If Kathrine had a soliloquy:
Of course, my father seems fit that I should be made a daw by the suitors of his Bianca, who possess no more brain than stone! Does my own father not wish the best for me? All he does is spoil his sweet, ladybird Bianca. The only thing my dizzy-eyed father wishes for me is that I may get married and be out of his sight. Ha! The last thing I want to do is to get married and obey a man. Why must I be only a wife, without the smallest right to do as she pleases?
And that clot pole Bianca thinks she will live a joyous life with a paper-faced, flap-mouthed husband, who wants only wants to own that lady and nothing else. She will live the rest of her life summiting to a sir, all because she wanted to be the sweetest girl in the town, courteous and graceful. That will be her own downfall. If only she had shown them her true colours, maybe she would find a husband she will truly be happy with. Her silence will be the death of her. But it is useless now. That purpled paper-faced dewberry, Bianca, will live the rest of her life as a lonely housewife. Does my father think she will happily live for the rest of her life at the hand of some swain?
It does give me little satisfaction to shreds those men to bits with my tongue. I pride myself on my knack for repartee. I know they are intimidated by nervy women. Such are the men in this town. But it seems my quick wit has given me nothing but trouble, though I believe they deserved worse. Not a day goes by that I do not want to knap those zany fools.
But why must a woman’s only right be to get married? Any pragging, plume-plucked man is able to act as selfishly and arrogantly as he pleases, without consequence. But if a woman wishes to be treated judicious and egally as a man she is nothing but a “fiend from hell”. They expect a woman to be mute, obedient, baby-making, husband-pleasing machines and when that drives her termagant and surly, she is a “devil”. I absolutely abhor it. How do they expect a woman to submit to all their wishes and not act a shrew? If a jack of this town was due to wed me would be a fig to the lady. My wit is moo than all the men in this town combined.
But living as a shrew, the town’s laughingstock, is it truly worth it? Shall I live the rest of my life caring for my ass of a father at home, so is the fate of a shrew? I sometimes think it would be better for me to marry, even if it is one of the witless wenches of this miserable town. Is it worth fitting into this society by marrying a man, even if it means living the life of a lowly wife? Maybe that is my only hope of finding a glimmer of happiness in this cruel world. I fear I would live no better if I spent the rest of my life if I remain a maiden. But it is pointless imagining what it would be like to be married. For no sir would suitor me, nor I will never find a husband.
If only the impertinent, mad bread varlots of this town opened their eyes, they would see their stupidity and turn their ways. Why must women bear the burden of the men who want nothing moo than money and satisfaction? If it were my way, I would take myself away from this cursed place and away from my measle of a father and spend the rest of my sombre existence and in my own company. But nay, this shrew is am damned to an eternal hell.
