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    The Taming of the Shrew: “The poorest service is repaid with thanks.”
    The Taming of the Shrew: “The poorest service is repaid with thanks.”
    The Taming of the Shrew: “The poorest service is repaid with thanks.”
    Ebook207 pages2 hours

    The Taming of the Shrew: “The poorest service is repaid with thanks.”

    By Willam Shakespeare

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    The life of William Shakespeare, arguably the most significant figure in the Western literary canon, is relatively unknown. Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1565, possibly on the 23rd April, St. George’s Day, and baptised there on 26th April. Little is known of his education and the first firm facts to his life relate to his marriage, aged 18, to Anne Hathaway, who was 26 and from the nearby village of Shottery. Anne gave birth to their first son six months later. Shakespeare’s first play, The Comedy of Errors began a procession of real heavyweights that were to emanate from his pen in a career of just over twenty years in which 37 plays were written and his reputation forever established. This early skill was recognised by many and by 1594 the Lord Chamberlain’s Men were performing his works. With the advantage of Shakespeare’s progressive writing they rapidly became London’s leading company of players, affording him more exposure and, following the death of Queen Elizabeth in 1603, a royal patent by the new king, James I, at which point they changed their name to the King’s Men. By 1598, and despite efforts to pirate his work, Shakespeare’s name was well known and had become a selling point in its own right on title pages. No plays are attributed to Shakespeare after 1613, and the last few plays he wrote before this time were in collaboration with other writers, one of whom is likely to be John Fletcher who succeeded him as the house playwright for the King’s Men. William Shakespeare died two months later on April 23rd, 1616, survived by his wife, two daughters and a legacy of writing that none have since yet eclipsed.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateFeb 1, 2016
    ISBN9781785436024
    The Taming of the Shrew: “The poorest service is repaid with thanks.”

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      The Taming of the Shrew - Willam Shakespeare

      The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare

      The life of William Shakespeare, arguably the most significant figure in the Western literary canon, is relatively unknown.   

      Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1565, possibly on the 23rd April, St. George’s Day, and baptised there on 26th April.

      Little is known of his education and the first firm facts to his life relate to his marriage, aged 18, to Anne Hathaway, who was 26 and from the nearby village of Shottery.  Anne gave birth to their first son six months later.

      Shakespeare’s first play, The Comedy of Errors began a procession of real heavyweights that were to emanate from his pen in a career of just over twenty years in which 37 plays were written and his reputation forever established.

      This early skill was recognised by many and by 1594 the Lord Chamberlain’s Men were performing his works.  With the advantage of Shakespeare’s progressive writing they rapidly became London’s leading company of players, affording him more exposure and, following the death of Queen Elizabeth in 1603, a royal patent by the new king, James I, at which point they changed their name to the King’s Men. 

      By 1598, and despite efforts to pirate his work, Shakespeare’s name was well known and had become a selling point in its own right on title pages.

      No plays are attributed to Shakespeare after 1613, and the last few plays he wrote before this time were in collaboration with other writers, one of whom is likely to be John Fletcher who succeeded him as the house playwright for the King’s Men.

      William Shakespeare died two months later on April 23rd, 1616, survived by his wife, two daughters and a legacy of writing that none have since yet eclipsed.

      Index of Contents

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      Induction, Scene I: Before an Alehouse on a Heath.

      Induction, Scene II: A Bedchamber in the Lord's House.

      ACT I

      Scene I - Padua. A Public Place.

      Scene II - Padua. Before Hortensio’s House.

      ACT II

      Scene I - Padua. A Room in Baptista’s House.

      ACT III

      Scene I - Padua. Baptista’s House.

      Scene II - Padua. Before Baptista’s House.

      ACT IV

      Scene I - Petruchio’s Country House.

      Scene II - Padua. Before Baptista’s House.

      Scene III - A Room in Petruchio’s House.

      Scene IV - Padua. Before Baptista’s House.

      Scene V - A Public Road.

      ACT V

      Scene I - Padua. Before Lucentio’s House.

      Scene II - Padua. Lucentio’s House.

      William Shakespeare – A Short Biography

      William Shakespeare – A Concise Bibliography

      Shakespeare; or, the Poet by Ralph Waldo Emerson

      William Shakespeare – A Tribute in Verse

      DRAMATIS PERSONAE

      A Lord.

      CHRISTOPHER SLY, a Tinker,

      Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen, and Servants: Persons in the Induction.

      BAPTISTA, a rich Gentleman of Padua.

      VINCENTIO, an old Gentleman of Pisa.

      LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca.

      PETRUCHIO, a Gentleman of Verona; Suitor to Katharina.

      GREMIO, HORTENSIO, Suitors to Bianca.

      TRANIO, BIONDELLO, Servants to Lucentio.

      GRUMIO, CURTIS, Servants to Petruchio.

      Pedant, set up to personate Vincentio.

      KATHARINA, the Shrew, BIANCA, Daughters to Baptista.

      Widow.

      Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio.

      SCENE.—Sometimes in Padua; and Sometimes in Petrouchio’s House in the Country.

      INDUCTION

      SCENE I. Before an Alehouse on a Heath.

      Enter HOSTESS and SLY

      SLY

      I'll pheeze you, in faith.

      HOSTESS

      A pair of stocks, you rogue!

      SLY

      Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.

      Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!

      HOSTESS

      You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

      SLY

      No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

      HOSTESS

      I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third—borough.

      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.

      Falls asleep

      Horns winded.

      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;

      And couple Clowder with the deep—mouth'd 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 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.

      But sup them well and look unto them all:

      To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

      FIRST HUNTSMAN

      I will, my lord.

      LORD

      What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

      SECOND HUNTSMAN

      He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd 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 convey'd to bed,

      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?

      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 flattering 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 bestrew'd with flowers,

      Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

      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,

      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.

      Some bear out SLY. A trumpet sounds

      Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

      Exit SERVINGMAN

      Belike, some noble gentleman that means,

      Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

      Re-enter SERVINGMAN

      How now! who is it?

      SERVANT

      An't please your honour, players

      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 tonight?

      A PLAYER

      So please your lordship to accept our duty.

      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

      Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

      A 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

      Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

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

      But I am doubtful of your modesties;

      Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,—

      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

      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

      Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,

      And see him dress'd 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 overjoy'd

      To see her noble lord restored to health,

      Who for this seven years hath esteem'd 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 convey'd

      Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

      See this dispatch'd 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

      SCENE II. A Bedchamber in the Lord's House.

      Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, others with basin and ewer and appurtenances; and LORD

      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?

      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, sometimes 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 Burtonheath, by birth a

      pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife 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 lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: 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,

      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? hark! Apollo plays,

      Music

      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 trimm'd up for Semiramis.

      Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:

      Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,

      Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.

      Dost

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