A lioness lay crouched with catlike watch, To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: This seen, Orlando did approach the man, And found it was his brother, his elder brother. CEL. O! I have heard him speak of that same brother; And he did render him the most unnatural That liv'd 'mongst men. OLI. And well he might so do, For well I know he was unnatural. Ros. But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, OLI. Twice did he turn his back and purpos'd so; But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, And nature, stronger than his just occasion, Made him give battle to the lioness, Who quickly fell before him : in which hurtling CEL. Are you his brother? Ros. Was it you he rescu'd? CEL. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him? To tell you what I was, since my conversion OLI. By and by. When from the first to last, betwixt us two, There stripp'd himself; and here, upon his arm Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. Brief, I recover'd him, bound up his wound; And, after some small space, being strong at heart, To tell this story, that you might excuse His broken promise; and to give this napkin, Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. CEL. (ROSALIND swoons). Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet Ganymede ! OLI. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. We'll lead you thither. I pray you, will you take him by the arm? Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah! a body would think this was well counterfeited, I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh-ho! OLI. This was not counterfeit : there is too great testimony in your complexion that it was a passion of earnest. Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. OLI. Well, then, take a good heart and counterfeit to be a man. Ros. So I do ; but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right. CEL. Come; you look paler and paler: pray you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us, OLI. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. Ros. I shall devise something. But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him. Will you go? [Exeunt. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ACT II. Scene I.-Padua. A Room in BAPTISTA's House. PET. I will attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter KATHARINA. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. KATH. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katharine that do talk of me. PET. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom; Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,— Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. KATH. Mov'd! in good time: let him that mov'd you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first, You were a moveable. PET. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith you are too angry. KATH. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. PET. My remedy is, then, to pluck it out. KATH. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. PET. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? Whose tongue ? KATH. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewell. Good Kate, I am a gentleman. KATH. That I'll try. [Striking him. strike again. PET. I swear I'll cuff you if you KATH. So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman; PET. A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books. PET. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. PET. Why, here's no crab, and therefore look not sour. KATH. There is, there is. PET. Then show it me. Had I a glass, I would. PET. What, you mean my face? Well aim'd of such a young one. PET. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. KATH. Yet you are wither'd. PET. KATH. 'Tis with cares. I care not. PET. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so. KATH. I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go. PET. No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? KATH. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ? KATH. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO. BAP. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter ? PET. How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. ВАР. Why, how now, daughter Katharine! in your dumps? KATH. Call you me daughter? now, I promise you You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. PET. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world, That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her: If she be curst, it is for policy, For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, KATH. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. GRE. Hark, Petruchio: she says she'll see thee hang'd first. PET. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself: If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, How much she loves me : O! the kindest Kate. |