Lord. Heaven ceafe this idle humour in

nour!

Oh, that a mighty man, of fuch defcent,
Of fuch poffeffions, and fo high esteem,
Should be infufed with fo foul a fpirit!

your ho

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Chriftopher Sly, old Sly's fon of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by tranfmutation a bear-herd, and now by prefent profeffion a tinker? Afk Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if the know me not: if the fay I am not fourteen pence on the score for fheer-ale, fcore me up for the lying'ft knave in Christendom. What, I am not beftraught: Here's

4

1 Man.

of Burton-heath-- Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot,] I fufpect we fhould read Barton-heath. Barton and Woodmancot, or, as it is vulgarly pronounced, Woncot, are both of them in Gloucestershire, near the refidence of Shakspeare's old enemy, Juftice Shallow. Very probably too, this fat ale-wife might be a real character. STEEVENS.

Wilnecotte is a village in Warwickshire, with which Shakspeare was well acquainted, near Stratford. The houfe kept by our genial hoftefs, ftill remains, but is at prefent a mill. The meanest hovel to which Shakspeare has an allufion, interefts curiofity, and acquires an importance at least, it becomes the object of a poetical antiquarian's inquiries. WARTON.

Burton Dorfet, the author of THE REMARKS, fays is a village in Warwickshire. EDITOR.

5 I am not beftraught:] I once thought that if our poet did not defign to put a corrupted word into the mouth of the Tinker, we ought to read, diflraught, i. e. difracted. So, in Romeo and Juliet:

"O, if I wake, fhall I not be diftraught, &c.” For there is no verb extant from which the participle befraught can be formed. In Albion's England, however, by Warner, 1602, I meet with the word as fpelt by Shakspeare:

"Now teares had drowned further fpeech, till fhe as one beftrought

"Did crie, &c."

Again, in the old Song, beginning, "When griping griefes, &c.” "Be-ftraughted heads relyef hath founde."

1 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your lady mourn 2 Man. Oh, this it is that makes your fervants droop. Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred fhun your houfe,

As beaten hence by your ftrange lunacy.
Oh, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence thefe abject lowly dreams :
Look, how thy fervants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have mufick? hark! Apollo plays,

[Mufick.

And twenty caged nightingales do fing;
Or wilt thou fleep? we'll have thee to a couch,
Softer and fweeter than the luftful bed
On purpose trim'd up for Semiramis.

Say, thou wilt walk; we will beftrew the ground :
Or wilt thou ride? thy horfes fhall be trapp'd,
Their harnefs ftudded all with gold and pearl.
Doft thou love hawking? thou haft hawks, will foar
Above the morning lark: Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds fhall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch fhrill echoes from the hollow earth.

1 Man. Say, thou wilt courfe; thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed ftags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

2 Man. Doft thou love pictures? we will fetch thee ftraight

Adonis, painted by a running brook;
And Cytherea all in fedges hid;

Which feem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving fedges play with wind.

Lord. We'll fhew thee Io, as fhe was a maid;

Again, in Lord Surrey's Tranflation of the 4th book of Virgil's Aneid:

"Well near befraught, upstart his heare for dread."

STEEVENS.

And

And how she was beguiled and furpris'd,
As lively painted as the deed was done.

3 Man. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny wood;

Scratching her legs, that one fhall fwear fhe bleeds:
And at that fight fhall fad Apollo weep,

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:
Thou haft a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waining age.

1 Man. And, 'till the tears, that the hath fhed for
thee,

Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face,
She was the faireft creature in the world;
And yet the is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I fuch a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
I do not fleep: I fee, I hear, Ifpeak;
I fmell fweet favours, and I feel foft things:-
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed;

And not a tinker, nor Chriftopher Sly.-
Well, bring our lady hither to our fight;
And once again, a pot o' the finalleft ale.

2 Man. Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands?

Oh, how we joy to fee your wit teftor'd!
Oh, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,;
Or, when you wak'd, fo wak'd as if you flept.

