Repair me with thy presence, Silvia:

Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain.

The Taming of the Shrew

[IV, i, 174–97] Petruchio unfolds his masterplan for breaking the ungovernable Katherine to his will – he’ll treat the ‘shrew’ as a haggard or hawk and tame her that way:

Thus have I politicly begun my reign,

And ’tis my hope to end successfully.

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,

And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,

For then she never looks upon her lure.

Another way I have to man my haggard,

To make her come, and know her keeper’s call,

That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites

That bate and beat and will not be obedient.

She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat.

Last night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not.

As with the meat, some undeservèd fault

I’ll find about the making of the bed,

And here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,

This way the coverlet, another way the sheets.

Ay, and amid this hurly I intend

That all is done in reverend care of her.

And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night,

And if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,

And with the clamour keep her still awake.

This is a way to kill a wife with kindness,

And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.

He that knows better how to tame a shrew,

Now let him speak – ’tis charity to show.

Henry VI Part 2

[I, i, 212–57] His own house outmanoeuvred by that of Lancaster, Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York, can only fume in impotent fury as Henry VI squanders the power and influence of the Crown he believes should by rights be his:

Anjou and Maine are given to the French;

Paris is lost; the state of Normandy

Stands on a tickle point now they are gone.

Suffolk concluded on the articles,

The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased

To change two dukedoms for a duke’s fair daughter.

I cannot blame them all; what is’t to them?

’Tis thine they give away, and not their own.

Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage

And purchase friends and give to courtesans,

Still revelling like lords till all be gone;

While as the silly owner of the goods

Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,

And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,

While all is shared and all is borne away,

Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own.

So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,

While his own lands are bargained for and sold.

Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland,

Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood

As did the fatal brand Althaea burnt

Unto the prince’s heart of Calydon.

Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!

Cold news for me; for I had hope of France,

Even as I have of fertile England’s soil.