The Taming of the Shrew Page #5

if you had... been so... contented.

I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,

And I expressly am forbid to touch it,

For it engenders anger, planteth choler;

And better 'twere that both of us did fast

Than feed it with such over-roasted... flesh.

Be patient, tomorrow it shall be mended,

And for this night we'll fast for company.

Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

Grumio!

Where is the life that late he led?

It's gone it's gone

It's gone it's gone it's gone away

No!

Fools! In what fashion have you made her bed?

With here a pillow flung and there a bolster,

This way the coverlet, and that the sheets.

How, in this hurly-burly, may a groom

Renderly woo and win his loving bride?

Gregory! Curtis! Philip! Nathaniel! Grumio!

I spit on you, that you should treat her thus.

This is the way to kill a wife with kindness.

Lower.

Lower.

Lower.

Good morrow, Kate.

What, sweeting, all forlorn?

How fares my Kate?

III.

'Tis passing fair.

Nay, nay.

Master. Master!

Master, I have watch'd so long

That I am dog-weary,

But at last I spied

A man most suitable to play your father.

An ancient angel coming down the hill.

Whom Tranio doth follow and approach.

- God save you, sir.

- And you, sir. You are welcome.

- What countryman, I pray?

- Of Mantua, sir.

Mantua?

From Mantua? Marry, God forbid!

And come to Padua, careless of your life?

My life, sir? How, I pray? For that goes hard.

'Tis death for any one in Mantua

To come to Padua.

Nay, know you not the cause?

Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the Duke,

For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,

Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly.

Alas, sir, what would you advise me do?

This will I do, and this I will advise you do:

To save your life in this extremity,

This favour will I do you for your sake,

And think it not the worst of all your fortunes

That you are like to Lord Vincentio.

Your plainness and your shortness

please me well.

Right true it is your son Lucentio here

Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him.

Now therefore if you give me this assurance

That like a father you will deal with him,

And pass my daughter a sufficient dowry,

And covenants be signed,

At thy son's lodging -

for walls have ears and I have many servants -

Why, then, he has consent to wed Bianca.

Signor Baptista.

The match is made, the ceremony appointed

For Sunday next; and I will give a feast

Which, with the citizens of Padua here,

Petruchio and Katharine shall attend.

Mistress... what cheer?

Faith, as cold as can be.

Pluck up your spirits, look cheerfully upon me.

Your father bids us to Bianca's wedding,

And thither must we journey, bravely clad.

Tailor and haberdasher wait thy leisure

To deck thy body with their ruffling treasure.

Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments.

What's the news with you... sir?

- Here is...

- Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

- Why, this was moulded on a porringer!

- O, I like the cap.

A velvet dish! Fie, fie! 'Ris lewd.

- Lewd?

- Lewd?

And filthy.

Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,

A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.

Away with it! Come, let me see a bigger.

I'll have no bigger. This doth fit the time,

And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.

When you are gentler, you shall have one too,

And not before.

Why, sir,

I trust I may have leave to speak,

And speak I will.

I am no child, no babe.

Your betters have endur'd me speak my mind,

And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.

My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,

Or else my heart concealing it will break.

I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not.

Love me or love me not, I like the cap,

And it I will have, or I will have none.

The gown. Come, tailor, let us see't.

O mercy, God! What mummer's stuff is here?

What's this? A sleeve? 'Ris like a demi-cannon.

What, up and down, carv'd like an apple tart?

Why, what the devil's name, tailor,

call'st thou this?

You bid me make it orderly and well,

According to the fashion and the time.

O monstrous arrogance!

Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble,

Thou yard, three-quarters, thou liest.

Thou half-yard, quarter, inch,

Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!

Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,

Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard

As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st.

Well, come, my Kate,

we must unto your father's

Even in these honest mean habiliments.

Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor,

For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich,

And as the sun

breaks through the darkest clouds,

So honour peereth in the meanest habit.

What, is the jay more precious than the lark

Because his feathers are more beautiful?

Or is the adder better than the eel

Because his painted skin contents the eye?

O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse

For this poor furniture and mean array.

If thou account'st it shame, blame it on me.

Grumio!

Say thou wilt see the tailor paid.

And therefore... frolic.

And now, my honey love,

We will return unto your father's house,

And revel it as bravely as the best,

With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,

And ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things,

With amber bracelets, beads,

and scarfs and fans.

- When shall we leave?

- Why, now.

- What is't o'clock?

- 'Tis day.

- 'Tis night.

- 'Tis seven.

'Tis two at most.

It shall be seven or I will not ride.

Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,

You are still crossing of it.

Nay...

Let it alone, I will not go today, or ere I do,

It shall be what o'clock I say it is.

'Tis seven.

Come on, a God's name,

once more unto your father's.

Good Lord,

how bright and goodly shines the moon!

I say it is the moon.

I know it is the moon.

Why, then you lie. It is the blessed sun.

Then, God be blest, it is the blessed sun.

But sun it is not, when you say it is not,

And the moon changes even as your mind.

What you will have it nam'd, even that it is,

And so it shall be so for Katharine.

Forward, forward.

But soft, what company is coming here?

Good morrow, gentle mistress, where away?

Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,

Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?

Such war of white and red within her cheeks!

What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty

As those two eyes become that...

heavenly face?

Fair... lovely maid,

once more good day to thee.

Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

Young budding virgin,

fair, and fresh, and sweet,

Whither away, or where is thy abode?

Happy the parents of so fair a child,

Happier the man whom favourable stars

Will allot for his lovely bedfellow.

Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad.

This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd,

And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.

O pardon, old father, for my mistaking eyes,

That have been so bedazzled by the... sun

That everything I see is green and young.

Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.

Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

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