+ + + +

+ + Ladies to you, in whose defence and right, Fletchers brave muse prepar'd her self to fight A battaile without blood, 'twas well fought too, (The victory's yours, though got with much ado,) We do present this Comedy, in which A rivulet to pure wit flowes, strong and rich In Fancy, Language, and all parts that may Adde grace and ornament to a merry Play. Which this may prove. Yet not to go too far In promises from this our female war, We do intreat the angry men would not Expect the mazes of a subtle plot, Set Speeches, high expressions; and what's worse, In a true Comedy, politique discourse. The end we ayme at, is to make you sport; Yet neither gall the City, nor the Court. Heare, and observe his Comique straine and when Y'are sick of melancholy, see't agen. 'Tis no deere Physick, since 'twill quit the cost: Or his intentions, with our pains, are lost.

+ + God give 'em joy. Amen. Amen, say I too: The Pudding's now i'th proof; alas poor wench, Through what a mine of patience must thou worke, Ere thou know'st good houre more? Tis too true, certaine: Me thinks her father has dealt harshly with her, Exceeding harshly, and not like a Father, To match her to this Dragon; I protest I pity the poore Gentlewoman. Me thinks now, He's not so terrible as people think him. This old thiefe flatters, out of meere devotion, To please the father for his second daughter. But shall he have her? Yes, when I have Rome. And yet the father's for him. Ile assure ye, I hold him a good man. Yes sure a wealthy, But whether a good womans man, is doubtfull. Would 'twere no worse. What through his other wife,

+ Out of her most abundant stubbornesse, Out of her daily huy and cries upon him, (For sure she was a Rebel) turn'd his temper, And forc'd him blow as high as she? do'st follow He must retain that long since buried Tempest, To this soft maid? I feare it. So do I too: And so far, that if God had made me woman, And his wife that must be = What would you doe sir? I would learn to eate Coales with an angry Cat, And spit fire at him: I would (to prevent him) Do all the ramping, roaring tricks, a whore Being drunke, and tumbling ripe, would tremble at: There is no safety else, nor morall wisdome, To be a wife, and his. So I should think too. For yet the bare remembrance of his first wife (I tell ye on my knowledge, and a truth too) Will make him start in's sleep, and very often Cry out for Cudgels, Colstaves, any thing; Hiding his Breeches, out of feare for Ghost Should walk, and weare 'em yet. Since his first marriage, He is no more the still Petruchio, Then I am Babylon. He's a good fellow, And by my troth I love him: but to think A fit match for this tender soule = His very frowne, if she but say her prayers Louder then men talk treason, makes him tindar; The motion of a Diall, when he's testy, Is the same trouble to him as a water-worke; She must do nothing of her selfe; not eate, Drink, say sir how do ye, make her ready, pisse,

+ Unlesse he bid her. He will bury her, Ten pound to twenty shillings, within these three weeks. Ile be your halfe. He loves her most extreamly, And so long 'twil be honey-moon. Now Jaques You are a busie man I am sure. Yes certaine, This old sport must have egges = Not yet this ten daies. Sweet Gentleman, with Muskadell. That's right sir. This fellow broods his Master: speed ye Jaques. We shall be for you presently. Your worships Shal have it rich and neat: and o' my conscience As welcom as our Lady day: O my old sir, When shall we see your worship run at Ring? That houre a standing were worth money. So sir. Upon my little honesty, your Mistris, If I have any speculation, Must thinke this single thrumming of a Fiddle, Without a Bow, but ev'n poore sport. Y'are merry Would I were wise too: so God bless your worships. The fellow tels you true. When is the day man? Come, come, you'ld steale a marriage. Nay believe me: But when her father pleases I am ready,

+ And all my friends shall know it. Why not now? One charge had serv'd for both. There's reason in't. Call'd Rowland. Will ye walke? They'l think we are lost: Come Gentleman. You have wip't him now. So will he never the wench I hope. I wish it. + Now Livia, if you'l goe away to night, If your affections be not made of words = I love you, and you know how dearly Rowland, Is there none neere us? my affections ever Have been your servants; with what superstition I have ever Sainted you = Why then take this way? Twill be a childish and a lesse prosperous course, Then this that knows not care: why should we do Our honest and our hearty love such wrong, To over-run our fortunes? Then you flatter. Alas you know I cannot. What hope's left else But flying to enjoy ye? None so far, For let it be admitted we have time, And all things now in other expectation, My father's bent against us; what but ruine, Can such a by-way bring us? if your feares Would let you look with my eyes, I would shew you,

+ And certain, how our staying here would win us A course, though somewhat longer, yet far surer. And then Moroso h'as ye. No such matter: For hold this certaine, begging, stealing, whoring, Selling, (which is a sin unpardonable) Of counterfeit Cods, or musty English Crocus, Switches, or tones for th' toothache sooner finds me, Then that drawn Fox Moroso. But his money, If wealth may win you = If a Hog may be High Priest among the Jewes: his money Rowland? Oh Love forgive me, what a faith hast thou? Why, can his money kisse me? Yes. Behind, Laid out upon a Petticote: or graspe me While I cry, O good thank you? o' my troth Thou makst me merry with thy feare: or lie with me, As you may do? alas, what fooles you men are? His mouldy money? half a dozen Riders, That cannot sit but stampt fast to their Saddles? No Rowland, no man shall make use of me; My beauty was born free, and free Ile give it To him that loves, not buys me. You yet doubt me. I cannot say I doubt ye. Goe thy waies, Thou art the prettiest puling piece of passion: Yfaith I will not faile thee. I had rather = Prethee believe me, if I do not carry it, For both our goods =

+ But = What but? I would tell you = I know all you can tell me; all's but this, You would have me, and lie with me; is't not so? Yes. Why you shall; will that content you? Goe. I am very loth to goe. Now o' my conscience Thou art an honest fellow: here's my sister; Go, prethee goe; this kisse, and credit me, Ere I am three nights older, I am for thee: You shall heare what I do. I had rather feele it. Farewell. Farewell. Alas poore foole, how it looks? It would ev'n hang it selfe, should I but crosse it. For pure love to the matter I must hatch it. Nay never look for merry houre Maria, If now ye make it not; let not your blushes, Your modesty, and tendernesse of spirit, Make you continuall Anvile to his anger: Believe me, since his first wife set him going, Nothing can bind his rage: Take your own Councell, You shall not say that I perswaded you. But if you suffer him = Stay, shall I do it? Have you a stomack to't? I never shew'd it. Twill shew the rarer, and the stranger in you.

+ But do not say I urg'd you. I am perfect, Like Curtius to redeeme my Countrey, have I Leap'd into this gulph of marriage, and Ile do it. Farewell all poorer thoughts, but spight and anger, Till I have wrought a miracle. Now cosen, I am no more the gentle tame Maria; Mistake me not; I have a new soule in me Made of a North-wind, nothing but tempest; And like a tempest shall it make all ruins, Till I have run my will out. This is brave now, If you continue it; but your own will lead you. Adieu all tendernesse, I dare continue; Maides that are made of feares and modest blushes, View me, and love example. Here is your sister. Here is the brave old mans love. That loves the young man. #I and hold thee there wench: what a grief of heart is't, When Paphos Revels should up rowse old night, To sweat against a Cork; to lie and tell The clock o'th lungs, to rise sport-starv'd? Deere sister, Where have you been you talke thus? Why at Church, wench; Where I am tide to talke thus : I am a wife now. It seems so, and a modest. Y'are an asse; When thou art married once, thy modesty Will never buy thee Pins. 'Blesse me. From what? From such a tame foole as our cozen Livia. You are not mad?

+ Yes wench, and so must you be, Or none of our acquaintance, marke me Livia, Or indeed fit for our sex: Tis bed time. Pardon me yellow Hymen, that I meane Thine offrings to protract, or to keepe fasting My valiant Bridegroome. Whether will this woman? You may perceive her end. Or rather feare it. Dare you be partner in't? Leave it Maria, I feare I have mark'd too much, for goodnesse leave it; Devest you with obedient hands; to bed. To bed? No Livia, there are Comets hang Prodigious over that yet; there's a fellow Must yet before I know that heat (nere start wench) Be made a man, for yet he is a monster; Here must his head be Livia. Never hope it. Tis as easie with a Sive to scoope the Ocean, As to tame Petruchio. Stay: Lucina heare me, Never unlock the treasure of my womb For humane fruit, to make it capable; Nor never with thy secret hand make briefe A mothers labour to me; if I doe Give way unto my married husbands will, Or be a wife, in any thing but hopes: Till I have made him easie as a child, And tame as feare; he shall not win a smile, Or a pleas'd look, from this austerity, Though it would pull another Joynture from him, And make him ev'ry day another man; And when I kisse him, till I have my will, May I be barren of delights, and know Onely what pleasures are in dreams, and guesses.

+ A strange Exordium. All the severall wrongs Done by Emperious husbands to their wives These thousand yeeres and upwards, strengthen thee: Thou hast a brave cause. And Ile doe it bravely Or may I knit my life out ever after. In what part of the world got she this spirit? Yet pray Maria, looke before you truly, Besides the disobedience of a Wife, (Which you will finde a heavy imputation) Which yet I cannot thinke your own, it shews So distant from your sweetnesse. Tis I sweare. Weigh but the person, and the hopes you have, To worke this desperate cure. A weaker subject Would shame the end I aime at: disobedience? You talk too tamely: By the faith I have In mine own Noble will, that childish woman That lives a prisoner to her husbands pleasure, Has lost her making, and becomes a beast, Created for his use, not fellowship. His first wife said as much. She was a foole, And took a scurvy course; let her be nam'd 'Mongst those that for things, but dare not do 'em: I have a new daunce for him, and a mad one. Are you of this faith? Yes truly, and wil die in't. Why then let's all weare breeches. That's a good wench. Now thou comst neere the nature of a woman; Hang these tame hearted Eyasse, that no sooner

+ See the Lure out, and heare their husbands halla, But cry like Kites upon 'em: The free Haggard (Which is that woman, that has wing, and knowes it, Spirit, and plume) will make an hundred checks, To shew her freedome, saile in ev'ry ayre, And look out ev'ry pleasure; not regarding Lure, nor quarry, till pitch command What she desires, making her foundred keeper Be glad to fling out traines, and golden ones, To take her down again. You are learned sister; Yet I say still, take heed. A witty saying; Ile tell thee Livia, had this fellow tired As many wives as horses under him, With sprurring of their patience; had he got A Patent, with an Office to reclaime us Confirm'd by Parliament; had he all the malice And subtilty of Devils, or of us, Or any thing that's worse then both = Hey, hey boyes, this excellent. Or could he Cast his wives new again, like Bels to make 'em Sound to his will; or had the fearfull name Of the first breaker of wilde women: yet, Yet would I undertake this man, thus single, And spight of all the freedom he has reach'd to, Turn him and bend him as I list, and mold him Into a babe again; that aged women, Wanting both teeth and spleen, may Master him. Thou wilt be chronicl'd. That's all I aime at. I must confesse, I do with all my heart Hate an Emperious husband, and in time Might be so wrought upon = To make him cuckold?

+ If he deserve it. Then Ile leave ye Ladies. Thou has not so much Noble anger in thee. Goe sleep, goe sleep, what we intend to do, Lies not for such starv'd soules as thou hast Livia. Good night: the Bridegroom will be with you presently. That's more then you know. If ye worke upon him, As ye have promised, ye may give example, Which no doubt will be followed. So. Good night: we'l trouble you no further. If you intend no good, pray doe no harm. None, but pray for ye. 'Cheere wench? Now Byancha, Those wits we have, let's wind 'em to the height, My rest is up wench, and I pull for that Will make me ever famous. They that lay Foundations, are halfe builders all men say. My Master forsooth = Oh how do's thy Master? prethee commend me to him. How's this? my Master staies forsooth = Why let him stay, who hinders him forsooth? The Revel's ended now, to visit you. I am not sick. I mean to see his chamber, forsooth. Am I his Groom? where lay he last night, forsooth? In the low matted Parlour. There lies his way by the long Gallery. I mean your chamber: y'ar very merry Mistris. Tis a good signe I am sound hearted Jaques: But if you'l know where I lie, follow me; And what thou seest, deliver to thy Master.

+ Do gentle Jaques. Ha, is the wind in that dore? By'r Lady we shall have foule weather then: I doe not like the shuffling of these women, They are mad beasts when they knock their heads together: I have observ'd 'em all this day; their whispers, One in anothers eare, their signes, and pinches, And breaking often into violent laughters: As if the end they purpos'd were their own. Call you this weddings? Sure this is a knavery, A very trick, and dainty knavery, Marvellous finely carried, that's the comfort: What would these women doe in waies of honour, That are such Masters this way? Well, my Sir Has been as good at finding out these toyes, As any living; if he lose it now, At his own perill be it. I must follow. + You that are married, Gentlemen, have at ye For a round wager now. Of this nights Stage? Yes. I am your first man: a paire of Gloves of twenty shillings. Done: who takes me up next? I am for all bets. Faith lusty Laurence, were but my night now, Old as I am, I would make you clap on Spurs, But I would reach you, and bring you to your trot too: I would Gallants. Well said good Will; but where's the stuffe boy, ha? Old father time, your houre-glasse is empty. A good tough traine would break thee all to pieces;

+ Thou hast not breath enough to say thy prayers. See how these boyes despise us. Will you to bed sonne? This pride will have a fall. Upon your daughter; But I shall rise again, if there be truth In Egges, and butter's Pasnips. Wil you to bed son, and leave talking; To morrow morning we shall have you looke, For all your great words, like Saint George at Kingston, Running a foot-back from the furious Dragon, That with her angry tayle belabours him For being lazie. His warlike launce Bent like a crosse bow lath, alas the while. His courage quench'd, and so far quench'd = Tis well sir. That anie privie Saint even small Saint Davy May lash him with a leeke. What then? Fly, fly, quoth then the fearfull dwarfe; Here is no place for living man. Well my masters, if I doe sinke under my businesse, as I finde tis very possible, I am not the first that has miscarried so, that's my comfort; what may be done without impeach or waste, I can and will doe. How now is my faire Bride a bed? No truly sir. Not a bed yet? body o' me: we'l up and rifle her: here's a coyle with a mayden-head, tis not intayl'd, is it? If it be, try all the Law i'th Land, but Ile cut it off: let's up, come. That you cannot neither.

