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"TRANIO:
Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part!

PETRUCHIO:
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: 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,
How tame, when men and women are alone,
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 Katharina shall be fine.

BAPTISTA:
I know not what to say: but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

GREMIO:
Amen, say we: we will be witnesses.

PETRUCHIO:
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.

GREMIO:
Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?

BAPTISTA:
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.

TRANIO:
'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you:
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

BAPTISTA:
The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.

GREMIO:
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter:
Now is the day we long have looked for:
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

TRANIO:
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

GREMIO:
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

TRANIO:
Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.

GREMIO:
But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth.

TRANIO:
But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

BAPTISTA:
Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife:
'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have my Bianca's love.
Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her?

GREMIO:
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 belong
To house or housekeeping: 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.

TRANIO:
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;
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
Besides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?

GREMIO:
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?

TRANIO:
Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less
Than three great argosies; besides two galliases,
And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

GREMIO:
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.

TRANIO:
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied.

BAPTISTA:
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?

TRANIO:
That's but a cavil: he is old, I young.

GREMIO:
And may not young men die, as well as old?

BAPTISTA:
Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know
My daughter Katharina is to be married:
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you this assurance;
If not, Signior Gremio:
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.

GREMIO:
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.

TRANIO:
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 supposed Lucentio
Must get a father, call'd 'supposed 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.

LUCENTIO:
Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?

HORTENSIO:
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.

LUCENTIO:
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.

HORTENSIO:
Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

BIANCA:
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.

HORTENSIO:
You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

LUCENTIO:
That will be never: tune your instrument.

BIANCA:
Where left we last?

LUCENTIO:
Here, madam:
'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'

BIANCA:
Construe them.

LUCENTIO:
'Hic 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 Lucentio that comes
a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,'
bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might
beguile the old pantaloon.

HORTENSIO:
Madam, my instrument's in tune.

BIANCA:
Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.

LUCENTIO:
Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

BIANCA:
Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic 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.

HORTENSIO:
Madam, 'tis now in tune.

LUCENTIO:
All but the base.

HORTENSIO:
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.

BIANCA:
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

LUCENTIO:
Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.

BIANCA:
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.

HORTENSIO:
You may go walk, and give me leave a while:
My lessons make no music in three parts.

LUCENTIO:
Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.

HORTENSIO:
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.

BIANCA:
Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

HORTENSIO:
Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

BIANCA:

Servant:
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.

BIANCA:
Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.

LUCENTIO:
Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

HORTENSIO:
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 wandering eyes on every stale,
Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.
Now, Licio, to you:
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

HORTENSIO:
You may go walk, and give me leave a while:
My lessons make no music in three parts.

LUCENTIO:
Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.

HORTENSIO:
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.

BIANCA:
Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

HORTENSIO:
Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

BIANCA:

Servant:
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.

BIANCA:
Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.

LUCENTIO:
Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

HORTENSIO:
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 wandering eyes on every stale,
Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,

BAPTISTA:

KATHARINA:
No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced
To give my hand opposed against my heart
Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen;
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior:
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katharina,
And say, 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her!'"
"TRANIO:
Patience, good Katharina, 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;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

KATHARINA:
Would Katharina had never seen him though!

BAPTISTA:
Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
For such an injury would vex a very saint,
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

BIONDELLO:
Master, master! news, old news, and such news as
you never heard of!

BAPTISTA:
Is it new and old too? how may that be?

BIONDELLO:
Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming?

BAPTISTA:
Is he come?

BIONDELLO:
Why, no, sir.

BAPTISTA:
What then?

BIONDELLO:
He is coming.

BAPTISTA:
When will he be here?

BIONDELLO:
When he stands where I am and sees you there.

TRANIO:
But say, what to thine old news?

BIONDELLO:
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-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless;
with two broken points: his horse hipped with an
old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred;
besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose
in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected
with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with
spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives,
stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the
bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten;
near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit
and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being
restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been
often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth
six time pieced and a woman's crupper of velure,
which hath two letters for her name fairly set down
in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.

BAPTISTA:
Who comes with him?

BIONDELLO:
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
footboy or a gentleman's lackey.

TRANIO:
'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd.

BAPTISTA:
I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.

BIONDELLO:
Why, sir, he comes not.

BAPTISTA:
Didst thou not say he comes?

BIONDELLO:
Who? that Petruchio came?

BAPTISTA:
Ay, that Petruchio came.

BIONDELLO:
No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

BAPTISTA:
Why, that's all one.

BIONDELLO:
Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, where be these gallants? who's at home?

BAPTISTA:
You are welcome, sir.

PETRUCHIO:"
"And yet I come not well.

BAPTISTA:
And yet you halt not.

TRANIO:
Not so well apparell'd
As I wish you were.

PETRUCHIO:
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?

BAPTISTA:
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.
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival!

TRANIO:
And tells us, what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

PETRUCHIO:
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.

TRANIO:
See not your bride in these unreverent robes:
Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine.

PETRUCHIO:
Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her.

BAPTISTA:
But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.

PETRUCHIO:
Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words:
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,
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I should bid good morrow to my bride,
And seal the title with a lovely kiss!

TRANIO:
He hath some meaning in his mad attire:
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.

BAPTISTA:
I'll after him, and see the event of this.

TRANIO:
But to her love concerneth us to add
Her father's liking: which to bring to pass,
As I before unparted to your worship,
I 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.

LUCENTIO:
Were it not that my fellow-school-master
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.

TRANIO:
That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage 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.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

GREMIO:
As willingly as e'er I came from school.

