Read Online The Slaying of the Shrew by Simon Hawke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Hawke
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porters at the docks whenever important guests arrived to visit Caesar."
Humphrey arched a disdainful eyebrow at Kemp's sarcasm and then more than matched it with his own. "If you prefer, we could make you a Nubian slave, strip you to your waist, darken your skin with coal dust, and have you walk behind the guests, carrying an ostrich feather fan."
"Methinks I would just as soon serve in the Senate," Kemp replied, with a sour grimace, as the others chuckled.
"The schedule of events does not leave us much time to rehearse," said Burbage.
The steward's expressive eyebrow elevated once again. "Well? You are the Queen's Men, are you not, the self-proclaimed masters of tragedy and comedy? I was informed you were the best players in the land."
"Aye, we are proud, indeed, to have that reputation," Burbage replied, puffing himself up. "Nevertheless—"
"Well then," Humphrey interrupted, "Master Middleton has paid for the best, and so he expects the best, and nothing less. Tis in your own interest, therefore, to live up to your stellar reputation. Look to it."
"That had almost the aspect of a threat," Shakespeare said to Smythe as they left Humphrey and proceeded toward the stables. "Do you suppose they might set the dogs on us if our performance is found wanting?"
"I doubt that Master Middleton would waste his sports upon the likes of us," said Smythe, with a straight face. "I think it more likely he would dispatch a phalanx of footmen armed with cudgels to urge us on our way."
"Well you may jest," said Shakespeare, "but these moneyed sorts would do just that sort of thing and not think twice of it. I do not trust that Humphrey fellow. He has a lean and hungry look. I much prefer a well-fed man. Corpulence has a tendency to make one indolent and indolent men are much less likely to be moved to violent action."
"Like our late King Henry, you mean?" said Burbage. "Now there was a sweet, pacific soul for you. Anne Boleyn found him rather corporal in his corpulence, as I recall."
"Aye, imagine what his humor might have been if he were thin," said Smythe, grinning.
" ‘Twould have been much worse, I have no doubt of it," Shakespeare replied. "Had he been a leaner and more spirited man, like Richard Lionheart, then instead of merely breaking with the Church of Rome, he might have launched his own crusade against it."
"Now you know, there might be a good idea for a play in that," said Smythe.
"God's wounds!" said Burbage. "We do not have enough trouble with the Master of the Revels? Do us all a kindness, Will. Should you by any chance decide to pen a play about an English king, then try to choose one whose immediate descendants do not at present sit upon the throne, else we might all end up with our heads on London Bridge."
"Sound counsel, Dick," Shakespeare said. "I shall endeavor to keep it in mind."
"And you, Smythe," Burbage added, "leave the playwriting to Shakespeare and stick to what you do best."
"Aye, whatever that may be," said Kemp, getting down from his seat up in the wagon as they reached the stables and dismounted. "Lifting heavy objects, was it not?"
"Indeed, I do believe that you have struck upon it, Kemp," said Smythe, turning towards him. "And since there is nothing heavier than your own weighty opinion of yourself, I think I shall indulge in a bit of practice at my skill." With that, he seized Kemp and hoisted him high into the air, holding him at arm's length overhead.
Startled, Kemp yelped, then started blustering. "Put me
down,
you great misbegotten oaf!"
"As you wish," replied Smythe, and tossed him straight into the manure bin.
Kemp landed in the odiferous mixture of soggy straw and horse droppings to the accompaniment of uproarious laughter from his fellow players. He arose like a specter from the swamp, bits of soiled straw and dung clinging to his hair and clothing. Outrage and embarrassment mingled with anger and disgust, overwhelming him to the point of speechlessness.
"I have had my fill,
Humphrey arched a disdainful eyebrow at Kemp's sarcasm and then more than matched it with his own. "If you prefer, we could make you a Nubian slave, strip you to your waist, darken your skin with coal dust, and have you walk behind the guests, carrying an ostrich feather fan."
"Methinks I would just as soon serve in the Senate," Kemp replied, with a sour grimace, as the others chuckled.
"The schedule of events does not leave us much time to rehearse," said Burbage.
The steward's expressive eyebrow elevated once again. "Well? You are the Queen's Men, are you not, the self-proclaimed masters of tragedy and comedy? I was informed you were the best players in the land."
"Aye, we are proud, indeed, to have that reputation," Burbage replied, puffing himself up. "Nevertheless—"
"Well then," Humphrey interrupted, "Master Middleton has paid for the best, and so he expects the best, and nothing less. Tis in your own interest, therefore, to live up to your stellar reputation. Look to it."
"That had almost the aspect of a threat," Shakespeare said to Smythe as they left Humphrey and proceeded toward the stables. "Do you suppose they might set the dogs on us if our performance is found wanting?"
"I doubt that Master Middleton would waste his sports upon the likes of us," said Smythe, with a straight face. "I think it more likely he would dispatch a phalanx of footmen armed with cudgels to urge us on our way."
"Well you may jest," said Shakespeare, "but these moneyed sorts would do just that sort of thing and not think twice of it. I do not trust that Humphrey fellow. He has a lean and hungry look. I much prefer a well-fed man. Corpulence has a tendency to make one indolent and indolent men are much less likely to be moved to violent action."
"Like our late King Henry, you mean?" said Burbage. "Now there was a sweet, pacific soul for you. Anne Boleyn found him rather corporal in his corpulence, as I recall."
"Aye, imagine what his humor might have been if he were thin," said Smythe, grinning.
" ‘Twould have been much worse, I have no doubt of it," Shakespeare replied. "Had he been a leaner and more spirited man, like Richard Lionheart, then instead of merely breaking with the Church of Rome, he might have launched his own crusade against it."
"Now you know, there might be a good idea for a play in that," said Smythe.
"God's wounds!" said Burbage. "We do not have enough trouble with the Master of the Revels? Do us all a kindness, Will. Should you by any chance decide to pen a play about an English king, then try to choose one whose immediate descendants do not at present sit upon the throne, else we might all end up with our heads on London Bridge."
"Sound counsel, Dick," Shakespeare said. "I shall endeavor to keep it in mind."
"And you, Smythe," Burbage added, "leave the playwriting to Shakespeare and stick to what you do best."
"Aye, whatever that may be," said Kemp, getting down from his seat up in the wagon as they reached the stables and dismounted. "Lifting heavy objects, was it not?"
"Indeed, I do believe that you have struck upon it, Kemp," said Smythe, turning towards him. "And since there is nothing heavier than your own weighty opinion of yourself, I think I shall indulge in a bit of practice at my skill." With that, he seized Kemp and hoisted him high into the air, holding him at arm's length overhead.
Startled, Kemp yelped, then started blustering. "Put me
down,
you great misbegotten oaf!"
"As you wish," replied Smythe, and tossed him straight into the manure bin.
Kemp landed in the odiferous mixture of soggy straw and horse droppings to the accompaniment of uproarious laughter from his fellow players. He arose like a specter from the swamp, bits of soiled straw and dung clinging to his hair and clothing. Outrage and embarrassment mingled with anger and disgust, overwhelming him to the point of speechlessness.
"I have had my fill,
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