+ Why? Unlesse you'll drop through the Chimney like a Daw, or force a breach i'th windows: you may untile the house, tis possible. What dost thou meane? A morall sir, the Ballat will expresse it: The wind and the rain, Has turnd you back again, Ye cannot be lodged there. The truth is all the doores are baracadoed; not a Cathole, but holds a murd'reer in't. She's victual'd for this moneth. Art not thou drunk? He's drunk, he's drunk; come, come, let's up. Yes, yes, I am drunke: ye may goe up, ye may Gentlemen, But take heed to your heads: I say no more. Ile try that. How dost thou say? the door fast lock'd fellow? Yes truly sir, tis lock'd, and guarded too; and two as desperate tongues planted behind it, as ere yet batterd: they stand upon their honours, and will not give up without strange com%position, Ile assure you; marching away with their Pieces cockt, and Bullets in their mouthes will not satisfie them. How's this? how's this? they are? Is there another with+ her? Yes marry is there, and an Engineir. Who's that for Heavens sake? Colonell Byancha, she commands the workes: Spinola's but a ditcher to her; there's a halfe-moon: I am a poore man, but if you'ld give me leave sir, Ile venture a yeeres wages, draw all your force before it, and mount your ablest piece of battery, you shall not enter in't these three nights yet. I should laugh at that good Jaques. Beat back again, she's fortified for ever. Am I drunk now sir?

+ He that dares most, goe up now, and be cool'd. I have scap'd a pretty scowring. What are they mad? have we another Bedlam? She doth not talke I hope? Oh terribly, extreamly fearfull, the noise at London- bridge is nothing neere her. How got she tongue? As you got taile, she was born to't. Lock'd out a doors, and on my wedding-night? Nay, and I suffer this, I may goe graze: come Gentlemen, Ile batter; are these vertues? Do, and be beaten off with shame, as I was: I went up, came to th' doore, knockd, no body answered; knock'd lowder, yet heard nothing: would have broke in by force; when suddenly a water-worke flew from the window with such violence, that had I not duck'd quickly like a Fryer, coetera quis nescit? The chamber's nothing but a meere Ostend, in very window Pewter cannons mounted, you'l quickly finde with what they are charg'd sir. Why then tantara for us. And all the lower works lin'd sure with small shot, long tongues with Fire-locks, that at twelve score blanke hit to the heart: now and ye dare go up = The window opens, beat a parley first; I am so much amaz'd my very haire stands. Why how now daughter: what intrench'd? A little guarded for my safety sir. For your safety Sweet-heart? why who offends you? I come not to use violence. I thinke you cannot sir, I am better fortified. I know your end, you would faine reprieve your Maiden-head a night, or two. Yes, or ten, or twenty, sir, or say an hundred; or indeed, till I list lie with you. That's a shrewd saying; from this present houre,

+ I never will believe a silent woman. When they break out they are+ bonfires. Till you list lie with him? why who are you Madam? That trim Gentlemans wife, sir. Cry ye mercy, do ye command too? Yes marry do's she, and in chiefe. I doe command, and you shall go without: (I mean your wife, for this night.) And for the next too wench, and so as't follows. Thou wilt not, wilt 'a? Yes indeed deere father, and till he seale to what I shall set down, for any thing I know, for ever. By'r Lady these are Bugs-words. Your heare sir, she can talke, God be thanked. I would I heard it not sir. I finde that all the pity bestowd upon this woman, makes but an Anagram of an ill wife, for she was never vertuous. Youl let me in I hope, for all this jesting. Hope still Sir. You will come down I am sure. I am sure I will not. Ile fetch you then. The power of the whole County cannot sir, unlesse we please to yeild, which yet I thinke we shal not; charge when you please, you shall heare quickly from us. 'Blesse me from a Chicken of thy hatching, is this wiving? Prethee Maria tell me what's the reason, And do it freely, you deale thus strangely with me? You were not forc'd to marry, your consent Went equally with mine, if not before it: I hope you do not doubt I want that mettle A man should have to keepe a woman waking; I would be sorry to be such a Saint yet: My person, as it is not excellent,

+ So tis not old, nor lame, nor weak with Physick, But wel enough to please an honest woman, That keeps her house, and loves her husband. Tis so. My means and my conditions are no shamers Of him that owes 'em, all the world knows that, And my friends no reliers on my fortunes. All this I believe, and none of all these parcels I dare except against; nay more, so far I am from making these the ends I aime at, These idle outward things, these womens feares, That were I yet unmarried, free to choose Through all the Tribes of man, i'ld take Petruchio In's shirt, with one ten Groats to pay the Priest, Before the best man living, or the ablest That ev'r leap'd out of Lancashire, and they are right ones. Why do you play the foole then, and stand prating Out of the window like a broken Miller! If you wil have me credit you Maria, Come down, and let your love confirme it. Stay there sir, that bargain's yet to make. Play sure wench, the pack's in thine own hand. Let me die lowsie, if these two wenches be not brewing knavery to stock a Kingdome. Death, this is a Riddle: I love ye, and I love ye not. It is so: And till your own experience do untie it, This distance I must keep. If you talk more, I am angry, very angry. I am glad on't, and I wil talke. Prethee peace, Let me not think thou are mad. I tell thee woman, If thou goest forward, I am still Petruchio. And I am worse, a woman that can feare

+ Neither Petruchio Furius, nor his fame, Nor any thing that tends to our allegeance; There's a short method for ye, now you know me. If you can carry't so, tis very wel. No you shall carry it, sir. Peace gentle Low-bel. Use no more words, but come down instantly, I charge thee by the duty of a child. Prethee come Maria, I forgive all. Stay there; That duty, that you charge me by (If you consider truly what you say) Is now another mans, you gave't away I'th Church, if you remember, to my husband: So all you can exact now, is no more But onely a due reverence to your person, Which thus I pay: Your blessing, and I am gone To bed for this night. This is monstrous: That blessing that Saint Dunstan gave the Devil, If I were neere thee, I would give thee = Pull thee down by th' nose. Saints should not rave, sir; A little Rubarb now were excellent. Then by that duty you owe to me Maria, Open the doore, and be obedient: I am quiet yet. I do confesse that duty; make your best on't. Why give me leave, I will. Sir, there's no learning An old stiffe Jade to trot: you know the morall. Yet as I take it, sir, I owe no more Then you owe back again. You wil not Article? All I owe, presently, let me but up, ile pay. Y'are too hot, and such prove Jades at length; You do confesse a duty or respect to me from you again,

+ That's very neere, or full the same with mine? Yes. Then by that duty, or respect or what You please to have it, goe to bed and leave me, And trouble me no longer with your fooling; For know, I am not for you. Well, what remedy? A fine smart Cudgell. Oh that I were neer thee. If you had teeth now, what a case were we in? These are the most authentique Rebels, next Tyrone, I ever read of. A weeke hence, or a fortnight, as you beare ye, And as I finde my will observ'd, I may With intercession of some friends be brought May be to kisse you; and so quarterly To pay a little rent by composition, You understand me? Thou Boy, thou. Well there are more Maides then Maudlin, that's my comfort. Yes, and more men then Michael. I must not to bed with this stomach, and no meat Lady. Feed where you will, so it be sound, and wholsome, Else live at livery, for i'le none with ye. You had best back one of the dairy maids, they'l carry. But take heed to your girthes, you'l get a bruise else. Now if thou would'st come down, and tender me All the delights due to a marriage bed, Studdy such kisses as would melt a man, And turne thy selfe into a thousand figures, To adde new flames unto me, I would stand Thus heavy, thus regardlesse, thus despising Thee, and thy best allurings: all the beauty That's laid upon your bodies, mark me well, For without doubt your minds are miserable, You have no maskes for them: all this rare beauty,

+ Lay but the Painter, and the silke worme by, The Doctor with his dyets, and the Taylor, And you appeare like flead Cats, not so handsome. And we appeare like her that sent us hither, That onely excellent and beauteous nature; Truly our selves, for men to wonder at, But too divine to handle; we are Gold, In our own natures pure; but when we suffer The husbands stamp upon us, then alayes, And base ones of you men are mingled with us, And make us blush like Copper. Then, and never Till then are women to be spoken of, For till that time you have no soules I take it: Good night: come Gentlemen; i'le fast for this night, But by this hand = well: I shall come up yet? Noe. There will I watch thee like a wither'd Jewry, Thou shalt neither have meat, fire, nor Candle, Nor any thing that's easie: doe you rebell so soone? Yet take mercy. Put up your Pipes: to bed sir; i'le assure you A moneths seige will not shake us. Well said Colonell. To bed, to bed Petruchio: good night Gentlemen, You'l make my Father sicke with sitting up: Here you shall finde us any time these ten dayes, Unlesse we may march off with our contentment. Ile hang first. And i'le quarter if I doe not, Ile make ye know, and feare a wife Petruchio, There my cause lies. You have been famous for a woman tamer, And beare the fear'd-name of a brave wife-breaker: A woman now shall take those honours off, And tame you; Nay, never look so bigge, she shall, beleeve me,

+ And I am she: what thinke ye; good night to all, Ye shall finde Centinels. If ye dare sally. The devill's in 'em, ev'n the very devill, the downe right devill. Ile devill 'em: by these ten bones I will: i'le bring it to the old Proverb, no sport no pie: death, taken down i'th top of all my speed; this is fine dancing: Gentlemen, stick to me. You see our Freehold's touch'd, and by this light, we will beleaguer 'em, and either starve 'em out, or make 'em recreant. Ile see all passages stopt, but those about 'em: if the good women of the Towne dare succour 'em, we shall have warres indeed. Ile stand perdue upon 'em. My regiment shall lye before. I think so, 'tis grown too old to stand. Let's in, and each provide his tackle, We'l fire 'em out, or make 'em take their pardons, Heare what I say, on their bare knees I vow: Am I Petruchio, fear'd, and spoken of, And on my wedding night am I thus jaded? + Now Pedro? Very busie Master Rowland. What haste man? I beseech you pardon me, I am not mine own man. Thou art not mad? No; but beleeve me, as hasty = The cause good Pedro? There be a thousand sir; you are not married?

+ Not yet. Keepe your selfe quiet then. Why? You'l finde a Fiddle that never will be tun'd else: From all such women God deliver me. What ailes the fellow, tro? Jaques? Your friend sir. But very full of businesse. Nothing but businesse? Prethee the reason; is there any dying? I would there were sir. But thy businesse? Ile tell you in a word, I am sent to lay An imposition upon Sowse and Puddings, Pasties, and Penny Custards, that the women May not releeve yon Rebels: Fare ye well sir. How does my Mistresse? Like a resty jade. She's spoil'd for riding. What a devill ayle they? Custards, and penney Pasties, Fooles and Fiddles, What's this to'th purpose? O well met. Now Rowland. I cannot stay to talk long. What's the matter? Here's stirring but to what end? whether goe you? To view the works. What workes? The womens Trenches. Trenches? are such to see? I doe not jest sir. I cannot understand you.

+ Doe not you heare In what a state of quarrell the new Bride Stands with her husband? Let him stand with her, And there's an end. It should be, but by'r Lady She holds him out at Pikes end, and defies him, And now is fortifide; such a Regiment of Rutters Never defied men braver: I am sent To view their preparation. This is newes Stranger then Armies in the ayre, you saw not My gentle Mistresse? Yes, and meditating Upon some secret businesse, when she had found it She leapt for joy, and laugh'd and straight retir'd To shun Moroso. This may be for me. Will you along? No. Farewell. Farewell sir. What should her musing meane, and what her joy in't, If not for my advantage? Stay ye; may not That Bob-taile Jade Moroso, with his Gold, His gew-gaudes, and the hope she has to send him Quickly to dust, excite this? here she comes, And yonder walkes the Stallion to discover: Yet i'le salute her: save you beauteous mistresse. The Fox is kennell'd for me: = save you sir. Why doe you look so strange? I use to looke sir Without examination.

+ Twenty Spur-Royals for that word. Belike then The objects discontents you? Yes it does. Is't come to this? you know me, doe you not? Yes as I may know many by repentance. Why doe ye breake your faith? Ile tell you that too, You are under age, and no band holds upon you. Excellent wench. Sue out your understanding, And get more haire, to cover your bare knuckle For Boyes were made for nothing, but dry kisses, And if you can, more manners. Better still. And then if I want Spanish gloves, or stockings, A ten-pound waste-coate, or a Nag to hunt on, It may be I shall grace you to accept 'em. Farewell, and when I credit women more, May I to Smith-field, and there buy a Jade, And know him to be so that breakes my neck. Because I have knowne you, Ile be thus kinde to you; Farewell, and be a man, and i'le provide you, Because I see y'are desperate, some staid Chamber-maid That may relieve your youth, with wholesome doctrin. She's mine from all the world: ha wench? Ha Chicken? How's this? I do not love these favours: save you. The devill take thee = Oh! There's a love token for you: thank me now. Ile thinke on some of ye, and if I live, My nose alone shall not be plaid withall.

