Monday, November 7, 2011

The Taming of the Shrew 13 by William Shakespeare

SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house
BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
That Katherine and Petruchio should be married,
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be said? What mockery will it be
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her!'
TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!
Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others
BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,
For such an injury would vex a very saint;
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard of!
BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be?
BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?
BAPTISTA. Is he come?
BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.
BAPTISTA. What then?
BIONDELLO. He is coming.
BAPTISTA. When will he be here?
BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.
TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news?
BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old
jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots
that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old
rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt,
and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an
old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd
with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with
the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped
with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives,
stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in
the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a
half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which,
being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often
burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times piec'd,
and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her
name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with
BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?
BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like
the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose
on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and
the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a
monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
footboy or a gentleman's lackey.
TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd.
BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.
BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?
BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?
BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.
BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back.
BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one.
BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.
PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home?
BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.
PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.
BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.
TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd
As I wish you were.
PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
And wherefore gaze this goodly company
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet or unusual prodigy?
BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day.
First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforced to digress,
Which at more leisure I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.
TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her.
BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words;
To me she's married, not unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride
And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

The Taming of the Shrew 12 by William Shakespeare

LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal?
HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony.
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in music we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far
To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
Was it not to refresh the mind of man
After his studies or his usual pain?
Then give me leave to read philosophy,
And while I pause serve in your harmony.
HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong
To strive for that which resteth in my choice.
I am no breeching scholar in the schools,
I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
But learn my lessons as I please myself.
And to cut off all strife: here sit we down;
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles!
His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.
HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your instrument.
BIANCA. Where left we last?
LUCENTIO. Here, madam:
'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
BIANCA. Construe them.
LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am Lucentio-
'hic est' son unto Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus' disguised
thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' and that Lucentio that
comes a-wooing- 'Priami' is my man Tranio- 'regia' bearing my
port- 'celsa senis' that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
HORTENSIO. Madam, my instrument's in tune.
BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.
LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois' I
know you not- 'hic est Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic
steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia' presume not-
'celsa senis' despair not.
HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
LUCENTIO. All but the bass.
HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
[Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love.
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.
Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave awhile;
My lessons make no music in three Parts.
LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
[Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art,
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade;
And there it is in writing fairly drawn.
BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
BIANCA. [Reads]
'"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord-
"A re" to plead Hortensio's passion-
"B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord-
"C fa ut" that loves with all affection-
"D sol re" one clef, two notes have I-
"E la mi" show pity or I die.'
Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not!
Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice
To change true rules for odd inventions.
SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
And help to dress your sister's chamber up.
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.
BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone.
LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methinks he looks as though he were in love.
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale-
Seize thee that list. If once I find thee ranging,
HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing. Exit