"Enter two with a table and a banquet on it, and two otlierwith She asleepe in a chain.-, richlie apparelled, and the muslcke plaieng.

One. So: sirha now go call my Lord,
And tel him that all things is ready as he wild it.

Jnatker. Set thou some wine vpon the boord
And then He go fetch my Lord presentlie. Exit.

Enter the Lord and his men.

Lard. How sow, what is all thinges readie?

Ome. I my Lord.

Lord. Then sound the musick, and He wake him straight, Aa4 see you doo as earst I gaue in charge. My lord. My lord, he sleepes soundlie: My Lord.

Site. Tapster, gis a little small ale. Heigh ho.

Lard. Heers wine my lord, the purest of the grape.

Site. For which Lord?

Lcrd. For your honour my Lord.

Stic. Who I a Lord? Jesus what fine apparell haue I got.

Lord, More richer farre your honour hath to weare,
And if it please you I will fetch them straight.

Wit. And if your honour please to ride abroad.
Tie fetch you lustie steedes more swift of pace
Then winged Pegnsu$ in all his pride,
Thai ran so swiftlie ouer the Persian plaines.

Tom. And if your honour please to hunt the deere,
Tom hound* -tand readie cuppeld at the doore.
*ho in running will oretake the Row,
And make the long breathde Tygre broken winded.

Stir. By the masse I think 1 am a Lord indeed,
Vhats thv name?

Lnrd. Simon and it please your honour.


ill Scese I.—Oremio.] In the first folio, Grcmio is called " a Pantelowne" 11 Pantalone was the old baffled Sukitoso of the early Italian Comedy, and, like the Pedant Mid the Braggart, formed a never-failing source of ridicule apoc the Italian stage.

|2) SciXE I.—/ wis, it is not half way to her heart.] The mrd I xris, ,'» its origin, is the Anglo-Saxon adjective 9**is, trrtain, sure, which is still preserved in the modern German gettitj, and Dutch getcit. It is always used adverbially in the English writers of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, and it invariably means Trtaimly, truly. The change of the Anglo-Saxon ge to y w i, appears to have been made in the thirteenth century,


Site. Sim' n, thats as much as to say Simion or Simon
Put foorth thy hand and fill the pot.
Give me thy hand, Sim am I a lord indeed?" &c. fee.

(3) Scene XI.—Enter the Pago, dc] In the old play the sceno proceeds as follows:—

"Enter the boy in Vomans attire.

SUe. Sim, Is this she?

Lord. I my Lord.

Site. Masse tis a prettie wench, what's her name?

Boy. Oh that my louelie Lord would once vouchsafe
To looke on me and leaue these fran tike fits,
Or were I now but halfe so eloquent,
To paint in words what ile performe in deedes,
I know your honour then would pittie me.

Site. Harke you mistrese, will you cat a pcece of bread,
Come sit downe on my knee, Sim drinke to hir Sim,
For she and I will go to bed anon.

Lord. May it please you, your honors plaiers be come;
To offer your honour a plaie.

Slip. A plaie Sim, O braue, be they my plaiers?

Lord. 1 my Lord.

SUe. Is there not a foolc in the plaie?

Lord. Yes my lord.

Site. When wil they plaie Sim?

Lord. Euen when it please your honor, they be readie.

Boy. My lord lie go bid them be^in their plaie.

Site. Doo, but lnoke that you come againe.

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

Exit boy.

Siie. Come Suit, where be the plaiers? Sim stand by me and weele flout the plaiers out of their cotes.

Lord. Ile cal them my lord. Hoe where are you there?"

and the letters y or i are used indifferently, one being as right as the other. But although the word is really an adverb, Sir Frederic Madden thinks it whether, in the latter part of the fifteenth century, it wes not regarded as a princmn and a rtrb, equivalent to the German ich vein.* That it was so considered in the sixteenth r.nd seventeenth centuries seems pretty generally admitted. In Shukesj care it is always printed with a capital letter, / wis; and we have no doubt ho used it as a/>ro«owH and a verb, not knowirg its original sense as an adverb.

• See the Glossary to Sir Frederic Madden's' Frinlcd/or He Uunnulnr Club, 1839."

Syr Gawayne.

0) 8cete I.—Exeunt Petrtjchio and Kathaiuna sevef*»3r'-l Compare the interview of the hero and heroine in the old comedy :—

"Enter Kate.