+ + A Box o'th eare doe you say? Yes sure a sound one, Beside my nose blown to my hand; if Cupid Shoot Arrows of that waight, i'le sweare devoutly, #H'as sude his liverie, and is no more a Boy. You gave her some ill language? Not a word. Or might be you weare fumbling? Would I had sir. I had been a forehand then; but to be baffel'd, And have no feeling of the cause = Be patient, I have a medicine clapt to her back will cure her. No sure it must be afore sir. O' my Conscience, When I got these two wenches (who till now Ne'r shew'd their riding) I was drunck with Bastard, Whose nature is to forme things like it selfe Heady, and monstrous: did she slight him too? That's all my comfort: a meere Hobby-horse She made childe Rowland: s'foot she would not know him, Not give him a free look, not reckon him Among her thoughts, which I held more then wonder, I having seene her within's three dayes kisse him With such an appetite as though she would eat him. There is some trick in this: how did he take it? Ready to cry; he ran away. I feare her. And yet I tell you, ever to my anger, She is as tame as Innocency; it may be This blow was but a favour. Ile be sworne 'Twas well tye'd on then. Goe too, pray forget it,

+ I have bespoke a Priest: and within's two houres Ile have ye married; will that please you? Yes. Ile see it done my selfe, and give the Lady Such a sound exhortation for this knavery Ile warrant you, shall make her smell this Moneth on't. Nay good sir, be not violent. Neither = It may be Out of her earnest love, there grew a longing (As you know women have such toyes) in kindnesse, To give me a box o'th eare or so. It may be. I reckon for the best still: this night then I shall enjoy her. You shall hansell her. Old as I am, i'le give her one blow for't Shall make her groane this twelve-moneth. Where's your joynture? I have a joynture for her. Have your Councell Perus'd it yet? No Councell, but the night, and your sweet daughter Shall ere peruse that Joynture. Very well sir. Ile no demurrers on't nor no rejoynders. The other's ready seal'd. Come then let's comfort My Son Petruchio, he's like little Children That loose their Bables, crying ripe. Pray tell me, Is this stern woman still upon the flaunt Of bold defiance? Still, and still she shall be Till she be starv'd out: you shall see such justice, That women shall be glad after this tempest To tye their husbands shooes, and walke their horses.

+ That were a merry world: doe you heare the rumour, They say the women are in Insurrection, And meane to make a = They'l sooner Draw upon walls as we doe: Let 'em, let 'em, We'l ship 'em out in Cuck-stooles, there they'l saile As brave Columbus did, till they discover The happy Islands of obedience. We stay too long, Come. Now Saint George be with us. + Now if I can but get in hansomely, Father I shall deceive you, and this night For all your private plotting, i'le no wedlock; I have shifted saile, and finde my Sisters safety A sure retirement; pray to heaven that Rowland Do not beleeve too farre, what I said to him, For y'on old Foxcase forc'd me, that's my feare. Stay, let me see, this quarter fierce Petruchio Keepes with his Myrmidons: I must be suddaine, If he seize on me, I can looke for nothing But Marshall Law; to this place have I scap'd him; Above there. $Qui $va $la? A Friend. Who are you? Looke out and know. Alas poore wench, who sent thee, What weake foole made thy tongue his Orator? I know ye come to parly.

+ Y'are deceiv'd. Urg'd by the goodnes of your cause I come To doe as you doe. Y'ar too weake, too foolish, To cheat us with your smoothnesse: doe not we know Thou hast been kept up tame? Beleeve me. No, prethee good Livia Utter thy Eloquence somewhere else. Good Cosen Put up your Pipes; we are not for your palat, Alas we know who sent you. O' my faith = Stay there; you must not thinke your faith, or troth, Or by your Maydenhead, or such Sonday oathes Sworne after Even-Song, can inveigle us To loose our hand-fast: did their wisdomes thinke That sent you hither, we would be so foolish, To entertaine our gentle Sister Sinon, And give her credit, while the woodden Jade Petruchio stole upon us: no good Sister, Goe home, and tell the merry Greekes that sent you, Ilium shall burn, and I as did AEneas, Will on my back, spite of the Myrmidons, Carry this warlike Lady, and through Seas Unknown, and unbeleev'd, seek out a Land, Where like a race of noble Amazons, We'le root our selves, and to our endlesse glory Live, and despise base men. Ile second ye. How long have you been thus? That's all one, Cosen. I stand for freedome now. Take heed of lying; For by this light, if we doe credit you,

+ And finde you tripping, his infliction That kill'd the Prince of Orenge, will be sport To what we purpose. Let me feele the heaviest. Swear by thy Sweet-heart Rowland (for by your mayden%head, _ I feare 'twill be too late to swear) you meane Nothing but faire and safe, and honourable To us, and to your selfe. I sweare. Stay yet, Sweare as you hate Moroso, that's the surest, And as you have a Christian feare to finde him Worse then a poore dride Jack, full of more Aches Then Autumne has; more knavery, and usury, And foolery, and brokery, then doggs-ditch: As you doe constantly beleeve he's nothing But an old empty bagge with a grey beard, And that beard such a Bob-taile, that it lookes Worse then a Mares taile eaten off with Fillyes: As you acknowledge, that young hansome wench That lyes by such a Bilbo blade, that bends With ev'ry passe he makes to'th hilts, most miserable, A dry nurse to his Coughes, a fewterer To such a nasty fellow, a rob'd thing Of all delights youth lookes for: and to end, One cast away on course beef, born to brush That everlasting Cassock that has worne As many Servants out, as the Northeast passage Has consum'd Saylors: if ye sweare this, and truly Without the reservation of a gowne Or any meritorious Petticoate, 'Tis like we shall beleeve you. I doe sweare it. Stay yet a little; came this wholesome motion (Deale truly Sister) from your own opinion,

+ Or some suggestion of the Foe? Nev'r feare me, For by that little faith I have in husbands, And the great zeale I beare your cause, I come Full of that liberty, you stand for, Sister. If we beleeve, and you prove recreant Livia, Think what a maym you give the noble Cause We now stand up for: Thinke what women shall An hundred yeare hence speak thee, when examples Are look'd for, and so great ones, whose relations Spoke as we doe 'em wench, shall make new customs. If ye be false, repent, goe home, and pray, And to the serious women of the City Confesse your selfe; bring not a sinne so heynous To load they soule, to this place: mark me Livia, If thou bee'st double, and betray'st our honours, And we fail in our purpose: get thee where There is no women living, nor no hope There ever shall be. If a Mothers daughter, That ever heard the name of stubborn husband Find thee, and know thy sinne = Nay, if old age, One that has worne away the name of woman, And no more left to know her by, but railing, No teeth, nor eyes, nor legges but woodden ones, Come but i'th wind-ward of thee, for sure she'l smell thee Thou'lt be so ranck, she'l ride thee like a night-mare, And say her Prayers back-ward to undoe thee, She'l curse thy meat and drink, and when thou marriest, Clap a sound spell for ever on thy pleasures. Children of five yeare old, like little Fayries Will pinch thee into motley; all that ever Shall live, and heare of thee, I meane all women, Will (like so many furies) shake their Keyes, And tosse their flaming distaffes o're their heads,

+ Crying Revenge: take heed, 'tis hideous, Oh 'tis a fearfull office: if thou had'st (Though thou bee'st perfect now) when thou cam'st hither, A false Imagination, get thee gone, And as my learned Cozen said repent, This place is sought by soundnesse. So I seeke it, Or let me be a most despis'd example. I doe beleeve thee, be thou worhty of it. You come not empty? No, Here's Cakes, and cold meat, And tripe of proofe: behold here's wine and beere, Be suddaine, I shall be surpriz'd else. Meet at the low Parlor doore, there lyes a close way: What fond obedience ye have living in you, Or duty to a man, before you enter, Fling it away, 'twill but defile our Offrings. Be wary as you come. I warrant ye. + Now Rowland? How doe you? How do'st thou man? Thou look'st ill. Yes. pray can you tell me Tranio, Who knew the devill first? A woman. So, Were they not well acquainted? May be so, For they had certaine Dialogues together.

+ He sold her fruit, I take it? Yes, and Cheese That Chaok'd all mankinde after. Canst thou tell me Whether that woman ever had a faith After she had eaten? That's a great Schoole question. No 'tis no question, for beleeve me Tranio, That cold fruit after eating bred naught in her But windy promises, amd chollick vowes That broke out both wayes; thou ha'st heard I am sure Of Esculapius, a farre famed Surgeon, One that could set together quarter'd Traytors, And make 'em honest men. How do'st thou Rowland? Let him but take, (if he dare doe a cure Shall get him fame indeed) a faithlesse woman, There will be credit for him, that will speake him, A broken woman Tranio, a base woman, And if he can cure such a rack of honour Let him come here, and practise. Now for Heavens sake Why what ayl'st thou Rowland? I am ridden Tranio, And Spur-gald to the life of patience (Heaven keepe my wits together) by a thing Our worst thoughts are too noble for, a woman. Your Mistresse has a little frown'd it may be? She was my Mistresse. Is she not? No Tranio. She has done me such disgrace, so spitefully, So like a woman bent to my undoing, That henceforth a good horse shall be my Mistresse, A good Sword, or a Booke: and if you see her,

+ Tell her I doe beseech you, even for loves sake, Our old love and our friend-ship = I will Rowland. She may sooner count the good I have thought her, Shed one true teare, meane one houre constantly, Be old, and honest, married, and a maide, Then make me see her more, or more beleeve her: And now I have met a Messenger, farewell sir. Alas poore Rowland, I will doe it for thee: This is that dogge Moroso, but I hope To see him cold i'th mouth first er he enjoy her: Ile watch this young man, desperate thoughts may seize him, And if my purse, or councell can, i'le ease him. + For looke you Gentlemen, say that I grant her Out of my free and liberall love, a pardon, Which you and all men else know she deserves not, (Teneatis amici) can all the world leave laughing? I thinke not. No by = they cannot; For pray consider, have you ever read, Or heard of, or can any man imagine, So stiffe a Tom-boy, of so set a malice, And such a brazen resolution, As this young Crab-tree? and then answer me, And marke but this too friends, without a cause, Not a foule word come crosse her, not a feare, She justly can take hold on, and doe you thinke I must sleepe out my anger, and endure it, Sew pillows to her ease, and lull her mischiefe? Give me a Spindle first: no, no my Masters,

+ Were she as faire as Nell a Greece, and house-wife As good as the wise Saylors wife, and young still, Never above fifteene; and these tricks to it, She should ride the wild Mare once a week, she should, (Believe me friends she should.) I would tabor her, Till all the Legions that are crept into her, Flew out with fire i'th tailes. Methinks you erre now, For to me seems, a little sufferance Were a far surer cure. Yes, I can suffer, Where I see promises of peace and amendment. Give her a few conditions. Ile be hangd first. Give her a crab-tree-cudgell. So I will; And after it a flock-bed for her bones, And hard egges, till they brace her like a Drum. She shall be pamperd with = She shall not know a stoole in ten moneths Gentlemen. This must not be. Arme, arme, out with your weapons, For all the women in the Kingdom's on ye; They swarm like waspes, and nothing can destory 'em, But stopping of their hive, and smothering of 'em. Stand to your guard sir, all the devils extant Are broke upon us, like a cloud of thunder; There are more women, marching hitherward, In rescue of my Mistris, then ere turn'd taile At Sturbridge Faire; and I believe, as fiery. The forlorn-hope's led by a Tanners wife, I know her by her hide; a desperate woman: She flead her husband in her youth, and made

+ Raynes of his hide to ride the Parish, her plackett Lookes like the straights of Gibralter, still wider Downe to the gulphe, all sun-burnt Barbary Lyes in her breech; take 'em all together, They are genealogy of Jennets, gotten And born thus, by the boysterous breath of husbands; They serve sure, and are swift to catch occasion, (I meane their foes, or husbands) by the fore-locks, And there they hang like favours; cry they can, But more for Noble spight, then feare: and crying Like the old Gyants that were foes to Heaven, They heave ye stoole on stoole, and fling main Potlids Like massie rocks, dart ladles, tosting Irons, And tongs like Thunderbolts, till overlayd, They fall beneath the waight; yet still aspiring At those Emperious Codsheads, that would tame'em. There's nere a one of these, the worst and weakest, (Choose where you will) but dare attempt the raysing Against the soveraigne peace of Puritans, A may-pole, and a Morris, maugre mainly Their zeale, and Dudgeon-daggers: and yet more, Dares plant a stand of battring Ale against 'em, And drinke 'em out o'th Parish. There's one brought in the Beares against the Canons Of two church-wardens, made it good, and fought 'em, And in the churchyard after even song. Another, to her everlasting fame, erected Two Ale-houses of ease: the quarter-sessions Running against her roundly; in which businesse Two of the disannullers lost their night-caps, A third stood excommunicate by the cudgell: The Cunstable, to her eternall glory, Drunke hard, and was converted, and she victor.

