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The Taming of the Shrew (Folio 1, 1623)

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Erin Kelly
Not Peer Reviewed
Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants, some with apparel,
Bason and Ewer,& other appurtenances,& Lord.
Beg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale.
1.Ser. Wilt please your Lord drink a cup of sacke?
1552.Ser. Wilt please your Honor taste of these Con-
serues?
3.Ser. What raiment wil your honor weare to day.
Beg. I am Christophero Sly, call not mee Honour nor
Lordship: I ne're drank sacke in my life: and if you giue
160me any Conserues, giue me conserues of Beefe: nere ask
me what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doub-
lets then backes: no more stockings then legges: nor
no more shooes then feet, nay sometime more feete then
shooes, or such shooes as my toes looke through the o-
165uer-leather.
Lord. Heauen cease this idle humor in your Honor.
Oh that a mightie man of such discent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteeme
Should be infused with so foule a spirit.
170Beg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Chri-
stopher Slie, old Sies sonne of Burton-heath, by byrth a
Pedler, by education a Cardmaker, by transmutation a
Beare-heard, and now by present profession a Tinker.
Aske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if shee
175know me not: if she say I am not xiiii.d. on the score for
sheere Ale, score me vp for the lyingst knaue in Christen
dome. What I am not bestraught: here's---
3.Man. Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne.
2. Mar. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop.
180Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your
As beaten hence by your strange Lunacie.
Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:
185Looke how thy seruants do attend on thee,
Each in his office readie at thy becke.
Wilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies, Musick
And twentie caged Nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch,
190Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bed
On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd,
Their harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle.
195Dost thou loue hawking? Thou hast hawkes will soare
Aboue the morning Larke. Or wilt thou hunt,
Thy hounds shall make the Welkin answer them
And fetch shrill ecchoes from the hollow earth.
1.Man.Say thou wilt course, thy gray-hounds are as
200As breathed Stags: I fleeter then the Roe.
2.M. Dost thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee strait
Adonis painted by a running brooke,
And Citherea all in sedges hid,
Which seeme to moue and wanton with her breath,
205Euen as the wauing sedges play with winde.
Lord. Wee'l shew thee Io, as she was a Maid,
And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd,
As liuelie painted, as the deede was done.
3.Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood,
210Scratching her legs, that one shal sweare she bleeds,
And at that sight shal sad Apollo weepe,
So workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne.
Lord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord:
Thou hast a Ladie farre more Beautifull,
215Then any woman in this waining age.
1 Man. And til the teares that she hath shed for thee,
Like enuious flouds ore-run her louely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world,
And yet shee is inferiour to none.
220Beg. Am I a Lord, and haue I such a Ladie?
Or do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now?
I do not sleepe: I see, I heare, I speake:
I smel sweet sauours, and I feele soft things:
Vpon my life I am a Lord indeede,
225And not a Tinker, nor Christopher Slie.
Well, bring our Ladie hither to our sight,
And once againe a pot o'th smallest Ale.
2.Man. Wilt please your mightinesse to wash your
hands:
230Oh how we ioy to see your wit restor'd,
Oh that once more you knew but what you are:
These fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame,
Or when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
Beg. These fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap,
235But did I neuer speake of all that time.
1.Man. Oh yes my Lord, but verie idle words,
For though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of doore,
And raile vpon the Hostesse of the house,
240And say you would present her at the Leete,
Because she brought stone-Iugs, and no seal'd quarts:
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Beg. I, the womans maide of the house.
3.man.Why sir you know no house, nor no such maid
245Nor no such men as you haue reckon'd vp,
As Stephen Slie, and old Iohn Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell,
And twentie more such names and men as these,
Which neuer were, nor no man euer saw.
250Beg. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends.
All. Amen.
Enter Lady with Attendants.
Beg. I thanke thee, thou shalt not loose by it.
Lady. How fares my noble Lord?
255Beg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough.
Where is my wife?
La. Heere noble Lord, what is thy will with her?
Beg. Are you my wife, and will not cal me husband?
My men should call me Lord, I am your good-man.
260La.My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband
I am your wife in all obedience.
Beg. I know it well, what must I call her?
Lord. Madam.
Beg. Alce Madam, or Ione Madam?
265Lord. Madam, and nothing else, so Lords cal Ladies
Beg. Madame wife, they say that I haue dream'd,
And slept aboue some fifteene yeare or more.
Lady. I, and the time seeme's thirty vnto me,
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.
270Beg. 'Tis much, seruants leaue me and her alone:
Madam vndresse you, and come now to bed.
La. Thrice noble Lord, let me intreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two:
Or if not so, vntill the Sun be set.
275For your Physitians haue expressely charg'd,
In perill to incurre your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed:
I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
Beg. I, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long:
280But I would be loth to fall into my dreames againe: I
wil therefore tarrie in despight of the flesh & the blood
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.Your Honors Players hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant Comedie,
285For so your doctors hold it very mcete,
Seeing too much sadnesse hath congeal'd your blood,
And melancholly is the Nurse of frenzie,
Therefore they thought it good you heare a play,
And frame your minde to mirth and merriment,
290Which barres a thousand harmes, and lengthens life.
Beg. Marrie I will let them play, it is not a Comon-
tie, a Christmas gambold, or a tumbling tricke?
Lady. No my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuffe.
Beg. What, houshold stuffe.
295Lady. It is a kinde of history.
Beg. Well, we'l see't:
Come Madam wife sit by my side,
And let the world slip, we shall nere be yonger.