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Bap. Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?
Bianca, stand aside! - poor girl! she weeps:-
Go ply thy neddle; meddle not with her!
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her, that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
Cath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.
[Flies after Bianca.
Bap. What, in my sight? -Bianca, get thee in!
Cath. Will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see,
She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
Talk not to me! I will go sit and weep,
Till I can find occasion of revenge.
[Exit Catharina. Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? But who comes here?
Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man; PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a Musician; and TRANIO, with BIONDELLO bearing a lute and books.
Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista! Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio! God save you, gentlemen!
Pet. And you, good sir! Pray,have you not a daughter
Call'd Catharina, fair, and virtuous?
Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Catharina!
Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly.
Pet. You wrong me,signior Gremio; give me leave! I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
good Cambio!-But, gentle sir, [To Tranio ] methinks
you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the
cause of your coming?
Cunning in music, and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant.
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong;
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own;
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the elder sister.
This liberty is all that I request,
That upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
And free access and favour as the rest.
And toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books:
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I pray?
Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both, These are their tators; bid them use them well.
[Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio, and
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well; and in him, me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands,
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, beit that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
Bap. You're welcome,sir; and he,for your good sake: That covenants may be kept on either hand!
But for my daughter Catharina,- this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
Pet. I see, you do not mean to part with her;
Or else you like not of my company.
Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?
Pet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.
Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory, as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:
Bap. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. So I to her, and so she yields to me;
Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward.
Bet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.
Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing.
Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness myself, that have been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give unto you this young scholar, [Presenting Lucentio.] that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio ; pray, accept his service!
Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio! welcome,
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.
Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words! Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually.
Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broken. Bap. How now, my friend? why dost thou look so pale?
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier;
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Bap. Why,then thou canst not break her to the lute?
Hor. Why, no; for she hath broke the late to me.
I did but tell her, she mistook her frets,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
Frets, call you these? quoth she: I'll fume with them:
And, with that word, she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute,
While she did call me, rascal fiddler,
And twangling Jack; - with twenty such vile terms,
As she had studied to misuse me so.
Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did:
O, how I long to have some chat with her!
Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited!
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us?
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
Pet. I pray you do, I will attend her here,
[Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Trunio,and Hortensio.
And woo her with some spirit, when she comes.
Say, that she rail, why, then I'll tell her plain,
She sings as sweetly, as a nightingale.
Say, that she frown, I'll say, she looks as clear,
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew.
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word.
Then I'll commend her volubility,
- she uttereth piercing eloquence.
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak!
Good-morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.
Cath. Well have you heard, but something hard of
They call me Catharine, that do talk of me.
Pet. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates: and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;-
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.
Cath. In his tongue.
Pet. Whose tongue?
Cath. Your's, if you talk of tails; and so farewell!
Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
Cath. That I'll try.
Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.
Cath. So may you lose your arms:
If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms.
Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!
Cath. What is your crest? a coxcomb?
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
Cath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so
Cath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
Pet. Why here's no crab ; and therefore look not sour!
Cath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then show it me!
Cath. Had a glass, I would.
Pet. What, you mean my face?
Cath. Well aim'd of such a young one.
Pet. Now, by St George, I am too young for you.
Cath. Yet you are wither'd.
Pet. 'Tis with cares.
Cath. I care not.
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so.
Cath. 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 canst 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 hazle-twig,
Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue,
As hazle nuts, and sweeter, than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk! thou dost not halt.
Cath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,
Cath. Mov'd! in good time: let him, that mov'd you As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
Remove you hence; I knew you at the first,
You were a moveable.
Pet. Why, what's a moveable?
Cath. A joint-stool.
Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me!
Cath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you.
Cath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean.
Pet. Alas, good Kate! I will not burden thee;
For, knowing thee to be but young and light, —
Cath. Too light for such a swain, as you to catch;
yet as heavy, as my weight should be.
Pet. Should be? should buz.
Cath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
Cath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Cath. A witty mother! witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wise?
Cath. Yes; keep you warm!
Pet. Marry, so I meau, sweet Catharine, in thy bed:
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms: Your father has 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 cat 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.
Signior Petruchio: How speed you with
Pet. How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible, I should speed amiss.
Bap. Why, how now, daughter Catharine? in your
Cath. 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.
Cath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark, Petruchio ! she says, she'll see the hang'd
Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself;
If she and I be pleas'd, 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. O, 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 world to see,
Howtame, when men and women are alone,
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 needle-work,
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house, or house-keeping: then, at my farm,
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 walls, as any one
Old siguior 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?