+ Then are they victualed with pies and puddings, (The trapings of good stomacks) noble Ale The true defendor, Sawsages, and smoak'd ones, If need be, such as serve for Pikes; and Porke, (Better the Jewes never hated:) here and there A bottle of Metheglin, a stout Britaine That wil stand to 'em; what else they want, they war for. Lo ye fierce Petruchio, This comes of your impatience. Come to councell. Now ye must grant conditions or the Kingdom Will have no other talke but this. Away then, And let's advise the best. Why doe you tremble? Have I liv'd thus long to be knockt o'th head, With halfe a washing beetle? pray be wise sir. Come, something Ile doe; but what it is I know not. To councel then, and let's avoyd their follies. Guard all the doors, or we shal not have a cloke left. + How goes your businesse Girles? A foot, and faire = If fortune favour us: away to your strength, The Country Forces are ariv'd, be gone. We are discover'd else. Arme, and be valiant. Think of our cause. Our Justice. 'Tis sufficient. +

+ I am indifferent, though I must confesse, I had rather see her carted. No more of that sir. Are ye resolv'd to give her fair conditions? Twill be the safest way. I am distracted, Would I had run my head into a halter When I first woo'd her: if I offer peace, She'l urge her own conditions, that's the devil. Why say she do? Say, I am made an Asse, then; I know her aime: may I with reputation (Answer me this) with safety of mine honour, (After the mighty mannage of my first wife, Which was indeed a fury to this Filly, After my twelve strong labours to reclaime her, Which would have made Don Hercules horn mad, And hid him in his hide) suffer this Sicely, Ere she have warm'd my sheets, ere grappel'd with me, This Pinck, this painted Foyst, this Cockle-boat, To hang her Fights out, and defie me friends, A wel known man of war? if this be qual, And I may suffer, say, and I have done. I do not think you may. You'l make it worse sir. Pray heare me good Petruchio: but ev'n now, You were contented to give all conditions, To try how far she would carry: Tis a folly, (And you wil find it so) to clap the curb on, Er ye be sure it proves a naturall wildnesse, And not a forc'd. Give her conditions, For on my life this tricke is put into her. I should believe so too. And not her own.

+ You'l finde it so. Then if she flownder with you, Clap spurs on, and in this you'l deale with temperance, Avoyd the hurry of the world. And loose = No honour on my life, sir. I wil do it. It seems they are very merry. Why God hold it. Now Jaques? They are i'th flaunt sir. Yes we heare 'em They have got a stick of Fiddles, and they firke it In wondrous waies, the two grand Capitanos, (They brought the Auxiliary Regiments) Daunce with their coats tuckt up to their bare breeches, And bid the Kingdom kisse 'em, that's the burden; They have got Metheglin, and audacious Ale, And talke like Tyrants. How knowest thou? I peep't in At a loose Lansket. Harke. A Song, pray silence. A Health for all this day To the woman that bears the sway And wears the breeches; Let it come, let it come. Let this health be a Seal, For the good of the Common-weal the woman shall wear the breeches.

+ Let's drink then and laugh it And merrily merrily quaff it And tipple, and tipple a round; here's to thy fool, and to my fool. Come, to all fools though it cost us wench, many a pound. They look out. Good ev'n Ladies. Good you good ev'n sir. How have you slept to night? Exceeding well sir. Did you not wish me with you? No, believe me, I never thought upon you. Is that he? Yes. Sir? She has drunk hard, mark her hood. You are = Learnedly drunk, Ile hang else: let her utter. And I must tell you, viva voce friend, A very foolish fellow. There's an Ale figure. I thank you Susan Brotes. Forward sister. You have espoused here a hearty woman, A comely, and couragious. Wel I have so. And to the comfort of distressed damsels, Weomen out-worn in wedlock, and such vessels, This woman has defied you.

+ It should seem so. And why? Yes, can you tell? For thirteen causes. Pray by your patience Mistris = Forward sister. Do you mean to treat of all these? Who shall let her? Doe you heare, Velvet-hood, we come not now To heare your doctrine. For the first, I take it, It doth divide it selfe into seven branches. Harke you good Maria, Have you got a Catechiser here? Good zeale. Good three pil'd predication, will you peace, And heare the cause we come for? Yes Bob-tailes We know the cause you come for, here's the cause, But never hope to carry her, never dream Or flatter your opinions with a thought Of base repentance in her. Give me sack, By this, and next strong Ale = Sweare forward sister. By all that's cordiall, in this place we'l bury Our bones, fames, tounges, our triumphs; and ev'n all That ever yet was chronicl'd of woman; But this brave wench, this excellent despiser, This bane of dull obedience, shall inherit Her liberall wil, and march off with conditions Noble, and worth her selfe She shall Tom Tilers, And brave ones too; My hood shal make a hearse-cloth, And I lie under it, like Jone o Gaunt, Ere I goe lesse, my Distaffe stucke up by me,

+ For the eternall Trophee of my conquests; And loud fame at my head, with two main Bottles, Shall fill to all the world the glorious fall Of old Don Gillian. Yet a little further, We have taken Armes in rescue of this Lady; Most just and Noble: if ye beat us off Without conditions, and we recreant, Use us as we deserve; and first degrade us Of all our ancient chambering: next that The Symbols of our secrecy, silke Stockings, Hew #of our heeles; our petticotes of Armes Teare #of our bodies, and our Bodkins breake Over our coward heads. And ever after To make the tainture most notorious, At all our Crests, videlicet our Plackets, Let Laces hang, and we returne againe Into our former titles, Dayry maids. No more wars: puissant Ladies, shew conditions, And freely I accept 'em Call in Livia; She's in the treaty too. How, Livia? Heare you that sir? There's the conditions for ye, pray peruse 'em. Yes, there she is: t'had been no right rebellion, Had she held off; what think you man? Nay nothing. I have enough o'th prospect: o'my conscience, The worlds end, and the goodnesse of a woman Will come together. Are you there sweet Lady? Cry you mercy sir, I saw you not: your blessing.

+ Yes when I blesse a jade, that stumbles with me. How are the Articles? This is for you sir; And I shal think upon't. You have us'd me finely. There's no other use of thee now extant, But to be hung up; cassock, cap, and all, For some strange monster at Apothecaries. I heare you whore. It must be his then sir, For need wil then compell me. Blessing on thee. He wil undoe me in meere pans of Coles To make him lustie. There's no talking to 'em; How are they sir? As I expected: Liberty and clothes, When, and in what way she wil: continuall moneys, Company, and all the house at her dispose; No tongue to say, why is this? or whether wil it; New Coaches, and some buildings, she appoints here; Hangings, and hunting-horses: and for Plate And Jewels for her private use, I take it, Two thousand pound in present: then for Musick, And women to read French = This must not be. And at the latter end a clause put in, That Livia shal by no man be importun'd, This whole moneth yet, to marry. This is monstrous. This shall be done, Ile humor her awhile: If nothing but repentance, and undoing Can win her love, Ile make a shift for one. When ye are once a bed, all these conditions Lie under your own seale. Do ye like 'em?

+ Yes. And by that faith I gave ye fore the Priest Ile ratifie 'em. Stay, what pledges? No, Ile take that oath; But have a care ye keep it. Tis not now As when Andrea liv'd. If ye do juggle, Or alter but a letter of this creed We have set down, the self-same persecution = Mistrust him not. By all my honesty = Enough. I yeild. What's this inserted here? That the two valiant women that command here Shall have a Supper made 'em, and a large one, And liberall enterainment without grudging, And pay for all their Souldier. That shall be too; And if a tun of Wine wil serve to pay 'em, They shall have justice: I ordaine ye all Pay-masters, Gentlemen. Then we shall have sport boyes. We'l meet ye in the Parlour. Ne'r looke sad, sir, For I will doe it. There's no danger in't. For Livia's Article, you shall observe it, I have tyde my selfe. I wil. Along then: now Either I break, or this stiffe plant must bow.

+ + Come, ye shall take my counsell. I shall hang first. Ile no more love, that's certaine, tis a bane, (Next that they poyson Rats with) the most mortall: No, I thank Heaven, I have got my sleep again, And now begin to write sence; I can walk ye A long howre in my chamber like a man, And think of something that may better me; Some serious point of Learning, or my state; No more ay-mees, and misereris, Tranio, Come neer my brain. Ile tell thee, had the devil But any essence in him of a man, And could be brought to love, and love a woman, Twould make his head ake worser than his hornes doe; And firke him with a fire he never felt yet, Would make him dance. I tell thee there is nothing (It may be thy case Tranio, therefore heare me:) Under the Sun (reckon the masse of follies Crept into th' world with man) so desperate, So madde, so sencelesse, poor and base, so wretched, Roguy, and scurvy = Whether wilt thou Rowland? As tis to be in love. And why for Heavens sake? And why for Heavens sake? do'st thou not conceive me? No by my troth. Pray then, and hartely For fear thou fall into't: I'le tell thee why too, (For I have hope to save thee) when thou lovest. And first beginst to worship the calfe with the white face, Imprimis, thou hast lost thy gentry,

+ And like a prentice flung away they freedom. Forthwith thou art a slave. That's a new Doctrine. Next thous art no more man. What then? A Fryppery; Nothing but brayded haire, and penny riband, Glove, garter, ring, rose, or at best a swabber: If thou canst love so neer to keep thy making, Yet thou wilt loose thy language. Why? O Tranio, Those things in love, ne'r talke as we do. No? No without doubt, they sigh and shake the head, And sometimes whistle dolefully. No tongue? Yes Tranio, but no truth in't, nor no reason, And when they cant (for tis a kind of canting) Ye shall hear (if you reach to understand 'em Which you must be a foole first, or you cannot) Such gibbrish; such believe me, I protest Sweet, And oh deer Heavens, in which such constellations Raigne at the births of lovers, this is too well, And daigne me Lady, daigne me I beseech ye Your poor unworthy lump, and then she licks him. O, pox on't, this is nothing. Thou ha'st hit it: Then talks she ten times worse, and wryes and wriggles, As though she had the itch (and so it may be.) Of what religion are they? Good old Catholikes, They deale by intercession all, they keepe

+ A kind of household Gods, call'd chamber-maides, Which being pray'd to, and their offerings brought, (Which are in gold, yet some observe the old law And give 'em flesh) probatum est, you shall have As good love for your monie, and as tydie As ere you turn'd your legge or, and that ended = Why thou art grown a strange discoverer. Of mine own follies Tranio. Wilt thou Rowland, Certaine ne'r love again? I think so, certain, And if I be not dead drunk, I shall keep it. Tell me but this; what do'st thou think of women? Why as I think of fiddles, they delight me, Till their strings break. What strings? Their modesties, Faithes, vowes and maidenheads, for they are like Kits, They have but foure strings to 'em. What wilt thou Give me for ten pound now, when thou next lovest, And the same woman still? Give me the money; A hundred, and my Bond for't. But pray hear me, I'le work all meanes I can to reconcile ye. Do, do, give me the money. There. Work Tranio. You shall go sometimes where she is. Yes straight. This is the first good I ere got by women. You would think it strange now, if an other beauty As good as hers, say better = Well? Conceive me, This is no point o'th wager.

+ That's all one. Love ye as much, or more, then she now hates ye. Tis a good hearing, let 'em love: ten pound more, I never love that woman. There it is; And so an hundred, if ye lose. Tis done; Have ye an other to put in? No, no sir. I am very soory: now will I erect A new Game and go hate for th' bell; I am sure I am in excellent case to win. I must have leave To tell ye, and tell truth too, what she is, And how shee suffers for you. Ten pound more, I never believe ye. No sir, I am stinted. Well, take your best way then. Let's walk, I am glad Your sullen feavor's off. Shal't see me Tranio A monstrous merry man now: let's to the Wedding, And as we go, tell me the generall hurry Of these madde wenches, and their workes. I will. And do thy worst. Something i'le do. Do Tranio. + A paire of stocks bestride 'em, are they gone? Yes they are gon; and all pans i'th Town Beating before 'em: what strange admonitions They gave my Master, and how fearfully

+ They threaten'd, if he brok 'em? O' my conscience #H'as found his full match now. That I believe too. How did she entertaine him? She lookt on him = But scurvely. Faith with no great affection That I saw: and I heard some say he kiss'd her, But 'twas upon a treaty, and some coppies Say but her cheek. Faith Jaques, what wouldst thou give For such a wife now? Full as many prayers As the most zealous Puritane conceives Out of the meditation of fat veale, Or birds of prey, cram'd capons, against Players, And to as good a tune too, but against her, That heaven would blesse me from her: mark it Pedro, If this house be not turn'd within this fortnight With the foundation upward, i'le be carted. My comfort is yet that those Amorites, That came to back her cause, those heathen whores Had their hoods hallowed with sack. How div'lish drunk they were? And how they tumbled, Pedro, didst thou marke The Countrey Cavaliero? Out upon her, How she turn'd down the Bragget? #I that sunke her. That drink was wel put to her; what a somer salt When the chaire fel, she fetch'd, with her heels upward? And what a piece of Landskip she discoverd?

+ Didst mark her, when her hood fel in the Posset? Yes, and there rid, like a Dutch hoy; the Tumbrel, When she had got her ballasse. That I saw too. How faine she would have drawn on Sophocles To come aboord, and how she simperd it = I warrant her, she has been a worthy striker. I'th heat of Summer there had been some hope on't, For then old women are coole cellars. Hang her. She offerd him a Harry-groat, and belcht out, Her stomack being blown with Ale, such Courtship, Upon my life has givn him twenty stooles since: Believe my calculation, these old women When they are tippled, and a little heated Are like new wheels, theyl roare you all the Town ore Till they be greasd. The City Cinque-pace Dame Tost and Butter, had her Bob too? Yes, But she was sullen drunk, and given to filching, I see her offer at a Spoon; my master, I do not like his looke, I feare #h'as fasted For all this preparation; lets steale by him. + Not let you touch her all this night? Not touch her. Where was your courage? Where was her obedience? Never poore man was sham'd so; never Rascall That keeps a stud of whores was us'd so basely. Pray tell me one thing truly; do you love her?

