The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (ebook reader with android os .txt) 📖

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THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

by William Shakespeare

 

Dramatis Personae

 

Persons in the Induction

A LORD

CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker

HOSTESS PAGE PLAYERS HUNTSMEN SERVANTS

BAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich eman of Padua

VINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa

LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca

PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina

 

Suitors to Bianca

GREMIO HORTENSIO

Servants to Lucentio

TRANIO BIONDELLO

Servants to Petruchio

GRUMIO CURTIS

PEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio

 

Daughters to Baptista

KATHERINA, the shrew

BIANCA WIDOW

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and

Petruchio

 

SCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in PETRUCHIO’S house in

the country.

 

INDUCTION.

 

SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.

 

[Enter HOSTESS and SLY.]

 

SLY.

I’ll pheeze you, in faith.

 

HOSTESS.

A pair of stocks, you rogue!

 

SLY.

Y’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the

chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas

pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!

 

HOSTESS.

You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

 

SLY.

No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed

and warm thee.

 

HOSTESS.

I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.

 

[Exit.]

 

SLY.

Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law.

I’ll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.

 

[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.]

 

[Horns winded. Enter a LORD from hunting, with Huntsmen and

Servants.]

 

LORD.

Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss’d,

And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach.

Saw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good

At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

 

FIRST HUNTSMAN.

Why, Bellman is as good as he, my lord;

He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice to-day pick’d out the dullest scent;

Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

 

LORD.

Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,

I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

But sup them well, and look unto them all;

To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

 

FIRST HUNTSMAN.

I will, my lord.

 

LORD.

[ Sees Sly.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

 

SECOND HUNTSMAN.

He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

 

LORD.

O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey’d to bed,

Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,

A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,

Would not the beggar then forget himself?

 

FIRST HUNTSMAN.

Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

 

SECOND HUNTSMAN.

It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.

 

LORD.

Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.

Then take him up, and manage well the jest.

Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,

And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;

Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters,

And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet.

Procure me music ready when he wakes,

To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,

And with a low submissive reverence

Say ‘What is it your honour will command?’

Let one attend him with a silver basin

Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers;

Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

And say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’

Some one be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

And that his lady mourns at his disease.

Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;

And, when he says he is—say that he dreams,

For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs;

It will be pastime passing excellent,

If it be husbanded with modesty.

 

FIRST HUNTSMAN.

My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,

As he shall think by our true diligence,

He is no less than what we say he is.

 

LORD.

Take him up gently, and to bed with him,

And each one to his office when he wakes.

 

[SLY is bourne out. A trumpet sounds.]

 

Sirrah, go see what trumpet ‘tis that sounds:

 

[Exit SERVANT.]

 

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

 

[Re-enter SERVANT.]

 

How now! who is it?

 

SERVANT.

An it please your honour, players

That offer service to your lordship.

 

LORD.

Bid them come near.

 

[Enter PLAYERS.]

 

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

 

PLAYERS.

We thank your honour.

 

LORD.

Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

 

PLAYER.

So please your lordship to accept our duty.

 

LORD.

With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;

‘Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Was aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.

 

PLAYER.

I think ‘twas Soto that your honour means.

 

LORD.

‘Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.

Well, you are come to me in happy time,

The rather for I have some sport in hand

Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

There is a lord will hear you play to-night;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,—

For yet his honour never heard a play,—

You break into some merry passion

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

 

PLAYER.

Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antick in the world.

 

LORD.

Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

And give them friendly welcome every one:

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

 

[Exit one with the PLAYERS.]

 

Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,

And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;

That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,

And call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance.

Tell him from me—as he will win my love,—

He bear himself with honourable action,

Such as he hath observ’d in noble ladies

Unto their lords, by them accomplished;

Such duty to the drunkard let him do,

With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

And say ‘What is’t your honour will command,

Wherein your lady and your humble wife

May show her duty and make known her love?’

And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,

And with declining head into his bosom,

Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d

To see her noble lord restor’d to health,

Who for this seven years hath esteemed him

No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if the boy have not a woman’s gift

To rain a shower of commanded tears,

An onion will do well for such a shift,

Which, in a napkin being close convey’d,

Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst;

Anon I’ll give thee more instructions.

 

[Exit SERVANT.]

 

I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

Voice, gait, and action, of a gentlewoman;

I long to hear him call the drunkard husband;

And how my men will stay themselves from laughter

When they do homage to this simple peasant.

I’ll in to counsel them; haply my presence

May well abate the over-merry spleen,

Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

SCENE II. A bedchamber in the LORD’S house.

 

[SLY is discovered in a rich nightgown, with ATTENDANTS: some with

apparel, basin, ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD, dressed

like a servant.]

 

SLY.

For God’s sake! a pot of small ale.

 

FIRST SERVANT.

Will’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

 

SECOND SERVANT.

Will’t please your honour taste of these conserves?

 

THIRD SERVANT.

What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

 

SLY.

I am Christophero Sly; call not me honour nor lordship. I

ne’er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,

give me conserves of beef. Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear,

for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than

legs, nor no more shoes than feet: nay, sometime more feet than

shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.

 

LORD.

Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!

O, that a mighty man of such descent,

Of such possessions, and so high esteem,

Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

 

SLY.

What! would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old

Sly’s son of Burton-heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a

card-maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present

profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of

Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on

the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in

Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. Here’s—

 

THIRD SERVANT.

O! this it is that makes your lady mourn.

 

SECOND SERVANT.

O! this is it that makes your servants droop.

 

LORD.

Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.

O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,

Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,

And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.

Look how thy servants do attend on thee,

Each in his office ready at thy beck:

Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays,

 

[Music]

 

And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch

Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm’d up for Semiramis.

Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground:

Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp’d,

Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.

Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar

Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?

Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them

And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.

 

FIRST SERVANT.

Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift

As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

 

SECOND SERVANT.

Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight

Adonis painted by a running brook,

And Cytherea all in sedges hid,

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath

Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

 

LORD.

We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid

And how she was beguiled and surpris’d,

As lively painted as the deed was done.

 

THIRD SERVANT.

Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,

Scratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds

And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,

So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

 

LORD.

Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:

Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

Than any woman in this waning age.

 

FIRST SERVANT.

And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee

Like envious floods o’er-run her lovely face,

She was the fairest creature in