."/••.'Ha Kate, Come hither wench & list to me, *« this gentleman friendlie as thou canst. ferwu. Twentie good morrowes to my louely Kate Kmu. Yon ie»t J am sure, is *he yours alreadie? Feran. I tell thee Kate I know thou lou'st me well

Kate. The deuill you doo, who told you so?

Feran, My mind sweet Kate doth say I am the man,
Must wed, and bed, and marrie bennic Kate.

Kate. Was euer seene so grose an asse as this?

Feran. I, to stand so long and ncuer get a kisse.

Kate, Hands off I say, and get you from this place;
Or I wil set my ten commandments in your face.

Feran. I prtthe doo Kate; they say thou art a shrew
And I like thee the better for I would haue thee so.

Kate. Let go my hand for fearc it rcech your care.

Feran. No Kate, this hand is mine and I thy loue.

Kate. In faith sir no, the woodcock wants his taile.

Feran. But yet his bil wil seme, if the other faile.

Al/on. How now, Ferando, what saies my daughter?

Feran. Shoes willing sir and loues me as hir life.

Kate. Tis for your skin then, but not to be your wife.

At/on. Come hither Kate and let me giue thy hand
To him that I haue chosen for thy loue,
And thou tomorrow shalt be wed to him.

Kate. Why father what do you meane to doo with me,
To giue me thus vnto this brainsick man,
That in his mood cares not to murder me?

She turnes aside and speakes.
But yet I will consent and marrie him,
For I methinkes haue liued too long a maid,
And match him to, or else his manhoods good.

At/on Giue me thy hand Ferando loues thee wel
And will with wealth and ease maintaine thy state,
Here Ferando take her for thy wife,
And Sunday next shall be your wedding day.

Feran. W hy so, did I not tell thee I should be the man
Father, I leaue my loulie Kate with you,
Prouide your selues against our mariage dale;
For I must hie me to my countrie house
In hast to see prouision may be made,
To entertaine my Kate when she dooth eoine.

Al/on. Doo so, come Kate why doost thou looke
So sad, be merrie wench thy wedding daies at hand.
Sonne fare you well, and see you keepe your promise.

Exit Alfonso and Kate."

(2) Scene I.—Yet I have fat? d it with a card o/Un.] "A common phrase," says Nares, "which we may suppose to have been derived from some game (possibly primero), wherein the standing boldly upon a ten was often successful. A card of ten meant a tenth card, a ten, &c. I conceive the force of the phrase to have expressed, originally, the confidence or impudence of one who, with a ten, as at brag, faced, or out-faced one who had really a faced card against him. To face, meant, as it still does, to bully, to attack by impudence of face."

(3) Scene I.—If I fail not of my cunning.'] At the termination of this scene* in the original, the following bit of by-play is introduced:—

"811*. Sim, when will the foole come againe?

Lord. Heele come againe my Lord anon.

Slit. Gis some more drinke here, souns where* The Tapster, here Sim eate some of these things.

Lord. So I doo my Lord.

Slit, Here Sim, I drinke to thee.

Lord. My Lord heere comes the plaiers againe,

Slie. O braue, been two fine gentlewomen."


(1) Scene 11.—Enter Petruchio and Grumio.] The answerable scene to this in the old piece, though not without humour, is much inferior:—■

"Enter Ferando baselie attired, and a red cap on his head.

Feran, Godmorow father, Polidor well met,
You wonder I know that I haue staid so long.

Alfon. I marrie son, we were almost perswaded,
That we should scarse haue had our bridegroome heere,
But say, why art thou thus basely attired?

Feran. Thus rich lie father you should haue said,
For when my wife and I am married once,
Sheea such a shrew, if we should once fal out
Sheele pul my costlie sutes ouer mine eares,
And therefore am 1 thus attired awhile,
For manie thinges I tell you's in my head,
And none must know thereof but Kate and I,
For we shall liue like lammes and Lions sure,
Nor Lammes to Lions neuer was so tame,
I f once they lie within the Lions pawes
As Kate to me if we were married once,
And therefore come let vs to church presently.

Pol. Fie Ferando not thus atired for shame
Come to my Chamber and there Bute thy selfe,
Of twentie sutes that I did neuer were.

Feran. Tush Polidor I haue as many sutes
Fantasticke made to fit my humor so
As any in Athens and as richlie wrought
As was the Massie llobe that late adornd,
The stately legate of the Persian King,
And this from them haue I made choise to weare.