+ I would I did not, upon that condition I past thee halfe my Land. It may be then, Her modesty requir'd a little violence? Some women love to struggle. She had it, And so much that I sweat for't, so I did, But to no end: I washt an Ethiope; She swore my force might weary her, but win her I never could, nor should, till she consented; And I might take her body prisoner, But for her mind or appetite = Tis strange; This woman is the first I ever read of, Refus'd a warranted occasion, And standing on so faire termes. I shall quight her. Us'd you no more art? Yes, I swore unto her, And by no little ones, if presently Without more disputation on the matter, She grew not neerer to me, and dispatcht me Out of the pain I was, (for I was nettl'd) And willingly, and eagerly, and sweetly, I would to her Chamber-maid, and in her hearing Begin her such a huntes-up. Then she started? No more then I do now; marry she answered If I were so dipos'd, she could not help it; But there was one cal'd Jaques, a poor Butler, One that might well content a single woman. And he should tilt her? To that sence, and last She bad me yet these six nights look for nothing, Nor strive to purchase it, but faire good night,

+ And so good morrow, and a kiss or two To close my stomach, for her vow had seald it, And she would keep it constant. Stay ye, stay ye, Was she thus when you woo'd her? Nothing Sophocles, More keenely eager, I was oft afraid She had bin light, and easy, she would showre Her kisses so upon me. Then I fear An other spoke's i'th wheele. Now thou hast found me, There gnawes my devill, Sophocles, O patience Preserve me; that I make her not example By some unworthy way; as fleaing her, Boyling, or making verjuce, drying her. I hear her. Mark her then, and see the heire Of spight and prodigality, she has studied A way to begger's both, and by this hand She shall be if I live a Doxy. Fy Sir. I do not like that dressing, tis too poor, let me have six gold laces, broad and massy, And betwixt ev'ry lace a rich embroydry, Line the gown through with plush, perfum'd, and purffle All the sleeves down with pearle. What think you Sophocles. In what point stands my state now? For those hangings Let 'em be carried where I gave appointment, They are too base for my use, and bespeak New pieces of the civill wars of France, Let 'em be large and lively, and all silke work,

+ The borders gold. I marry sir, this cuts it. That fourteen yards of satten give my woman, I do not like the colour, tis too civill: Ther's too much silk i'th lace too; tell the Dutchman That brought the mares, he must with all speed send me An other suit of horses, and by all meanes Ten cast of Hawkes for th' River, I much care not What price they beare, so they be sound, and flying, For the next winter, I am for the Country; And mean to take my pleasure; wher's the horse man? She meanes to ride a great horse. With a side sadle? Yes, and shee'l run a tilt within this twelvemonth. To morrow Ile begin begin to learne, but pray sir Have a great care he be an easy doer, Twill spoyle a scholler els. An easy doer, Did you hear that? Yes, I shall meet her morals Er it be long I fear not. O good morrow. Good morrow Lady, how is't now? Faith sickly, This house stands in an ill ayre = Yet more charges? Subject to rots, and rhewms; out on't, tis nothing But a tild fog. What think you of the Lodge then? I like the seate, but tis too little, Sophocles Let me have thy opinion, thou hast judgement. Tis very well. What if I pluck it down, And built a square upon it, with two courts Still rising from the entrance?

+ And i'th midst A Colledge for yong Scolds. And to the Southward Take in a garden of some twenty acres, And cast it of the Italian fashion, hanging. And you could cast your self so too; = pray Lady will not this cost much money? Some five thousand, Say six: Ile hae it battel'd too. And gilt; Maria, This is a fearfull course you take, pray think on't, You are a woman now, a wife, and his That must in honesty, and justice look for Some due obedience from you. That bare word Shall cost you many a pound more, build upon't; Tell me of due obedience? what's a husband? What are we married for, to carry sumpters? Are we not one peece with you, and as worthy Our own intentions, as you yours? Pray hear me. Take two small drops of water, equall weigh'd, Tell me which is the heaviest, and which ought First to discend in duty? You mistake me; I urge not service from you, nor obedience In way of duty, but of love, and credit; All I expect is but a noble care Of what I have brought you, and of what I am, And what our name may be. That's in my making. Tis true it is so. Yes it is Petruchio,, For there was never man without our molding, Without our stampe upon him, and our justice,

+ Left any thing three ages after him Good, and his own. Good Lady understand him. I do too much, sweet Sophocles, he's one Of a most spightfull self condition, Never at peace with any thing but age, That has no teeth left to return his anger: A Bravery dwels in his blood yet, of abusing His first good wife; he's sooner fire then powder, And sooner mischief. If I be so sodain Do not you fear me? No nor yet care for you, And if it may be lawfull, I defie you. Do's this become you now? It shall become me. Thou disobedient, weak, vain-glorious woman, Were I but half so wilfull, as thou spightfull, I should now drag thee to thy duty. Drag me? But I am friends again: take all your pleasure. Now you perceive him Sophocles. I love thee Above thy vanity, thou faithlesse creature. Would I had been so happy when I married, But to have met an honest man like thee, For I am sure thou art good, I know thou art honest, A hansome hurtlesse man, a loving man, Though never a penny with him; and these eyes, That face, and that true heart; weare this for my sake, And when thou thinkst upon me pity me: I am cast away, Why how now man? Pray leave me, And follow your advices. The man's jealous. I shall find a time ere it be long, to aske you

+ One or two foolish questions. I shall answer As wel as I am able, when you call me: = If she mean true, tis but a little killing, And if I do not venture it, rots take me. = Farewel sir. Pray farewell. Is there no keeping A wife to one mans use? no wintering These cattell without straying? tis hard dealing, Very hard dealing, Gentlemen, strange dealing: Now in the name of madnesse, what star raign'd, What dog-star, bull, or bear-star, when I married This second wife, this whirlwind, that takes all Within her compasse? was I not wel warnd, (I thought I had, and I believe I know it,) And beaten to repentance in the daies Of my first doting? had I not wife enough To turn my tooles to? did I want vexation, Or any speciall care to kill my heart? Had I not ev'ry morning a rare breakfast, Mixt with a learned Lecture of ill language, Louder then Tom o' Lincoln; and at dinner, A dyet of the same dish? was there evening That ere past over us, without thou knave, Or thou whore, for digestion? had I ever A pull at this same poor sport men run mad for, But like a cur I was faine to shew my teeth first, And almost worry her? and did Heaven forgive me, And take this Serpent from me? and am I Keeping tame devils now again? my heart akes; Something I must do speedily: Ile die, If I can hansomely, for that's the way To make a Rascall of her; I am sick, And Ile go very neer it, but Ile perish. +

+ Then I must be content sir, with my fortune. And I with mine. I did not think, a look, Or a poore word or two, could have displanted Such a fix'd constancy, and for your end too. Come, come, I know your courses: there's your+ gew-gaws, Your Rings, and Bracelets, and the Purse you gave me, The money's spent in entertaining you At Plays, and Cherry-gardens. There's your Chain too. But if you'l give me leave, Ile weare the haire still; I would yet remember you. Give him his love wench; The yong man has imployment for't. Fie Rowland. You cannot fie me out a hundred pound With this poore plot: yet, let me nere see day more, If something do not struggle strangely in me. Young man, let me talk with you. Wel young woman. This was your Mistris once. Yes. Are ye honest? I see you are young, and hansome. I am honest. Why that's wel said: and there's no doubt your judgement Is good enough, and strong enough to tell you Who are your foes, and friends: why did you leave her? She made a puppy of me. Be that granted: She must doe so sometimes, and oftentimes; Love were too serious else. A witty woman.

+ Had ye lov'd me = I would I had. And deerly; And I had lov'd you so: you may love worse sir, But that is not materiall. I shal loose. Some time or other for variety I should have cal'd ye foole, or boy, or bid ye Play with the Pages: but have lov'd you stil, Out of all question, and extreamly too; You are a man made to be loved. This woman Either abuses me, or loves me dearly. Ile tell you one thing, if I were to choose A husband to mine own mind, I should think One of your mothers making would content me, For o' my conscience she makes good ones. Lady, Ile leave you to your commendations: = I am in again, The divel take their tongues. You shall not goe. I wil: yet thus far Livia, Your sorrow may induce me to forgive ye, But never love again; = if I stay longer, I have lost two hundred pound. Good sir, but thus much = Turn if thou beest a man. But one kisse of ye; One parting kisse, and I am gone too. Come, I shall kisse fifty pound away at this clap: We'l have one more, and then farewel. Farewel, sir. Wel, go thy waies, thou bearst a kind heart with thee. #H'as made a stand.

+ A noble, brave young fellow, Worthy a wench indeed. I wil: I wil not. 'Is gone: but shot agen; play you but your part, And I will keep my promise: forty Angels In fair gold Lady: wipe your eyes: he's yours If I have any wit. Ile pay the forfeit. Come then, lets see your sister, how she fares now, After her skirmish: and be sure, Moroso, Be kept in good hand; then all's perfect, Livia. + O Jaques, Jaques, what becomes of us? Oh my sweet Master? Run for a Physitian, And a whole peck of Pothecaries, Pedro. He wil die, didle, didle die, if they come not quickly: And bring all Empyricks straight and Mountebankes Skilfull in Lungs and Livers: raise the neighbours, And all the Aquavite-bottles extant; And, O the Parson, Pedro; O the Parson! A little of his comfort, never so little; Twenty to one you finde him at the Bush, There's the best Ale. I fly. Out with the Trunks, ho: Why are you idle? Sirha, up to th' Chamber, And take the hangings down, and see the Linnen Packt up, and sent away within this halfe houre. What are the Carts come yet? some honest body

+ Help down the chests of Plate, and some the wardrobe, Alas we are undone else. Pray forsooth, And I beseech ye, tell me, is he dead yet? No, but 'is drawing on: out with the Armour. Then Ile goe see him. Thou art undone then fellow: No man that has been neere him come neere me. Why how now Lady, what means this? Now daughter, How do's my sonne? Save all ye can for Heavens sake. Be of good comfort sister. O my Casket. How do's thy husband woman? Get ye gon, If you mean to save your lives: the sicknesse = Stand further off, I prethee. Is i'th house sir, my husband has it now; Alas he is infected, and raves extreamly: Give me some counsell friends. Why lock the doores up, And send him in a woman to attend him. I have bespoke two women; and the City Has sent a watch by this time: meat nor money He shall not want, nor prayers. How long is't Since it first tooke him? But within this three houres.

+ I am frighted from my wits: = O here's the watch; Pray doe your Office, lock the doores up friends, And patience be his Angel. This comes unlook'd for. Ile to the lodge; some that are kind and love me, I know wil visit me. Doe you heare my Masters:+ Ho, you that locke the doores up. Tis his voyce. Hold, and let's heare him. Wil ye starve me here: Am I a Traytor, or an Heretick. Or am I grown infectious? Pray sir, pray. I am as wel as you are, goodman puppy. Pray have patience, you shall want nothing sir. I want a cudgell, and thee, thou wickednesse. He speakes wel enough. 'Had ever a strong heart sir. Wil ye heare me? first be pleas'd To think I know ye all, and can distinguish Ev'ry mans severall voyce: you that spoke first, I know my father in law; the other Tranio, And I heard Sophocles; the last, pray marke me, Is my dam'd wife Maria: Gentlemen, If any man misdoubt me for infected, There is mine arme, let any mon looke on't. Save ye Gentlemen. O welcome Doctor, Ye come in happy time; pray your opinion, What think you of his pulse? It beats with busiest,

+ And shews a general inflammation, Which is the symptome of a pestilent feaver, Take twenty ounces from him. Take a foole; Take an ounce from mine arme, and Doctor Deuz-ace, Ile make a close-stoole of your Velvet costard. Death, Gentlemen, doe ye make a may-game on me? I tell ye once againe, I am as sound, As wel, as wholsome, and as sensible, As any of ye all: Let me out quickly, Or as I am a man, Ile beat the wals down, And the first thing I light upon shall pay for't. Nay we'l go with you Doctor. Tis the safest; I saw the tokens sir. Then there is but one way. Wil it please ye open? His fit grows stronger still. Let's save our selves sir, He's past all worldly cure. Friends do your office. And what he wants, if money, love, or labour, Or any way may win it, let him have it. Farewell, and pray my honest friends = Why Rascals, Friends, Gentlemen, thou beastly wife, Jaques; None heare me? who's at the doore there? Thinke I pray sir, Whether ye are going, and prepare your selfe. These idle thoughts disturbe ye, the good+ Gentlewoman Your wife has taken care ye shall want nothing.

+ The blessing of her grandam Eve light on her, Nothing but thin fig leaves to hide her knavery. Shall I come out in quiet, answer me, Or shall I charge a fowling-piece, and make Mine own way? two of ye I cannot misse, If I misse three; ye come here to assault me. There's onions rosting for your sore, Sir. People, I am as excellent wel, I thank Heav'n for't, And have as good a stomacke at this instant = That's an ill signe. #I he draws on; he's a dead man. And sleep as soundly; wil ye looke upon me? Do ye want Pen and Inke? while ye have sence sir, Settle your state. Sirs, I am as wel, as you are; Or any Rascall living. Would ye were sir. Look to your selves, and if ye love your lives, Open the doore, and fly me, for I shoot else; I sweare Ile shoot, and presently, chain-bullets; And under foure I will not kill. Let's quit him, It may be it is a trick: he's dangerous. The devill take the hinmost, I cry. Have among ye; The doore shall open too, Ile have a faire shoot; Are ye all gone? tricks in my old daies, crackers Put now upon me? and by Lady Green-sleeves?

