Soliloquies: the lady doth indeed protest (selections)

Kate

With great disturbance, I hear it said

My story doth much to entertain,

’Tis light and with a happy end,

In short, ’tis thought a comedy!

Dost thou laugh to see a shrew?

Indeed, I pray thee, what is a shrew?

What am I that I be so named?

’Tis said I am froward and I vow ’tis true—

But for a man to be so bold is not a fault.

And some doth complain o’ my scolding tongue—

Then I am wisely critical, not content

With any and all. Others bewail

I am wilful, with strong spirits—

But I see a woman may be made a fool

If she hath not a spirit to resist,

And surely in a man this is much applauded.

Further, ’tis said, I am bitter and bad-tempered—

I pray thee, what is the standard of measure?

’Tis true I am not mild, but neither is my father

Yet none doth therefore curse his name.

I am more strained than pleasant, I confess

But methinks perchance you would be too:

To be auctioned off as a piece of chattel,

To know the suitors who come

Court your father’s wealth—

’Tis not my mind to smile at greed;

And to know that my father will give his money

To a man who is a stranger

’Fore he will give it to his own daughter—

How shall I be sweet under that offense?

I ask again, then, what is a shrew?

Observe and see that any man

Not favoured by a certain woman

Will fall to insult and slander anon.

Witness Hortensio, who once called her jewel,

Doth declare Bianca a disdainful haggard

As soon as she prefers another.

Thus, all I have done to gain this name

Is fail to praise and stroke men’s pride.

Perhaps thou dost laugh to see me tamed?

I think it sad to make all alike,

To force the spirited to be subdued.

Do you find it amusing to see me starved

Of food and sleep ’till I am giddy,

Weak of mind and body? To see me subject

To Petruchio’s emotional whips and whims:

He presents a feast then throws it out

Or allows instead another to eat.

He gives me a beautiful cap and gown

Then rips it to shreds before my eyes.

He offers me everything then takes it away.

Back and forth, up and down—to be sure it overcomes,

This confusion, fear, and exhaustion.

To see me tamed.

Only a man blinded by some grand fantasy

Would call me tamed. Any woman is suspect.

My final speech is odd, unexpected.

One can see neither reason nor cause

For this absolute and sudden change.

’Tis true. One sees it not.

For it lies in an unwritten scene.

Heed not that speech of obedience and submission—

’Twas made with Petruchio near

And therefore under unspoken threat.

Did ye not notice Act Four?

In scene one, my arrival, he begins his plan,

Depriving me of food and sleep.

By scene three, my body is weak and begging,

Though my spirit still resists.

He toys with me, dismisses the tailor,

And announces anon we are to travel

To my father’s house. On the road

In scene five, it is a mere eleven lines

’Till I submit and agree with his every word.

Did you not wonder what happened between,

While the men bought and sold my sister?

I was beaten.

And I mean not to speak in metaphor.

You know well that Petruchio strikes

His other servants, doth it surprise thee then

That he struck me? Over and again—

He locked the room, ’trusted Grumio as guard—

And therefore, on the road, to my father’s house,

You see, that was my escape:

I could not have left alone,

His servants in league, under similar fear,

And even if I got away, perchance along the—

—At least Petruchio was only one.

But what then to do? Whither should I go?

If I confess to father, would he believe me?

He cannot, for he has given the dowry—

It and I belong to Petruchio,

And he has not the money to sell me to another

(Even if that be possible).

I cannot live at home forever

(Would that he take me back),

He’d be the laughing stock of the town,

A married then unmarried shrew.

I cannot go out on my own—

I have no money, and it is only to be made

As strumpet.

No, that marriage had to be, whatever the price.

And, I’d already enough humiliation:

To go and then come back would be worse

Far worse than it was not going,

No one else would have me,

And I shall not dance barefoot,

Nor shall Bianca be made to wait again.

Is’t not then the answer

To submit while he is near and pretend to be his

So at all other times, I can truly be mine own?

Having house and food is much—

And anon, I trust, he will travel oft away—

’Twas a bargain: prisoner to him

For freedom from the rest.

Lip service was all—usually—

And if a word spoken against my will

Can stop a blow against my body—

Well, you heard the speech.

