The Taming of the Shrew

1I'll pheeze you, in faith.

2A pair of stocks, you rogue!

3Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in

4the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror.

5Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa!

6You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

7No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold

8bed, and warm thee.

9I know my remedy; I must go fetch the

10third--borough.

11Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him

12by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come,

13and kindly.

14Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:

15Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd;

16And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach.

17Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good

18At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

19I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

20Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;

21He cried upon it at the merest loss

22And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:

23Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

24Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,

25I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

26But sup them well and look unto them all:

27To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

28I will, my lord.

29What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

30He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

31This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

32O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!

33Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

34Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.

35What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,

36Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,

37A most delicious banquet by his bed,

38And brave attendants near him when he wakes,

39Would not the beggar then forget himself?

40Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

41It would seem strange unto him when he waked.

42Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy.

43Then take him up and manage well the jest:

44Carry him gently to my fairest chamber

45And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:

46Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters

47And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:

48Procure me music ready when he wakes,

49To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;

50And if he chance to speak, be ready straight

51And with a low submissive reverence

52Say 'What is it your honour will command?'

53Let one attend him with a silver basin

54Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers,

55Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,

56And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?'

57Some one be ready with a costly suit

58And ask him what apparel he will wear;

59Another tell him of his hounds and horse,

60And that his lady mourns at his disease:

61Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;

62And when he says he is, say that he dreams,

63For he is nothing but a mighty lord.

64This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:

65It will be pastime passing excellent,

66If it be husbanded with modesty.

67My lord, I warrant you we will play our part,

68As he shall think by our true diligence

69He is no less than what we say he is.

70Take him up gently and to bed with him;

71And each one to his office when he wakes.

72Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds:

73Belike, some noble gentleman that means,

74Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

75How now! who is it?

76An't please your honour, players

77That offer service to your lordship.

78Bid them come near.

79Now, fellows, you are welcome.

80We thank your honour.

81Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

82So please your lordship to accept our duty.

83With all my heart. This fellow I remember,

84Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:

85'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:

86I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part

87Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.

88I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.

89'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.

90Well, you are come to me in a happy time;

91The rather for I have some sport in hand

92Wherein your cunning can assist me much.

93There is a lord will hear you play to-night:

94But I am doubtful of your modesties;

95Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,--

96For yet his honour never heard a play--

97You break into some merry passion

98And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,

99If you should smile he grows impatient.

100Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves,

101Were he the veriest antic in the world.

102Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,

103And give them friendly welcome every one:

104Let them want nothing that my house affords.

105Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,

106And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:

107That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;

108And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance.

109Tell him from me, as he will win my love,

110He bear himself with honourable action,

111Such as he hath observed in noble ladies

112Unto their lords, by them accomplished:

113Such duty to the drunkard let him do

114With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,

115And say 'What is't your honour will command,

116Wherein your lady and your humble wife

117May show her duty and make known her love?'

118And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,

119And with declining head into his bosom,

120Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd

121To see her noble lord restored to health,

122Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him

123No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:

124And if the boy have not a woman's gift

125To rain a shower of commanded tears,

126An onion will do well for such a shift,

127Which in a napkin being close convey'd

128Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

129See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst:

130Anon I'll give thee more instructions.

131I know the boy will well usurp the grace,

132Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman:

133I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,

134And how my men will stay themselves from laughter

135When they do homage to this simple peasant.

136I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence

137May well abate the over-merry spleen

138Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

1For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

2Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

3Will't please your honour taste of these conserves?

4What raiment will your honour wear to-day?

5I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor

6'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if

7you give me any conserves, give me conserves of

8beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I

9have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings

10than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,

11sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my

12toes look through the over-leather.

13Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour!

14O, that a mighty man of such descent,

15Of such possessions and so high esteem,

16Should be infused with so foul a spirit!

17What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher

18Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a

19pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a

20bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker?

21Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if

22she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence

23on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the

24lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not

25bestraught: here's--

26O, this it is that makes your lady mourn!

27O, this is it that makes your servants droop!

28Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,

29As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.

30O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,

31Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment

32And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.

33Look how thy servants do attend on thee,

34Each in his office ready at thy beck.

35Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays,

36And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

37Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch

38Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

39On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.

40Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:

41Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,

42Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.

43Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar

44Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt?

45Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them

46And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.

47Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift

48As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.

49Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight

50Adonis painted by a running brook,

51And Cytherea all in sedges hid,

52Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,

53Even as the waving sedges play with wind.

54We'll show thee Io as she was a maid,

55And how she was beguiled and surprised,

56As lively painted as the deed was done.

57Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,

58Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,

59And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,

60So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.

61Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord:

62Thou hast a lady far more beautiful

63Than any woman in this waning age.

64And till the tears that she hath shed for thee

65Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,

66She was the fairest creature in the world;

67And yet she is inferior to none.

68Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?

69Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?

70I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;

71I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things:

72Upon my life, I am a lord indeed

73And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly.

74Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;

75And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.

76Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands?

77O, how we joy to see your wit restored!

78O, that once more you knew but what you are!

79These fifteen years you have been in a dream;

80Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept.

81These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap.

82But did I never speak of all that time?

83O, yes, my lord, but very idle words:

84For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,

85Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door;

86And rail upon the hostess of the house;

87And say you would present her at the leet,

88Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts:

89Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.

90Ay, the woman's maid of the house.

91Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid,

92Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up,

93As Stephen Sly and did John Naps of Greece

94And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell

95And twenty more such names and men as these

96Which never were nor no man ever saw.

97Now Lord be thanked for my good amends!

98Amen.

99I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it.

100How fares my noble lord?

101Marry, I fare well for here is cheer enough.

102Where is my wife?

103Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her?

104Are you my wife and will not call me husband?

105My men should call me 'lord:' I am your goodman.

106My husband and my lord, my lord and husband;

107I am your wife in all obedience.

108I know it well. What must I call her?

109Madam.

110Al'ce madam, or Joan madam?

111'Madam,' and nothing else: so lords

112call ladies.

113Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd

114And slept above some fifteen year or more.

115Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,

116Being all this time abandon'd from your bed.

117'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone.

118Madam, undress you and come now to bed.

119Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you

120To pardon me yet for a night or two,

121Or, if not so, until the sun be set:

122For your physicians have expressly charged,

123In peril to incur your former malady,

124That I should yet absent me from your bed:

125I hope this reason stands for my excuse.

126Ay, it stands so that I may hardly

127tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into

128my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in

129despite of the flesh and the blood.

130Your honour's players, heating your amendment,

131Are come to play a pleasant comedy;

132For so your doctors hold it very meet,

133Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood,

134And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy:

135Therefore they thought it good you hear a play

136And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,

137Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.

138Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a

139comondy a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick?

140No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff.

141What, household stuff?

142It is a kind of history.

143Well, well see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side

144and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.

1Tranio, since for the great desire I had

2To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

3I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy,

4The pleasant garden of great Italy;

5And by my father's love and leave am arm'd

6With his good will and thy good company,

7My trusty servant, well approved in all,

8Here let us breathe and haply institute

9A course of learning and ingenious studies.

10Pisa renown'd for grave citizens

11Gave me my being and my father first,

12A merchant of great traffic through the world,

13Vincetino come of Bentivolii.

14Vincetino's son brought up in Florence

15It shall become to serve all hopes conceived,

16To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:

17And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,

18Virtue and that part of philosophy

19Will I apply that treats of happiness

20By virtue specially to be achieved.

21Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left

22And am to Padua come, as he that leaves

23A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep

24And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

25Mi perdonato, gentle master mine,

26I am in all affected as yourself;

27Glad that you thus continue your resolve

28To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.

29Only, good master, while we do admire

30This virtue and this moral discipline,

31Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;

32Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques

33As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured:

34Balk logic with acquaintance that you have

35And practise rhetoric in your common talk;

36Music and poesy use to quicken you;

37The mathematics and the metaphysics,

38Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you;

39No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en:

40In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

41Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.

42If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,

43We could at once put us in readiness,

44And take a lodging fit to entertain

45Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.

46But stay a while: what company is this?

47Master, some show to welcome us to town.

48Gentlemen, importune me no farther,

49For how I firmly am resolved you know;

50That is, not bestow my youngest daughter

51Before I have a husband for the elder:

52If either of you both love Katharina,

53Because I know you well and love you well,

54Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.

55[Aside] To cart her rather: she's too rough for me.

56There, There, Hortensio, will you any wife?

57I pray you, sir, is it your will

58To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

59Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you,

60Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

61I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear:

62I wis it is not half way to her heart;

63But if it were, doubt not her care should be

64To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool

65And paint your face and use you like a fool.

66From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!

67And me too, good Lord!

68Hush, master! here's some good pastime toward:

69That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.

70But in the other's silence do I see

71Maid's mild behavior and sobriety.

72Peace, Tranio!

73Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.

74Gentlemen, that I may soon make good

75What I have said, Bianca, get you in:

76And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,

77For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.

78A pretty peat! it is best

79Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.

80Sister, content you in my discontent.

81Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:

82My books and instruments shall be my company,

83On them to took and practise by myself.

84Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak.

85Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?

86Sorry am I that our good will effects

87Bianca's grief.

88Why will you mew her up,

89Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,

90And make her bear the penance of her tongue?

91Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolved:

92Go in, Bianca:

93And for I know she taketh most delight

94In music, instruments and poetry,

95Schoolmasters will I keep within my house,

96Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,

97Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such,

98Prefer them hither; for to cunning men

99I will be very kind, and liberal

100To mine own children in good bringing up:

101And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay;

102For I have more to commune with Bianca.

103Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What,

104shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I

105knew not what to take and what to leave, ha?

106You may go to the devil's dam: your gifts are so

107good, here's none will hold you. Their love is not

108so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails

109together, and fast it fairly out: our cakes dough on

110both sides. Farewell: yet for the love I bear my

111sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit

112man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will

113wish him to her father.

114So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray.

115Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brooked

116parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both,

117that we may yet again have access to our fair

118mistress and be happy rivals in Bianco's love, to

119labour and effect one thing specially.

120What's that, I pray?

121Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

122A husband! a devil.

123I say, a husband.

124I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though

125her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool

126to be married to hell?

127Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience and mine

128to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good

129fellows in the world, an a man could light on them,

130would take her with all faults, and money enough.

131I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with

132this condition, to be whipped at the high cross

133every morning.

134Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten

135apples. But come; since this bar in law makes us

136friends, it shall be so far forth friendly

137maintained all by helping Baptista's eldest daughter

138to a husband we set his youngest free for a husband,

139and then have to't a fresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man

140be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring.

141How say you, Signior Gremio?

142I am agreed; and would I had given him the best

143horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would

144thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed her and rid the

145house of her! Come on.

146I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible

147That love should of a sudden take such hold?

148O Tranio, till I found it to be true,

149I never thought it possible or likely;

150But see, while idly I stood looking on,

151I found the effect of love in idleness:

152And now in plainness do confess to thee,

153That art to me as secret and as dear

154As Anna to the queen of Carthage was,

155Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,

156If I achieve not this young modest girl.

157Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;

158Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.

159Master, it is no time to chide you now;

160Affection is not rated from the heart:

161If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so,

162'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.'

163Gramercies, lad, go forward; this contents:

164The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.

165Master, you look'd so longly on the maid,

166Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.

167O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,

168Such as the daughter of Agenor had,

169That made great Jove to humble him to her hand.

170When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.

171Saw you no more? mark'd you not how her sister

172Began to scold and raise up such a storm

173That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?

174Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move

175And with her breath she did perfume the air:

176Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.

177Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance.

178I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid,

179Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:

180Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd

181That till the father rid his hands of her,

182Master, your love must live a maid at home;

183And therefore has he closely mew'd her up,

184Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.

185Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!

186But art thou not advised, he took some care

187To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?

188Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted.

189I have it, Tranio.

190Master, for my hand,

191Both our inventions meet and jump in one.

192Tell me thine first.