Alfon. I prethie Ferando let me in treat
Before thou goBte vnto the church with vs
To put some other sute vpon thy backe

Feran. Not for the world if I might gaine it so, And therefore take me thus or not at all."

(2) Scene II.—

"Me calls for wine

- quaff'd off Vie muscadel,"

The custom of taking wine and sops in the church upon the conclusion of the marriage ceremonies is very ancient, and in this country, in our author's time, it was almost universal. The beverage usually chosen was Mutcadel, or Mufadine, or a medicated drink called Hippocras. Thus,

in Robert Armin's Comedy of "The History of the Two Maids of Moreclacke," 1609, the play begins with :—

"Rnter a Maid strewing flowers, and a serving-man perfuming the door.

Maid. Strew, strew.

Man. The muscadine stays for the bride at church:
The priest and Hymen's ceremonies tend
To make thein man and wife."

So at the marriage of Mary and Philip in Winchester Cathedral, 1554, we road :—" The trumpets sounded, and they returned to their traverses in the quire, and thero remayned untill masse was done; at which tyme, wune and topes were hallowed and delyvered to them both. — Appendix to Leland's Collectanea.

(3) Scene II.—Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and Grumio.] Perhaps in no part of the play is the immeasurable superiority of Shakespeare to his predecessor more evident than in the boisterous vigour ana excitation of this scene. Compared with it, the corresponding situation in the original is torpidity itself:—

"Eutcr Ferando and Kate and Alfonso and Polidor and Amelia and Aurcliui and Philema.

Feran. Father farwell, my A'a/cand I must home, Sirra go make ready my horse presentlie.

Alfon. Your horse? What son I hope you doo but iest I am sure you will not go so suddainly.

Kate. Let him go or tarry I am resolu'de to stay, And not to trauell on my wedding day.

Feran. Tut Kate 1 tell thee we must ncedes go home, Villaine hast thou saddled my horaef

San. Which horse, your curtail X

Feran. Sounes you slaue stand you prating here? Kaddell the bay gelding for your Mis trig.

Kate. Not for me: for He not go.

San. The ostler will not let me haue him you owe tenpence For his meate and C pence for stuffing my Mistris saddle.

Feran. Here villaine go pay him straight.

San. Shall I giue them another pecke of lauender.

Feran. Out slaue and bring them presently to the dore.

Alfon. Why son I hope at least youle dine with vs.

San. I pray you maister lets stay till dinner be don.

Feran, Sounes villaine art thou here yetf Ex. Sander.

Come Kate our dinner is prouided at home.

Kate. But not for me, for here I meane to dine Be haue my will in this as well as you, Tfcacch you in maJding mood would leaue your frends Despite of you lie tarn' with them still.

Frram. I Kate so thou ahalt but at some other time, Whtn as thy sisters here shall be espousd. Then thou and 1 will keepe our wedding day la better sort then now we can prouide,

For here I promise thee before them all,
We will ere long retume to them againe,
Come Kate stand not on ternies we will awaie,
This is my day, tomorrow thou shalt rule.
And I will doo what euer thou commands.
Gentlemen farwell, wele take our leues,
It will be late before that we come home.

Exit Ferando and Kale.'


(1) SCEIE L—

He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Xow let him speak; '(is charity to shew. [Exit.] Subjoined is the parallel scene of the older ylay :—

"Enter Ferando and Kate.

Feran. Vow welcome Kate; where's these villains
Here, what? not supper yet vppon the horde:
N-r table aprt-d nor nothing don at all,
WTirre? that villaine that I sent before.
5*9. Sow, ad turn, sir.

Feran. Come hether you villaine He cut your nose,
Too Rogue: help* me of with my bootes: wilt please
Too to lay the cloth? sounes the villaine
IIuna my foote? pull easely I say; yet againe.

He beates them alt.
They couer the bord and fetch in the meate.
Soiices * burnt and skorcht who drest this meate?
h'ttt. Forsouth Tohn cooke.

He throwes downe the table and meate and all, and beates

Fermm. Go you villaines bringe you me such meate,
*' t of my &i?ht I say and beare it hence,
C jnie Kate wele haue other meate prouided,
I • there a fire in my chamber sir?

Sam. I forsooth. Exit Ferando and Kate.

ilaneat seruing men and eate vp all the meate.

