Taming of the Shrew

First Quarto of "Taming of a Shrew"

Graham Holderness, Bryan Loughrey

• Editore: Routledge
• Anno: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781315504797
• Edizione: 1
• Argomento: Literature
• Categoria: Shakespeare Drama

First Published in 1992. This series puts into circulation single annotated editions of early modern play-texts whose literary and theatrical histories have been overshadowed by editorial practices dominant since the eighteenth century. The text contained in this volume is not what we know as Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew, modern editions of which play are all derived from the text printed in the 1623 First Folio edition of Shakespeare's works. The present text is an edition of the play published in 1594 under the title The Taming of a Shrew, which has always been denied the authorising signature of 'Shakespeare', and regarded as an earlier version by another dramatist or as a pirated and corrupt 'memorial reconstruction' of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew.

A Pleasant Conceited Historie, Called

The Taming of a Shrew

Enter a Tapster, beating out of his doores

Slie Droonken.

Tapster. You whorson droonken slave, you had best be gone,

And empty your droonken panch some where else

For in this house thou shalt not rest to night.

Exit Tapster.

Slie. Tilly vally, by crisee Tapster Ile fese you anon.

Fils the tother pot and alls paid for, looke you

I doo drinke it of mine own Instegation, Omne Bene

Heere Ile lie a while, why Tapster I say,

Fils a fresh cushen heere.

Heigh ho, heers good warme lying.

He fals asleepe.

Enter a Noble man and his men from hunting.

Lord. Now that the gloomie shaddow of the night,

Longing to view Orions drisling lookes,

Leapes from th'antarticke World unto the skie

And dims the Welkin with her pitchie breath,

And darkesome night oreshades the christall heavens,

Here breake we off our hunting for to night,

Cupple uppe the hounds and let us hie us home,

And bid the huntsman see them meated well,

For they have all deserv'd it well to daie,

But soft, what sleepie fellow is this lies heere?

Or is he dead, see one what he dooth lacke?

Servingman. My lord, tis nothing but a drunken sleepe,

His head is too heavie for his bodie,

And he hath drunke so much that he can go no furder.

Lord. Fie, how the slavish villaine stinkes of drinke.

Ho, sirha arise. What so sound asleepe?

Go take him uppe and beare him to my house,

And beare him easiiie for feare he wake,

And in my fairest chamber make a fire,

And set a sumptuous banquet on the boord,

And put my richest garmentes on his backe,

Then set him at the Table in a chaire:

When that is doone against he shall awake,

Let heavenlie musicke play about him still,

Go two of you awaie and beare him hence,

And then Ile tell you what I have devisde,

But see in any case you wake him not.

Exeunt two with Slie.

Now take my cloake and give me one of yours,

Al fellowes now, and see you take me so,

For we will waite upon this droonken man,

To see his countnance when he dooth awake

And finde himselfe clothed in such attire,

With heavenlie musicke sounding in his eares,

And such a banquet set before his eies,

The fellow sure will thinke he is in heaven,

But we will be about him when he wakes,

And see you call him Lord, at everie word,

And offer thou him his horse to ride abroad,

And thou his hawkes and houndes to hunt the deere,

And I will aske what sutes he meanes to weare,

And what so ere he saith see you doo not laugh,

But still perswade him that he is a Lord,

Enter one.

Mes. And it please your honour your plaiers be com And doo attend your honours pleasure here.

Lord. The fittest time they could have chosen out,

Bid one or two of them come hither straight,

Now will I fit my selfe accordinglie,

For they shall play to him when he awakes.

Enter two of the players with packs at their backs, and a boy.

Now sirs, what store of plaies have you?

San. Marrie my lord you maie have a Tragicall

Or a comoditie, or what you will.

The other. A Comedie thou shouldst say, souns thout shame us all.

Lord. And whats the name of your Comedie?

San. Marrie my lord tis calde The taming of a shrew:

Tis a good lesson for us my lord, for us that are maried men.

Lord. The taming of a shrew, thats excellent sure,

Go see that you make you readie straight,

For you must play before a lord to night,

Say you are his men and I your fellow,

Hees something foolish, but what so ere he saies,

See that you be not dasht out of countenance.

And sirha go you make you ready straight,

And dresse your selfe like some lovelie ladie,

And when I call see that you come to me,

For I will say to him thou art his wife,

Dallie with him and hug him in thine armes,

And if he desire to goe to bed with thee,

Then faine some scuse and say thou wilt anon.

Be gone, I say, and see thou doost it well.

Boy. Feare not my Lord, Ile dandell him well enough And make him thinke I love him mightilie.

Ex. boy.

Lord. Now sirs go you and make you ready to, For you must play assoone as he dooth wake.

San. O brave, sirha Tom, we must play before

A foolish Lord, come lets go make us ready,

Go get a dishclout to make cleane your shooes,

And Ile speake for the properties, My Lord, we must

Have a shoulder of mutton for a propertie,

And a little vinegre to make our Divell rore.

Lord. Very well: sirha see that they want nothing.

Exeunt omnes.

Enter two with a table and a banquet on it, and two other, with Slie asleepe in a chaire, richlie apparelled, & the musick plaieng.

One. So: sirha now go call my Lord,

And tel him that all things is ready as he wild it.

Another. Set thou some wine upon the boord And then Ile go fetch my Lord presentlie.

Exit.

Enter the Lord and his men.

Lord. How now, what is all thinges readie?

One. I my Lord.

Lord. Then sound the musick, and Ile wake him straight,

And see you doo as earst I gave in charge.

My lord, My lord, he sleepes soundlie: My lord.

Slie. Tapster, gis a little small ale. Heigh ho,

Lord. Heers wine my lord, the purest of the grape.

Site. For which Lord?

Lord. For your honour my Lord

Slie. Who I, am I a Lord? Jesus what fine apparell have I got.

Lord. More richer farre your honour hath to weare,

And if it please you I will fetch them straight.

Wil. And if your honour please to ride abroad,

Ile fetch you lusty steedes more swift of pace

Then win...