This service is brought to you today by:
silicone tape / presplitting / cosmetic containers / firefighting helmets / masking caps / band-aid dispeners / shipping plugs / mag hytec covers / Ford Truck Fan / Public Safety Equipment




The Taming of the Shrew
Page: 4

Enter aloft the drunkard with attendants, some with apparel, Bason
and
Ewer, & other appurtenances, & Lord.

Beg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale

1.Ser. Wilt please your Lord drink a cup of sacke?
2.Ser. Wilt please your Honor taste of these Conserues?
3.Ser. What raiment wil your honor weare to day

Beg. I am Christophero Sly, call not mee Honour nor
Lordship: I ne're drank sacke in my life: and if you giue
me any Conserues, giue me conserues of Beefe: nere ask
me what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doublets
then backes: no more stockings then legges: nor
no more shooes then feet, nay sometime more feete then
shooes, or such shooes as my toes looke through the ouer-leather

Lord. Heauen cease this idle humor in your Honor.
Oh that a mightie man of such discent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteeme
Should be infused with so foule a spirit

Beg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
Slie, old Slies sonne of Burton-heath, by byrth a
Pedler, by education a Cardmaker, by transmutation a
Beare-heard, and now by present profession a Tinker.
Aske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if shee
know me not: if she say I am not xiiii.d. on the score for
sheere Ale, score me vp for the lyingst knaue in Christen
dome. What I am not bestraught: here's-
3.Man. Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne

2.Man. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop

Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your house
As beaten hence by your strange Lunacie.
Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:
Looke how thy seruants do attend on thee,
Each in his office readie at thy becke.
Wilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies,

Musick

And twentie caged Nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch,
Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bed
On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd,
Their harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle.
Go To Page:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57





Home