The Taming of the Shrew

To hell with all worn-out horses, all crazy masters, and all bad roads. Was a man ever beaten as much as me? Was a man ever as dirty as me? Was a man ever so tired? I have been sent on ahead to light a fire, and they are coming after to warm themselves. It’s a good thing I’m like a little pot and warm up quickly, or else my lips themselves would freeze and stick to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and my heart would freeze in my belly, before I managed to get thawed out. I’ll warm myself by blowing on the fire. A taller man than I would catch cold in weather like this. Hey! Curtis! Hello!

Who calls so coldly?

A piece of ice. Trust me, you could slide all the way from my shoulder to my heel taking no more of a running start than the distance between my head and my neck. Start the fire, good Curtis.

Are my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

Yes, yes, Curtis, so hurry up and start the fire. Leave out the water.

Is she as fiery a shrew as they say?

Well she was, good Curtis, before this frost. But you know how winter tames man, woman, and beast. And it’s tamed my old master and my new mistress and myself, my good colleague.

Who are you calling “beast,” midget. You’re no bigger than three inches!

Three inches? Really? Your horn is a foot long, and I’m at least that size. Now are you going to make a fire, or am I going to have to report you to our mistress, whose hand, now that she is herself at hand, you’ll be feeling soon. You’ll find it cold comfort, but that’s what you get for being slow with your warming duties.

So tell me, Grumio, how goes the world?

Cold, Curtis. It’s a cold world, except for people who have to start fires. Therefore, do your duty and take your reward, because my master and mistress are nearly frozen to death.

The fire is ready. So go on, tell me the news.

“Why, Jack boy, ho boy!” and all the news you want.

Oh, you’re just so funny.

Well, make a fire, then. I think I’m getting delirious. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready? Is the house fixed up, the floor covered, the cobwebs swept out of the corners, the servingmen in their new work clothes and the household servants each in his wedding suit? Are all the cups and glasses in their places, the tablecloths laid out—everything in order?

Everything’s ready. So tell me what’s been going on.

Well, first of all, my horse is tired and my master and mistress have had a falling out.

How?

From their saddles into the dirt—but that’s another story.

Well, let’s have it, Grumio.

Lean forward.

Here.

There!

This is to feel the news, not hear it.

That’s what makes it “sensitive” news. I was just knocking to see if anyone was home. Now, I’ll begin: first, we came down a steep hill, my master riding behind my mistress—

Both on one horse?

What’s the difference?

Well, the difference of a horse!

Oh, tell it yourself if you’re so smart. It’s too bad. If you hadn’t made me angry, you would have heard all about how her horse fell with her under it, how swampy the place was, too, and how she was covered in mud, and how he left her like that, with the horse on top of her, and how he beat me because her horse stumbled, and how she waded through the dirt to pull him off me, and how he swore, how she prayed—this woman who never prayed before—and how I yelled, and how the horses ran away, and how her bridle broke, and how I lost my riding crop, and many other things worth telling, which now will all be lost to memory, and you’ll go to your grave ignorant.

By the sound of it, he’s a bigger shrew than she is.

Yes—as you and the rest will find out as soon as he’s home. But why am I telling you this? Get them in here—Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest. Tell them to slick down their hair, brush their blue coats, and make sure their socks match. Have them click their heels together and don’t dare touch a hair of the master’s horse’s tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?

They are.

Get them in here.

(calling offstage) Hey! Does anyone hear me? Hey! You have to come and greet the master and face the new mistress.

She already has a face.

Yeah, so?

You just said they had to face her.

I meant they had to give her credit.

She’s not going to borrow money from them.

Welcome home, Grumio.

What’s up, Grumio?

Hey, Grumio!

My man Grumio!

So what’s the story, old boy?

Welcome yourself!—What’s up with you?—Hey to you!—So much for greetings. Now, my well-dressed friends, is everything ready and in order?

Everything’s ready. How soon will the master be here?

