Speeches (Lines) for First Servant
in "Taming of the Shrew"
Total: 6

1

Prologue,2,149

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

First Servant. Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

2

Prologue,2,191

Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth!
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music? Hark! Apollo plays, [Music]
And twenty caged nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleep? We'll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk: we will bestrew the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shall echoes from the hollow earth.

First Servant. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathed stags; ay, fleeter than the roe.

3

Prologue,2,209

Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord.
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.

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.

4

Prologue,2,228

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.

5

I,1,545

(stage directions). The Presenters above speak

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

6

IV,1,1765

Petruchio. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?
What's this? Mutton?

First Servant. Ay.