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Speeches (Lines) for Christopher Sly
in "Taming of the Shrew"

Total: 24

# Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context)
Speech text



(stage directions). Enter HOSTESS and SLY

Christopher Sly. I'll pheeze you, in faith.



Hostess. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Christopher Sly. Y'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!



Hostess. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

Christopher Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed
and warm thee.



(stage directions). Exit

Christopher Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law.
I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him come, and kindly.
[Falls asleep]
Wind horns. Enter a LORD from hunting, with his train



(stage directions). Enter aloft SLY, with ATTENDANTS; some with apparel, basin and ewer, and other appurtenances; and LORD

Christopher Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.



Third Servant. What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

Christopher Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship.' I
ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves,
give me conserves of beef. Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear,
for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than
legs, nor no more shoes than feet- nay, sometime more feet than
shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.



Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

Christopher Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old
Sly's son of Burton Heath; by birth a pedlar, by education a
cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of
Wincot, if she know me not; if she say I am not fourteen pence on
the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lying'st knave in
Christendom. What! I am not bestraught. [Taking a pot of ale]



First Servant. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world;
And yet she is inferior to none.

Christopher Sly. Am I a lord and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? Or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things.
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed,
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' th' smallest ale.



Second Servant. Will't please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream;
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.

Christopher Sly. These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?



First Servant. O, yes, my lord, but very idle words;
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet,
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts.
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

Christopher Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house.



Third Servant. Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell;
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.

Christopher Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!



(stage directions). Enter the PAGE as a lady, with ATTENDANTS

Christopher Sly. I thank thee; thou shalt not lose by it.



Page. How fares my noble lord?

Christopher Sly. Marry, I fare well; for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?



Page. Here, noble lord; what is thy will with her?

Christopher Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
My men should call me 'lord'; I am your goodman.



Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;
I am your wife in all obedience.

Christopher Sly. I know it well. What must I call her?



Lord. Madam.

Christopher Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?



Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies.

Christopher Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd
And slept above some fifteen year or more.



Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

Christopher Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.



Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or, if not so, until the sun be set.
For your physicians have expressly charg'd,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed.
I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

Christopher Sly. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be
loath to fall into my dreams again. I will therefore tarry in
despite of the flesh and the blood.



Messenger. Your honour's players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy;
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

Christopher Sly. Marry, I will; let them play it. Is not a comonty a
Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?



Page. No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.

Christopher Sly. What, household stuff?



Page. It is a kind of history.

Christopher Sly. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let
the world slip;-we shall ne'er be younger.



First Servant. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

Christopher Sly. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes there
any more of it?



Page. My lord, 'tis but begun.

Christopher Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady
Would 'twere done! [They sit and mark]

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