Shall have my Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city

Is richly furnished with plate and gold;

Basins, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry:

In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints,
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,

Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,
Valance of Venice gold in needlework,
Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs
To house, or housekeeping: then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess;
And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers,

If, whilst I live, she will be only mine.

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

I am my father's heir, and only son;

If I may have your daughter to my wife,

I'll leave her houses three or four as good,
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one

Old Signior Gremio has in Padua;

Besides two thousand ducats by the year,

Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
What! have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio ?

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
My land amounts not to so much in all:
That she shall have; besides an argosy

That now is lying in Marseilles' road.
What! have I chok'd you with an argosy?

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less

Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses, And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all; I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have.

If you like me, she shall have me and mine. Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,

By your firm promise. Gremio is outvied.

Bap. I must confess your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me: If you should die before him, where's her dower? Tra. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old?

Bap. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd:
On Sunday next you know

My daughter Katharine is to be married:
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;
If not, to Signior Gremio:

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

[Exit. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. -Now I fear thee

not;

Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and, in his waning age,

Set foot under thy table. Tut! a toy!

An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit.
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!
Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.
'Tis in my head to do my master good:
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio

Must get a father call'd suppos'd Vincentio ; '

And that's a wonder: fathers, commonly,

Do get their children; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. — A Room in BAPTISTA'S House.

Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA.

LUCENTIO.

NIDDLER, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far, To know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man After his studies, or his usual pain?

Then give me leave to read philosophy,

And, while I pause, serve in your harmony.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice : I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself.

And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? [To BIANCA. - HORTENSIO retires. tune your instrument.

Hor.

Luc. That will be never;

Where left we last?

Bian.

"Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;

Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis."
Bian. Conster them.

Hac ibat, as I told you before,

Simois, I

Luc. am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love; Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio, -regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that we might beguile the old Pantaloon.

Hor. [Returning.] Madam, my instrument's in

tune.

Bian. Let's hear;

O fie! the treble jars.

[HORTENSIO plays.

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can conster it: Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not; Hic steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not; regia, presume not; celsa senis, despair not.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc.

All but the base.

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that

jars.

How fiery and forward our pedant is!

Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love! Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, acides

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

Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise

you,

I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you:
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
You may go walk, [to LUCENTIO,] and give
me leave a while;

My lessons make no music in three parts.

Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must

wait,

And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

[Aside.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,

To learn the order of my fingering,

I must begin with rudiments of art;

To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,

More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,

Than hath been taught by any of my trade;

And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
Bian. [Reads.] "Gamut I am, the ground of all

accord,

A re, to plead Hortensio's passion ;

B mi,

Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C fa ut, that loves with all affection:
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I;
E la mi, shew pity, or I die.

Call you this gamut? tut! I like it not:

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

To change true rules for odd inventions.