Sir S. Very good, Sir. Mr. Buckram, are you ready? Come, Sir, will you sign and

seal?

Val. If you please, Sir; but first I would ask this lady one question.

Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave firstThat lady! No, Sir, you shall ask that lady no questions, till you have asked her blessing, Sir; that lady is to be my wife.

Val. I have heard as much, Sir; but I would have it from her own mouth.

Sir S. That's as much as to say, I lie, Sir; and you don't believe what I say.

Val. Pardon me, Sir. But I reflect that I very lately counterfeited madness: I don't know but the frolic may go round.

Sir S. Come, satisfy him, answer him.. Come, Mr. Buckram, the pen and ink. Buck. Here it is, Sir; with the deed; all is ready. [VAL. goes to ANG. Ang. 'Tis true, you have a great while pretended love to me; nay, what if you were sincere. Still, you must pardon me, if I think my own inclinations have a better right to dispose of my person, than yours.

Sir S. Are you answered now, Sir?
Val. Yes, Sir.

Sir S. Where's your plot, Sir? and your contrivance now, Sir? Will you sign, Sir? Come, will you sign and seal?

Val. With all my heart.

Scand. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed? to ruin yourself.

Val. I have been disappointed of my only hope; and he that loses hope may part with any thing. I never valued "fortune, but as it was subservient to my pleasure; and my only pleasure was to please this lady: I have made many vain attempts; and find at last that nothing but my ruin can effect it, which, for that reason I will sign to.- Give me the pa

Sir S. How now? Val. Ha!

Ang. Had I the world to give you, it could not make me worthy of so generous and faithful a passion. Here's my hand; my heart was always yours, and struggled hard to make this utmost trial of your virtue. [To VAL. Val. Between pleasure and amazement 1 am lost-but on my knees I take the blessing. Sir S. Zounds, what is the meaning of this? Ben. Mess, here's the wind changed again. Father, you and I may make a voyage together now!

Ang. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played 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 resolved to try him to the utmost; I have tried you too, and know you both. You have not more faults than he has virtues; and it is hardly more pleasure to me that I can make him and myself happy, than that I can punish you.

Val. If my happiness could receive addition; this kind surprise would make it double. Sir S. You're a crocodile.

For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden eclipse.

Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool, and I'm another.

Tut. If the gentleman is in disorder for want of a wife, I can spare him mine. Oh, are you there, Sir? I am indebted to you for my happiness. [To JEREMY.

Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardons: it was an arrant mistake. You see, Sir, my master was never mad, nor any thing like it.— Then how can it be otherwise?

Val. Tattle, I thank you; you would have interposed between me and heaven: but Providence laid Purgatory in your way. You have but justice.

Scand. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson provided for his own wedding; methinks it is pity they should not be employed when the match is so much mended. Valentine, though it be morning we may have a dance.

Val. Any thing, my friend; every thing that looks like joy and transport.

Scand. Call them, Jeremy.

Ang. I have done dissembling now, Valentine; and if that coldness which I have always worn before you should turn to an extreme fondness, you must not suspect it.

Val. I'll prevent that suspicion-for I intend to doat to that immoderate degree, that your fondness shall never distinguish itself enough to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to love too much, it must be only when I can't love enough.

Ang. Have a care of promises: you know you are apt to run more în debt than you are able to pay.

Val. Therefore I yield myself as your prisoner, and make your best on't.

Scand. The music stays for you. [A dance. [To ANG.] Well, Madam, you have done exemplary justice in punishing an inhuman father, and rewarding a faithful lover: but there is a third good work, which i in particular must thank you for; I was an infidel to your sex, and you have converted me-for now I am convinced that all women are not, like fortune, blind in bestowing favours, either on those who do not merit, or who do not want them.

Ang. It is an unreasonable accusation, that you lay upon our sex. You tax us with injustice, only to cover your own want of merit. You would all have the reward of love; but few have the constancy to stay till it becomes your due. Men are generally hypocrites and infidels; they pretend to worship, but have neither zeal nor faith, How few, like Valentine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In admiring me, you misplace the novelty. The miracle to-day is that we find A lover true; and that a woman's kind. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

Sure Providence at first design'd this place To be the player's refuge in distress; For still, in every storm, they all run hither, As to a shed, that shields them from the weather. [us,

But thinking of this change which last befel It's like what I have heard our poets tell us,

For when behind our scenes their suits are pleading, [reading; To help their love, sometimes they show their And, wanting ready cash to pay for hearts, They top their learning on us, and their parts.

Once of philosophers they told us stories, Whom, as I think, they call'd-Py-Pythagories,

I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give them,

And we, who know no better, must believe them.

Now to these men (say they) such souls were given,

That, after death, ne'er went to hell nor heaven.

But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and then,

When many years were pass'd, in men again.
Methinks, we players resemble such a soul;
That does from bodies, we from houses stroll.
Thus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,
May now be damn'd to animate an ass;
Or in this very house, for ought we know,
Is doing painful penance in some beau;

And thus our audience, which did once resort
To shining theatres, to see our sport,
Now find us toss'd into a tennis court!
These walls but t'other day were fill'd with
noise

Of roaring gamesters, and your dumme boys; Then bounding balls and rackets they encumpass'd;

And now they are fill'd with jests, and flights, and bombast!

I vow, I don't much like this transmigration,
Strolling from place to place, by circulation;
Grant Heaven, we don't return to our first sta-
tion!

I know not what these think; but, for my part,
I can't reflect without an aching heart,
How we should end in, our original, a cart.
But we can't fear, since you're so good to save

us,

That you have only set us up to leave us. Thus, from the past, we hope for future grace, I beg it

And some here know I have a begging face. Then pray continue this your kind behaviour; For a clear stage wont do, without your fa

vour.