193You will be schoolmaster

194And undertake the teaching of the maid:

195That's your device.

196It is: may it be done?

197Not possible; for who shall bear your part,

198And be in Padua here Vincentio's son,

199Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends,

200Visit his countrymen and banquet them?

201Basta; content thee, for I have it full.

202We have not yet been seen in any house,

203Nor can we lie distinguish'd by our faces

204For man or master; then it follows thus;

205Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,

206Keep house and port and servants as I should:

207I will some other be, some Florentine,

208Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.

209'Tis hatch'd and shall be so: Tranio, at once

210Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak:

211When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;

212But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.

213So had you need.

214In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,

215And I am tied to be obedient;

216For so your father charged me at our parting,

217'Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he,

218Although I think 'twas in another sense;

219I am content to be Lucentio,

220Because so well I love Lucentio.

221Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves:

222And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid

223Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.

224Here comes the rogue.

225Sirrah, where have you been?

226Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?

227Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes? Or

228you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the news?

229Sirrah, come hither: 'tis no time to jest,

230And therefore frame your manners to the time.

231Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,

232Puts my apparel and my countenance on,

233And I for my escape have put on his;

234For in a quarrel since I came ashore

235I kill'd a man and fear I was descried:

236Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,

237While I make way from hence to save my life:

238You understand me?

239I, sir! ne'er a whit.

240And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:

241Tranio is changed into Lucentio.

242The better for him: would I were so too!

243So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,

244That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.

245But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise

246You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:

247When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;

248But in all places else your master Lucentio.

249Tranio, let's go: one thing more rests, that

250thyself execute, to make one among these wooers: if

251thou ask me why, sufficeth, my reasons are both good

252and weighty.

253My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.

254Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely:

255comes there any more of it?

256My lord, 'tis but begun.

257'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady:

258would 'twere done!

1Verona, for a while I take my leave,

2To see my friends in Padua, but of all

3My best beloved and approved friend,

4Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.

5Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say.

6Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there man has

7rebused your worship?

8Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

9Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that

10I should knock you here, sir?

11Villain, I say, knock me at this gate

12And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.

13My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock

14you first,

15And then I know after who comes by the worst.

16Will it not be?

17Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it;

18I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.

19Help, masters, help! my master is mad.

20Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

21How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio!

22and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?

23Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?

24'Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say.

25'Alla nostra casa ben venuto, molto honorato signor

26mio Petruchio.' Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound

27this quarrel.

28Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin.

29if this be not a lawful case for me to leave his

30service, look you, sir, he bid me knock him and rap

31him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to

32use his master so, being perhaps, for aught I see,

33two and thirty, a pip out? Whom would to God I had

34well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst.

35A senseless villain! Good Hortensio,

36I bade the rascal knock upon your gate

37And could not get him for my heart to do it.

38Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these

39words plain, 'Sirrah, knock me here, rap me here,

40knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you

41now with, 'knocking at the gate'?

42Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.

43Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge:

44Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,

45Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.

46And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale

47Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?

48Such wind as scatters young men through the world,

49To seek their fortunes farther than at home

50Where small experience grows. But in a few,

51Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:

52Antonio, my father, is deceased;

53And I have thrust myself into this maze,

54Haply to wive and thrive as best I may:

55Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home,

56And so am come abroad to see the world.

57Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee

58And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?

59Thou'ldst thank me but a little for my counsel:

60And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich

61And very rich: but thou'rt too much my friend,

62And I'll not wish thee to her.

63Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we

64Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know

65One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,

66As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,

67Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,

68As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd

69As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse,

70She moves me not, or not removes, at least,

71Affection's edge in me, were she as rough

72As are the swelling Adriatic seas:

73I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;

74If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

75Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his

76mind is: Why give him gold enough and marry him to

77a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot with ne'er

78a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases

79as two and fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss,

80so money comes withal.

81Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in,

82I will continue that I broach'd in jest.

83I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife

84With wealth enough and young and beauteous,

85Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman:

86Her only fault, and that is faults enough,

87Is that she is intolerable curst

88And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure

89That, were my state far worser than it is,

90I would not wed her for a mine of gold.

91Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect:

92Tell me her father's name and 'tis enough;

93For I will board her, though she chide as loud

94As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.

95Her father is Baptista Minola,

96An affable and courteous gentleman:

97Her name is Katharina Minola,

98Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.

99I know her father, though I know not her;

100And he knew my deceased father well.

101I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;

102And therefore let me be thus bold with you

103To give you over at this first encounter,

104Unless you will accompany me thither.

105I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts.

106O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she

107would think scolding would do little good upon him:

108she may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so:

109why, that's nothing; an he begin once, he'll rail in

110his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what sir, an she

111stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in

112her face and so disfigure her with it that she

113shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat.

114You know him not, sir.

115Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,

116For in Baptista's keep my treasure is:

117He hath the jewel of my life in hold,

118His youngest daughter, beautiful Binaca,

119And her withholds from me and other more,

120Suitors to her and rivals in my love,

121Supposing it a thing impossible,

122For those defects I have before rehearsed,

123That ever Katharina will be woo'd;

124Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,

125That none shall have access unto Bianca

126Till Katharina the curst have got a husband.

127Katharina the curst!

128A title for a maid of all titles the worst.

129Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,

130And offer me disguised in sober robes

131To old Baptista as a schoolmaster

132Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;

133That so I may, by this device, at least

134Have leave and leisure to make love to her

135And unsuspected court her by herself.

136Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks,

137how the young folks lay their heads together!

138Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?

139Peace, Grumio! it is the rival of my love.

140Petruchio, stand by a while.

141A proper stripling and an amorous!

142O, very well; I have perused the note.

143Hark you, sir: I'll have them very fairly bound:

144All books of love, see that at any hand;

145And see you read no other lectures to her:

146You understand me: over and beside

147Signior Baptista's liberality,

148I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,

149And let me have them very well perfumed

150For she is sweeter than perfume itself

151To whom they go to. What will you read to her?

152Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you

153As for my patron, stand you so assured,

154As firmly as yourself were still in place:

155Yea, and perhaps with more successful words

156Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.

157O this learning, what a thing it is!

158O this woodcock, what an ass it is!

159Peace, sirrah!

160Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio.

161And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.

162Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.

163I promised to inquire carefully

164About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca:

165And by good fortune I have lighted well

166On this young man, for learning and behavior

167Fit for her turn, well read in poetry

168And other books, good ones, I warrant ye.

169'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman

170Hath promised me to help me to another,

171A fine musician to instruct our mistress;

172So shall I no whit be behind in duty

173To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.

174Beloved of me; and that my deeds shall prove.

175And that his bags shall prove.

176Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love:

177Listen to me, and if you speak me fair,

178I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.

179Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,

180Upon agreement from us to his liking,

181Will undertake to woo curst Katharina,

182Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.

183So said, so done, is well.

184Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?

185I know she is an irksome brawling scold:

186If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

187No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?

188Born in Verona, old Antonio's son:

189My father dead, my fortune lives for me;

190And I do hope good days and long to see.

191O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!

192But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name:

193You shall have me assisting you in all.

194But will you woo this wild-cat?

195Will I live?

196Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.

197Why came I hither but to that intent?

198Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?

199Have I not in my time heard lions roar?

200Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds

201Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?

202Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,

203And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?

204Have I not in a pitched battle heard

205Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?

206And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,

207That gives not half so great a blow to hear

208As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?

209Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs.

210For he fears none.

211Hortensio, hark:

212This gentleman is happily arrived,

213My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.

214I promised we would be contributors

215And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er.

216And so we will, provided that he win her.

217I would I were as sure of a good dinner.

218Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold,

219Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way

220To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?

221He that has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean?

222Even he, Biondello.

223Hark you, sir; you mean not her to--

224Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you to do?

225Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

226I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.

227Well begun, Tranio.

228Sir, a word ere you go;

229Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

230And if I be, sir, is it any offence?

231No; if without more words you will get you hence.

232Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free

233For me as for you?

234But so is not she.

235For what reason, I beseech you?

236For this reason, if you'll know,

237That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.

238That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

239Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen,

240Do me this right; hear me with patience.

241Baptista is a noble gentleman,

242To whom my father is not all unknown;

243And were his daughter fairer than she is,

244She may more suitors have and me for one.

245Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;

246Then well one more may fair Bianca have:

247And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one,

248Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.

249What! this gentleman will out-talk us all.

250Sir, give him head: I know he'll prove a jade.

251Hortensio, to what end are all these words?

252Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,

253Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?

254No, sir; but hear I do that he hath two,

255The one as famous for a scolding tongue

256As is the other for beauteous modesty.

257Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by.

258Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules;

259And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.

260Sir, understand you this of me in sooth:

261The younges t daughter whom you hearken for

262Her father keeps from all access of suitors,

263And will not promise her to any man

264Until the elder sister first be wed:

265The younger then is free and not before.

266If it be so, sir, that you are the man

267Must stead us all and me amongst the rest,

268And if you break the ice and do this feat,

269Achieve the elder, set the younger free

270For our access, whose hap shall be to have her

271Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.

272Sir, you say well and well you do conceive;

273And since you do profess to be a suitor,

274You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,

275To whom we all rest generally beholding.

276Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof,

277Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,

278And quaff carouses to our mistress' health,

279And do as adversaries do in law,

280Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

281O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone.

282The motion's good indeed and be it so,

283Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.

1Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,

2To make a bondmaid and a slave of me;

3That I disdain: but for these other gawds,

4Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,

5Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;

6Or what you will command me will I do,

7So well I know my duty to my elders.

8Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell

9Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble not.

10Believe me, sister, of all the men alive

11I never yet beheld that special face

12Which I could fancy more than any other.

13Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?

14If you affect him, sister, here I swear

15I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have

16him.

17O then, belike, you fancy riches more:

18You will have Gremio to keep you fair.

19Is it for him you do envy me so?

20Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive

21You have but jested with me all this while:

22I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.

23If that be jest, then all the rest was so.

24Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?

25Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.

26Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.

27For shame, thou helding of a devilish spirit,

28Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?

29When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

30Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged.

31What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.

32What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see

33She is your treasure, she must have a husband;

34I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day

35And for your love to her lead apes in hell.

36Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep

37Till I can find occasion of revenge.

38Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?

39But who comes here?

40Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

41Good morrow, neighbour Gremio.

42God save you, gentlemen!

43And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter

44Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous?

45I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina.

46You are too blunt: go to it orderly.

47You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.

48I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,

49That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,

50Her affability and bashful modesty,

51Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior,

52Am bold to show myself a forward guest

53Within your house, to make mine eye the witness

54Of that report which I so oft have heard.

55And, for an entrance to my entertainment,

56I do present you with a man of mine,

57Cunning in music and the mathematics,

58To instruct her fully in those sciences,

59Whereof I know she is not ignorant:

60Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:

61His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

62You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake.

63But for my daughter Katharina, this I know,

64She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

65I see you do not mean to part with her,

66Or else you like not of my company.

67Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.

68Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?

69Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son,

70A man well known throughout all Italy.

71I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

72Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,

73Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too:

74Baccare! you are marvellous forward.

75O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.

76I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your

77wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am

78sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself,

79that have been more kindly beholding to you than

80any, freely give unto you this young scholar,

81that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning

82in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other

83in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray,

84accept his service.

85A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio.

86Welcome, good Cambio.

87But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger:

88may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?

89Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,

90That, being a stranger in this city here,

91Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,

92Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.

93Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,

94In the preferment of the eldest sister.

95This liberty is all that I request,

96That, upon knowledge of my parentage,

97I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo

98And free access and favour as the rest:

99And, toward the education of your daughters,

100I here bestow a simple instrument,

101And this small packet of Greek and Latin books:

102If you accept them, then their worth is great.

103Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray?

104Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

105A mighty man of Pisa; by report

106I know him well: you are very welcome, sir,

107Take you the lute, and you the set of books;

108You shall go see your pupils presently.

109Holla, within!