Sly. Thefe fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never fpeak of all that time?

1 Man. Oh, yes, my lord: but very idle words:For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, Yet would you fay, ye were beaten out of door; And rail upon the hoftefs of the houfe; And fay, you would prefent her at the leet,

-Leet] As the Court leet, or courts of the manor.

4

JOHNSON.
Becaufe

Because the brought stone jugs, and no feal'd quarts: Sometimes, you would call out for Cicely Hacket. Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

3 Man. Why, fir, you know no house, nor no fuch maid;

Nor no fuch men, as you have reckon'd up,-
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece 7,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell;
And twenty more fuch names and men as thefe,
Which never were, nor no man ever faw.

Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
All. Amen.

Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.

Enter the Page, as a lady, with attendants". Lady. How fares my noble lord?

7 John Naps of Greece,] A hart of Greece was a fat hart Graiffe, Fr. So, in the old ballad of Adam Bell, &c.

"Eche of them flew a hart of graece."

Again, in Ives's Select Papers, at the coronation feaft of Elizabeth of York, queen of king Henry VII, among other dishes were capons of high Greece."

66

Perhaps this expreffion was used to imply that John Naps (who might have been a real character) was a fat man: or as Poins calls the affociates of Falstaff Trojans, John Naps might be called a Grecian for fuch another reafon. STEEVENS.

For old John Naps of Greece read, old John Naps o' th' Green. BLACKSTONE.

In The London Chanticleers, a comedy, 1659, a ballad entitled "George o' the Green" is mentioned. The addition feems to have been a common one. MALONE.

In this place, Mr. Pope, and after him other editors, had introduced the three following speeches, from the old edition, 1607. I have already obferved that it is by no means probable, that the former comedy of the Taming of the Shrew was written by Shakspeare, and have therefore removed them from the text.

66

Sly. By the mafs, I think I am a lord indeed :

"What is thy name?

"Man. Sim, an it pleafe your honour.

Sly. Sim? that's as much as to fay, Simeon,

66

or Simon. Put forth thy hand, and fill the pot."

Ff2

STEEVENS.

Sly

Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough Where is my wife?

Lady. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with her? Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me-hufband?

My men fhould call me-lord, I am your good-man." Lady. My hufband and my lord, my lord and hufband;

I am your wife in all obedience.

Sly. I know it well:-What muft I call her ?
Lord. Madam.

Sly. Alce madam, or Joan madam ?

7 Enter the Page, &c.] Thus in the original play. Enter the boy in woman's attire.

"Slie. Sim, is this he?

Lord. I, my lord.

Slie. Maffe 'tis a pretty wench; what's her name? Boy: Oh that my lovelie lord would once vouchfate “To looke on me, and leave these frantike fits!

Or were I now but half fo eloquent

To paint in words what Ile perform in deedes,

"I know your honour then would pittie me.

"Slie. Harke you, miftreffe; will you eat a piece of bread? "Come, fit down on my knee: drink to her, Sim ;

"For fhe and I will go to bed anon.

"Lord. May it pleafe you, your honour's plaiers be come To offer your honour a plaie.

"Slie. A plaie, Sim, O'brave! be they my plaiers?

Lord. I my lord.

Sic. Is there not a foole in the plaie ?

"Lord: Yes, my lord.

Slie. When will they plaie, Sim?

Lord. Even when it pleafe your honor; they be readie.

Boy. My lord, Ile go bid them begin their plaie.
Slie. Doo, but looke that you come again.

Boy. I warrant you, my lord; I will not leave you thus.

[Exit Boys

"Slie. Come, Sim, where be the plaiers? Sim ftand by me,' And we'll flowt the plaiers out of their coates.

"Lord. Ile cal them my lord. Ho, where are you there? 4 Sound trumpets.

Enter two young gentlemen, and a man, and a boy.”

STEEVENS.

Lord.