No. 1320: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a dialogue, in verse or prose, between Reagan as Petruchio and Thatcher as Kate. It was fun for me to go back to The Tam- ing of the Shrew and see how the 'mad- brain rudesby', arrived in Padua expecting a walkover ('O! How I long to have some chat with her!'), is taken to five sets with long rallies. Entries were of a high stan- dard, but there was a low turn-out. Hardly anyone elected to work in prose. Puns were well down to Shakespearian standard ('Ask not the Reagan why', 'Fierce Meg! Thou putt'st the Meg in megaton'), and in- evitably among the winners there are some near-duplications. They are awarded £10 each, and the bonus bottle of Blandy's 10-year-old Madeira (by courtesy of Hedges and Butler Ltd) goes to Llewellin Berg for his admirable string of excruciating jests.

Reaganuchio: So may I feed my eyes on thee, dear Marge?

Margharina: Though I were fe&d, sir, nay. For have I hoard

To glut ten thousand swine; though thou, old boar,

Art hoary, yet I have not twinset, pearls To cast before thy horde; I hoard at home. Reaganuchio: l' faith, thou'st whored enow.

Thou art a shrew.

Margharina: Ay, sir, and also shrewd. I'll teach thee: mark. Reaganuchio: Thy Mark has naught to teach: there's brighter sons, And I have living proof.

Margharina: Some Nancy-boy? Thy only sun sets yet, where cowboys ride, And thou, who seeks to steer, art truly cow'd. Reaganuchio: 'Tis thee whose might I'll rustle,

so 'tis heard.

Margharina: Sir, 'might' is not my word: I use but `shall';

This 'heard', sir, is but herd; I swear thy herd Is not my horny pleasure. So, go West.

(Llewellin Berg)

RIP: By all that's Grecian, I am too young for you.

MIX: Yet you are wither'd.

R/P: I must fix my hair. Sweet Margaret, I dye because of you. Why does the world report that Meg is cold? 0 slanderous world! Meg, like Kentucky Fried, Is warm and tender, and as full of taste As Nato nuts and sweeter than the colonels. M/K: Where did you study all this goodly

speech?

RIP: It was devis'd by murkier minds than mine And Writ on screens that even I can read. M/K: A team of writers! I can pay but one. RIP: I am the fastest gun in all the West; Thou must surrender all thy trust to me, For I was told by God to rule thee, Meg. MIX: I bless thy arms, and kneel to kiss thy

shoes.

I'll marry thee: now take me on a cruise.

(Roger Woddis)

R/P: They tell me, Kate, that thou art made of iron,

A potent muzzle for the froward bear. Thy name is one to fright the common herd; It frights not me; for thou art soft and mild, A Kate conformable to all my ways.

M/K: Hold, sir, a moment; rein thy horses in. True is it I am apt to please myself, And gladly, sir, I do not suffer fools . . . RIP: Am I a fool?

MIX: Nay, for I said not so;

But thou, with one eye on El Salvador, Another cocked for Nicaragua, Let'st Cuba, Russia, and the Argentine Disturb thy slumbers. Can alliances Invade the crowded circle of thy dreams?

RIP: Yet must we two be matched, I tell thee,

Kate.

M/K: 'Tis true. Alas! for I must swear that

black Is white, white black; so that they be not red.

I fear me there is none alternative.

(Paul Griffin)

RIP: How now, sweet Kate! Howdy, my gentle dove!

M/K: Is't thou, my lord?

RIP: E'en so, my only one.

MIK: How wondrously thou art translated!

Thou, Who once wast wont to ride full roughshod o'er The mighty prairie of my principles!

Yet thy lopsided smile betokeneth A suit most modest and sincere! In sooth, 'Tis 'gainst my nature to submit; and yet Methinks in this most eligible guise Thou yet might'st have th' election.

RIP: Ha, Just so, By stealthy charm in place of magnum force. I'll win this pesky dame: Though iron-clad, She'll melt before my honey-laden breath. And when this shrew is tam'd, my foes beware! Together we shall tame the Russian bear! ( , PeotnervNvrootrimgia: RIP: Lady, they say thou art of iron And yet methinks pure gold, so shall I make Thy precious metal bend to my desire. MIX: Bend me, whom Europe deems inflexible? RIP: Why then, my wooing gains in interest. MIX: Thy interest's too high, and bars the waY To any hope of our united states. Besides, thou art full fifteen years too old. RIP: But virile still, just like His Holiness. I'd die for thee!

M/K: Thy hair?

Art thou Petruc

RIP: A calumny!

M . . . Nay, osirrraarht,tshpoeuaksnhootreof mY MIX:

RIP: Sure I am sure — just feel my beating heart.

M/K: Canst thou beat Hart? aw iter RIP:

IcatnhebeaalttaHrart or If only I may lead thee to

MIX: Nast thou forgot thou art already wed? RIP: There's room for thee and Nancy in t°

(Peter