110Sirrah, lead these gentlemen

111To my daughters; and tell them both,

112These are their tutors: bid them use them well.

113We will go walk a little in the orchard,

114And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,

115And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

116Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,

117And every day I cannot come to woo.

118You knew my father well, and in him me,

119Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,

120Which I have better'd rather than decreased:

121Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,

122What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

123After my death the one half of my lands,

124And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

125And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of

126Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,

127In all my lands and leases whatsoever:

128Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,

129That covenants may be kept on either hand.

130Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,

131That is, her love; for that is all in all.

132Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father,

133I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;

134And where two raging fires meet together

135They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:

136Though little fire grows great with little wind,

137Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:

138So I to her and so she yields to me;

139For I am rough and woo not like a babe.

140Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!

141But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

142Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds,

143That shake not, though they blow perpetually.

144How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale?

145For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

146What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

147I think she'll sooner prove a soldier

148Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

149Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?

150Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.

151I did but tell her she mistook her frets,

152And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;

153When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,

154'Frets, call you these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume

155with them:'

156And, with that word, she struck me on the head,

157And through the instrument my pate made way;

158And there I stood amazed for a while,

159As on a pillory, looking through the lute;

160While she did call me rascal fiddler

161And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms,

162As had she studied to misuse me so.

163Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;

164I love her ten times more than e'er I did:

165O, how I long to have some chat with her!

166Well, go with me and be not so discomfited:

167Proceed in practise with my younger daughter;

168She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns.

169Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,

170Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

171I pray you do.

172I will attend her here,

173And woo her with some spirit when she comes.

174Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain

175She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:

176Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear

177As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:

178Say she be mute and will not speak a word;

179Then I'll commend her volubility,

180And say she uttereth piercing eloquence:

181If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,

182As though she bid me stay by her a week:

183If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day

184When I shall ask the banns and when be married.

185But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

186Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

187Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:

188They call me Katharina that do talk of me.

189You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,

190And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst;

191But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom

192Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,

193For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,

194Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;

195Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,

196Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,

197Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,

198Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.

199Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither

200Remove you hence: I knew you at the first

201You were a moveable.

202Why, what's a moveable?

203A join'd-stool.

204Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

205Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

206Women are made to bear, and so are you.

207No such jade as you, if me you mean.

208Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;

209For, knowing thee to be but young and light--

210Too light for such a swain as you to catch;

211And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

212Should be! should--buzz!

213Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

214O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

215Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

216Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.

217If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

218My remedy is then, to pluck it out.

219Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies,

220Who knows not where a wasp does

221wear his sting? In his tail.

222In his tongue.

223Whose tongue?

224Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.

225What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,

226Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

227That I'll try.

228I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

229So may you lose your arms:

230If you strike me, you are no gentleman;

231And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

232A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!

233What is your crest? a coxcomb?

234A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

235No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.

236Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

237It is my fashion, when I see a crab.

238Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.

239There is, there is.

240Then show it me.

241Had I a glass, I would.

242What, you mean my face?

243Well aim'd of such a young one.

244Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

245Yet you are wither'd.

246'Tis with cares.

247I care not.

248Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so.

249I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go.

250No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle.

251'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen,

252And now I find report a very liar;

253For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,

254But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:

255Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,

256Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,

257Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk,

258But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,

259With gentle conference, soft and affable.

260Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?

261O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig

262Is straight and slender and as brown in hue

263As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels.

264O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

265Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

266Did ever Dian so become a grove

267As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?

268O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;

269And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful!

270Where did you study all this goodly speech?

271It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

272A witty mother! witless else her son.

273Am I not wise?

274Yes; keep you warm.

275Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed:

276And therefore, setting all this chat aside,

277Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented

278That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;

279And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you.

280Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;

281For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,

282Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,

283Thou must be married to no man but me;

284For I am he am born to tame you Kate,

285And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate

286Conformable as other household Kates.

287Here comes your father: never make denial;

288I must and will have Katharina to my wife.

289Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

290How but well, sir? how but well?

291It were impossible I should speed amiss.

292Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps?

293Call you me daughter? now, I promise you

294You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,

295To wish me wed to one half lunatic;

296A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack,

297That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

298Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world,

299That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her:

300If she be curst, it is for policy,

301For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;

302She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;

303For patience she will prove a second Grissel,

304And Roman Lucrece for her chastity:

305And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,

306That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

307I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

308Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee

309hang'd first.

310Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part!

311Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself:

312If she and I be pleased, what's that to you?

313'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,

314That she shall still be curst in company.

315I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe

316How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate!

317She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss

318She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,

319That in a twink she won me to her love.

320O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see,

321How tame, when men and women are alone,

322A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.

323Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,

324To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.

325Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;

326I will be sure my Katharina shall be fine.

327I know not what to say: but give me your hands;

328God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

329Amen, say we: we will be witnesses.

330Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;

331I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace:

332We will have rings and things and fine array;

333And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday.

334Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?

335Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,

336And venture madly on a desperate mart.

337'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you:

338'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

339The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.

340No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.

341But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter:

342Now is the day we long have looked for:

343I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

344And I am one that love Bianca more

345Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

346Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

347Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.

348But thine doth fry.

349Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth.

350But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

351Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife:

352'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both

353That can assure my daughter greatest dower

354Shall have my Bianca's love.

355Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her?

356First, as you know, my house within the city

357Is richly furnished with plate and gold;

358Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;

359My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;

360In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;

361In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,

362Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,

363Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,

364Valance of Venice gold in needlework,

365Pewter and brass and all things that belong

366To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm

367I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,

368Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls,

369And all things answerable to this portion.

370Myself am struck in years, I must confess;

371And if I die to-morrow, this is hers,

372If whilst I live she will be only mine.

373That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me:

374I am my father's heir and only son:

375If I may have your daughter to my wife,

376I'll leave her houses three or four as good,

377Within rich Pisa walls, as any one

378Old Signior Gremio has in Padua;

379Besides two thousand ducats by the year

380Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.

381What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?

382Two thousand ducats by the year of land!

383My land amounts not to so much in all:

384That she shall have; besides an argosy

385That now is lying in Marseilles' road.

