Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare
Act 0 - Scene 2
A bedchamber in the LORD’S house
Christopher 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?
Christopher Sly : I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I
[p]ne'er
drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,
[p]give me
conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear,
[p]for I have
no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than
[p]legs, nor no
more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than
[p]shoes, or such
shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
Lord : Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
[p]O, that a mighty man
of such descent,
[p]Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
[p]Should
be infused with so foul a spirit!
Christopher Sly : What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old
[p]Sly's
son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a
[p]cardmaker,
by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
[p]profession a
tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of
[p]Wincot, if she know
me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on
[p]the score for sheer
ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in
[p]Christendom. What! I am
not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale]
[p]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,
[p]As beaten hence
by your strange lunacy.
[p]O noble lord, bethink thee of thy
birth!
[p]Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
[p]And
banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
[p]Look how thy servants do
attend on thee,
[p]Each in his office ready at thy beck.
[p]Wilt thou
have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music]
[p]And twenty caged
nightingales do sing.
[p]Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a
couch
[p]Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
[p]On purpose trimm'd
up for Semiramis.
[p]Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the
ground.
[p]Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd,
[p]Their
harness studded all with gold and pearl.
[p]Dost thou love hawking?
Thou hast hawks will soar
[p]Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou
hunt?
[p]Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
[p]And fetch
shall echoes from the hollow earth.
First Servant : Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
[p]As breathed
stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
Second Servant : Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee
[p] straight
[p]Adonis
painted by a running brook,
[p]And Cytherea all in sedges
hid,
[p]Which seem to move and wanton with her breath
[p]Even as the
waving sedges play wi' th' wind.
Lord : We'll show thee Io as she was a maid
[p]And how she was beguiled and
surpris'd,
[p]As lively painted as the deed was done.
Third Servant : Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
[p]Scratching her legs, that
one shall swear she bleeds
[p]And at that sight shall sad Apollo
weep,
[p]So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord : Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.
[p]Thou hast a lady far more
beautiful
[p]Than any woman in this waning age.
First Servant : And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee
[p]Like envious floods
o'er-run her lovely face,
[p]She was the fairest creature in the
world;
[p]And yet she is inferior to none.
Christopher Sly : Am I a lord and have I such a lady?
[p]Or do I dream? Or have I
dream'd till now?
[p]I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
[p]I
smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.
[p]Upon my life, I am a
lord indeed,
[p]And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
[p]Well, bring
our lady hither to our sight;
[p]And once again, a pot o' th' smallest
ale.
Second Servant : Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
[p]O, how we joy to
see your wit restor'd!
[p]O, that once more you knew but what you
are!
[p]These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
[p]Or, when you
wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
Christopher Sly : These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
[p]But did I never speak
of all that time?
First Servant : O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
[p]For though you lay here in
this goodly chamber,
[p]Yet would you say ye were beaten out of
door;
[p]And rail upon the hostess of the house,
[p]And say you would
present her at the leet,
[p]Because she brought stone jugs and no
seal'd quarts.
[p]Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Christopher Sly : Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
Third Servant : Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
[p]Nor no such men as
you have reckon'd up,
[p]As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of
Greece,
[p]And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;
[p]And twenty more
such names and men as these,
[p]Which never were, nor no man ever
saw.
Christopher Sly : Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
All : Amen.
Christopher Sly : I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.
Page : How fares my noble lord?
Christopher Sly : Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
[p]Where is my wife?
Page : Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her?
Christopher Sly : Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
[p]My men should call
me 'lord'; I am your goodman.
Page : My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
[p]I am your wife in all
obedience.
Christopher Sly : I know it well. What must I call her?
Lord : Madam.
Christopher Sly : Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?
Lord : Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.
Christopher Sly : Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd
[p]And slept above some
fifteen year or more.
Page : Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
[p]Being all this time
abandon'd from your bed.
Christopher Sly : 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
[p][Exeunt
SERVANTS]
[p]Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
Page : Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
[p]To pardon me yet for a
night or two;
[p]Or, if not so, until the sun be set.
[p]For your
physicians have expressly charg'd,
[p]In peril to incur your former
malady,
[p]That I should yet absent me from your bed.
[p]I hope this
reason stands for my excuse.
Christopher Sly : Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would
be
[p]loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry
in
[p]despite of the flesh and the blood.
Messenger : Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
[p]Are come to play a
pleasant comedy;
[p]For so your doctors hold it very meet,
[p]Seeing
too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
[p]And melancholy is the
nurse of frenzy.
[p]Therefore they thought it good you hear a
play
[p]And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
[p]Which bars a
thousand harms and lengthens life.
Christopher Sly : Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a
[p]Christmas
gambold or a tumbling-trick?
Page : No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
Christopher Sly : What, household stuff?
Page : It is a kind of history.
Christopher Sly : Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let
[p]the
world slip;-we shall ne'er be younger.
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