Tom. Sonne*? I thinke of my conscience my Masters Mad «ince he wa* marled.

WW. I laft what a boxe he gaue Sander For pulling of his bootes.

Enter Ferando againe. San. 1 hurt his foote for the nonce man. Feran,. Did you so you damned villaine.

He beates them all out againe. TXi- humor must I holde me to awhile, To bridle and holde backe my headstrong wife, Vith cuTbes of hunger: ease: and want of sleepe, Ksr sleepe nor meate shall she inioie to night. He mew her vp as men do mew their hawkes, Ac«! make her gentlie come vnto the lure, Were *he as sruboroe or as full of strength A» were the Tbracian horse Atcides tamde, That King Eaeus fed with flesh of men, Tex would I pull her downe and make her come A* hungry hawkes do flie vnto there lure.


(2) SCEfE II.

but at fast I spied

An ancient angel coming down tlte hill."]

Far upwards of a century, the expression, "An ancient

«*3*V has been a puzzle to commentators. Theobald,

Hanmer, and Warburton concurred in substituting engle,

T tngkle (the most innocent meaning of which is gull, or

^/+i for "angel;" and this word has been supported

Krenuoualy by Gifiord. In a note to Jonson's Poetaster,

Act IL 8c 1, he quotes a passage from Gascoigne's Supposes,

tae play .Sbakesi»enre is thought to have been under obliga

t*iHM to for this part of the plot, which ho considers

fecisre:—"There Erostrato, the Biondello of Shake

$eare, Jooks out for a person to gull by an idle story,

-/edges from, appea ra nces that he has found him, and is

**X deceived :—'At the foot of the hill I mot a gentleman,

hud as m>thought by hi* habits and his looks he should be

*v« of the wisest/ Again, 'this gentleman being, as I

Sleased at the first, a man of small sapiential And ulippo (the Lucentio of Shakespeare) as soon as he spies him coming, exclaims, 'Is this ho? go meet him: by my truth, He Looks Like A Good Soul, he that fisheth for him might be sure to catch a codshead.*" But, after all, as Mr. Singer observes, it is not necessary to depart from the reading of the old copy. Cotfrrave explains Angelot & la grosse escaille, "An old angell; and oy metaphor a fellow of th' old, sound, honest, and worthie stamp." So an ancient angel may here have meant only a good old simple soul, it is singular that, while so much consideration has been bestowed on this expression, one very similar in "The Tempest," Act II. Sc. 1, "This ancient morsel" should scarcely have been noticed.

(3) Scene III.—Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave.'] We subjoin the analogous scene from the original play :—

"Enter Sander and his Metres.

San. Come Mistris.

Kate. Sander I prethe helpe me to some meate, I am so faint that I can scarcely stande.

San. I marry mistris but you know my maister Has giuen me a charge that you must eate nothing, But that which he himselfe giueth you.

Kate. Why man thy Maister needs nevtr know it.

San. You say true indede: why looke you Mistris, What say you to a peese of beetle and mustard now f

Kate. Why I say tis excellent meate, canst thou helpe me to some?

San. I, I could helpe you to some but that
I doubt the mustard is too colerick for you,
But what say you to a sheepes head and garlick f

Kate. Why any thing, I care not what it be.

San. I but the garlike I doubt will make your breath stincke, and then my maister will course me for letting You eate it: But what say you to a fat Capon f

Kate. Thats meate for a King sweet Sander helpe Me to some of it.

San. Nay ber lady then tis too deere for vs, we must Not meddle with the Kings meate.

Kate. Out villaine dost thou mocke me, Take that for thy sawsinesse.

She beates him.

(4) Scene HI.—Exeunt.] The incidents in the foregoing scene closely resemble those in tho following one from the old piece; it is in their treatment that the pre-eminence of Shakespeare is recognised :—

"Enter Ferando and Kate and Sander.

San. Master the haberdasher has brought my Mistresse home hir cappe here.

Feran. Come hither sirra: what haue you there?

Habar. A veluet cappe sir and it please you.

Feran. Who spoake for it? didst thou Katet

Kate. What if I did, come hither sirra, giue me
The cap, He see if it will fit me. She sets it one hir hea*'

Feran. O monstrous, why it becomes thee not,
Let me see it Kate: here Birra take it hence,
This cappe is out of fashion quite.

Kate. The fashion is good inough: belike you meane to make a foole of me.