386What, have I choked you with an argosy?

387Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less

388Than three great argosies; besides two galliases,

389And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her,

390And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

391Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more;

392And she can have no more than all I have:

393If you like me, she shall have me and mine.

394Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,

395By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied.

396I must confess your offer is the best;

397And, let your father make her the assurance,

398She is your own; else, you must pardon me,

399if you should die before him, where's her dower?

400That's but a cavil: he is old, I young.

401And may not young men die, as well as old?

402Well, gentlemen,

403I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know

404My daughter Katharina is to be married:

405Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca

406Be bride to you, if you this assurance;

407If not, Signior Gremio:

408And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.

409Adieu, good neighbour.

410Now I fear thee not:

411Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool

412To give thee all, and in his waning age

413Set foot under thy table: tut, a toy!

414An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.

415A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!

416Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.

417'Tis in my head to do my master good:

418I see no reason but supposed Lucentio

419Must get a father, call'd 'supposed Vincentio;'

420And that's a wonder: fathers commonly

421Do get their children; but in this case of wooing,

422A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.

1Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:

2Have you so soon forgot the entertainment

3Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?

4But, wrangling pedant, this is

5The patroness of heavenly harmony:

6Then give me leave to have prerogative;

7And when in music we have spent an hour,

8Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

9Preposterous ass, that never read so far

10To know the cause why music was ordain'd!

11Was it not to refresh the mind of man

12After his studies or his usual pain?

13Then give me leave to read philosophy,

14And while I pause, serve in your harmony.

15Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

16Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,

17To strive for that which resteth in my choice:

18I am no breeching scholar in the schools;

19I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,

20But learn my lessons as I please myself.

21And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:

22Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;

23His lecture will be done ere you have tuned.

24You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

25That will be never: tune your instrument.

26Where left we last?

27Here, madam:

28'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;

29Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'

30Construe them.

31'Hic ibat,' as I told you before, 'Simois,' I am

32Lucentio, 'hic est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa,

33'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love;

34'Hic steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes

35a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,'

36bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might

37beguile the old pantaloon.

38Madam, my instrument's in tune.

39Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.

40Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

41Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat

42Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I

43trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed

44he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,'

45despair not.

46Madam, 'tis now in tune.

47All but the base.

48The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.

49How fiery and forward our pedant is!

50Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:

51Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

52In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

53Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides

54Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.

55I must believe my master; else, I promise you,

56I should be arguing still upon that doubt:

57But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you:

58Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,

59That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

60You may go walk, and give me leave a while:

61My lessons make no music in three parts.

62Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,

63And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,

64Our fine musician groweth amorous.

65Madam, before you touch the instrument,

66To learn the order of my fingering,

67I must begin with rudiments of art;

68To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,

69More pleasant, pithy and effectual,

70Than hath been taught by any of my trade:

71And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

72Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

73Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

74[Reads] ''Gamut' I am, the ground of all accord,

75'A re,' to Plead Hortensio's passion;

76'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord,

77'C fa ut,' that loves with all affection:

78'D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I:

79'E la mi,' show pity, or I die.'

80Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not:

81Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,

82To change true rules for old inventions.

83Mistress, your father prays you leave your books

84And help to dress your sister's chamber up:

85You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

86Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.

87Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

88But I have cause to pry into this pedant:

89Methinks he looks as though he were in love:

90Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble

91To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale,

92Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,

93Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.

1[To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the

2'pointed day.

3That Katharina and Petruchio should be married,

4And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.

5What will be said? what mockery will it be,

6To want the bridegroom when the priest attends

7To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!

8What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

9No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced

10To give my hand opposed against my heart

11Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen;

12Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.

13I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,

14Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior:

15And, to be noted for a merry man,

16He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,

17Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns;

18Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.

19Now must the world point at poor Katharina,

20And say, 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,

21If it would please him come and marry her!'

22Patience, good Katharina, and Baptista too.

23Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,

24Whatever fortune stays him from his word:

25Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;

26Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

27Would Katharina had never seen him though!

28Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;

29For such an injury would vex a very saint,

30Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

31Master, master! news, old news, and such news as

32you never heard of!

33Is it new and old too? how may that be?

34Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming?

35Is he come?

36Why, no, sir.

37What then?

38He is coming.

39When will he be here?

40When he stands where I am and sees you there.

41But say, what to thine old news?

42Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old

43jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair

44of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled,

45another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en out of the

46town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless;

47with two broken points: his horse hipped with an

48old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;

49besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose

50in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected

51with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with

52spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives,

53stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the

54bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten;

55near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit

56and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being

57restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been

58often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth

59six time pieced and a woman's crupper of velure,

60which hath two letters for her name fairly set down

61in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.

62Who comes with him?

63O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned

64like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a

65kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red

66and blue list; an old hat and 'the humour of forty

67fancies' pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a

68very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian

69footboy or a gentleman's lackey.

70'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;

71Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd.

72I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.

73Why, sir, he comes not.

74Didst thou not say he comes?

75Who? that Petruchio came?

76Ay, that Petruchio came.

77No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

78Why, that's all one.

79Nay, by Saint Jamy,

80I hold you a penny,

81A horse and a man

82Is more than one,

83And yet not many.

84Come, where be these gallants? who's at home?

85You are welcome, sir.

86And yet I come not well.

87And yet you halt not.

88Not so well apparell'd

89As I wish you were.

90Were it better, I should rush in thus.

91But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?

92How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown:

93And wherefore gaze this goodly company,

94As if they saw some wondrous monument,

95Some comet or unusual prodigy?

96Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:

97First were we sad, fearing you would not come;

98Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.

99Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,

100An eye-sore to our solemn festival!

101And tells us, what occasion of import

102Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,

103And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

104Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:

105Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,

106Though in some part enforced to digress;

107Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse

108As you shall well be satisfied withal.

109But where is Kate? I stay too long from her:

110The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.

111See not your bride in these unreverent robes:

112Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine.

113Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her.

114But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.

115Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words:

116To me she's married, not unto my clothes:

117Could I repair what she will wear in me,

118As I can change these poor accoutrements,

119'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.

120But what a fool am I to chat with you,

121When I should bid good morrow to my bride,

122And seal the title with a lovely kiss!

123He hath some meaning in his mad attire:

124We will persuade him, be it possible,

125To put on better ere he go to church.

126I'll after him, and see the event of this.

127But to her love concerneth us to add

128Her father's liking: which to bring to pass,

129As I before unparted to your worship,

130I am to get a man,--whate'er he be,

131It skills not much. we'll fit him to our turn,--

132And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa;

133And make assurance here in Padua

134Of greater sums than I have promised.

135So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,

136And marry sweet Bianca with consent.

137Were it not that my fellow-school-master

138Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,

139'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;

140Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,

141I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world.

142That by degrees we mean to look into,

143And watch our vantage in this business:

144We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,

145The narrow-prying father, Minola,

146The quaint musician, amorous Licio;

147All for my master's sake, Lucentio.

148Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

149As willingly as e'er I came from school.

150And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

151A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed,

152A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

153Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

154Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

155Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.

156Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!

157I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest

158Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife,

159'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud,

160That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book;

161And, as he stoop'd again to take it up,

162The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff

163That down fell priest and book and book and priest:

164'Now take them up,' quoth he, 'if any list.'

165What said the wench when he rose again?

166Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore,

167As if the vicar meant to cozen him.

168But after many ceremonies done,

169He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if

170He had been aboard, carousing to his mates

171After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel

172And threw the sops all in the sexton's face;

173Having no other reason

174But that his beard grew thin and hungerly

175And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.

176This done, he took the bride about the neck

177And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack

178That at the parting all the church did echo:

179And I seeing this came thence for very shame;

180And after me, I know, the rout is coming.

181Such a mad marriage never was before:

182Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.

183Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:

184I know you think to dine with me to-day,

185And have prepared great store of wedding cheer;

186But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,

187And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

188Is't possible you will away to-night?

189I must away to-day, before night come:

190Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,

191You would entreat me rather go than stay.

192And, honest company, I thank you all,

193That have beheld me give away myself

194To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife:

195Dine with my father, drink a health to me;

196For I must hence; and farewell to you all.

197Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

198It may not be.

199Let me entreat you.

200It cannot be.

201Let me entreat you.

202I am content.

203Are you content to stay?

204I am content you shall entreat me stay;

205But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

206Now, if you love me, stay.

207Grumio, my horse.

208Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses.

209Nay, then,

210Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;

211No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.

212The door is open, sir; there lies your way;

213You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;

214For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself:

215'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom,

216That take it on you at the first so roundly.

217O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry.

218I will be angry: what hast thou to do?

219Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.

220Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.

221Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:

222I see a woman may be made a fool,

223If she had not a spirit to resist.

224They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.

225Obey the bride, you that attend on her;

226Go to the feast, revel and domineer,

227Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,

228Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:

229But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.

230Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;

231I will be master of what is mine own:

232She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,

233My household stuff, my field, my barn,

234My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;

235And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;

236I'll bring mine action on the proudest he

237That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,

238Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves;

239Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.

240Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch

241thee, Kate:

242I'll buckler thee against a million.

243Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.

244Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.

245Of all mad matches never was the like.

246Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?

247That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.

248I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

249Neighbours and friends, though bride and

250bridegroom wants

251For to supply the places at the table,

252You know there wants no junkets at the feast.

253Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place:

254And let Bianca take her sister's room.

255Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

256She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.

1Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and

2all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever

3man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I am sent

4before to make a fire, and they are coming after to

5warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon

6hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my

7tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my

8belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: but

9I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for,

10considering the weather, a taller man than I will

11take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis.

12Who is that calls so coldly?

13A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide

14from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run

15but my head and my neck. A fire good Curtis.

16Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

17O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast

18on no water.

19Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?

20She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou

21knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast; for it

22hath tamed my old master and my new mistress and

23myself, fellow Curtis.

24Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.

25Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and

26so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a

27fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress,

28whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon

29feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

30I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

31A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and

32therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for

33my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

34There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

35Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as

36will thaw.

37Come, you are so full of cony-catching!

38Why, therefore fire; for I have caught extreme cold.

39Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house

40trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the

41serving-men in their new fustian, their white

42stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?

43Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without,

44the carpets laid, and every thing in order?

45All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.

46First, know, my horse is tired; my master and

47mistress fallen out.

48How?

49Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby

50hangs a tale.

51Let's ha't, good Grumio.

52Lend thine ear.

53Here.

54There.

55This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

56And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: and this

57cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech

58listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a

59foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,--

60Both of one horse?

61What's that to thee?

62Why, a horse.

63Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me,

64thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she

65under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how

66miry a place, how she was bemoiled, how he left her

67with the horse upon her, how he beat me because

68her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt

69to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she prayed,

70that never prayed before, how I cried, how the

71horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I

72lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory,

73which now shall die in oblivion and thou return

74unexperienced to thy grave.

75By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.

76Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall

77find when he comes home. But what talk I of this?

78Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip,

79Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be

80sleekly combed their blue coats brushed and their

81garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsy

82with their left legs and not presume to touch a hair

83of my master's horse-tail till they kiss their

84hands. Are they all ready?

85They are.

86Call them forth.

87Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to

88countenance my mistress.

89Why, she hath a face of her own.

90Who knows not that?

91Thou, it seems, that calls for company to

92countenance her.

93I call them forth to credit her.

94Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

95Welcome home, Grumio!

96How now, Grumio!

97What, Grumio!

98Fellow Grumio!

99How now, old lad?

100Welcome, you;--how now, you;-- what, you;--fellow,

101you;--and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce

102companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

103All things is ready. How near is our master?

104E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be

105not--Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.

106Where be these knaves? What, no man at door

107To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!

108Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

109ALL SERVING-MEN Here, here, sir; here, sir.

110Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!

111You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!

112What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?

113Where is the foolish knave I sent before?

114Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.

115You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!

116Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,

117And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

118Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,

119And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel;

120There was no link to colour Peter's hat,

121And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing:

122There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;

123The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;

124Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.

125Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.

126Where is the life that late I led--

127Where are those--Sit down, Kate, and welcome.--

128Sound, sound, sound, sound!

129Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.

130Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?

131It was the friar of orders grey,

132As he forth walked on his way:--

133Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:

134Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.

135Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!

136Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,

137And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:

138One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.

139Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?

140Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.

141You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

142Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.

143A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!

144Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.

145Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I?

146What's this? mutton?

147Ay.

148Who brought it?

149I.

150'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.

151What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?

152How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,

153And serve it thus to me that love it not?

154Theretake it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;

155You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!

156What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.

157I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet:

158The meat was well, if you were so contented.

159I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away;

160And I expressly am forbid to touch it,

161For it engenders choler, planteth anger;

162And better 'twere that both of us did fast,

163Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,

164Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.

165Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended,

166And, for this night, we'll fast for company:

167Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

168Peter, didst ever see the like?

169He kills her in her own humour.

170Where is he?

171In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;

172And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,

173Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,

174And sits as one new-risen from a dream.

175Away, away! for he is coming hither.

176Thus have I politicly begun my reign,

177And 'tis my hope to end successfully.

178My falcon now is sharp and passing empty;

179And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,

180For then she never looks upon her lure.

181Another way I have to man my haggard,

182To make her come and know her keeper's call,

183That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites

184That bate and beat and will not be obedient.

185She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;

186Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;

187As with the meat, some undeserved fault

188I'll find about the making of the bed;

189And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,

190This way the coverlet, another way the sheets:

191Ay, and amid this hurly I intend

192That all is done in reverend care of her;

193And in conclusion she shall watch all night:

194And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl

195And with the clamour keep her still awake.

196This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;

197And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.

198He that knows better how to tame a shrew,

199Now let him speak: 'tis charity to show.

1Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca

2Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?

3I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

4Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,

5Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.

6Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?

7What, master, read you? first resolve me that.

8I read that I profess, the Art to Love.

9And may you prove, sir, master of your art!

10While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart!

11Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray,

12You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca

13Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.

14O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!

15I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.

16Mistake no more: I am not Licio,

17Nor a musician, as I seem to be;

18But one that scorn to live in this disguise,

19For such a one as leaves a gentleman,

20And makes a god of such a cullion:

21Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.

22Signior Hortensio, I have often heard

23Of your entire affection to Bianca;

24And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,

25I will with you, if you be so contented,

26Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.

27See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,

28Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow

29Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her,

30As one unworthy all the former favours

31That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

32And here I take the unfeigned oath,

33Never to marry with her though she would entreat:

34Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him!

35Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!

36For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,

37I will be married to a wealthy widow,

38Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me

39As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard.

40And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.

41Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,

42Shall win my love: and so I take my leave,

43In resolution as I swore before.

44Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace

45As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!

46Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,

47And have forsworn you with Hortensio.

48Tranio, you jest: but have you both forsworn me?

49Mistress, we have.

50Then we are rid of Licio.

51I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,

52That shall be wood and wedded in a day.

53God give him joy!

54Ay, and he'll tame her.

55He says so, Tranio.

56Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.

57The taming-school! what, is there such a place?

58Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master;

59That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,

60To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

61O master, master, I have watch'd so long

62That I am dog-weary: but at last I spied

63An ancient angel coming down the hill,

64Will serve the turn.

65What is he, Biondello?

66Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,

67I know not what; but format in apparel,

68In gait and countenance surely like a father.

69And what of him, Tranio?

70If he be credulous and trust my tale,

71I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,

72And give assurance to Baptista Minola,

73As if he were the right Vincentio

74Take in your love, and then let me alone.

75God save you, sir!

76And you, sir! you are welcome.

77Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?

78Sir, at the farthest for a week or two:

79But then up farther, and as for as Rome;

80And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.

81What countryman, I pray?

82Of Mantua.

83Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid!

84And come to Padua, careless of your life?

85My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard.

86'Tis death for any one in Mantua

87To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?

88Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke,

89For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,

90Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:

91'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come,

92You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.

93Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so;

94For I have bills for money by exchange

95From Florence and must here deliver them.

96Well, sir, to do you courtesy,

97This will I do, and this I will advise you:

98First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?

99Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,

100Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

101Among them know you one Vincentio?

102I know him not, but I have heard of him;

103A merchant of incomparable wealth.

104He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,

105In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

106[Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster,

107and all one.

108To save your life in this extremity,

109This favour will I do you for his sake;

110And think it not the worst of an your fortunes

111That you are like to Sir Vincentio.

112His name and credit shall you undertake,

113And in my house you shall be friendly lodged:

114Look that you take upon you as you should;

115You understand me, sir: so shall you stay

116Till you have done your business in the city:

117If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

118O sir, I do; and will repute you ever

119The patron of my life and liberty.

120Then go with me to make the matter good.

121This, by the way, I let you understand;

122my father is here look'd for every day,

123To pass assurance of a dower in marriage

124'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here:

125In all these circumstances I'll instruct you:

126Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.

1No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.

2The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:

3What, did he marry me to famish me?

4Beggars, that come unto my father's door,

5Upon entreaty have a present aims;

6If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:

7But I, who never knew how to entreat,

8Nor never needed that I should entreat,

9Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,

10With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:

11And that which spites me more than all these wants,

12He does it under name of perfect love;

13As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,

14'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.

15I prithee go and get me some repast;

16I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

17What say you to a neat's foot?

18'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it.

19I fear it is too choleric a meat.

20How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?

21I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me.

22I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.

23What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

24A dish that I do love to feed upon.

25Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

26Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest.

27Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard,

28Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

29Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.

30Why then, the mustard without the beef.

31Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

32That feed'st me with the very name of meat:

33Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you,

34That triumph thus upon my misery!

35Go, get thee gone, I say.

36How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

37Mistress, what cheer?

38Faith, as cold as can be.

39Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.

40Here love; thou see'st how diligent I am

41To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee:

42I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.