Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.

Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;

For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous;
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers;
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp?
O slanderous world! Kate, like the hazel-twig,
Is straight, and slender; and as brown in hue,
As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,

As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Kath. A witty mother! witless else her son.
Pet. But, setting all this chat aside,

Thus in plain terms:-Your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,

(Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,)
Thou must be married to no man but me;
For I am he, am born to tame you Kate;
And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate
Conformable, as other household Kates.
Here comes your father; never make denial,
I must and will have Katharine to my wife.
Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO.
Bap. Now,

Signior Petruchio: How sped you with

My daughter?

Pet.

How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible, I should speed amiss.

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine, in your dumps? Kath. Call you me daughter? now I promise you,

You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,

To wish me wed one half lunatic.

Pet. Father, 'tis thus,-yourself and all the world,

That talk'd of her, hath talk'd amiss of her;

If she be curst, it is for policy:

For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
For patience she will prove a second Grissel;

And to conclude,—we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

Gre. Hark, Petruchio! she says, she'll see thee hang'd first.
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part.
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself;

If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?

'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.

I tell you 'tis incredible to believe

How much she loves me:- O, the kindest Kate!

Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,

To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day :

Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;

I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine.

Bap. I know not what to say: but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;

I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace :

We will have rings, and things, and fine array;

And kiss me Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.

[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA severally. Katharina marries Petruchio and becomes an affectionate and obedient wife. While on a visit to her family she teaches her sisters their duty to their husbands.

SCENFA Banquet set out; BAPTISTA, LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, BIONDELLO, GRUMIO, PETRUCHIO and others, seated.

Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,

I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

Pet. Well, I say-no: and therefore, for assurance
Let's each one send unto his wife;

And he, whose wife is most obedient

To come at first when he doth send for her

Shall win the wager which we will propose.
Hor. Content:-What is the wager?

Luc. That will I. Go,

Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

Bup. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes.
Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
Re-enter BIONdello.

How now! what news?

Bion.

Sir, my mistress sends you word,
That she is busy, and she cannot come.

Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come!

Is that an answer?

Pray Heaven, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
Pet. I hope better.

Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.

Pet.

[Exit BIONDELO,

I am afraid, sir,

O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come.

Hor.

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

Re-enter BIONDELLO.

Now where's my wife?

Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come; she bids you come to her.

Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile.
Intolerable, not to be endur'd!

Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress;
Say I command her to come to me.
Hor. I know her answer.

Pet.

Hor.

[Exit GRUMIO

What?

She will not come.

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

Enter KATHARINA,

Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!
Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me?
Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?
Kath. They sit conferring by the parlor fire.
Pet. Go fetch them hither; if they deny to come,
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

[Exit KATHARIN
Luc. Here's a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes.
Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
An awful rule, and right supremacy;

And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy.
Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns!
Another cowry to another daughter,
For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet;
And show more signs of her obedience,

Her new-built virtue and obedience.

Re-ter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. See where she comes; and brings your froward wives As pris L.ers to her womanly persuasion,-—

Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not;

Off with that bauble, throw it under foot.

[KATHARINA pulls off her cap and throws it down. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass!

Bian. Fye! what a foolish duty call you this?
Luc. I would your duty was as foolish too:
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,

Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.

Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head-strong women, What duty they owe to their lords and husbands.

Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say, and first begin with her.

Wid. She shall not.

Pet. I say, she shall;-and first begin with her.

Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning, unkind brow: And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,

To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor :

It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads;
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds;
And in no sense is meet or amiable.

A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labor, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience ;—
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she, but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?—
I am asham'd, that women are so simple

To offer war, where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world;
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great; my reason, haply, more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws;
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare-
That seeming to be most which least we are.

Pet. Come, Kate,

We three are married, but we two are sped.

[Excunt

THE MESSIAH.-ALEXANDER POPE

Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and the Aönian maids,
Delight no more-O Thou my voice inspire
Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire!

Rapt into future times, the bard begun:
A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
The æthereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail;
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale;

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-robed Innocence from Heaven descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn!
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See, Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring,
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance:
See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfume the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
Prepare the way! A God, a God appears!
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply;
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains; and ye valleys rise!
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way.
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold:
Hear Him, ye deaf; and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day:
'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting, like the bounding roe.
No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear;
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.