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Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned...
Mar. 11th, 2006 11:17 amThe story below is going to be published in a collection of short stories as a book this year, under my name (Lauren Anne Markewicz). If you are caught plagiarizing, there will be negative consequences.
But on a lighter note… I really did enjoy writing this story. I had to write it for English class last semester right before our Shakespeare unit. Essentially, we got a list of words that could be combined into Shakespearian insults, and were told to write something which incorporated as many as possible. Enjoy!
“Get thee hence, thou churlish pox-marked strumpet!”
Hob flinched and ducked underneath the rough-hewn wooden table as the thunderous voice of Kate O’fields rang through the mostly empty Elephant and Castle tavern. God's wounds! It would seem that he’d been found out. If he was correct in his assumption, he would most likely need a more sturdy place to hide; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and he would soon have two to deal with.
A blistering voice soon retorted the first speaker; “Get thee hence, madam lewdster! Good Mr. Hob has been my own for severtal fortnights!” Yes, that was Mary Archere all right. Oh, he was in for it….
“Thou goatish earth-vexing canker-blossom! How dare thee say such a thing when it is common knowledge that Mr. Hob and I have been meeting for at least three and ten months!” Hob risked a peek over the table at the two shreiking barmaids.
“In some artless clay-brained dream of yorn, perhaps, you vain, toad-spotted harpy!” The red-headed Kate seemed to inflate with rage from within as he watched.
“Canst thou ne’er see over yon codpiece to see whom he has on his arm? That would be none but me!”
“Oh, with such grace you belch, thou craven idle-headed pidgeon-egg! The air you just expelled sounded uncannily similar to words!”
Hob couldn’t resist a small snicker at the results of such a sharp tongue. Unfortunately (for him) that small snort of air caught the attention of the two arguing shrews. Immediately, he was seized by two pairs of vicious hands and pulled out from under the bench.
“Ah, Hob, my-“ Mary began breathlessly, clutching his right arm.
“My love!” Interrupted Kate. “Canst thou not settle this – ahem – misunderstanding? This impertinent half-faced lout claims that she and thee have-“
Kate was cut off by Mary exclaiming, “Yes, dear! Tell this fobbing dismal-dreaming boar-pig of our love!”
Hob gulped nervously, and glanced between the two women – who were glaring too much at their counterparts to take notice of his mannerisms for the moment.
“God’s truth! It was not my intention to deceive –“
“Deceive!” Shrieked Kate. “What is this deception you speak of?”
“Er….”
A pause.
“Oh. I see.” He was released.
… God's Blood. He doubted he would survive the night, judging by the look in the eyes of both barmaids – united against him.
Slap! “Thou paunchy ill-nurtured foot-licker!” Kate flounced off.
Slap! Not to be undone, Mary, too, delivered a stinging blow to his cheek. “Thou beslubbering swag-bellied fastilarian!” She departed, leaving Hob standing in the empty tavern with matching red hand-shaped marks on his cheeks.
He sighed.Oh, well. He could always become a member of the clergy. God knew he called upon Him enough. But for now, Hob could use a pint – at a different ale-house.
But on a lighter note… I really did enjoy writing this story. I had to write it for English class last semester right before our Shakespeare unit. Essentially, we got a list of words that could be combined into Shakespearian insults, and were told to write something which incorporated as many as possible. Enjoy!
“Get thee hence, thou churlish pox-marked strumpet!”
Hob flinched and ducked underneath the rough-hewn wooden table as the thunderous voice of Kate O’fields rang through the mostly empty Elephant and Castle tavern. God's wounds! It would seem that he’d been found out. If he was correct in his assumption, he would most likely need a more sturdy place to hide; Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and he would soon have two to deal with.
A blistering voice soon retorted the first speaker; “Get thee hence, madam lewdster! Good Mr. Hob has been my own for severtal fortnights!” Yes, that was Mary Archere all right. Oh, he was in for it….
“Thou goatish earth-vexing canker-blossom! How dare thee say such a thing when it is common knowledge that Mr. Hob and I have been meeting for at least three and ten months!” Hob risked a peek over the table at the two shreiking barmaids.
“In some artless clay-brained dream of yorn, perhaps, you vain, toad-spotted harpy!” The red-headed Kate seemed to inflate with rage from within as he watched.
“Canst thou ne’er see over yon codpiece to see whom he has on his arm? That would be none but me!”
“Oh, with such grace you belch, thou craven idle-headed pidgeon-egg! The air you just expelled sounded uncannily similar to words!”
Hob couldn’t resist a small snicker at the results of such a sharp tongue. Unfortunately (for him) that small snort of air caught the attention of the two arguing shrews. Immediately, he was seized by two pairs of vicious hands and pulled out from under the bench.
“Ah, Hob, my-“ Mary began breathlessly, clutching his right arm.
“My love!” Interrupted Kate. “Canst thou not settle this – ahem – misunderstanding? This impertinent half-faced lout claims that she and thee have-“
Kate was cut off by Mary exclaiming, “Yes, dear! Tell this fobbing dismal-dreaming boar-pig of our love!”
Hob gulped nervously, and glanced between the two women – who were glaring too much at their counterparts to take notice of his mannerisms for the moment.
“God’s truth! It was not my intention to deceive –“
“Deceive!” Shrieked Kate. “What is this deception you speak of?”
“Er….”
A pause.
“Oh. I see.” He was released.
… God's Blood. He doubted he would survive the night, judging by the look in the eyes of both barmaids – united against him.
Slap! “Thou paunchy ill-nurtured foot-licker!” Kate flounced off.
Slap! Not to be undone, Mary, too, delivered a stinging blow to his cheek. “Thou beslubbering swag-bellied fastilarian!” She departed, leaving Hob standing in the empty tavern with matching red hand-shaped marks on his cheeks.
He sighed.Oh, well. He could always become a member of the clergy. God knew he called upon Him enough. But for now, Hob could use a pint – at a different ale-house.