A meacock 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 Catharine 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:-
We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.
[Exeunt Petruchio, and Catharina, 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:
'Twill 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
'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 know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
Bains, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands;
Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses,
And twelve tight gallies: 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 out-vied.
Bap. Imust 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 Catharine 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 table. Tut! a toy!
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!
Yet I have faced 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.
SCENEI.-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 Catharine 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.
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:-
Hacibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus ;
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. Bian. Construe them!
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again! Bian. Now let me see, if I can construe it: Hacibat 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 pedantis!
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, Aeacides
Was Ajax,-call'd so from his grandfather.
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I ; E la mi, show 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. Enter a Servant.
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,
And help to dress your sister's chamber up; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit.
Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methinks, he looks as though he were in love: -
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble,
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,
Seize thee, that list! If once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit.
SCENE II.-The same. Before Baptista's house.
Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, Catharina, BIANCA,
LUCENTIO, and Attendants.
Bap.Signior Lucentio,[To Tranio.]this is the 'point-
That Catharine and Petruchio should be married,
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be said? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
Cath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour:
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, ves, and proclaim the banns,
Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Catharine,
And say,-Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.
Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptista too!
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
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.
Cath. 'Would Catharine had never seen him though!
[Exit, weeping, followed by Bianca, and others.
Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
For such an injury would vex a saint,
Hor. You may go walk, [To Lucentio.] and give me Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
Bion. Master, master! news, old news,and such news, as you never heard of!
Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why! is it not news, to hear of Petruchio' coming?
Bap. Is he come?
Bion. Why, no, sir.
Bap. What then?
Bion. He is coming.
Bap. When will hebe here?
Bion. When he stands where I am,and sees you there. Tra. But, say, what:-To thine old news. Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; a pair of boots, that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with
two broken points: his horse hipped with an old 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.
mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred: besides, But what a fool am I, to chat with you,
possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the When I should bid good-morrow to my bride,
chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the And seal the title with a lovely kiss?
fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, raied
with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled
with the staggers, begnawn with the bots; swayed in
the back, and shoulder-shotten; ne'er-legged before,
and with a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of
sheep's leather; which, being restrained to keep him
from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now re-
paired with knots; one girt six times pieced, and a
's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for
her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there
pieced with packthread.
Bap. Who comes with him?
Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat, and The humour of forty fancies pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel; and not like a christian foot-boy, or a gentleman's lackey.
Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fa-
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.
Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes.
Bion. Why, sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.
[Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio, and Biondello.
Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire:
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better, ere he go to church.
Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. [Exit.
Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add
Her father's liking: which to bring to pass,
As I before imparted to your worship,
am to get a man,-whate'er he be,
It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn,—
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa;
And make assurance, here in Padua,
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
Luc. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform'd, let all the world say-no,
I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world.
Tta. That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vautage in this business:
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amorous Licio;
All for my master's sake, Lucentio.-
Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him on Signior Gremio! came you from the church?
Bap. Why, that's all one.
Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many.
Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at home?
Bop. You are welcome, sir.
Pet. And yet I come not well.
Bap. And yet you halt not.
Tra. Not so well apparell'd,
As I wish you were.
Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?—
How does my father?- Gentles, methinks you frown:
And wherefore gaze this goodly company;
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unusual prodigy?
Bap. Why, sir, you know, this is your wedding-day.
First were we sad, fearing, you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fye! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforced to digress;
Which at more leisure I will so excuse,
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, 'tis time, we were at church.
Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes!
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine!
Pet. Not I. believe me; thus I'll visit her.
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
Pet. Good sooth, even thus; therefore have done
To me she's married, not unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me,
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school.
Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
Gre. A bridegroom, say you? 'tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
Tra. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.
Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.
Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him.
I'll tell you, sir Lucentio: when the priest
Should ask-if Catherine should be his wife,
Ay, by gog's-wouns, quoth he, and swore so loud,
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book:
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up,
The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff,
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest;
Now take them up, quoth he, if any list.
Tra. What said the wench, when he arose again?
Gre. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd, and
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine. A health, quoth he; as if
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face;
Having no other reason,-
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,
And seem'd to ask him sops, as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack,
That, at the parting, all the church did echo.
I, seeing this, came thence for very shame,
And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
Such a mad marriage never was before.
Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.
Enter PETRUCHIO, CATHARINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HOR-
TENSIO, GRUMIO, and Train.
Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your
I know, you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer;