Fred. Madam, I am heartily glad to meet your ladyship here; we have been in very great diforder fince we faw you :--- -What's here, our landlady and the child again ? Enter Duke, Petruchio, and Landlady, with the child. Pet. Yes, we met her going to be whipp'd, in a drunken conftable's hands, that took her for another. John. Why, then, pray let her e'en be taken, and whipp'd for herself, for on my word the deferves it. Land. Yes, I'm fure of your good word at any time.' 1 Con. Hark ye, dear landlady. Land. O fweet goodnefs! is it you? I have been in fuch a peck of troubles fince I faw you, they took me, and they tumbled me, and they haul'd me, and they pull'd me, and they call'd me painted Jezebel, and the poor little babe here did fo take on. Come hither, my lord, come hither; here is Conftantia. 1 Con. For heaven's fake, peace; yonder's my brother, and, if he discovers me, I'm certainly -ruin'd. Duke. No, madam, there's no danger. 1 Con. Were there a thousand dangers in those arms, I would run thus to meet them. Duke. O my dear! it were not safe that any should be here at prefent; for now my heart is fo o'erprefs'd with joy, that I fhould fcarce be able to defend thee. Petr. Sifter, I'm fo afham'd of all the faults, which my mistake has made me guilty of, that I know not how to ask your pardon for them. 1 Con. No, brother, the fault was mine, in mistaking you so much, as not to impart the whole truth to you at firft; but having begun my love without your confent, I never durft acquaint you with the progrefs of it. Duke. Come, let the confummation of our prefent joys blot out the memory of all thefe past mistakes. John. And when fhall we confummate our joys? 2 Con, 2 Con. Never : We'll find out ways fhall make 'em last for ever. John. Now fee the odds, 'twixt married folks and friends; Our love begins juft where their paffion ends, Perhaps you, gentlemen, expect to-day The author of this fag end of a play, Prevent th' affront by giving the first blow. Giving our price, and for what trash we please, He thinks, the play being done, you should have eafe. No wit, no sense, no freedom, and a box, Swell, and believe themselves the Lord knows what. ร Moft am Moft writers now a-days are grown fo vain, And hopes you will not tempt him with your To rank himself with fome, that write new plays : Hive |