Feran. Why true he meancs to make a foole of thee
To haue thee put on such a curtald cappe,
Sirra begon with it.

Enter the Taylor with a gowne.

San. Here is the Taylor too with my Mistrii gowne.

Feran. Let me see it Taylor: what with cuts and iagges. Sounes you villaine, thou hast spoiled the gowne.

Taylor, Why sir I made it as your man gaue me direction. You may reade the note here.

Feran. Come hither lim Taylor reade the note.

Taylor. Item, a faire round compact cape.

San. I thats true.

Taylor. And a large truncke sleeuc.

San. Thats a He maister. I sayd two truncke sleeues.

Feran. Well sir goe forward.

Taylor. Item a loose bodied gowne.

San. Maister if euer I sayd loose bodies gowne,
Sew me in a seame and beate me to death,
With bottome of browne thred.

Taylor. I made it as the note bad me.

San. I say the note lies in his throute and thou too And thou sayst it.

Taylor. Nay nay nere be so hot sirra, for I feare you not.

San. Doost thou hcare Taylor, thou hast braued
Many men: braue not me.
Thou'st faste many men.

Taylor. Wei] sir.

San. Face not me He neither be faste nor braued.
At thy handcs I can tell thee.

Kale. Come come I like the fashion of it well enough,
Heres more a do then needs He haue it, I
And if you do not like it hide your eies,
I thinke I shall haue nothing by your will.

Feran. Go I say and take it vp for your maisters vse.

San. Souns villaine not for thy life touch it not,
Souns take vp my mistris gowne to his
Maisters vse /

Feran. Well sir whats your conceit of it.

San. I haue a deeper conceite in it then you thinke for, take vp my mistris gowne To his maisters vse? Feran. Taylor come hether; for this time take it

Hence againe. and He content thee for thy names.

Taylor. I thanke you sir. Exit Taylor.

Feran. Come Kate we now will go see thy fathers house
Euen in these honest meane abilliments,
Our purses shall be rich our garments plaine,
To shrowd our bodies from the winter rage,
And that's inough, what should we care for more
Thy sisters Kate to morrow must be wed,
And I haue promised them thou shouldst be there
The morning is well vp lets hast away,
It will be nine a clocke ere we come there.

Kate. Nine a clock, why tis allreadie past two
In the after noone by all the clocks in the towne.

Feran. I say tis but nine a clock in the morning.

Kate. I say tis two a clock in the after noone.

Feran. It shall be nine then ere we go to your fathers,
Come backe againe we will not go to day.
Nothing but crossing of me still,

He haue you say as I doo ere you go. Exeunt Omncs."

(5) Scene V.—Allots thee for his lovely bed-ftUowf] Comparo the opening of the original scene:—

"Feran. Come Kate the Moone shines cleare to night Methinkes.

Kate. The moone? why husband you are decerned It is the sun.

Feran. Yet againe come backe againe it shall be The moone ere we come at your fathers.

Kate. Why He say as you say it is the moone.

Feran. lesus saue the glorious moone.

Kate. Iesus saue the glorious moone.

Feran. I am glad Kate your stomack is come downe,
I know it well thou knowest it is the sun,
Hut I did trie to see if thou wouldst speake,
And crosse me now as thou hast donne before,
And trust me Kale hadst thou not named the moone,
We had gon back againe as sure as death.
But soft whose this thats comming here."


(1) Scene I.—Call forth an officer.] In the original tho performance is interrupted at this point by the Tinker:—

"Site. I say wele haue no sending to prison.

Lord. My Lord this is but the play, theyre but in iest.

Slie. I tell thee Sim wele haue no sending,
To prison thats flat: why Sim am not I Don Christo Varyt*
Therefore I say they shall not go to prison.

Lord. No more they shall not my Lord,
They be run away.

Slie. Are they run away Sim 1 thats well,
Then gis some more drinke, and let them play againe.

Lord. Here my Lord.

Slie drinkes and then falls aslcepe."

(2) Scene II.—Exeunt.] Shakespeare's piece terminates here, and no more is heard of the inimitable Christopher. Whether this is owing to the latter portion of the Induction having been lost, or whether the poet purposely dismissed the Tinker and the characters of tho apologue, before whom we were to suppose the comedy was played, in the first act, we shall probably never know. In the old drama, at tho end, the scene is supposed to change from the nobleman's palace to the outsiae of the alehouse-door,

* Christo Vary?] A humorous variation of Christopher; whence, probably, Shakespeare's Chrisiophero Sly.

and Sly is properly re-introduced in tho same staio in which he first appeared:—

"Then enter two bearing of Slie in his
Owne apparrell againe and leaues him
Where they found, him, and then goes out.
Then enter the Tapster.

