another. That lady! No, Sir, you shall ask that lady no Tat. If the gentleman is in disorder for want questions, till you have asked her blessing, Sir; of a wife, I can spare him mine. Oh, are you that lady is to be my wife.
there, Sir ? I am indebted to you for my happiVal. I have heard as much, Sir; but I would ness.
(TO Jeremy have it from her own mouth.
Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons : it Sir S. That's as much as to say, I lie, Sir; was an arrant mistake. You see, Sir, iny master and you don't believe what I say.
was never mad, nor any thing like it. Then how Val. Pardon me, Sir. But I reflect that I very can it be otherwise ? lately counterfeited madness: I don't know but Val. Tattle, I thank you ; you would have inthe frolic may go round.
terposed between me and heaven: but Providence Sir S. Come, satisfy him, answer him. laid Purgatory in your way. You have but justice. Come, Mr. Buckram, the pen and ink.
Scand. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson proBuck. Here it is, Sir; with the deed; all is vided for his own wedding; methinks it is pity seady.
(Val. goes to Ang. they should not be employed when the match is Ang: 'Tis true, you have a great while pre- so much mended. Valentine, though it be morntended love to me; nay, what if you were sincere. ing we may have a dance. Still, you must pardon me, if I think my own in Val. Any thing, my friend; every thing that clinations have a better right to dispose of my looks like joy and transport. person, than yours.
Scand. Call them, Jeremy. Sir S. Are you answered now, Sir ?
Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; Val. Yes, Sir.
and if that coldness which I have always worn Sir S. Where's your plot, Sir ? and your con- before you should turn to an extreme fondness, trivance now, Sir? Will you sign, Sir ? Come, you must not suspect it. will you sign and seal ?
Val. I'll prevent that suspicion-for I intend Val. With all my heart.
to doat to that immoderate degree, that your fondScand. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed ? to ness shall never distinguish itself enough to be ruin yourself.
taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope; it must be only when I can't love enough. and he that loses hope may part with any thing. Ang Have a care of promises: you know you I never value fortune, but as it was subservient are apt to run more in debt than you are able to pay. to my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to val. Therefore I yield myself as your prisoner, please this lady: I have made many vain attempts; and make your best on't. and find at last that nothing but my ruin can
Scand. The music stays for you. [A dance. effect it, which, for that reason I will sign to. [TO ANG.) Well, Madam, you have done exemGive me the paper.
plary justice in punishing an inhuman father, and Ang. Generous Valentine !
[Aside. rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a ihird Buck. Here is the deed, Sir.
good work, which I in particular must thank you Val. But where is the bond, by which I am for; I was an infidel to your sex, and you have obliged to sign this?
converted me for now I am convinced that all Buck. Sir Sampson, you have it.
women are not, like fortune, blind in bestowing Ang. No, I have it, and I'll use it, as I would favours, either on those who do not merit, or who very thing that is an enemy to Valentine. do not want them.
(Tears the paper. Ang. It is an unreasonable accusation, that you Sir S. How now?
lay upon our sex. You tax us with injustice, Val. Ha!
only to cover your own want of merit. You would Ang. Had I the world to give you, it could not all have the reward of love; but few have the connake me worthy of so generous and faithful a stancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are sassion. Here's my hand; my heart was always generally hypocrites and infidels; they pretend sours, and struggled hard to make this utmost to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith. How rial of your virtue.
(To Val. few, like Valentine, would persevere even to mar. Val. 'Between pleasure and amazement I am tyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their conost—but on my knees I take the blessing. stancy! In admiring me, you misplace the novelty.
Sir S. Zounds, what is the meaning of this?
The miracle to-day is that we find her, you and I may make a voyage together now!
A lover true; and that a woman's kind. Ang. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played
(Exeunt omnes. you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never get a second wife. I always loved your son, and hated your unforgiving nature. I was re
EPILOGUE. solved to try him to the utmost; I have tried you too, and know you both. You have not more faults SURE Providence at first design'd this place than he has virtues; and it is hardly more plea- To be the player's refuge in distress; sure to me that I can make him and myself happy, For still, in every storm, they all run hither, than that I can punish you.
