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Kyudan
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And, honest company, I thank you all,
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife:
Dine with my father, drink a health to me;
For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
TRANIO:
Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
PETRUCHIO:
It may not be.
GREMIO:
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO:
It cannot be.
KATHARINA:
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO:
I am content.
KATHARINA:
Are you content to stay?
PETRUCHIO:
I am content you shall entreat me stay;
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
KATHARINA:
Now, if you love me, stay.
PETRUCHIO:
Grumio, my horse.
GRUMIO:
Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses.
KATHARINA:
Nay, then,
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.
The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself:
'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom,
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
PETRUCHIO:
O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry.
KATHARINA:
I will be angry: what hast thou to do?
Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
GREMIO:
Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
KATARINA:
Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:
I see a woman may be made a fool,
If she had not a spirit to resist.
PETRUCHIO:
They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
I will be master of what is mine own:
She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch
thee, Kate:
I'll buckler thee against a million.
BAPTISTA:
Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
GREMIO:
Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
TRANIO:
Of all mad matches never was the like.
LUCENTIO:
Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?
BIANCA:
That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.