SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath. The Taming of the Shrew  Shakespeare homepage  |  Taming of the Shrew  | Induction, Scene 1 

 Next scene  SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath. 

 Enter Hostess and SLY  SLY  I'll pheeze you, in faith. 

 Hostess  A pair of stocks, you rogue! 

 SLY  Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in 

 the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. 

 Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! 

 Hostess  You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? 

 SLY  No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold 

 bed, and warm thee. 

 Hostess  I know my remedy; I must go fetch the 

 third--borough. 



 Exit  SLY  Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him 

 by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, 

 and kindly. 



 Falls asleep 

 Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train  Lord  Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: 

 Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd; 

 And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach. 

 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 

 At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? 

 I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 

 First Huntsman  Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; 

 He cried upon it at the merest loss 

 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: 

 Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 

 Lord  Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, 

 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 

 But sup them well and look unto them all: 

 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 

 First Huntsman  I will, my lord. 

 Lord  What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? 

 Second Huntsman  He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale, 

 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 

 Lord  O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! 

 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! 

 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 

 What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 

 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 

 A most delicious banquet by his bed, 

 And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 

 Would not the beggar then forget himself? 

 First Huntsman  Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 

 Second Huntsman  It would seem strange unto him when he waked. 

 Lord  Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. 

 Then take him up and manage well the jest: 

 Carry him gently to my fairest chamber 

 And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: 

 Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters 

 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: 

 Procure me music ready when he wakes, 

 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; 

 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight 

 And with a low submissive reverence 

 Say 'What is it your honour will command?' 

 Let one attend him with a silver basin 

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

 Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, 

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

 Some one be ready with a costly suit 

 And ask him what apparel he will wear; 

 Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 

 And that his lady mourns at his disease: 

 Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; 

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

 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 

 This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs: 

 It will be pastime passing excellent, 

 If it be husbanded with modesty. 

 First Huntsman  My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, 

 As he shall think by our true diligence 

 He is no less than what we say he is. 

 Lord  Take him up gently and to bed with him; 

 And each one to his office when he wakes. 



 Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds  Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: 



 Exit Servingman  Belike, some noble gentleman that means, 

 Travelling some journey, to repose him here. 



 Re-enter Servingman  How now! who is it? 

 Servant  An't please your honour, players 

 That offer service to your lordship. 

 Lord  Bid them come near. 



 Enter Players  Now, fellows, you are welcome. 

 Players  We thank your honour. 

 Lord  Do you intend to stay with me tonight? 

 A Player  So please your lordship to accept our duty. 

 Lord  With all my heart. This fellow I remember, 

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

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

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

 Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. 

 A Player  I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. 

 Lord  'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. 

 Well, you are come to me in a happy time; 

 The rather for I have some sport in hand 

 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 

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

 But I am doubtful of your modesties; 

 Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,-- 

 For yet his honour never heard a play-- 

 You break into some merry passion 

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

 If you should smile he grows impatient. 

 A Player  Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, 

 Were he the veriest antic in the world. 

 Lord  Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 

 And give them friendly welcome every one: 

 Let them want nothing that my house affords. 



 Exit one with the Players  Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, 

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

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

 And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. 

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

 He bear himself with honourable action, 

 Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 

 Unto their lords, by them accomplished: 

 Such duty to the drunkard let him do 

 With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, 

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

 Wherein your lady and your humble wife 

 May show her duty and make known her love?' 

 And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, 

 And with declining head into his bosom, 

 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 

 To see her noble lord restored to health, 

 Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him 

 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: 

 And if the boy have not a woman's gift 

 To rain a shower of commanded tears, 

 An onion will do well for such a shift, 

 Which in a napkin being close convey'd 

 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 

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

 Anon I'll give thee more instructions. 



 Exit a Servingman  I know the boy will well usurp the grace, 

 Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman: 

 I long to hear him call the drunkard husband, 

 And how my men will stay themselves from laughter 

 When they do homage to this simple peasant. 

 I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence 

 May well abate the over-merry spleen 

 Which otherwise would grow into extremes. 



 Exeunt  Shakespeare homepage  |  Taming of the Shrew  | Induction, Scene 1 

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