The Taming of the Shrew

by: William Shakespeare

Original Text

Modern Text

What, up and down, carved like an apple tart?
Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber’s shop.
Why, what i' devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?
What have you done? Carved it up and down like an apple tart? Snip and snip and cut and slash—it’s got more holes than a sieve! What in the world do you call this, tailor!

HORTENSIO

95 (aside) I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.

HORTENSIO

(to himself) I see she’s likely to have neither cap nor gown.

TAILOR

You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.

TAILOR

You told me to make it well and properly and in keeping with the current style.

PETRUCHIO

Marry, and did. But if you be remembered,
I did not bid you mar it to the time.
100Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you shall hop without my custom, sir.
I’ll none of it. Hence, make your best of it.

PETRUCHIO

Certainly, I did. But if you remember, I didn’t tell you to parody the style. Go on home, sir. You’ve lost me as a customer. I won’t take it. Do whatever you want with it.

KATHERINE

I never saw a better-fashioned gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable.
105Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.

KATHERINE

I never saw a better-designed gown, more elegant and pleasing and well made. Perhaps you think you can make me into some sort of plaything?

PETRUCHIO

Why, true, he means to make a puppet of thee.

PETRUCHIO

Yes, that’s it! The tailor thinks he can make you into some sort of plaything.

TAILOR

She says your Worship means to make a puppet of her.

TAILOR

She says your Worship thinks you can make her into some sort of plaything.

PETRUCHIO

O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble,
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!
110Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou!
Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread?
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!
115I tell thee, I, that thou hast marred her gown.

PETRUCHIO

What monstrous arrogance! It’s a lie, you thread, you thimble, you measurement! You flea, you louse, you winter cricket! Disrespected in my own house by a spool of thread! Get out of here you rag, you remnant, you piece of yardage, or I’ll measure you within an inch of your life with your own yardstick, and you’ll remember your yammering for the rest of your life. I tell you, you’ve ruined her gown.