As to a shed, that shields them from the weather.
But thinking of this change which last befel us, And thus our audience, which did once resort
These walls but t'other day were fill'd with noise To help their love, sometimes they show their of roaring gamesters, and your damme boys ; reading;
Then bounding balls and rackets they encomAnd, wanting ready cash to pay for bearts,
pass'd; They top their learning on us, and their parts. And now they are fill’d with jests, and flights and Once of philosophers they told us stories,
bombast ! Whom, as I think, they call’d-Py-Pythagories, I vow, I don't much like this transmigration, I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give them, Strolling from place to place, by circulation; And we, who know no better, must believe them. Grant Heaven, we dont return to our first station ! Now to these men (say they) such souls were given, I know not what these think; but, for my part, That, after death, ne'er went to hell nor heaven. I can't reflect without an aching heart, But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then, How we should end in, our original, a cart. When many years were pass'd, in men again. But we can't fear, since you're so good to save us, Methinks, we players resemble such a soul ; That you have only set us up to leave us. That does from bodies, we from houses stroll. Thus, from the past, we hope for future grace, Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
I beg itMay now be damn'd to animate an ass ; And some here know I have a begging face. Or in this very house, for ought we know, Then pray continue this your kind behaviour; is doing painful penance in soine beau ; For a clear stage wont do, without your favour.
IN FIVE ACTS.
ALTERED FROM BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER,
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Awong the few dramas of our early writers which have maintained their station on the stage, this amusing esmedy holds a distinguished place; and though it cannot be ranked with the Volpone and Alchemist of Jonson, or with a few others of the old masters, the propriety of the verdict which has established its reputation cannot fairly be disputed. Its plot is complicated, though not confused; its characters are well discriminated; its man ners, being founded rather on nature than on any particular fashion or period, are calculated to be understood and to please in all countries and at all times. Such is the general character of the performance, which cannot fail to create an interest, and to raise a laugh, whenever it is represented on the stage. It is not, however, without its defects; and much as we may feel disposed to speak in its favour, candid criticism must admit, that neither its plot, its characters, nor its manners, are faultless.
of the diction of this comedy it may be remarked, that it is surprisingly inconsistent with itself, and evidently betokening the drama to have been the work of two masters. The two first acts, and above half of the third, are written in the easy and familiar blank verse, which was so generally used by the dramatic writers of Elizabeth's and James's time, and which very probably may be preferred, at least for dramatic purposes, to proge. The remainder is of a totally different cast, being mere prose, monotonous, heavy, and inelegant enough.
DRAMATIS PERSON Æ. DUKE OF FERRARA.
servants to Don John and Frederick. PETRUCHIO, Governor of Bologna.
ANTHONY, Don John,
two Spanish Gentlemen and SURGEON. Dox FREDERICK, comrades. ANTONIO, an old stout Gentleman, kinsman to Pe-1st CONSTANTIA, sister to Petruchio, and Mistress truchio.
to the Duke. THREE GENTLEMEN, friends to the Duke.
KINSWOMAN. Turee GENTLEMEN, friends to Petruchio.
LANDLADY to Don John and Frederick FRANCISCO
2D CONSTANTIA, whore to Antonio. Musician.
BAWD. ANTONIO's Boy.
PROLOGUE. Of all men, those have reason least to care Is it not then unjust that fops should still For being laugh'd at, who can laugh their share: Force one to laugh, and then take laughing ill ? And that's a thing our author's apt to use, Yet since perhaps to some it gives offence, Upon occasion, when no man can choose. That men are tickled at the want of sense; Suppose now at this instant one of you
Our author thinks he takes the readiest way Were tickled by a fool, what would you do? To show all he has laugh'd at here—fair play. Tis ten to one you'd laugh: here's just the case; For if ill-writing be a folly thought, For there are fools that tickle with their face. Correcting ill is sure a greater fault. [first, Your gay fool tickles with his dress and motions, Then, gallants, laugh; but choose the right place But your grave fool of fools with silly notions. For judging ill is of all faults the worst. 35*
But sirce she is so conceald, placed where SCENE I
No knowledge can come near her, so guarded
As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her, Enter Peter and ANTHONY.
