A lioness lay crouched with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast

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
From miserable slumber I awak'd.

CEL. Are you his brother?

Ros.

Was it you he rescu'd?

CEL. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him?
OLI. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame

To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?

OLI.

By and by.

When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As how I came into that desert place :
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,

There stripp'd himself; and here, upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,

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,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

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.
CEL. There is more in it. Cousin Ganymede !

We'll lead you thither.

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
OLI. Be of good cheer, youth. You a man!
You lack a man's heart.

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 rail; why then I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :

Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say she be mute and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,

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,—
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,-

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.
PET. Nay, come again.

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;
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

PET. A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.
KATH. What is your crest? a coxcomb?

PET. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
KATH. It is my fashion when I see a crab.

PET. Why, here's no crab, and therefore look not sour. KATH. There is, there is.

PET. Then show it me.
KATH.

Had I a glass, I would.

PET. What, you mean my face?
KATH.

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.
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.

Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O slandrous world! Kate, like the hazel-twig,
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

KATH. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command
PET. Did ever Dian so become a grove

As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ?

KATH. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
PET. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on ;
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,-
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,-
Thou must be married to no man but me:
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate;
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Here comes your father: never make denial;
I must and will have Katharine to my wife.

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;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity;

And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

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,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe

How much she loves me : O! the kindest Kate.