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THE TAMING OF A SHREW.
ALL you that are assembled here, come listen to my song,
But first a favour I do crave for fear of doing wrong;
I do entreat this company, that they will silent be
And then a merry song I'll sing if they'll thereto agree.
The song which I intend to sing, touch women most of all,
Yet loth am I that any here should with me scold or
brawl;
For I've enough of that at home, at board, and eke at
bed,
And once for singing of this song my wife she broke my
head.
But if pleased be this company, and pleased be those men,
I'll venture once more a broken pate, and going it o'er
again;
But first I'll tell you what its call'd, perhaps you'll
hear't no more,
Its call'd the Taming of a Shrew, not often sung
before.
But if that I do sing the rest, your orders I do crave,
Hold up a finger or a thumb that would this song now
have;
Then will I sing with all my heart, and on with it will
go,
You know my mind, pray let me know if I must sing or no.
Now, now, I see you willing are that I should sing the
rest,
And for to please this company I mean to do my best;
I do perceive now by your looks, no harm to me you think.
So it fell out upon a time, (but pray first let me
drink;)
Upon a time a lusty lad did court a lively lass,
But long it was e're that he could his purpose bring to
pass;
He woo'd her on until at length she granted his petition,
That she would be his married wife, upon this condition.
That she should the breeches wear for a whole year and a
day,
And not to be controul'd at all whate'r she did or say.
It was the longest year he thought that came since he was
born,
Yet he the matter could not mend, for thereto he had
sworn.
But still a year it hath an end, as that you well do
know,
And if the day be e'er so long, to evening it will grow.
So it fell out with her at last, her year it was run out,
The sun, the moon, and all the stars, their race had run
about.
He then began to tell his wife, her time was past and
fled,
My dear, quoth he, since it is so, I now must be the
head;
But she that had born sway so long wou'd not be under
brought;
Her temper so unruly was, that many a blow she got.
He beat her back, he beat her sides, he made her black and
blue,
Yet for all that she would not mend, but worse and worse
still grew;
Since banging her wou'd her not amend, nor better make her
be,
He mow'd her up, in a corn mow, where she no light could
see.
He was almost at his wits end, not knowing what to do;
So he with kind and loving words his stubborn wife did
woo,
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