Okay, here is PART of a quote that Katharine says in Taming of the shrew, I want you to read it imagining a bloody southern twang, you know, "Howdy, pardner....git along little doggy....Can I be of some assistance there, little lady?" That kind of thing. Imagine that being effused into the speech...oh, and the jangle of spurs accompanying it.
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
....These people should have been shot.