I have made up my belief.
John. Hang me from this hour, Pet. Would we were removed from this town, If I more think upon her: Anthony,
But as she came a strange report unto me, That we might taste some quiet; for mine own So the next fame shall lose her. part,
Fred. 'Tis the next wayI'm almost melted with continual trotting But whither are you walking ? After inquiries, dreams, and revelations,
John. My old round
Fred. I have a little business.
John. I'd lay my life, this lady stillTell me but this; to what end came we hither?
Fred. Then you would lose it. Ant. To wait upon our masters.
John. Pray let's walk together. Pet. But how, Anthony ?
Fred. Now I cannot. Answer me that; resolve me there, good An John. I have something to impart. thony.
Fred. An hour hence Ant. To serve their uses.
I will not miss to meet ye. Pet. Show your uses, Anthony
John. Where? Ant. To be employ'd in any thing.
Fred. I'th' high street: Pet. No, Anthony,
For, not to lie, I have a few devotions Not any thing, I take it, nor that thing
To do first, then I'm yours. We travel to discover, like new islands,
(Ereunt. A salt itch serve such uses ! in things of moment, Concerning things I grant ye, not things errant, Sweet ladies' things, and things to thank the sur- Enter PETRUCHIO, Antonio, and two GENTLE
geon: In no such things, sweet Anthony. Put case Ant. Cut his wind-pipe, I say. Ant. Come, come, all will be mended: this in
1st Gent. Fy, Antonio. visible woman,
Ant. Or knock his brains out first, and then Of infinite shape and beauty,
forgive him. That bred all this trouble to no purpose,
If you do thrust, be sure it be to the hilts, They are determined now no more to think on.
A surgeon may see through him. Pet. Were there ever
2d Gent. You are too violent. Men known to run mad with report before ?
1st Gent. Too open, indiscreet. Or wander after what they know not where
Petr. Am I not ruin'd? To find; or if found, how to enjoy ? Are men's The honour of my house crack'd ? my blood brains
poison'd? Made now-a-days with malt, that their affections My credit and my name? Are never sober; but like drunken people
2d Gent. Be sure it be so, Founder at every new fame? I do believe
Before you use this violence. Let not doubt That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken And a suspecting anger so much sway ye,
Your wisdom may be question'd. Are ever loving
Ant. I say, kill him, Ant. Pr’ythee be thou sober,
And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be,
2d Gent. Hang up a true man,
Petr. I know as certain
And as belief can lay it to me, To give the wonder over.
That am basely wrong'd, wrong'u above recomPet. Would they were resolved
pence, To give me some new shoes too; for I'll be sworn Maliciously abused, blasted for ever These are e'en worn out to the reasonable soles
In naine and honour, lost to all remembrance, In their good worships' business: and some sleep But what is smeard and shameful: I must kill Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
him; 'l'o make a bell-man of me. Here they come. Necessity compels me.
2d Gent. But think better.
Petr. There's no other cure left; yet witness Enter Don John and Don FREDERICK. John. I would we could have seen her though : All that is fair in man, all that is noble: for sure
I am not greedy for this life I seek for, She must be some rare creature, or report lies : Nor thirst to shed man's blood; and would 'twere All men's reports too.
possible, Fred. I could well wish I had seen Con- I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble stantia:
T'offend the sacred image of my Maker,
My sword saouiu on.y kill his crimes : no, 'tis For things are in strange trouble. Here, be secret Honour, honour, my noble friends, that idie ho- | 'Tis worth your care: begone now; more eyes
watch us That all the world now worships, not Petruchio, Than may be for our safeties. Must do this justice.