Yet soft, ’twas not all false:

Carefully I say women are simple

To offer war when they are bound to serve,

Love and obey. And they arebound.

But not by God or nature, no—

By commerce and social custom alone

Is thy husband thy lord, thy life, thy keeper.

Remember that, I pray thee.

Is’t not then tragedy, to name me shrew?

And worse, to seek to tame such a one?

Worse still is’t to call the end gay;

But the worst tragedy is to be entertained by it,

To take it not seriously,

Indeed to call it, my story, comedy.

(But fast, I’ll tell thee the comedy:

Hast thou forgotten ’twas a play within a play?

Remember ye not Sly, the drunkard, and the noble man?

The old version ends not with me

But with Sly, just as it began:

The story was part of a dream.

To be sure, a sick dream, and a dangerous one too,

Nevertheless, ’twas a male fantasy:

To be honourable, to be wealthy, to be powerful.

But recall, alas, ’twas also a joke,

Played on the drunkard by the other:

And to be sure, that women should be

So obedient and submissive to men—

Aye, that ’tis a laugh!)

***

Juliet

Romeo, Romeo,

Where the hell art thou?

Have you stopped along the way

To play at your stupid battle games?

Or have you changed your mind,

And decided not to come

Thinking me too ‘easy’ and thus insincere:

What perversion of thought is this?

Because I say what it is I want,

Direct and forthright,

You judge my desire false?

While the one who dallies,

Says no to mean yes,

You deem true and take her

Seriously?

Or perhaps you think to be ‘easy’ is to be unchaste:

If so, you misjudge

Yourself!

Because I want you (I want you)

Does in no way mean

I am a woman who wants every man.

Do you think of yourself so poorly?

Can you not accept that it is you who—

That one look of yours makes me wet

One touch sends a fire through every nerve

That it is you, standing there

In your tights so tight

And your shirt

Carelessly open,

Your chest—

Oh Romeo, Romeo,

Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

’Tis true you asked the same last night

When you came

And I bid you go

—For you had come so ill-prepared!

I bid you go to the Friar—

Not for a marriage,

’Tis but a farce:

We say there will be no sex

Until there is marriage

Meaning until there is love;

But if we marry at first sight,

Then ’tis surely not a token of love

But a license for sex.

(Indeed, my mother’s talk to me

Of marriage

’Twas awkward, as talk

Of sex)

And what need have we of a license—

Better use can we make of a sheath!

(The Friar, do you forget, is also a pharmacist!)

Yes, I bid you go

But only to return—

Return, Romeo, come—

Part thy close curtain, love-perfuming night,

As I will soon mine own unclasp,

let fall,

To offer sweetest heavens

To my love, my Romeo, come—

Steal upon catpaws silent in the night

Follow my purr, come,

Leap into my arms!

Let us kiss once for every star in the sky

A thousand times our lips shall meet!

Let me feel your body

Move sleek along mine

Let me touch you, Romeo, here and here

(’Tis true, as spoken, strangers’ love is boldest!)

Flutter your fingers upon my breast,

Play with me love, at tug and nip

’Till my body stiffens in arched pleasure!

Come, let me surround you

Let me suck at the moon’s liquid

’Till you clench and howl!

Then lick me love,

Seek my treasure with your teasing tongue

Nibble the pearl in folds of oyster,

My hands tearing at your head,

’Till I am gasping in wild heat,

Come, now, thrust your hard desire

Reach deep in to me love—

Let me feel your panting breath—

Come night, loving black-silked night,

Come take me, wake me,

Make me cry out

For more!

Come, Romeo, come

Come,

Oh,

Come!

Nurse laughs to see me so—

(Though mother would faint,

Still confusing innocence with ignorance)

Young love, she mutters, fanning my face;

But I protest, ’tis not love,

Not of ones so young,

Nor of ones just met—

Let us be clear:

Yours was an artful come-on

(‘Let lips do what hands do’)

For a classic pick-up—

’Tis young lust, I tell her true:

I want sex

With a desire pure as the lace on my bodice;

She clucks to hear me talk so,

And I would persist—

But what’s in a name?

That which we call making love

By any other name

Feels as good.

***

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