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Are come to play a pleasant comedy,

For so your doctors hold it very meet,

Seeing too much sadness hath congeal’d your blood,

And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.

Therefore they thought it good you hear a play,

And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,

Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

Sly. Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold, or a tumbling-trick?

Page. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.

Sly. What, household stuff?

Page. It is a kind of history.

Sly. Well, we’ll see’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip, we shall ne’er be younger.

[They all sit.] Flourish.

¶

Enter Lucentio and his man Tranio.

Luc.

Tranio, since for the great desire I had

To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arriv’d for fruitful Lombardy,

The pleasant garden of great Italy,

And by my father’s love and leave am arm’d

With his good will and thy good company,

My trusty servant, well approv’d in all,

Here let us breathe, and haply institute