The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

PETRUCCIO, a gentleman of Verona, suitor of Katherine

  GREMIO, a rich old man of Padua, suitor of Bianca

  HORTENSIO, another suitor, who disguises himself as Licio, a

  teacher

  LUCENTIO, from Pisa, who disguises himself as Cambio, a teacher

  VINCENTIO, Lucentio’s father

  A PEDANT (schoolmaster), from Mantua

  A WIDOW

  A TAILOR

  A HABERDASHER

  An OFFICER

  SERVINGMEN, including NATHANIEL, PHILIP, JOSEPH, and PETER

  Other servants of Baptista and Petruccio

  The Taming of the Shrew

  Induction 1 Enter Christopher Sly the beggar, and the Hostess

  SLY I’ll feeze you, in faith.

  HOSTESS A pair of stocks, you rogue.

  SLY You’re a baggage. The Slys are no rogues. Look in the Chronicles—we came in with Richard Conqueror, therefore paucas palabras, 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 headborough. 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.

  He falls asleep.

  Horns sound. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train

  LORD

  Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds.

  Breathe Merriman—the poor cur is embossed—

  And couple Clowder with the deep-mouthed 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 today picked 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 (seeing Sly)

  What’s here? One dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

  SECOND HUNTSMAN

  He breathes, my lord. Were he not warmed 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 conveyed to bed,

  Wrapped 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 waked.

  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 bestrewed with flowers;

  Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

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

  Someone 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.

  Servingmen carry Sly out

  Trumpets sound

  Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds.

  Exit a Servingman

  Belike some noble gentleman that means,

  Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

  Enter a Servingman

  How now? Who is it?

  SERVINGMAN An’t please your honour, players That offer service to your lordship.

  Enter Players

  LORD

  Bid them come near. Now fellows, you are welcome.

  PLAYERS We thank your honour.

  LORD

  Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

  A PLAYER

  So please your lordship to accept our duty.

  LORD

  With all my heart. This fellow I remember

  Since once he played a farmer’s eldest son.

  ’Twas where you wooed the gentlewoman so well.

  I have forgot your name, but sure that part

  Was aptly fitted and naturally performed.

  ANOTHER 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-eyeing 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.

  A PLAYER

  Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourselves

  Were he the veriest antic in the world.

  LORD (to a Servingman)

  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

  (To a Servingman) Sirrah, go you to Barthol‘mew, my

  page,

  And see him dressed 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 observed 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 restored to health,

  Who for thi
s 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 conveyed,

  Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

  See this dispatched 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

  Induction 2 Enter aloft Sly, the drunkard, with attendants, some with apparel, basin, and ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord

  SLY For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!

  FIRST SERVINGMAN

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

  SECOND SERVINGMAN

  Will’t please your honour taste of these conserves?

  THIRD SERVINGMAN

  What raiment will your honour wear today?

  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 cardmaker, by transmutation a bearherd, 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; here’s—

  THIRD SERVINGMAN

  O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.

  SECOND SERVINGMAN

  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?

  Music

  Hark, Apollo plays,

  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 trimmed up for Semiramis.

  Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground.

  Or wilt thou ride, thy horses shall be trapped,

  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 shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

  FIRST SERVINGMAN

  Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift

  As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

  SECOND SERVINGMAN

  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 wi’th’ wind.

  LORD

  We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid,

  And how she was beguiled and surprised,

  As lively painted as the deed was done.

  THIRD SERVINGMAN

  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 SERVINGMAN

  And till the tears that she hath shed for thee

  Like envious floods o’errun her lovely face

  She was the fairest creature in the world;

  And yet she is inferior to none.

  SLY

  Am I a lord, and have I such a lady?

  Or do I dream? Or have I dreamed till now?

  I do not sleep. I see, I hear, I speak.

  I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.

  Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,

  And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.

  Well, bring our lady hither to our sight,

  And once again a pot o’th’ smallest ale.

  SECOND SERVINGMAN

  Will’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?

  O, how we joy to see your wit restored!

  O that once more you knew but what you are!

  These fifteen years you have been in a dream,

  Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept.

  SLY

  These fifteen years—by my fay, a goodly nap.

  But did I never speak of all that time?

  FIRST SERVINGMAN

  O yes, my lord, but very idle words,

  For though you lay here in this goodly chamber

  Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door,

  And rail upon the hostess of the house,

  And say you would present her at the leet

  Because she brought stone jugs and no sealed quarts.

  Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

  SLY Ay, the woman’s maid of the house.

  THIRD SERVINGMAN

  Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid,

  Nor no such men as you have reckoned up,

  As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greet,

  And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernel,

  And twenty more such names and men as these,

  Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

  SLY

  Now Lord be thankèd for my good amends.

  ALL Amen.

  SLY I thank thee. Thou shalt not lose by it.

  Enter Bartholomew the Page, as Lady, with attendants

  BARTHOLOMEW

  How fares my noble lord?

  SLY

  Marry, I fare well,

  For here is cheer enough. Where is my wife?

  BARTHOLOMEW

  Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her?

  SLY

  Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?

  My men should call me lord. I am your goodman.

  BARTHOLOMEW

  My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;

  I am your wife in all obedience.

  SLY

  I know it well. (To the Lord) What must I call her?

  LORD Madam.

  SLY Al’ce Madam or Joan Madam?

  LORD

  Madam, and nothing else. So lords call ladies.

  SLY

  Madam wife, they say that I have dreamed,

  And slept above some fifteen year or more.

  BARTHOLOMEW

  Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,

 
Being all this time abandoned from your bed.

  SLY

  Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.

  Exeunt [Lord and] attendants

  Madam, undress you and come now to bed.

  BARTHOLOMEW

  Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you

  To pardon me yet for a night or two,

  Or if not so, until the sun be set,

  For your physicians have expressly charged,

  In peril to incur your former malady,

  That I should yet absent me from your bed.

  I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

  SLY Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood.

  Enter a Messenger

  MESSENGER

  Your honour’s players, hearing your amendment,

  Are come to play a pleasant comedy,

  For so your doctors hold it very meet,

  Seeing too much sadness hath congealed 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 gambol, or a tumbling trick?

  BARTHOLOMEW

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

  SLY

  What, household stuff?

  BARTHOLOMEW

  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.

  Bartholomew sits

  1.1 Flourish. Enter Lucentio and his man, Tranio

  LUCENTIO

  Tranio, since for the great desire I had

  To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

  I am arrived fore fruitful Lombardy,

  The pleasant garden of great Italy,

  And by my father’s love and leave am armed

  With his good will and thy good company,

  My trusty servant, well approved in all,

  Here let us breathe, and haply institute

  A course of learning and ingenious studies.

  Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,

  Gave me my being, and my father first—

  A merchant of great traffic through the world,

  Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii.

  Vincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,