The Taming of the Shrew 03 by William Shakespeare

Published: Aug. 15, 2011, 8 p.m.

b"SCENE II.
\\nA bedchamber in the LORD'S house
\\n
\\nEnter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin
\\nand ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD
\\n
\\nSLY. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.
\\nFIRST SERVANT. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?
\\nSECOND SERVANT. Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?
\\nTHIRD SERVANT. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?
\\nSLY. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I
\\nne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,
\\ngive me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear,
\\nfor I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than
\\nlegs, nor no more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than
\\nshoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
\\nLORD. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
\\nO, that a mighty man of such descent,
\\nOf such possessions, and so high esteem,
\\nShould be infused with so foul a spirit!
\\nSLY. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old
\\nSly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a
\\ncardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
\\nprofession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of
\\nWincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on
\\nthe score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in
\\nChristendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale] Here's-
\\nTHIRD SERVANT. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!
\\nSECOND SERVANT. O, this is it that makes your servants droop!
\\nLORD. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
\\nAs beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
\\nO noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth!
\\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
\\nAnd banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
\\nLook how thy servants do attend on thee,
\\nEach in his office ready at thy beck.
\\nWilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music]
\\nAnd twenty caged nightingales do sing.
\\nOr wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a couch
\\nSofter and sweeter than the lustful bed
\\nOn purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
\\nSay thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground.
\\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd,
\\nTheir harness studded all with gold and pearl.
\\nDost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar
\\nAbove the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?
\\nThy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
\\nAnd fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.
\\nFIRST SERVANT. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
\\nAs breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.
\\nSECOND SERVANT. Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight
\\nAdonis painted by a running brook,
\\nAnd Cytherea all in sedges hid,
\\nWhich seem to move and wanton with her breath
\\nEven as the waving sedges play wi' th' wind.
\\nLORD. We'll show thee lo as she was a maid
\\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpris'd,
\\nAs lively painted as the deed was done.
\\nTHIRD SERVANT. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
\\nScratching her legs, that one shall swear she bleeds
\\nAnd at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
\\nSo workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
\\nLORD. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.
\\nThou hast a lady far more beautiful
\\nThan any woman in this waning age.
\\nFIRST SERVANT. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee
\\nLike envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
\\nShe was the fairest creature in the world;
\\nAnd yet she is inferior to none.
\\nSLY. Am I a lord and have I such a lady?
\\nOr do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now?
\\nI do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
\\nI smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.
\\nUpon my life, I am a lord indeed,
\\nAnd not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
\\nWell, bring our lady hither to our sight;
\\nAnd once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.
\\nSECOND SERVANT. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
\\nO, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!
\\nO, that once more you knew but what you are!
\\nThese fifteen years you have been in a dream;
\\nOr, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
\\nSLY. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
\\nBut did I never speak of all that time?
\\nFIRST SERVANT. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
\\nFor though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
\\nYet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
\\nAnd rail upon the hostess of the house,
\\nAnd say you would present her at the leet,
\\nBecause she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.
\\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
\\nSLY. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.
\\nTHIRD SERVANT. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
\\nNor no such men as you have reckon'd up,
\\nAs Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
\\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;
\\nAnd twenty more such names and men as these,
\\nWhich never were, nor no man ever saw.
\\nSLY. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
\\nALL. Amen.
\\n
"