Your gay fool tickles with his dress and motions,

But your grave fool of fools with silly notions. Is it not then unjust that fops should still Force one to laugh, and then take laughing ill?

Yet since perhaps to some it gives offence,
That men are tickled at the want of sense;
Our author thinks he takes the readiest way
To show all he has laugh'd at here-fair
play.

For if ill-writing be a folly thought,
Correcting ill is sure a greater fault.

Then, gallants, laugh; but choose the right place first,

For judging ill is of all faults the worst.

And know that they are none of those, not guilty

Of the least vanity of love: only a doubt Fame might too far report, or rather flatter The graces of this woman, made them curious To find the truth; which since they find so Lock'd up from their searches, they are now resolved

To give the wonder over.

Pet. Would they were resolved

To give me some new shoes too; for I'll be

sworn

These are e'en worn out to the reasonable soles [sleep

In their good worships' business: and some Would not do much amiss, unless they mean To make a bell-man of me. Here they come. [Exeunt.

Enter DON JOHN and DON FREDERICK.

John. I would we could have seen her though: for sure

She must be some rare creature, or report lies:

All men's reports too.

Fred. 1 could well wish I had seen Constantia:

But since she is so conceal'd, placed where No knowledge can come near her, so guarded As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach her,

I have made up my belief.

If I more think upon her:
John. Hang me from this hour,

But as she came a strange report unto me,
So the next fame shall lose her.

Fred. 'Tis the next way-
But whither are you walking?
John. My old round

After my meat, and then to bed.
Fred. "Tis healthful.

John. Will you not stir?

Fred. I have a little business.

John. I'd lay my life, this lady still

Fred. Then you would lose it.

John. Pray let's walk together.

Fred. Now I cannot.

John. I have something to impart.
Fred. An hour hence

I will not miss to meet ye.

John. Where?

Fred. I' th' high street:

For, not to lie, I have a few devotions
To do first, then I'm yours.
John. Remember.

[Exeunt.

Enter PETRUCHIO, ANTONIO, and two GENTLE

ΜΕΝ.

Ant. Cut his wind-pipe, I say. 1st Gent. Fy, Antonio.

Ant. Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him.

If you do thrust, be sure it be to the hilts,
A surgeon may see through him.
2d Gent. You are too violent.
1st Gent. Too open, indiscreet.
Petr. Am 1 not ruin'd?

The honour of my house crack'd? my blood poison'd?

My credit and my name?

2d Gent. Be sure it be so,

Before you use this violence. Let not doubt And a suspecting anger so much sway ye, Your wisdom may be question'd.

Ant. I say, kill him,

1223

2d Gent. Hang up a true man, Because 'tis possible he may be thievish: Alas! is this good justice?

Petr. I know as certain

[be,

As day must come again, as clear as truth,
And open as belief can lay it to me,
That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above

recompence,

Maliciously abused, blasted for ever

In name and honour, lost to all remembrance, But what is smear'd and shameful: I must kill Necessity compels me.

2d Gent. But think better.

[him;

Petr. There's no other cure left; yet witness with me

All that is fair in man, all that is noble:
I am not greedy for this life I seek for,
Nor thirst to shed man's blood; and would
'twere possible,

I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
T'offend the sacred image of my Maker,
My sword should only kill his crimes: no, 'tis
Honour, honour, my noble friends, that idol
[truchio,
That all the world now worships, not Pe-
Must do this justice.

honour

Ant. Let it once be done,

And 'tis no matter, whether you or honour,
Or both be accessary.

2d Gent. Do you weigh, Petruchio,

The value of the person, power and greatness, And what this spark may kindle?

Petr. To perform it,

So much I am tied to reputation,

And credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires,
And storms that toss me into everlasting ruin,
Yet I must through; if ye dare side me.
Ant. Dare!

Petr. Y' are friends indeed: if not! 2d Gent. Here's none flies from you; Do it in what design you please, we'll back ye. 1st Gent. Is the cause so mortal? nothing but

his life?

vellers,

As a most safe retirement in all troubles;
Beside the wholesome seat and noble temper
Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise,
And to all strangers courteous. But I see
My admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friends may pull me
Into suspicion of too late a stirrer,

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,
A fair house yet stands open, yet all about it

be foul play;

I'll venture to look in. If there be knaves
I may do a good office.
Within. Signior!

John. What! How is this?
Within. Signior Fabritio!
John. I'll go nearer.

Within. Fabritio!

John. This is a woman's tongue; here may be good done.

Within. Who's there? Fabritio?

John. Ay.

Within. Where are you?

John. Here.

Within. O, come for Heaven's sake! John. I must see what this means.

I cannot meet him; sure he has encounter'd
Fred. 'Tis strange.
Some light of love or other, and there means
To play at in and in for this night. Well, Don
If you do spring a leak, or get an itch, [John,
Till you claw off your curled pate, thank your
night-walks ;

You must be still a boot-haling. One round more,

Though it be late, I'll venture to discover ye. I do not like your out-leaps. [Exit.

Enter DUKE and three GENTLEMEN.

Duke. Welcome to town. Are ye all fit? 1st Gent. To point, Sir.

Duke. Where are the horses?

2d Gent. Where they were appointed. Duke. Be private: and whatsoever fortune Offers itself, let us stand sure.

3d Gent. Fear us not.

Ere you shall be endanger'd or deluded,
We'll make a black night on't.

Duke. No more, I know it;

You know your quarters.

1st Gent. Will you go alone, Sir?

Duke. Ye shall not be far from me, the least

noise