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duction. GRUMIO, Servants to Petruchio. CURTIS,

BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of The Pedant.
Padua.

VINCENTIO, an old Gentleman of KATHARINA, Daughters to Bap

Pisa.

LUCENTIO, Son to Vincentio.
PETRUCHIO, a Gentleman of Ve-

rona.

BIANCA,

Widow.

tista.

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio. SCENE, sometimes in Padua; and sometimes in Petruchio's House in the Country.

INDUCTION.

SCENE I.

Before an Alehouse on a Heath..

Enter HOSTESS and SLY.

Sly. I'll pheese you, in faith.

Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly. Y' are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the

chronicles, we came in with Richard Conqueror.

paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!

Therefore,

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, S. Jeronimy:

Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Host. I know my remedy: I must go fetch the head-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.

[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.

Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.

Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd,

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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.

1 Hun. 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.

1 Hun. I will, my lord.

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

breathe?

2 Hun. 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,

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