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Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
Kath. It is my fashion when I see a crab.
Pet. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.
Kath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then show it me.
Kath. Had I a glass, I would.
Pet. What, you mean my face?
Kath. Well aim'd of* such a young one.
Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
Kath. Yet you are wither d.
Pet. 'Tis with cares.
Kath. I care not.
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so,
Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.
Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous;
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou oanst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ?
O slanderous world! Kate, like the hazel twig,
Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
0, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st, command.
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech ?
Pet. It is extempore from my mother-wit.
Kath. A witty mother! witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wise ?
Kath. Yes; keep you warm.
Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed:
And therefore setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms :-Your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty
(Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well)
Thou must be married to no man but me:
For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate;
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable, as other household Kates.
Here comes your father; never make denial,
I must and will have Katharine to my wife.
Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO.
· Bap. Now,
Signior Petruchio: How speed you with
My daughter ?
Pe How but well, Sir? how but well ?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine ? in your dumps ?
Kath. Call you me, daughter ? now I promise you,
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half-lunatic;
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
Pet. Father, 'tis thus,-yourself and all the world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ;
If she be curst, it is for policy:
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience she will prove a second Grissel ;
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity:
And to conclude, -we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark, Petruchio! she says, she'll see thee hang'd first.
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then good night our part!
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself;
If she and I be pleased, what's that to you?
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me: 0, the kindest Kate!-
She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss
She vied* so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love,
O, you are novices ! 'tis a worldt to see,
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacocki wretch can make the curstest shrew.-
Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day :-
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine.
Bap. I know not what to say: but give me your hands; God send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match.
Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace :* Wagered, as at cards.
† Well worth.
We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’Sunday,
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA severally. Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ?
Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart.
Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: "Tvill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
Bap. The gain I seek is-quiet in the match.
Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter;-
Now is the day we long have looked for;
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.
Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as I.
Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze.
Gre. But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back; 'tis age, that nourisheth.
Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.
Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound this strife:
'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he, of both,
That can assure my daughter greatest dower,
Shall have 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 pear),
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work,
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house, or housekeeping: then, at my farin
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Sixscore 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's 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 ?
Gré. 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 choked you with an argosy?
Trá. 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 offers 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 out-vied.
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 resolved :-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.
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 táble: Tut! a toy ! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.
[Erit. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.t 'Tis in my head to do my master good : I see no reason, but supposed Lucentio Must get a father, callid-supposed Vincentio ; And that's a wonder: fathers, commonly, l'o get their children; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a siré, if I fail not of my cunning. [Exit.
SCENE I.-A room in BAPTISTA's House.
Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA.
Luc. Fiddler, 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 tuned.
Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
[To BIANCA.-HORTENSIO retires,
Luc. That will be never ;-tune your instrument.
Bian. Where left we last ?
Luc. Here, madam :-
Hac ibat Simois ; hic est Sigeia tellus ;
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.
Bian. Construe them.
Luc. Hac ibat,
as I told you before, -Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love; -Hic steterat, and that Lucentío that comes a wooing, -- Priami, is my man Tranio-regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. [Returning. Bian. Let's hear;
[HORTENSIO plays. O fie! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
Bian. Now let me see if I can construe 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.