William Shakespeare - The Taming of the Shrew

The rewards for Katherine’s submission in life, as it were, are presumably those ‘good days and long’ that Petruchio has already stated as his goal. Since it comes as a definitive culmination to the action, the audience is left with no sense of need for its endless repetition, it frames a way of life, while shrewishness is on the contrary a lifetime career, the future of Bianca and the widow. This is not modern but it is not too bad in the circumstances. And the reward in the theatre is the complete stage dominance of Kate. It is possible, of course, to pluck weary disaster out of Katherine’s eloquent dignity but it seems not worth the trouble.

[Enter Hostess and SLY .]

Sly

I’ll pheeze you, in faith.

Hostess

A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly

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 thirdborough.

[Exit.]

Sly

[Wind horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his Train.]

Lord

Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds;

Brach Merriman, the poor cur, is emboss’d;

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.

1 Huntsman

Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;

And twice to-day pick’d 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.

To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

1 Huntsman

I will, my lord.

Lord

What’s here? One dead, or drunk?

See, doth he breathe?

2 Huntsman

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.

Wrapp’d 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?

1 Huntsman

2 Huntsman

It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.

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,

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 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 bestrew’d with flowers;

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

Some one be ready with a costly suit,

And ask him what apparel he will wear;

Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

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;

If it be husbanded with modesty.

1 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

And each one to his office when he wakes.

[ SLY is carried out. A trumpet sounds.]

Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds –

[Exit Servant.]

Belike some noble gentleman that means,

Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

[Re-enter a Servant.]

How now! who is it?

Servant

That offer service to your lordship.

Lord

Bid them come near.

[Enter Players.]

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

Players

We thank your honour.

Lord

Do you intend to stay with me to-night?

Player

Lord

With all my heart. This fellow I remember

Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son;

’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well.

I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

Player

I think ’twas Soto that your honour means.

Lord

’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.

Well, you are come to me in a happy time,

The rather for I have some sport in hand

There is a lord will hear you play to-night;

But I am doubtful of your modesties,

Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,

For yet his honour never heard a play,

And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

If you should smile, he grows impatient.

Player

Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,

Were he the veriest antic in the world.

Lord

And give them friendly welcome every one;

Let them want nothing that my house affords.

[Exit one with the Players.]

Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page,

And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady;

And call him ‘madam’, do him obeisance.

Tell him from me – as he will win my love –