University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Enter GRUMIO and TRANIO.
GRUMIO.
Come from your kitchen, will you? Out, you rogue,
You who're so smart upon me 'midst your platters:
Out of the house, thou ruin of thy master—
By Pollux! let me catch thee in the country,
And, as I live, I'll soundly be reveng'd.—
Steam of the kitchen, why do'st hide thyself?

Tra.
You scoundrel, why this noise before the house!
Think you, you're domineering in the country?
Get from the house—Into the country—Hence.—
Go and be hang'd—Get farther from the door—
What! was it this you wanted then—

[striking him.
Gru.
Oh! Oh!
What do'st thou strike me for?

Tra.
Because you wanted it—

Gru.
Well, I must bear it—Let our old master but
Return again; let him but safe arrive,
Whom you are eating up while he's abroad—

Tra.
You clown, you prate nor truth nor likelihood.
How eat at home a man who is abroad?

Gru.
You! the mob-minion! the town-wit! You cast
The country in my teeth! We soon shall have you
Brought to the work-house there: by Hercules!
You'll visit us in chains e'er long, and add
One to the number of our iron race—
Now, while 'tis in your power, use your time:
Drink on, confound, corrupt your master's son.
An excellent young man!—Days, nights together,
Consume in riot—Be true Greeks; buy wenches,
And set them free; feed parasites; and feast,
Magnificently feast yourselves—Were these
Our master's orders when he went abroad?
Thus shall he find things husbanded at home?
This think'st thou a good servant's duty, this?
To ruin both his son and his estate!—
For, ruin'd I esteem him, who acts thus—
A youth, who us'd to bear the palm in Athens
For temperance and frugality. But now
Ranks foremost in the opposite—Effects
Of thy fine tutoring, thy virtuous care!

Tra.
You rascal, what have you to do with me,
Or with my actions? Have you not your cattle
To look to in the country? 'Tis my pleasure
To drink, to love, to keep my girls. I do it
At the hazard of my own back, not of yours.

Gru.
With what assurance does the fellow prate?
Fie, fie upon it!—

Tra.
Now may Jupiter
And all the Gods confound thee! How thou stink'st
Of garlick! Filth by nature, rustick, goat,
Foh! thou meer hog-sty—Dog and goat together—

Gru.
What would'st thou have me do? We cannot all
Stink as you do of foreign sweets; nor fill
The upper place at table; nor all live
On dainties like yourself—Well, Sir! Enjoy
Your turtle-doves, fish, wild fowl; and let me
Do, tho' I stink, the duties of my station.
Thy fortune's happy, miserable mine—
Both must be borne—Why let them, so my good
'Bide but with me, as shall your ill with you.

Tra.
Grumio, you seem as if you envy'd me,
Because 'tis well with me, and ill with you.
Tho' 'tis but what is just: It fits my station,
To keep my wenches; yours, to keep your cattle;
Mine to live well, and yours to feed with hogs.

Gru.
Thou sieve of flesh! for such will be the end;
So shall thy hide be finely pink'd, as through
The streets thou bear'st thy gibbet, if our master
But once return—

Tra.
How know'st thou, Grumio,
But such may be thy fate sooner than mine?

Gru.
Because I've not deserv'd it as thou hast;
And still deserv'st—

Tra.
Shorten your tale, unless
You wish t'enhance your punishment—

Gru.
Will you
Let me have fodder then to feed my beasts?
If you have none, why give me money for it;
And, on then with your business—Oh! for me,
As you've begun; drink, live like Greeks, eat, stuff,
E'en till you burst; kill all your fatted dainties—

Tra.
Peace, get into the country—Now will I
Away to market, and buy fish for supper:
I'll send you fodder for the farm to-morrow.
What now? Why do you stare at me, you jail-bird—

Gru.
That name will better suit you by-and-by:
Yes, 'twill by Pollux!—

Tra.
Suit then what suit may:
So I'm well now, I heed not by-and-by.

Gru.
Ay, that's your care—But this one thing be sure of—
Troubles come on us, swifter much than things
We wish—

Tra.
Yes, you're already come to trouble me.
But hence!—To th'country—Take yourself away.
'Tis the last time, mark that, you e'er shall stay me.

[Exit.
Gru.
[alone.]
Is he quite gone? E'en so; nor cares a rush
For ought I've said—Your aid, immortal Gods!
Send us, O send us back my good old master,
These three years gone—Gods! send him home again,
E'er house and farm, and all is gone to wreck.
If he return not in a few months more,
No remnants will remain—I'll to the country—
For see! my master's son is coming hither,
Once a deserving youth—now, quite corrupted—

[Exit.