No More Learning

What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
SLY. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship. ' I
ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,
give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear,
for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than
legs, nor no more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than
shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
LORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!
SLY. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old
Sly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a
cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of
Wincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on
the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in
Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale]
Here's-
THIRD SERVANT. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!
SECOND SERVANT. O, this is it that makes your servants droop!
LORD. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth!
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music]
And twenty caged nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.
FIRST SERVANT. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
SECOND SERVANT. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee
straight
Adonis painted by a running brook,
And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath
Even as the waving sedges play wi' th' wind.
LORD. We'll show thee lo as she was a maid
And how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.
THIRD SERVANT. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
LORD. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.
FIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world;
And yet she is inferior to none.
SLY. Am I a lord and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.
SECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
SLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?
FIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet,
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
SLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
THIRD SERVANT. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
SLY. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
ALL. Amen.

Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS

SLY. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
PAGE. How fares my noble lord?
SLY. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?
PAGE. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her?
SLY. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman.
PAGE. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
I am your wife in all obedience.
SLY. I know it well. What must I call her?
LORD. Madam.
SLY. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?
LORD. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.
SLY. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd
And slept above some fifteen year or more.
PAGE. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.
SLY. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
Exeunt SERVANTS
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
PAGE. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set.
For your physicians have expressly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed.
I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
SLY. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would
be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in
despite of the flesh and the blood.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy;
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
SLY. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a
Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?
PAGE. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
SLY. What, household stuff?
PAGE. It is a kind of history.
SLY. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let
the world slip;-we shall ne'er be younger.
[They sit down]

A flourish of trumpets announces the play




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ACT I. SCENE I.
Padua. A public place

Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO

LUCENTIO. Tranio, since for the great desire I had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy,
And by my father's love and leave am arm'd
With his good will and thy good company,
My trusty servant well approv'd in all,
Here let us breathe, and haply institute
A course of learning and ingenious studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
Gave me my being and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world,
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii;
Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence,
It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds.
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
Virtue and that part of philosophy
Will I apply that treats of happiness
By virtue specially to be achiev'd.
Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left
And am to Padua come as he that leaves
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
TRANIO. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine;
I am in all affected as yourself;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue and this moral discipline,
Let's be no Stoics nor no stocks, I pray,
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,
And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
Music and poesy use to quicken you;
The mathematics and the metaphysics,
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en;
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
We could at once put us in readiness,
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.

Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA
and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO,
suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by

But stay awhile; what company is this?
TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town.
BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
For how I firmly am resolv'd you know;
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter
Before I have a husband for the elder.
If either of you both love Katherina,
Because I know you well and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me.
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?
KATHERINA. [To BAPTISTA] I pray you, sir, is it your will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates?
HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;
Iwis it is not halfway to her heart;
But if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool,
And paint your face, and use you like a fool.
HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!
GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord!
TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward;
That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
Peace, Tranio!
TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.
BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
What I have said- Bianca, get you in;
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
BIANCA. Sister, content you in my discontent.
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe;
My books and instruments shall be my company,
On them to look, and practise by myself.
LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!
HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
Sorry am I that our good will effects
Bianca's grief.
GREMIO. Why will you mew her up,
Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
And make her bear the penance of her tongue?
BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd.
Go in, Bianca.
Exit BIANCA
And for I know she taketh most delight
In music, instruments, and poetry,
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,
Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
I will be very kind, and liberal
To mine own children in good bringing-up;
And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;
For I have more to commune with Bianca. Exit
KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?
What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike,
I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha! Exit
GREMIO. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts are so good
here's none will hold you. There! Love is not so great,
Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly
out; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell; yet, for the love
I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man
to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her
father.
HORTENSIO. SO Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray. Though
the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon
advice, it toucheth us both- that we may yet again have access to
our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to
labour and effect one thing specially.
GREMIO. What's that, I pray?
HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
GREMIO. A husband? a devil.
HORTENSIO. I say a husband.
GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father
be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell?
HORTENSIO. Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to
endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the
world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all
faults, and money enough.
GREMIO. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this
condition: to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.
HORTENSIO. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten
apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it
shall be so far forth friendly maintain'd till by helping
Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest free
for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man
be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you,
Signior Gremio?
GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in
Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her,
and bed her, and rid the house of her! Come on.
Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO
TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold?
LUCENTIO. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
I never thought it possible or likely.
But see! while idly I stood looking on,
I found the effect of love in idleness;
And now in plainness do confess to thee,
That art to me as secret and as dear
As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was-
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,
If I achieve not this young modest girl.
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
TRANIO. Master, it is no time to chide you now;
Affection is not rated from the heart;
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so:
'Redime te captum quam queas minimo. '
LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents;
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.
TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid.
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.
LUCENTIO. O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,
Such as the daughter of Agenor had,
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand,
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.
TRANIO. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how her sister
Began to scold and raise up such a storm
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?
LUCENTIO. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,
And with her breath she did perfume the air;
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.
TRANIO. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance.
I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid,
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd
That, till the father rid his hands of her,
Master, your love must live a maid at home;
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up,
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.
LUCENTIO. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!
But art thou not advis'd he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?
TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted.
LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio.
TRANIO. Master, for my hand,
Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first.
TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster,
And undertake the teaching of the maid-
That's your device.
LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done?
TRANIO. Not possible; for who shall bear your part
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son;
Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends,
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them?
LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full.
We have not yet been seen in any house,
Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces
For man or master. Then it follows thus:
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
Keep house and port and servants, as I should;
I will some other be- some Florentine,
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once
Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak.
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
TRANIO. So had you need. [They exchange habits]
In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
And I am tied to be obedient-
For so your father charg'd me at our parting:
'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he,
Although I think 'twas in another sense-
I am content to be Lucentio,
Because so well I love Lucentio.
LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves;
And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.

Enter BIONDELLO.

Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?
BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes?
Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news?
LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,
And therefore frame your manners to the time.
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
Puts my apparel and my count'nance on,
And I for my escape have put on his;
For in a quarrel since I came ashore
I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
While I make way from hence to save my life.
You understand me?
BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit.
LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.
BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too!
TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,
That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.
But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies.
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
But in all places else your master Lucentio.
LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go.
One thing more rests, that thyself execute-
To make one among these wooers. If thou ask me why-
Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. Exeunt

The Presenters above speak

FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.
SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes there
any more of it?
PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun.
SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady
Would 'twere done! [They sit and mark]




SCENE II.
Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house

Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO

PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
To see my friends in Padua; but of all
My best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.
Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.
GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock?
Is there any man has rebus'd your worship?
PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
GRUMIO. Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I
should knock you here, sir?
PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.
GRUMIO. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,
And then I know after who comes by the worst.
PETRUCHIO. Will it not be?
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock I'll ring it;
I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it.
[He wrings him by the ears]
GRUMIO. Help, masters, help! My master is mad.
PETRUCHIO. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

Enter HORTENSIO

HORTENSIO. How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio and my
good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?
PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
'Con tutto il cuore ben trovato' may I say.
HORTENSIO. Alla nostra casa ben venuto,
Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.
Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.
GRUMIO. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. If this
be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service- look you, sir:
he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit
for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught I
see, two and thirty, a pip out?
Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first,
Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio,
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate,
And could not get him for my heart to do it.
GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words
plain: 'Sirrah knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and
knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking at the gate'?
PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge;
Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?
PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world
To seek their fortunes farther than at home,
Where small experience grows. But in a few,
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:
Antonio, my father, is deceas'd,
And I have thrust myself into this maze,
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may;
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?