THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

Act In Scene 2

(Enter aloft Sly, the drunkard, with attendants, some with apparel, basin, and ewer, and other appurtenances; and Lord)
l1l	Sly	 For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!
l2l	First Servingman	 Will ’t please your lordship drink a cup of sack?
l3l	Second Servingman	Will ’t please your honour taste of these conserves?
l4l	Third Servingman	What raiment will your honour wear today?
l5l	Sly	 I am Christophero Sly. Call not me “honour” nor
l6l		“lordship”. I ne’er drank sack in my life, and if you give
l7l		me any conserves, give me conserves of beef. Ne’er ask
l8l		me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no more doublets
l9l		than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more
l10l		shoes than feet—nay, sometime more feet than shoes,
l11l		or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.
l12l	Lord	 Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour.
l13l		O that a mighty man of such descent,
l14l		Of such possessions and so high esteem,
l15l		Should be infusèd with so foul a spirit.
l16l	Sly	 What, would you make me mad? Am not I
l17l		Christopher Sly—old Sly’s son of Burton Heath, by
l18l		birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation
l19l		a bearherd, and now by present profession a
l20l		tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Wincot,
l21l		if she know me not. If she say I am not fourteen pence
l22l		on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying’st
l23l		knave in Christendom. What, I am not bestraught#
l24l		here’s—
l25l	Third Servingman	 O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.
l26l	Second Servingman	O, this is it that makes your servants droop.
l27l	Lord	Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
l28l		As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
l29l		O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth.
l30l		Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
l31l		And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
l32l		Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
l33l		Each in his office, ready at thy beck.
l34l		Wilt thou have music?
		(Music)
		 Hark, Apollo plays,
l35l		And twenty cagèd nightingales do sing.
l36l		Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch
l37l		Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
l38l		On purpose trimmed up for Semiramis.
l39l		Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground.
l40l		Or wilt thou ride, thy horses shall be trapped,
l41l		Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
l42l		Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar
l43l		Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt,
l44l		Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
l45l		And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
l46l	First Servingman	Say thou wilt course, thy greyhounds are as swift
l47l		As breathèd stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
l48l	Second Servingman	Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight
l49l		Adonis painted by a running brook,
l50l		And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
l51l		Which seem to move and wanton with her breath
l52l		Even as the waving sedges play wi’ th’ wind.
l53l	Lord	We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid,
l54l		And how she was beguilèd and surprised,
l55l		As lively painted as the deed was done.
l56l	Third Servingman	Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
l57l		Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,
l58l		And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
l59l		So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
l60l	Lord	Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.
l61l		Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
l62l		Than any woman in this waning age.
l63l	First Servingman	And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
l64l		Like envious floods o’errun her lovely face
l65l		She was the fairest creature in the world#
l66l		And yet she is inferior to none.
l67l	Sly	Am I a lord, and have I such a lady?
l68l		Or do I dream? Or have I dreamed till now?
l69l		I do not sleep. I see, I hear, I speak.
l70l		I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.
l71l		Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,
l72l		And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
l73l		Well, bring our lady hither to our sight,
l74l		And once again a pot o’ th’ smallest ale.
l75l	Second Servingman	Will ’t please your mightiness to wash your hands?
l76l		O, how we joy to see your wit restored!
l77l		O that once more you knew but what you are!
l78l		These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
l79l		Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept.
l80l	Sly	These fifteen years—by my fay, a goodly nap.
l81l		But did I never speak of all that time?
l82l	First Servingman	O yes, my lord, but very idle words,
l83l		For though you lay here in this goodly chamber
l84l		Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door,
l85l		And rail upon the hostess of the house,
l86l		And say you would present her at the leet
l87l		Because she brought stone jugs and no sealed quarts.
l88l		Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
l89l	Sly	 Ay, the woman’s maid of the house.
l90l	Third Servingman	 Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid,
l91l		Nor no such men as you have reckoned up,
l92l		As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greet,
l93l		And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernel,
l94l		And twenty more such names and men as these,
l95l		Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
l96l	Sly	Now Lord be thankèd for my good amends.
l97l	All	 Amen.
l98l	Sly	I thank thee. Thou shalt not lose by it.
		(Enter Bartholomew the Page, as Lady, with attendants)
l99l	Bartholomew	 How fares my noble lord?
	Sly	Marry, I fare well,
l100l		For here is cheer enough. Where is my wife?
l101l	Bartholomew	Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her?
l102l	Sly	Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
l103l		My men should call me lord. I am your goodman.
l104l	Bartholomew	My husband and my lord, my lord and husband#
l105l		I am your wife in all obedience.
l106l	Sly	I know it well.
		(To the Lord)
		 What must I call her?
	Lord	Madam.
l107l	Sly	Al’ce Madam or Joan Madam?
l108l	Lord	Madam, and nothing else. So lords call ladies.
l109l	Sly	Madam wife, they say that I have dreamed,
l110l		And slept above some fifteen year or more.
l111l	Bartholomew	Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
l112l		Being all this time abandoned from your bed.
l113l	Sly	’Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
		(Exeunt Lord and attendants)
l114l		Madam, undress you and come now to bed.
l115l	Bartholomew	Thrice-noble lord, let me entreat of you
l116l		To pardon me yet for a night or two,
l117l		Or if not so, until the sun be set,
l118l		For your physicians have expressly charged,
l119l		In peril to incur your former malady,
l120l		That I should yet absent me from your bed.
l121l		I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
l122l	Sly	 Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But
l123l		I would be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will
l124l		therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood.
		(Enter a Messenger)
l125l	Messenger	 Your honour’s players, hearing your amendment,
l126l		Are come to play a pleasant comedy,
l127l		For so your doctors hold it very meet,
l128l		Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your blood,
l129l		And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
l130l		Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
l131l		And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
l132l		Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
l133l	Sly	Marry, I will let them play it. Is not a comonty
l134l		A Christmas gambol, or a tumbling trick?
l135l	Bartholomew	No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
l136l	Sly	What, household stuff?
	Bartholomew	It is a kind of history.
l137l	Sly	Well, we’ll see ’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my side
l138l		And let the world slip. We shall ne’er be younger.
		(Bartholomew sits)