The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

To this same place, to this same monument.

This letter he early bid me give his father, And threat’ned me with death, going in the vault, If I departed not and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter. I will look on it.

Where is the County’s page that rais’d the watch?

Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

Boy. He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did.

Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by-and-by my master drew on him;

And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar’s words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death; And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor pothecary, and therewithal

Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.

Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montage, See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

And I, for winking at you, discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.

Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand.

This is my daughter’s jointure, for no more Can I demand.

Mon. But I can give thee more;

For I will raise her Statue in pure gold, That whiles Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie-Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished; For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Exeunt omnes.

THE END

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

1594

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 gentleman of Padua

VINCENTIO, a Merchant of Pisa

LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor to Katherina Suitors to Bianca

GREMIO

HORTENSIO

Servants to Lucentio

TRANIO

BIONDELLO

Servants to Petruchio

GRUMIO

CURTIS

A PEDANT

Daughters to Baptista

KATHERINA, the shrew

BIANCA

A WIDOW

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio

SCENE:

Padua, and PETRUCHIO’S house in the country SC_1

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.

[Falls asleep]

Wind horns. Enter a LORD from bunting, with his train 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, Belman 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; Tomorrow I intend to hunt again.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord.

LORD. 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 flatt’ring 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 carried 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 a SERVINGMAN

How now! who is it?

SERVANT. An’t 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 tonight?

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 tonight; 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 antic 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 Bartholomew 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 overjoyed 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 a SERVINGMAN

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 SC_2

SCENE II.

A bedchamber in the LORD’S house Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD

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 overleather.

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 cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife 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 lying’st knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale]

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,