Any minute. Probably here already. So be careful, and don’t—God! Quiet, I hear him coming.

Where are those bastards? Where is the boy who’s supposed to help me get off my horse and take him to the stable? Where is Nathaniel? Where’s Gregory? Where’s Philip?

Here, here, sir! Here, sir!

“Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir!” You stupid, unpolished dolts! I get no service, no respect, no attention! Where is the fool I sent on ahead?

Here, sir, as foolish as ever.

You unwashed farmworker! You bastard workhorse drudge! Didn’t I tell you to meet me outside and bring these morons with you?

Nathaniel’s coat was being fixed, sir. And one of Gabriel’s shoes had a broken heel. And Peter couldn’t find a matching hat. And Walter couldn’t get his dagger out of its sheath. Only Adam, Rafe, and Gregory were ready. The rest were just a mess—but such as they are, sir, they’re here to welcome you.

Go, blockheads, go, and bring my supper to me.

(singing) Where is the life I led until recently? Where are those—Sit down, Kate, make yourself at home.—Come on, come on, come on, come on.

Did I say later? I said now!—Smile, Kate! Be happy.—Get my boots off, you apes! You idiots, now! (singing)It was a friar in robes of gray, who walked along the road one day:—(a servant tries to take off PETRUCHIO’s boots) Stop, you moron! You’re twisting my foot! Take that, and see you do a better job with the other one. (he strikes the servant) Be happy, Kate!—Bring me some water! Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Hey boy, go tell my cousin Ferdinand to get in here.

You’ll love this guy, Kate—anyway, you’d better! Where are my slippers? Can we have some water please here?—

Come and wash, Kate, make yourself at home. Son of a bitch, you spilled it! (he strikes the servant)

Take it easy! Please! It was just an accident!

He’s a son of a bitch, a moron, a total jerk.—Come sit down, Kate, I know you must be hungry. Will you say grace, sweet Kate, or shall I?—What is this? Mutton?

Yes.

Who brought it out here?

I did.

It’s burnt. The whole thing is burnt. You bastards! Where is that moron of a cook? You devils! How dare you serve it to me this way! There, take it all back—plates, cups, the whole thing. (throws the meat and everything else around the stage) You careless blockheads and unwashed slaves! I heard that! I’ll deal with you in a minute.

Please, dear, calm down. The meat was fine if you wanted to eat it.

And I’m telling you it was burnt and dried out. I’m not allowed to eat overcooked meat. It gives me indigestion and that makes me irritable. Very, very irritable.Better for us to go hungry, since we’re both hotheaded, than for us to eat meat that’s been cooked too long. But don’t worry, tomorrow it will get straightened out. Tonight we’ll go without food. Come, I’ll show you your bridal chamber.

Peter, did you ever see anything like it?

He’s giving her a taste of her own medicine.

Where is he?

In her room, lecturing her on the virtues of self-control. He rants and rails and swears and she, poor thing, doesn’t know how to stand or look or speak. She sits like a person who’s just woken up from a dream. Look out, he’s coming!

Well, I’ve begun my reign with a carefully thought-out plan, and I have every hope of succeeding. My falcon is now hungry and unfed and must not be given enough to eat until she comes to me, for if her hunger is satisfied, she’ll pay no attention to the bait. I have another plan to make my bird come to me and recognize her owner’s call is to keep her from sleeping—

the way trainers do with young hawks that flutter and flap and will not obey. She had no food today and will have none. Last night she got no sleep, and she won’t get any tonight. Just as I did with the meat, I’ll make up some problem with the way the bed is made, and throw the pillow one way and the cushion the other, and the blanket over here and the sheets over there. And through all the shouting and fuss, I’ll swear that it’s all out of love for her. The end result will be that she’ll sit up all night. And if she starts to drop off, I’ll rant and yell until I wake her up. This is how to kill a wife with kindness. And this way I’ll cure her wild and willful nature. If anyone here knows a better way to tame a shrew, speak up, please. It would be much appreciated.