+ Am I grown so tame after all my triumphs? But that I should be thought mad, if I rail'd As much as they deserve against these women, I would now rip up from the primitive cuckold, All their arch-villanies, and all their dobles, Which are more then a hunted Hare ere thought on: When a man has the fairest, and the sweetest Of all their sex, and as he thinks the noblest, What has he then? and Ile speake modestly, He has a Quartern-ague, that shall shake All his estate to nothing; never cur'd, Nor never dying; #H'as a ship to venture His fame, and credit in, which if he man not With more continuall labour then a Gally To make her tith, either she grows a Tumbrell Not worth the cloth she weares; or springs more leakes Then all the fame of his posterity Can ever stop againe: out on 'em hedge-hogs, He that shal touch 'em, has a thousand thorns Runs through his fingers: If I were unmarried, I would do any thing below repentance, Any base dunhill slavery; be a hang-man, Ere I would be a husband: O the thousand, Thousand, ten thousand waies they have to kil us! Some fall with too much stringing of the Fiddles, And those are fooles; some, that they are not suffer'd, And those are Maudlin-lovers: some, like Scorpions, They poyson with their tailes, and those are Martyrs; Some die with doing good, those Benefactors, And leave 'em land to leap away: some few, For those are rarest, they are said to kill With kindnesse, and faire usage; but what they are My Catologue discovers not: onely tis thought They are buried in old wals with their heeles upward. I could raile twenty daies together now.

+ Ile seek 'em out, and if I have not reason, And very sensible, why this was done, Ile go a birding yet, and some shall smart for't. + That I do love her, is without all question, And most extremly, deerly, most exactly; And that I would ev'n now, this present Monday, Before all others, maids, wives, women, widdows, Of what degree or calling, marry her, As certaine too; but to be made a whim-wham, A Jib-crack, and a Gentleman o'th first house For all my kindnesse to her = How you take it? Thou get a wench, thou get a dozen night-caps; Wouldst have her come, and lick thee like a calfe, And blow thy nose, and busse thee? Not so neither. What wouldst thou have her do? Do as she should do; Put on a clean smock, and to Church, and marry, And then to bed a Gods name, this is faire play, And keeps the Kings peace; let her leave her bobs, I have had too many of them, and her quillets, She is nimble that way as an Eele; But in the way she ought to me especially, A sow of Lead is swifter. Quoat your griefes down. Give faire quarter, I am old and crasie, And subject to much fumbling, I confesse it; Yet something I would have that's warme, to hatch me: But understand me I would have it so, I buy not more repentance in the bargaine Then the ware's worth I have; if you allow me

+ Worthy your Son-in-law, and your allowance, Do it a way of credit; let me show so, And not be troubled in my vistations, With blows, and bitternesse, and down right railings, As if we were to couple like two cats, With clawing, and loud clamour. Thou fond man Hast thou forgot the Ballad, crabbed age, Can May and January match together, And nev'r a storm between 'em? say she abuse thee, Put case she doe. Wel. Nay, believe she do's. I doe believe she do's. And div'lishly: Art thou a whit the worse? That's not the matter, I know, being old, tis fit I am abus'd; I know tis hansome, and I know moreover I am to love her for't. Now you come to me. Nay more then this; I find too, and finde certain, What Gold I have, Pearle, Bracelets, Rings, or Owches, Or what she can desire, Gowns, Petticotes, Wastcotes, Embroydered-stockings, Scarffs, Cals, Feathers, Hats, five pound Garters, Muffs, Masks, Ruffs, and Ribands, I am to give her for't. Tis right, you are so. But when I have done all this, and think it duty, Is't requisit #an #other bore my nostrils? Riddle me that. Go get you gone, and dreame She's thine within these two daies, for she is so; The boy's beside the saddle: get warm broths, And feed apace; think not of worldly businesse, It cools the blood; leave off your tricks, they are hateful,

+ And meere forerunners of the ancient measures; Contrive your beard o'th top cut like Verdugoes; It shows you would be wise, and burn your night-cap, It looks like halfe a winding-sheet, and urges From a young wench nothing but cold repentance: You may eate Onyons, so you'l not be lavish. I am glad of that. They purge the blood, and quicken, But after 'em, conceive me, sweep your mouth, And where there wants a tooth, stick in a clove. Shall I hope once againe, say't. You shall sir: And you shall have your hope. Why there's a match then. You shall not finde me wanting, get you gon. Here's the old man, he'l think you are plotting else Something against his new Sonne. Fare ye well sir. And ev'ry Buck had his Doe, And ev'ry Cuckold a Bell at his Toe: Oh what sport should we have then, then Boyes then, O what sport should we have then? This is the spirit, that inspires 'em all. Give you good ev'n. A word with you Sweet Lady. I am very hasty sir. So you were ever. Well what's your will? Was not your skilful hand In this last stratagem? were not your mischiefes Eeking the matter on? In's shutting up? Is that it?

+ Yes. Ile tell you. Doe. And truly. Good old man, I doe grieve exceeding much, I feare too much. I am sorry for your heavinesse. Belike you can repent then? There you are wide too. Not that the thing was done (conceive me rightly) Do's any way molest me. What then Lady? But that I was not in't, there's my sorrow, there; Now you understand me, for Ile tell you, It was so sound a peece, and so well carried, And if you marke the way, so hansomely, Of such a heigth, and excellence, and art I have not known a braver, for conceive me, When the grosse foole her husband would be sick = Pray stay. Nay, good, your patience: and no sence for't, Then stept your daughter in. By your appointment. I would it had, on that condition I had but one halfe smock, I like it so well; And like an excellent cunning woman, cur'd me One madnesse with #an #other, which was rare, And to our weake beleifes, a wonder. Hang ye, For surely, if your husband looke not to ye, I know what will. I humbly thank your worship. And so I take my leave. You have a hand I heare too = I have two sir. In my yong daughters businesse. You will finde there

+ A fitter hand then mine, to reach her frets, And play down diddle to her. I shall watch ye. Doe. And I shall have justice. Where? That's all one; I shall be with you at a turne hence forward. Get you a posset too; and so good ev'n sir. + And as I told your worship, all the hangings, Brasse, Pewter, Plate, ev'n to the very pispots = And that that hung for our defence, the Armor, And the march Beere was going too: Oh Jaques What a sad sight was that? Even the two Rundlets, The two that was our hope, of Muskadell, (Better nev'r tongue tript over) those two Cannons, To batter brawne withall at Christmas sir, Ev'n those two lovely twyns, the enemy Had almost cut off cleane. Goe trim the house up, And put the things in order as they were. I shall finde time for all this: could I finde her But constant any way, I had done my businesse; Were she a whore directly, or a scold, An unthrift, or a woman made to hate me, I had my wish, and knew which way to rayne her: But while she shewes all these, and all their losses, A kinde of linsey woolsey mingled mischiefe Not to be ghest at, and whether true, or borrowed,

+ Not certaine neither, what a hap had I, And what a tydie fortune, when my fate Flung me upon this Beare-whelp? here she comes, Now if she have a colour, for the fault is A cleanly one, upon my conscience I shall forgive her yet, and finde a something Certaine, I married for: her wit: Il marke her. Not let his wife come neere him in his sicknes, Not come to comfort him? she that all lawes Of heaven, and Nations have ordain'd his second, Is she refus'd? and two old Paradoxes, Peeces of five and fifty, without faith Clapt in upon him? #h'as a little pet, That all young wives must follow necessary, Having their Mayden-heads = This is an Axiome I never heard before. Or say rebellion If we durst be so foule, which two faire words Alas win us from, in an houre, an instant, We are so easie, make him so forgetfull Both of his reason, honesty, and credit, As to deny his wife a visitation? His wife, that (though she was a little foolish,) Lov'd him, Oh heaven forgive her for't! nay doted, Nay had run mad, had she not married him. Though I doe know this falser then the devill, I cannot choose but love it. What doe I know But those that came to keepe him, might have kill'd him, In what a case had I been then? I dare not Beleeve him such a base, debosh'd companion, That one refusall of a tender maide Would make him faigne this sicknesse out of need, And take a Keeper to him of fourescore

+ To play at Billiards; one that mew'd content And all her teeth together; not come neere him? This woman would have made a most rare Jesuite, She can prevaricate on any thing: There was not to be thought a way to save her In all imagination, beside this. His unkinde dealing, which was worst of all, In sending, heaven knowes whether, all the plate, And all the houshold-stuffe, had I not crost it, By a great providence, and my friends assistance Which he will thanke me one day for: alas, I could have watch'd as well as they, have serv'd him In any use, better, and willinger. The Law commands me to doe it, love commands me; And my own duty charges me. Heav'n blesse me. And now I have said my Prayers, Ile goe to her: Are you a wife for any man? For you Sir. If I were worse, I were better; That ye are well, (At least, that ye appeare so) I thanke heaven, Long may it hold, and that you are here, I am glad too, But that you have abus'd me wretchedly, And such a way that shames the name of husband, Such a malicious mangy way, so mingled, (Never looke strangely on me, I dare tell you) With breach of honesty, care, kindnesse, manners = Holla, ye kick too fast. Was I a stranger? Or had I vow'd perdition to your person? Am I not married to you, tell me that? I would I could not tell you. Is my presence, The stock I come of, which is worshipfull, If I should say right worshipfull, I ly'd not, My Grandsire was a Knight =

+ O' the Shire? A Souldier, Which none of all thy Family e're heard off, But one conductor of thy name, a Grasier That ran away with pay: or am I grown (Because I have been a little peevish to you, Onely to try your temper) such a dogge-leech I could not be admitted to your presence? If I endure this, hang me. And two deaths heads, Two Harry Groats, that had their faces worne, Almost their names away too = Now heare me. For I will stay no longer. This you shall: However you shall think to flatter me, For this offence, which no submission Can ever mediate for, you'l finde it so, What ever ye shall doe by intercession, What ye can offer, what your Land can purchase, What all your friends, or families can win, Shall be but this, not to forsweare your knowledge, But ever to forbeare it: now your will sir. Thou art the subtlest woman I think living, I am sure the lewdest; now be still, and marke me; Were I but any way addicted to the devill, I should now think I had met a play-fellow To profit by, and that way the most learned That ever taught to murmur. Tell me thou, Thou most poor, paltry spitefull whore: doe you cry? Ile make you roare, before I leave. Your pleasure. Was it not sinne enough, thou Fruiterer Full of the fall thou eat'st: thou devils broker, Thou Seminary of all sedition, Thou sword of veng'ance, with a thred hung o're us,

+ Was it not sinne enough, and wickednes In full abundance? was it not vexation At all points, $cap $a $pe? nay, I shall pinch ye, Thus like a rotten rascall to abuse The name of heaven, the tye of marriage, The honour of thy friends; the expectation Of all that thought thee vertuous, with rebellion, Childish and base rebellion, but continuing After forgivenesse too, and worse, your mischiefe, And against him, setting the hope of heaven by, And the deere reservation of his honour, Nothing above ground could have won to hate thee: Well goe thy wayes. Yes. You shall heare me out first: What punishment mai'st thou deserve, thou thing, Thou Idle thing of nothing, thou pull'd Primrose, That two houres after, art a weed, and wither'd, For this last flourish on me? am I one Selected out of all the husbands living, To be so ridden by a Tit of ten pence, Am I so blind and Bed-rid? I was mad, And had the Plague, and no man must cpme neere me, I must be shut up, and my substance bezel'd, And an old woman watch me. Well sir, well, You may well glory in't. And when it comes to opening, 'tis my plot, I must undoe my selfe forsooth: do'st heare me? If I should beat thee now, as much may be, Do'st thou not well deserve it, o' thy conscience, Do'st thou not cry, come beat me? I defie you. And my last loving teares farwell: the first stroke, The very first you give me, if you dare strike, Try me, and you shall finde it so, for ever Never to be recall'd: I know you love me,

+ Mad till you have enjoy'd me; I doe turne Utterly from you, and what man I meet first That has but spirit to deserve a favour, Let him beare any shape, the worse the better, Shall kill you, and enjoy me; what I have said About your foolish sicknesse, e're you have me As you would have me, you shall sweare, is certaine, And challenge any man, that dares deny it; And in all companies approve my actions, And so farwell for this tine. Grief goe with thee, If there be any witchcrafts, herbes, or potions, Saying my Prayers back-ward, Fiends, or Fayries That can againe unlove me, I am made. + Faith Mistresse, you must doe it. Are the writings Ready I told ye of? Yes they are ready, But to what use I know not. Y'are an Asse, You must have all things constru'd. Yes, and peirc'd too, Or I finde little pleasure. Now you are knavish, Goe too, fetch Rowland hither presently, Your twenty pound lies bleeding else: she is married Within these twelve houres, if we cross it not, And see the Papers of one size. I have ye. And for disposing of 'em = If I faile ye Now I have found the way, use Marshall Law And cut my head off with a hand Saw.

+ Wel sir. Petronius and Moroso I'le see sent for: About your businesse; goe. I am gone. Ho Livia. Who's that? A friend of yours, Lord how you looke now, As if you had lost a Carrick. O Byancha! I am the most undone, unhappy woman. Be quiet wench, thou shalt be done, and done, And done, and double done, or all shall split for't, No more of these minc'd passions, they are mangy, And ease thee of nothing, but a little wind, An apple will doe more: thou fear'st Moroso. Even as I feare the Gallowes. Keepe thee there still. And you love Rowland? say. If I say not I am sure I lye. What would'st thou give that woman, In spight of all his anger, and thy feare, And all thy Fathers policy, that could Clap ye within these two nights quietly Into a Bed together? How? Why fairely, At half sword man and wife: now the red blood comes, #I marry now the matter's chang'd. Byancha, Me thinks you should not mock me. Mock a pudding. I speake good honest English, and good meaning. I should not be ungratefull to that woman. I know thou would'st not, follow but my Councell

+ And if thou hast him not, despight of fortune, Let me nev'r know a good night more; you must By very sick o'th instant. Well, what follows? And in that sicknesse send for all your friends, Your Father, and your feavor old Moroso, And Rowland shall be there too. What of these? Doe ye not twitter yet? of this shall follow That that shall make thy heart leape, and thy lips Venture as many kisses, as the Merchants Doe dollars to the East-Indies: you shall know all, But first walke in, and practise, pray be sick. I doe beleeve ye: and I am sick. So. To bed then, come, Ile send away your Servants, Post for your Foole, and Father; and good fortune, As we meane honestly, now strike an up-shot. + Nay, on my conscience, I have lost my money, But that's all one: Ile never more perswade ye, I see you are resolute, and I commend ye. But did she send for me? Ye dare beleeve me. I cannot tell, you have your waies for profit Allow'd ye Tranio, as well as I Have to avoid 'em feare. No, on my word sir I deale directly with ye.