Tapster. Now that the darkesonie night is ouerpast,
And dawning day appeares in chrystall sky,
Now must I hast abroad: but soft whose this?
What Slie oh wondrous hath he laine here allnight,
He wake him, I thinke he's stamed by this,
But that his belly was so stuft with ale,
What bow Slie, Awake for shame.

Slie. Sim gis some more wine, whats all the
Plaiers gon: am not I a Lord?

Tapster. A lord with a murrin: come art thou dronken still?

Slie. Whose this f Tapster, oh Lord sirra, I haue had
The brauest dreame to night, that euer thou
Hardest in all thy life.

Tapster. I marry but you had best get you home.
For your wife will course you for dreaming here tonight.

SHe. Will she? I know now how to tame a shrew,
I dreamt vpon it all this night till now,
And thou hast wakt me out of the best dreame
That euer I had in my life, but He to my
Wife presently and tame her too.
And if she anger me.

Tapster. Nay tarry Slie for lie go home with thee,
And heare the rest that thou hast dreamt to night.

Exeunt Omnes.'





"From whatever source the Apologue to this drama may have been directly taken, we cannot but feel highly indebted to Shakspeare for its conversion into a lesson of exquisite moral irony, while, at the same time, it unfolds his wonted richness of humour, and minute delineation of character. The whole, indeed, is conducted with such lightness and frolic spirit, with so many happy touches of risible simplicity, yet chastised by so constant an adherence to nature and verisimilitude, as to form one of the most delightful and instructive sketches.

"So admirably drawn is the character of Sly, that we regret to find the interlocution of the group before whom the piece is supposed to be performed, has been dropped by our author after the close of the first scene of the play. Here we behold the jolly tinker nodding, and, at length, honestly exclaiming, 'Would V were done /' and though the integrity of the representation requires that he should finally return to his former state, the transformation, as before, being effected during his sleep, yet we hear no more of this truly comic personage; whereas in the spurious play, he is frequently introduced commenting on the scene, is carried off the stage fast asleep, and on the termination of the drama, undergoes the necessary metamorphosis. It would appear, therefore, either that our bard's continuation of the Induction has been unaccountably lost, or that he trusted the remainder of Sly's part to the improvisatory ingenuity of the performers; or, what is more likely, that they were instructed to copy a certain portion of what had been written, for this subordinate division of the tinker's character, by the author of the elder play. Some of the observations, indeed, of Sly, as given by the writer of this previous comedy, are incompatible with the fable and Dramatis Persona of Shakspeare's production ; and have, consequently, been very injudiciously introduced by Mr. Pope ; but there are two passages which, with the exception of but two names, are not only accordant with our poet's prelude, but absolutely necessary to its completion. Shakspeare, as we have seen, represents Sly as nodding at the end of the first scene, and the parts of the anonymous play to which we allude are those where the nobleman orders the sleeping tinker to be put into his own apparel again, and where he awakens in this garb, and believes the whole to have been a dream; the only alterations required in this finale being the omission of the Christian appellative Sim, and the conversion of Tapster into Hostess. These few lines were, most probably, those which Shakspeare selected as a necessary accompaniment to his piece, from the old drama supposed to have been written in 1590 P and these lines should be withdrawn from the notes in all the modern editions, and though distinguished as borrowed property, should be immediately connected with the text.

"As to the play itself, the rapidity and variety of its action, the skilful connexion of its double plot, and the strength and vivacity of its principal characters, must for ever ensure its popularity. There is, indeed, a depth and breadth of colouring in its execution, a boldness and prominency of relief, which may be thought to border upon coarseness; but the result has been an effect equally powerful and interesting, though occasionally, as the subject demanded, somewhat glaring and grotesque. Pelruchio, Katharina, and Orumio, the most important personages of the play, are consistently supported throughout, and their peculiar features touched, and brought forward with singular sharpness and

* "I suspect," says Mr. Malone, "that the anonymous by George Peele or Robert Greene," 'Taming of a Shrew' was written about the year 1590, either

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