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Kyudan
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KATHARINA:
I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me.
GRUMIO:
I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
KATHARINA:
A dish that I do love to feed upon.
GRUMIO:
Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
KATHARINA:
Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest.
GRUMIO:
Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard,
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
KATHARINA:
Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.
GRUMIO:
Why then, the mustard without the beef.
KATHARINA:
Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
That feed'st me with the very name of meat:
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you,
That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.
PETRUCHIO:
How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?
HORTENSIO:
Mistress, what cheer?
KATHARINA:
Faith, as cold as can be.
PETRUCHIO:
Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.
Here love; thou see'st how diligent I am
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee:
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What, not a word? Nay, then thou lovest it not;
And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here, take away this dish.
KATHARINA:
I pray you, let it stand.
PETRUCHIO:
The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
KATHARINA:
I thank you, sir.
HORTENSIO:
Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
PETRUCHIO:
Haberdasher:
Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
PETRUCHIO:
Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
A velvet dish: fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy:
Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap:
Away with it! come, let me have a bigger.
KATHARINA:
I'll have no bigger: this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these
PETRUCHIO:
When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.
HORTENSIO:
KATHARINA:
Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
And speak I will; I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endured me say my mind,
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart concealing it will break,
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
PETRUCHIO:
Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,