+ How now fellow, Whither Post you so fast? O sir my Master, Pray did you see my Master? Why your Master? Sir his Jewell = With the gilded Button? My pretty Mistresse Livia. What of her? Is falne sick o'th suddaine. How, o'th sullens? O'th suddaine sir, I say, and very sick. It seemes she hath got the toothach with raw apples. It seemes you have got the headach, fare ye well sir. You did not see my Master? Who told you so? No, no, he did not see him. Farewell blew bottle. What should her sicknesse be? For you it may be. Yes when my braines are out, I may beleeve it, Never before I am sure: yet I may see her, 'Twill be a point of honesty. It will so. It may be not too: you would faine be fingring This old sinne-offring of two hundred, Tranio. How daintily, and cunningly you drive me Up like a deere to'th toyle, yet I may leape it, And what's the woodman then? A looser by ye. Speake will you go or not? to me 'tis equall. Come, what goes lesse? Nay not a penny Rowland. Shall I have liberty of conscience Which by interpretation, is ten kisses?

+ Hang me if I affect her: yet it may be, This whorson manners will require a strugling, Of two and twenty, or by'r-Lady thirty. By'r-lady Ile require my wager then, For if you kisse so often, and no kindnesse, I have lost my speculation, i'le allow ye = Speake like a Gamster now. It may be two. Under a dozen Tranio, ther's no setting, You shall have forty shillings, winck at small faults. Say I take twenty, come, by all that's honest I doe it but to vex her. Ile no by-blowes. If you can love her doe, if ye can hate her, Or any else that loves ye = Prethee Tranio. Why farewell twenty pound, twill not undoe me; You have my resolution. And your money, Which since you are so stubborne, if I forfeit, Make me a Jack o' Lent, and breake my shins For untag'd points and Compters: Ile goe with you, But if thou gett'st penny by the bargaine = A parting kisse is lawfull? = I allow it. Knock out my braines with Apples; yet a bargaine. I tell you, i'le no bargaines; win, and weare it. Thou art the strangest fellow. That's all one. Along then, = twenty pound more if thou dar'st, I give her not a good word. Not a Penny. +

+ Prethee, entreat her come, I will not trouble her Above a word or two; ere I endure This life, and with a woman, and a vow'd one To all the mischiefes she can lay upon me, Ile goe to Plough again, and eat leeke Porridge; Begging's a pleasure to't not to be numbered: No there be other Countries Jaques for me, And other people, yea, and other women. If I have need, here's money, there's your ware, Which is faire dealing, and the Sunne, they say Shines as warme there, as here, and till I have lost Either my selfe, or her, I care not whether Nor which first = Will your worship heare me? And utterly outworne the memory Of such a curse as this, none of my Nation Shall ever know me more. Out alas sir What a strange way doe you runne? Any way, So I out-runne this rascall. Me thinkes now, If your good worship could but have the patience = The patience, why the patience? Why i'le tell you, Could you but have the patience = Well the patience. To laugh at all she do's, or when she railes, To have a drum beaten o'th top o'th house, To give the neighbours warning of her Larme, As I doe when my wife rebels. Thy wife? Thy wife's a Pigeon to her, a meere slumber, The dead of night's not stiller. Nor an Iron Mill.

+ But thy wife is certaine. That's false Doctrine, You never read yet of a certaine woman. Thou know'st her way. I should doe, I am sure. I have ridden it night, and day, this twenty yeare. But mine is such a drench of Balderdash, Such a strange carded cunningnesse, the Rayne-bow When she hangs bent in heaven, sheds not her colours Quicker and more then this deceitfull woman Weaves in her dyes of wickednesse: = what sayes she? Nay not a word sir, but she pointed to me, As though she meant to follow; pray sir bear it Ev'n as you may, I need not teach your worship, The best men have their crosses, we are all mortall. What ailes the fellow? And no doubt she may sir = What may she, or what do's she, or what is she? Speake and be hang'd. She's mad Sir. Heaven continue it. Amen if't be his pleasure. How mad is she? As mad as heart can wish sir: she has drest her self (Saving your worships reverence) just i'th cut Of one of those that multiply i'th Suburbs For single money, and as durtily: If any speake to her, first she whistles, And then begins her compasse with her fingers, And points to what she would have. What new waye's this? There came in Master Sophocles = And what Did Master Sophocles when he came in?

+ Get my Truncks ready sirha, i'le be gone straight. He's here to tell you. She's horne mad Jaques. Call ye this a woman? Yes sir, shee's a woman. Sir, I doubt it. I had thought you had made experience. Yes I did so. And almost with my life. You rid too fast sir. Pray be not you mistaken: by this light Your wife's as chaste, and honest as a virgin, For any thing I know: 'tis true she gave me A Ring. For rutting. You are much deceiv'd still, I sweare I never kist her since, and now Coming in visitation, like a friend, I thinks she is mad sir, suddainly she started, And snatch'd the Ring away, and drew her knife out, To what intent I know not. Is this certaine? As I am here sir. I beleeve ye honest. And pray continue so. She comes. Now Damsell, What will your beauty doe, if I forsake you? Doe you deale by signes, and tokens? as I ghesse then,

+ You'l walke abroad, this Sommer, and catch Captaines, Or hire a peece of holy ground i'th Suburbs, And keepe a neast of Nuns? O doe not stir her! You see in what a case she is? She is dogged, And in a beastly case I am sure: Ile make her If she have any tongue, yet tatle. Sophocles Prethee observe this woman seriously, And eye her well, and when thou hast done, but tell me (For thou hast understanding) in what case My sence was, when I chose this thing. Ile tell ye, I have seene a sweeter = An hundred times cry oysters. Ther's a poore Begger wench about Black-Fryers Runs on her breech may be an Empresse to her. Nay, now you are too bitter. Nev'r a whit sir: Ile tell thee woman; for now I have day to see thee, And all my wits about me, and I speake Not out of passion neither (leave your mumping, I know y'ar' well enough:) = Now would I give A million but to vex her: = when I chose thee To make a Bedfellow, I tooke more trouble, Then twenty Termes can come too, such a cause, Of such a title, and so everlasting That Adams Genealogie may be ended Ere any law find thee: I tooke a Leprosie, Nay worse, the plague, nay worse yet, a possession And had the devill with thee, if not more: And yet worse, was a beast, and like a beast Had my reward, a Jade to fling my fortunes; For who that had but reason to distinguish The light from darknesse, wine from water, hunger From full satiety, and Fox from ferne bush That would have married thee?

+ She is not so ill. She's worse then I dare think of: she's so lewd, No Court is strong enough to bear her cause, She hath neither manners, honesty, behaviour, Wife-hood, nor woman-hood, nor any morall Can force me think she had a mother, no I do believe her stedfastly, and know her To be a woman-Woolfe by transmigration, Her first forme was a Ferrets undergrounde, She kils the memories of men: not yet? Do you think she's sensible of this? I care not, Be what she will: the pleasure I take in her, Thus I blow off; the care I took to love her, Like this point I unty, and thus I loose it, The husband I am to her, thus I sever: My vanity farwell: yet, for you have bin So neer me as to bear the name of wife, My unquench'd charity shall tell you thus much (Though you deserve it well) you shall not beg, What I ordan'd your Jointure, honestly You shall have setled on you: and half my house, The other half shall be imploy'd in prayers, (That meritorious charge Ile be at also Yet to confirm ye christian) your apparrell, And what belongs to build up such a folly, Keep I beseech ye, it infects our uses, And now I am for travell. Now I love ye, And now I see ye are a man ile talk to ye, And I forget your bitternesse. How now man? O Pliny, if thou wilt be ever famous Make but this woman all thy wonders. Sure sir You have hit upon a happy course, a blessed, And what will make you vertuous.

+ She'l ship me. A way of understanding I long wishd for, And now tis come, take heed you fly not back sir, Me thinks you look a new man to me now, A man of excellence, and now I see Some great design set in ye: you may think now (And so may most that know me) 'twere my part Weakly to weep your losse, and to resist ye, Nay hang about neck, and like a dotard Urge my strong tie upon ye: but I love ye, And all the world shall know it, beyond woman, And more prefer the honour of your Country, Which chiefly you are born for, and may perfect, The uses you may make of other Nations, The ripening of your knowledge, conversation, The full ability, and strength of judgement, Then any private love, or wanton kisses. Go worthy man, and bring home understanding. This were an excellent woman to breed Schoolmen. For if the Merchant through unknown Seas plough To get his wealth, then #deer sir, what must you To gather wisdom? go, and go alone, Only your noble mind for your companion, And if a woman may win credit with you, Go far: too far you cannot: still the farther The more experience finds you: and go sparing, One meale a week will serve you, and one sute, Through all your travels: for you'l find it certaine, The poorer and the baser ye appear, The more you look through still. Do'st hear her? Yes. What would this woman do if she were suffer'd, Upon a new religion? Make us pagans, I wonder that she writes not.

+ Then when time, And fulnesse of occasion have new made you, And squard you from a sot into a Signior, Or neerer from a Jade into a courser; Come home an aged man, as did Ulysses, And I your glad Penelope. That must have As many lovers as I languages, And what she do's with one i'th day, i'th night Undoe it with an other. Much that way sir; For in your absence, it must be my honour, That, that must make me spoken of hereafter, To have temptations, and not little ones Daily and hourely offer'd me, and strongly, Almost believed against me, to set off The faith, and loyalty of her that loves ye. What should I do? Why by my troth, I would travell, Did not you mean so? Alas no, nothing lesse man! I did it but to try her, shee's the devill, And now I find it, for she drives me, I must go: Are my trunks down there, and my horses ready? Sir, for your house, and if you please to trust me With that you leave behinde = Bring down the money. As I am able, and to my poor fortunes, I'le govern as a widow: I shall long To hear of your wel-doing, and your profit: And when I hear not from you once a quarter, I'le wish you in the Indies, or Cataya, Those are the climes must make you. How's the wind? She'l wish me out o'th world anon. For France?

+ Tis very faire; get ye aboard #to night sir, And loose no time, you know the tide staies no man, I have cold meats ready for you. Far thee well, Thou ha'st foold me out o'th Kingdom with a vangeance, And thou canst foole me in againe. Not I sir, I love you better, take your time, and pleasure, Ile see you hors'd. I think thou wouldst see me hangd too, Were I but halfe as willing. Any thing That you think well of, I dare look upon. You'l bear me to the lands end Sophocles, And other of my friends I hope. Nev'r doubt sir, Ye cannot want companions for your good: I am sure you'l kisse me ere I go; I have businesse, And stay long here I must not. Get thee going, For if thou tarriest but an other Dialogue Ile kick thee to thy chamber. Far you well Sir, And bear your selfe, I do beseech ye once more, Since you have undertaken doing wisely, Manly, and worthily, tis for my credit; And for those flying fames here of your follies, Your gambols, and ill breeding of your youth, (For which I understand you take this travell, Nothing should make me leave you els) ile deale So like a wife, that loves your reputation, And the most large addition of your credit, That those shall die: if ye want Limon-water, Or any thing to take the edge o'th Sea off, Pray speak, and be provided. Now the Devill,

+ That was your first good master, shoure his blessing Upon ye all: into whose custody = I do commit your Reformation, And so I leave you to your $Stilo $novo. I will go: yet I will not: once more Sophocles Ile put her to the test. You had better go. I will go then: let's seek my father out, And all my friends to see me faire aboard: Then woman, if there be a storme at Sea, Worse then your tongues can make, and waves more broken Then your dissembling fayths are, let me feele Nothing but tempests, till they cracke my Keele. + Now whether I deserve that blame you gave me, Let all the world discern sir. If this motion, (I mean this fair repentance of my Daughter) Spring from your good perswasion, as it seem so, I must confesse I have spoke too boldly of you, And I repent. The first touch was her own, Taken no doubt from disobeying you, The second I put to her, when I told her How good, and gentle yet, with free contrition Again you might be purchas'd: loving woman, She heard me, and I thank her, thought me worthy Observing in this point: yet all my councell, And comfort in this case, could not so heal her But that grief got his share too, and she sickend. I am sorry she's so ill, yet glad her sicknesse Has got so good a ground.

+ Here comes Moroso. O you are very welcome, Now you shall know your happinesse. I am glad on't. What makes this Lady here? A dish for you sir You'l thank me for hereafter. True Moroso, Go get you in, and see your Mistris. She is sick sir, But you may kisse her whole. How? Comfort her. Why am I sent for sir? Will you in, and see? May be she needs confession. By Saint Mary, She shall have absolution then and pennance, But not above her carriage. Get you in foole. Here comes the other too. Now Tranio. Goodde'n to you too, and y'are welcome. Thank you. I have a certaine Daughter = Would you had sir. No doubt you know her well. Nor never shall sir. She is a woman, and the waies into her Are like the finding of a certaine path After a deep falne Snow. Well thats by'th by still. This Daughter that I tell you of is falne

+ A little crop sick, with the dangerous surfeit She took of your affection. Mine sir? Yes sir. Or rather, as it seemes, repenting. And there She lies within, debating on't. Well sir. I think 'twere well you would see her. If you please sir; I am not squeamish of my visitation. But, this ile tell you, she is alter'd much, You'l finde now an other Livia. I had enough o'th old sir. No more foole, To look gay babies in your eyes yong Rowland, And hang about your prety neck. I am glad on't, And thank my Fates I have scapd such execution. And busse you till you blush againe. Thats hard sir, She must kisse shamefully ere I blush at it, I never was so boyish; well, what followes? She's mine now, as I please to settle her, At my command, and where I please to plant her: Only she would take a kind of farwell of ye, And give you back a wandring vow or two You left in pawn; and two or three slight oaths She lent you too, she looks for. She shall have 'em With all my heart sir, and if you like it better, A free release in writing. That's the matter, And you from her, you shall have #an #other Rowland, And then turne taile to taile, and peace be with you. Why so be it: your twenty pound sweats Tranio.

