Katharine's Revenge
Act 1
Scene 1
(Enter Antonio with servant, Benvoli. Antonio seems lost in his own fancy as he speaks of Isabella, the daughter of Lucentio and Bianca's daughter.)
Antonio: I tell you, Benvoli, I have never seen more beauty in the sun, nor heard a sweeter song warbled from the throat of a nightingale. Ask you me to praise the rose? Even its blossom seems shriveled and black, a cold, dead thing in comparison to the sweet petals of her lips. And her eyes… Ah! Let me find two sapphires and throw them on high, for her eyes are bluer than the ocean and twinkle brighter than the stars that dance the heavens round.
Benvoli: Me thinks my master doth give more praise than is do.
Antonio: Dost thou question my word? Isabella is nothing if not a nymph of Dionysus' harem. I dare say, her beauty surpasses that of Echo, whose love was wrong given to her Narcissus. Shall we draw to see whose words ring truer?
Benvoli: Nay! I ne'er doubted thy words; let her be as thou sayest and let not any sword be drawn! Only remember thy mother. Your good Lady doth so despise your cousin's name for her sister's sake, I fear a storm to brood if she catch wind of thy professing heart. She would have thee at the neck…
Antonio: Nonsense! Is she not my own mother? Has she not held me close when I was a babe and weaned me from her own breasts? She can hold no ill will towards me and, truth be said, she is but a woman. I think myself a far cry from the cradle, Benvoli. Wouldst thou say that I could not handle my own, even against such a woman as she?
Benvoli: I beseech you, lord, do not think me cowardly, but thou couldst not recall thy mother before thou were birthed. Neither couldst thou recall her before her marriage bed. Ask thy father if thou thinkest my tongue to wag astray, for he would tell thee nothing but the truth: Lady Katherine was anything if not an irritable shrew, and I doubt she would look fondly on such a pairing as thee and her sister's daughter.
Antonio: My mother, a shrew? Ha! Your tongue is quick. Is your sword quicker?
Benvoli: I will draw no sword against you, my lord, but that which is my own tongue, and with that I speak the truth.
(Enter Petruchio and Katherine)
Petruchio: Boys, boys! What is this? A quarrel between the two of you, and friends for such long years. Fie! Put thy sword away, Antonio. Benvoli says he has no quarrel with thee.
Antonio: I draw only to protect mother's name.
Katherine: My name?
Benvoli: (cutting in) I shall swear to heaven I have no quarrel with Antonio!
Katherine: Why wouldst thou strive to protect my name, my son? 't is not sullied, is it?
Antonio: Why, 't was only sullied to mine own ears, for this, Benvoli, didst call thee a shrew!
(Benvoli and Petruchio cast glances at each other behind Katherine's back)
Katherine: (looking at Benvoli) Did he?
Petruchio: (cutting in with a jaunty air) A shrew? Fie, Benvoli, for my lovely Katherine has the voice of an angel and doth speak so softly that butterflies land on her nose. She sings the flowers into bloom each spring, and birds come to her call. A shrew! Ha!
Katherine: (smiling slyly at him) Why Petruchio, my dear, doth thou not recall? I have a sting and know well how to use it. Best call me a bee and leave off with thy fancy tongue.
Petruchio: A bee whose sting was plucked out, my love.
(Katherine pushes him good-naturedly)
Petruchio: Now come. (pulls Katherine against him) Antonio, leave off thy quarrel with Benvoli. We will have words of this later, man to man. Benvoli meant no harm by what he said.
(Antonio sheaths his sword. Petruchio leads Katherine out)
Benvoli: Thou art a sly dog, to have spoke such in thy mother's presence. Wish thou me some ill fortune with her?
Antonio: Come, come man! No harm was done.
Benvoli: No harm? Thou art blind, man, I call thee blind! Her eyes alone spoke volumes of her hidden rage. 'T was well your father was by, or else I might have feared for worse! No harm. What was in your head?
Antonio: 'T was harmless, I tell thee, and may haps ye look better on my way of things. I believe I handled well the situation, with the grace of a deer and the eloquence of a swan.
Benvoli: Yet 't was not the deer that ran, but thy tongue.
Antonio: Nonsense, old fool. Let off. But I go now to see my sweet Isabella, whose voice is like the morning dove, and whose arms are as white as new fallen snow. Not even thee can dampen my spirits now, be ye as sour as curdled milk. Now follow!