Format: Global Grey free PDF, epub, Kindle ebook
Pages (PDF): 150
Publication Date: 1592
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The Taming of the Shrew begins with a framing device, often referred to as the Induction, in which a mischievous nobleman tricks a drunken tinker named Christopher Sly into believing he is actually a nobleman himself. The nobleman then has the play performed for Sly's diversion. The main plot depicts the courtship of Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, and Katherina, the headstrong, obdurate shrew. Initially, Katherina is an unwilling participant in the relationship, but Petruchio tempers her with various psychological torments (the "taming") until she becomes a compliant and obedient bride. The subplot features a competition between the suitors of Katherina's more desirable sister, Bianca.
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Before an alehouse on a heath.
Enter Hostess and SLY
I'll pheeze you, in faith.
A pair of stocks, you rogue!
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!
You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third--borough.
Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him
by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.
Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train
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.
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.
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.
I will, my lord.
What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?
He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
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?