+ 'Twill not undoe me Rowland, do your worst. Come, shall we see her Sir? What ere she saies You must beare manly Rowland, for her sicknesse Has made her somewhat teatish. Let her talke Till her tongue ake I care not: by this hand Thou hast a handsome face wench, and a body Daintely mounted; now do I feele an hundred Running directly from me, as I pist it. Pray draw 'em softly, the least hurry sir Puts her to much impatience. How is't daughter? O very sick, very sick, yet somewhat Better I hope; a little lightsommer, Because this goodman has forgiven me; Pray set me higher; oh my head. Wel done wench. Father, and all good people that shal heare me, I have abus'd this man perniciously; Was never old man humbled so; I have scornd him, And cal'd him nasty names, I have spit at him, Flung Candles ends in's beard, and cald him harrow, That must be drawn to all he do's: contemn'd him, For me thought then he was a beastly fellow. (Oh God my side) a very beastly fellow: And gave it out, his cassock was a Barge-cloth, Pawnd to his predecessor by a Sculler, The man yet extant: I gave him purging-comfits At a great christning once, That spoyl'd his Chamblet breeches; and one night I strewd the staires with pease, as he past down; And the good Gentleman (woe worth me for't)

+ Ev'n with his reverent head, this head of wisdome, Told two and twenty staires, good and true; Mist not a step, and as we say verbatim Fell to the bottome, broke his casting Bottle, Lost a fair toad-stone of some eightteen shillings, Jumbled his joynts together, had two stooles, And was translated. All this villany Did I: I Livia, I alone, untaught. And I unask'd, forgive it. Where's Byancha? Here Cozen. Give me drinke. There. Who's that? Rowland. O my dissembler, you and I must part. Come neerer sir. I am sorry for your sicknesse. Be sorry for your selfe sir, you have wrong'd me, But I forgive ye; are the papers ready? I have 'em here; wilt please you view 'em? Yes. Shew 'em the young man too, I know he's willing To shift his sailes too: tis for his more advancement; Alas, we might have beggerd one another; We are young both, and a world of children Might have been left behind to curse our follies: We had been undone Byancha, had we married, Undone for ever: I confesse I lov'd him, I care not who shall know it, most intirely; And once, upon my conscience, he lov'd me; But farwell that, we must be wiser cosen. Love must not leave us to the world: have ye done? Yes, and am ready to subscribe. Pray stay then: Give me the papers, and let me peruse 'em, And so much time, as may afford a teare

+ At our last parting. Pray retire, and leave her, Ile call ye presently. Come Gentlemen, The showre must fall. Would I had never seen her. Thou hast done bravely wench. Pray Heaven it prove so. There are the other papers: when they come Begin you first, and let the rest subscribe Hard by your side; give 'em as little light As Drapers doe their wares. Didst mark Moroso, In what an agony he was, and how he cry'd most When I abus'd him most? That was but reason. Oh what a stinking thief is this? Though I was but to counterfeit, he made me Directly sick indeed. Tames-street to him Is a meere Pomander. Let him be hang'd. Amen. And lie you still. And once more to your businesse. Call 'em in. Now if there be a power that pities lovers, Helpe now, and heare my prayers. Is she ready? She has done her lamentations: pray go to her. Rowland, come neer me, and before you seale, Give me your hand: take it again; now kisse me, This is the last acquaintance we must have; I wish you ever happy: there's the paper.

+ Pray stay a little. Let me never live more But I do begin to pity this young fellow; How heartily he weeps! There's Pen and Inke sir. Ev'n here I pray you. Tis a little Emblem How neere you have been to me. There. Your hands too, As witnesses. By any means: to th' booke sonne. With all my heart. You must deliver it. There Livia, and a better love light on thee, I can no more. To this you must be witnesse too. We wil. Doe you deliver it now. Pray set me up; = There Rowland, all thy old love back: and may A new to come exceed mine, and be happy. I must no more. Farewell. A long farewell. Leave her by any means, till this wild passion Be off her head; draw all the Curtaines close, A day hence you may see her, twil be better, She is now for little company. Pray tend her. I must to horse straight: you must needs along too, To see my sonne aboard; were but his wife As fit for pity, as this wench, I were happy. Time must do that too: fare ye wel; tomorrow You shall receive a wife to quit your sorrow.

+ + Bring 'em away sirs. Must the great Trunke go too? Yes, and the Hampers; nay be speedy Masters; He'l be at Sea before us else. O Jaques, What a most blessed turn hast thou? I hope so. To have the Sea between thee and this woman, Nothing can drown her tongue, but a storm. By your leave, We'l get us up to Paris with all speed; For on my soule, as for as Amyens She'l carry blanke; away to Lyon key And ship 'em presently, we'l follow ye. Now could I wish her in that Trunk. God shield man, I had rather have a Beare in't. Yes, Ile tell ye: For in the passage if a Tempest take ye, As many doe, and you lie beating for it, Then, if it pleas'd the fates, I would have the Master Out of a powerfull providence, to cry, Lighten the ship of all hands, or we perish; Then this for one, as best spar'd, should by all means Over-board presently. O' that condition, So we were certaine to be rid of her, I would wish her with us: But believe me Pedro, She would spoyle the fishing on this coast for ever, For none would keepe her company, but Dog-fish, As currish as her selfe; or Porpisces, Made to all fatall uses: The two Fish-streets Were she but once ariv'd amongst the Whitings, Would sing a wofull misereri Pedro,

+ And mourn in poor John, till her memory Were cast o'shore agen, with a strong Sea-breach: She would make god Neptune, and his fire-forke, And all his demi-gods, and goddesses, As weary of the Flemmish channell Pedro, As ever boy was of the schoole: tis certain, If she but meet him faire, and were wel angred, She would break his god-head. Oh her tongue, her tongue. Rather her many tongues. Or rather strange tongues. Her lying tongue. Her lisping tongue. Her long tongue. Her lawlesse tongue. Her loud tongue. And her lickrish = Many other tongues, and many stranger tongues Then ever Babel had to tell his ruines, Were women rais'd withall; but never a true one. Home with your stuffe agen; the journey's ended. What do's your worship meane? Your Master, O Petruchio, O poore fellows. O Jaques, Jaques. O your Master's dead, His body comming back; his wife, his devil; The griefe of her = Has kild him? Kild him, kild him. Is there no law to hang her. Get ye in, And let her know her misery, I dare not For feare impatience seize me, see her more, I must away agen: Bid her for wife-hood,

+ For honesty, if she have any in her, Even to avoyd the shame that follows her, Cry if she can: your weeping cannot mend it. The body will be here within this houre, so tell her; And all his friends to curse her. Farewell fellowes. O Jaques, Jaques. O my worthy Master. O my most beastly Mistris, hang her. Split her. Drown her directly. Starve her. Stinke upon her. Stone her to death: may all she eate be Eggs, Till she run kicking mad for men. And he, That man, that gives her remedy, pray Heav'n He may ev'n $ipso $facto, lose his fadings. Let's goe discharge our selves, and he that serves her, Or speaks a good word of her from this houre, A seagly curse light on him; which is, Pedro, The feind ride through him booted, and spurd, with a Sythe at's+ back. + What a dull asse was I to let her go thus? Upon my life she loves me still: wel Paper, Thou onely monument of what I have had, Thou all the love now left me, and now lost, Let me yet kisse her hand, yet take my leave Of what I must leave ever: Farewell Livia. = Oh bitter words, Ile read ye once again, And then for ever study to forget ye. = How's this? let me look better on't: = A Contract!

+ By Heaven a Contract, seal'd, and ratified, Her fathers hand set to it, and Moroso's: I do not dream sure, let me read again = The same still: tis a contract. Tis so Rowland; And by the vertue of the same, you pay me Two hundred pound to morrow. Art sure Tranio, We are both alive now? Wonder not, ye have lost. If this be true, I grant it. 'Tis most certaine, There's a Ring for you to, you know it. Yes. When shall I have my money? Stay ye, stay ye, When shall I marry her? To night. Take heed now You do not trifle with me; if you doe, You'l finde more payment, then your money comes to: Come sweare; I know I am a man, and finde I may deceive my selfe: Sweare faithfully, Sweare me directly, am I Rowland? Yes. Am I awake? Ye are. Am I in health? As far as I conceive. Was I with Livia? You were, and had this contract. And shall I enjoy her? Yes, if ye dare. Sweare to all these.

+ I will. As thou art honest, as thou hast a conscience, As that may wring thee if thou lyest; all these To be no vision, but a truth, and serious. Then by my honesty, and faith, and conscience; All this is certaine. Let's remove our places. Sweare it again. I sweare by Heaven tis true. I have lost then, and Heaven knows I am glad #ont. Let's goe, and tell me all, and tell me how, For yet I am a Pagan in it. I have a Priest too, And all shall come as even as two Testers. + Set down the body, and one call her out. You are welcome to the last cast of your fortunes; There lies your husband, there your loving husband, There he that was Petruchio, too good for ye; Your stubborn, and unworthy way has kild him Ere he could reach the Sea; if ye can weep, Now ye have cause begin, and after death Do something yet to th' world, to thinke ye honest. So many teares had sav'd him, shed in time; And as they are (so a good mind goe with 'em) Yet they may move compassion. Pray ye all heare me, And judge me as I am, not as you covet, For that would make me yet more miserable:

+ Tis true, I have cause to grieve, and mighty cause; And truely and unfainedly I weep it. I see there's some good nature yet left in her. But what's the cause? mistake me not, not this man, As he is dead, I weep for; Heaven defend it, I never was so childish: but his life, His poore unmanly wretched foolish life, Is that my full eyes pity, there's my mourning. Dost thou not shame? I do, and even to water, To think what this man was, to think how simple, How far below a man, how far from reason, From common understanding, and all Gentry, While he was living here he walkt amongst us. He had a happy turn he dyed; ile tell ye, These are the wants I weep for, not his person: The memory of this man, had he liv'd But two yeers longer, had begot more follies, Then wealthy Autumne flyes: But let him rest, He was a foole, and farewell he; not pitied, I meane in way of life, or action By any understanding man that's honest; But onely in's posterity, which I Out of the feare his ruines might out live him In some bad issue, like a carefull woman, Like one indeed born onely to preserve him, Denyd him meanes to raise. Unbutton me, By Heaven I die indeed else. = O Maria, Oh my unhappinesse, my misery. Go to him whore; by Heaven if he perish, Ile see thee hang'd my selfe.

+ Why, why, Maria. I have done my worst, and have my end, forgive me; From this houre make me what you please: I have tam'd ye, And now am vowd your servant: Look not strangely, Nor feare what I say to you. Dare you kisse me? Thus I begin my new love. Once againe? With all my heart, sir. Once again Maria! = O Gentlemen, I know not where I am. Get ye to bed then: there you'l quickly know sir. Never no more your old tricks? Never sir. You shall not need, for as I have a faith No cause shall give occasion. As I am honest, And as I am a maid yet, all my life From this houre, since ye make so free profession, I dedicate in service to your pleasure. #I marry, this goes roundly off. Go Jaques, Get all the best meat may be bought for money, And let the hogsheds blood, I am born again: Well little England, when I see a husband Of any other Nation stern or jealous, Ile wish him but a woman of thy breeding, And if he have not butter to his bread, Till his teeth bleed, ile never trust my travell. What have we here? Another morris, sir. That you must pipe too. A poore married couple Desire an offering sir.

+ Never frown at it, You cannot mend it now: there's your own hand; And yours Moroso, to confirme the bargaine. My hand? Or mine? You'l finde it so. A trick, By Heaven, a trick. Yes sir, we trickt ye. Father. Hast thou lyen with him? speake? Yes truly sir. And hast thou done the deed boy? I have done sir, That, that will serve the turne, I think. A match then, Ile be the maker up of this: Moroso, There's now no remedy you see, be willing; For be, or be not, he must have the wench. Since I am over-reach'd, let's in to dinner, And if I can Ile drink't away. That's wel said. Well sirha, ye have playd a tricke, look to't, And let me be a grandsire within's twelvemoneth, Or by this hand, Ile curtaile halfe your fortunes. There shall not want my labour sir: your money; Here's one has undertaken. Well, Ile trust her, And glad I have so good a pawn. Ile watch ye. Lets in, and drink of all hands, and be joviall: I have my colt again, and now she carries; And Gentlemen, whoever marries next, Let him be sure he keep him to his Text. +

+ The Tamer's tam'd, but so, as nor the men Can finde one just cause to complaine of, when They fitly do consider in their lives, They should not raign as Tyrants o'r their wives. Nor can the women from this president Insult, or triumph: it being aptly meant, To teach both Sexes due equality; And as they stand bound, to love mutually. If this effect, arising from a cause Well layd, and grounded, may deserve applause, We something more then hope, our honest ends Will keep the men, and women too, our friends.