John. Hark ye. Ant. Let it once be done,
Wom. Peace; good night. And 'tis no matter, whether you or honour
John. She's gone,
and I am loaden. Fortune Or both be accessary.
for me! 2d Gent. Do you weigh, Petruchio,
It weighs well and it feels well; it chance The value of the person, power and greatness, To be some pack of worth; by the mass 'tis And what this spark may kindle ?
heavy! Petr. To perform it,
If it be coin or jewels, it is worth welcome. So much I am tied to reputation,
I'll ne'er refuse a fortune: I am confident And credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires, 'Tis of no common price. Now to my lodging: And storms that toss me into everlasting ruin, If it be right I'll bless this night. (Eril. Yet I must through; if ye dare side me. Ant. Dare!
Enter Don FREDERICK. Petr. Y' are friends indeed: if not !
Fred. 'Tis strange. 2d Gent. Here's none flies from you;
I cannot meet him; sure he has encounter'd Do it in what design you please, we'll back ye. 1st Gent. Is the cause so mortal ? nothing but To play at in and in for this night. Well, Don
Some light of love or other, and there means his life?
John, Petr. Believe me,
If you do spring a leak, or get an itch, A less offence had been the desolation
Till you claw off your curled pate, thank your Of a whole name. 1st Gent. No other way to purge it?
You must be still a boot-haling. One round more, Petr. There is, but never to be hoped for. u Gent. Think an hour more,
Though it be late, I'll venture to discover ye. And if then you find no safer road to guide ye,
I do not like your out-leaps.
TErit We'll set our rests too. Ant. Mine's up already,
Enter DUKE and three GENTLEMEN. And hang him, for my part, goes less than life. Duke. Welcome to town. Are ye all fit ? 2d Gent. If we see noble cause, 'tis like our 1st Gent. To point, Sir. swords
Duke. Where are the horses?
Duke. Be private: and whatsoever fortune Enter Don John.
Offers itself, let us stand sure.
3d Gent. Fear us not. John. The civil order of this city Naples Makes it beloved and honour'd of all travellers,
Ere you shall be endanger'd or deluded, As a most safe retirement in all troubles ;
We'll make a black night on't. Beside the wholesome seat and noble temper
Duke. No more, I know it; Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
You know your quarters. And to all strangers courteous. But I see
1st Gent. Will you go alone, Sir ?
Duke. Ye shall not be far from me, the least My admiration has drawn night upon me,
noise And longer to expect my friends may pull me
Shall bring ye to my rescue. Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,
2d Gent. We are counsellid. [Ereunt. Which all good governments are jealous of. I'll home, and think at liberty: yet certain, 'Tis not so far night as I thought; for see,
Enter Don John. A fair house yet stands open, yet all about it John. Was ever man so paid for being curious ; Are close, and no lights stirring; there may be Ever so bobb’d for searching out adventures, foul play;.
As I am? Did the devil lead me! Must I needs I'll venture to look in. If there be knaves
be peeping I may do a good office.
Into men's houses where I had no business, Within. Signior!
And make myself a mischief? 'T'is well carried ! John. What! How is this?
I must take other men's occasions on me, Within. Signior Fabritio!
And be I know not whom: most finely handled! John. I'll go nearer.
What have I got by this now? What's the Within. Fabritio!
purchase ? John. This is a woman's tongue; here may be A piece of evening arras-work, a child, good done.
Indeed an infidel! This comes of peeping! Within. Who's there? Fabritio ?
A lump got out of laziness! Good white bread, John. Ay.
Let's have no bawling with ye. 'Sdeath, have I Within. 'Where are you?
Known wenches thus long, all the ways of John. Here.
wenches, Within. O, come for Heaven's sake!
Their snares and subtleties! Have I read over John. I must see what this means.
All their school-learning, dived into their quiddits,
And am I now bumfiddled with a bastard ?
Fetch'd over with a card of five, and in my old Wom I have stayed this long hour for you;
days, make no noise,
After the dire massacre of a million