TRANIO:
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

GREMIO:
A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

TRANIO:
Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

GREMIO:
Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

TRANIO:
Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.

GREMIO:
Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!
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.

LUCENTIO:
Were it not that my fellow-school-master
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.

TRANIO:
That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage 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.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

GREMIO:
As willingly as e'er I came from school.

TRANIO:
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

GREMIO:
A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

TRANIO:
Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

GREMIO:
Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

TRANIO:
Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.

GREMIO:
I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife,
'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud,
That, all-amazed, 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.'

TRANIO:
What said the wench when he rose again?

GREMIO:
Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore,
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:
And 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.

PETRUCHIO:
Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:
I know you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepared great store of wedding cheer;
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,
And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

BAPTISTA:
Is't possible you will away to-night?

PETRUCHIO:
I must away to-day, before night come:
Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
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.
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:

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.

GREMIO:
I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

BAPTISTA:
Neighbours and friends, though bride and
bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place:
And let Bianca take her sister's room.

TRANIO:
Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

BAPTISTA:
She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.

GRUMIO:
Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and
all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever
man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I am sent
before to make a fire, and they are coming after to
warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon
hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my
tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my
belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: but
I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for,
considering the weather, a taller man than I will
take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis.

CURTIS:
Who is that calls so coldly?

GRUMIO:
A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide
from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run
but my head and my neck. A fire good Curtis.

CURTIS:
Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

GRUMIO:
O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast
on no water.

CURTIS:
Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?

GRUMIO:
She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou
knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast; for it
hath tamed my old master and my new mistress and
myself, fellow Curtis.

CURTIS:
Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.

GRUMIO:
Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and
so long am I at the least."
"But wilt thou make a
fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress,
whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon
feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

CURTIS:
I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

GRUMIO:
A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for
my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

CURTIS:
There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

GRUMIO:
Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as
will thaw.

CURTIS:
Come, you are so full of cony-catching!

GRUMIO:
Why, therefore fire; for I have caught extreme cold.
But wilt thou make a
fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress,
whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon
feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

CURTIS:
I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

GRUMIO:
A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for
my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

CURTIS:
There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

GRUMIO:
Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as
will thaw.

CURTIS:
Come, you are so full of cony-catching!

GRUMIO:
Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house
trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the
serving-men in their new fustian, their white
stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?
Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without,
the carpets laid, and every thing in order?

CURTIS:
All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.

GRUMIO:
First, know, my horse is tired; my master and
mistress fallen out.

CURTIS:
How?

GRUMIO:
Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby
hangs a tale.

CURTIS:
Let's ha't, good Grumio.

GRUMIO:
Lend thine ear.

CURTIS:
Here.

GRUMIO:
There.

CURTIS:
This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

GRUMIO:
And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: and this
cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech
listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a
foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,--

CURTIS:
Both of one horse?

GRUMIO:
What's that to thee?

CURTIS:
Why, a horse.

GRUMIO:
Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me,
thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she
under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how
miry a place, how she was bemoiled, how he left her
with the horse upon her, how he beat me because
her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt
to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she prayed,
that never prayed before, how I cried, how the
horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I
lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory,
which now shall die in oblivion and thou return
unexperienced to thy grave.

CURTIS:
By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.

GRUMIO:
Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall
find when he comes home."
"But what talk I of this?
Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip,
Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be
sleekly combed their blue coats brushed and their
But what talk I of this?
Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip,
Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be
garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsy
with their left legs and not presume to touch a hair
of my master's horse-tail till they kiss their
hands. Are they all ready?

CURTIS:
They are.

GRUMIO:
Call them forth.

CURTIS:
Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to
countenance my mistress.

GRUMIO:
Why, she hath a face of her own.

CURTIS:
Who knows not that?

GRUMIO:
Thou, it seems, that calls for company to
countenance her.

CURTIS:
I call them forth to credit her.

GRUMIO:
Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

NATHANIEL:
Welcome home, Grumio!

PHILIP:
How now, Grumio!

JOSEPH:
What, Grumio!

NICHOLAS:
Fellow Grumio!

NATHANIEL:
How now, old lad?

GRUMIO:
Welcome, you;--how now, you;-- what, you;--fellow,
you;--and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce
companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

NATHANIEL:
All things is ready. How near is our master?

GRUMIO:
E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be
not--Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.

PETRUCHIO:
Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

ALL SERVING-MEN:
Here, here, sir; here, sir.

PETRUCHIO:
Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
Where is the foolish knave I sent before?

GRUMIO:
Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.

PETRUCHIO:
You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

GRUMIO:
Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel;
There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing:
There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.

PETRUCHIO:
Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.
Where is the life that late I led--
Where are those--Sit down, Kate, and welcome.--
Sound, sound, sound, sound!
Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?
It was the friar of orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way:--
Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
Be merry, Kate."
"Some water, here; what, ho!
Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

KATHARINA:
Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.
Some water, here; what, ho!
Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

KATHARINA:

PETRUCHIO:
A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I?
What's this? mutton?

First Servant:
Ay.

PETRUCHIO:
Who brought it?

PETER:
I.

PETRUCHIO:
'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
Theretake it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.

KATHARINA:
I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet:
The meat was well, if you were so contented.

PETRUCHIO:
I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away;
And I expressly am forbid to touch it,
For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better 'twere that both of us did fast,
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended,
And, for this night, we'll fast for company:
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

NATHANIEL:
Peter, didst ever see the like?

PETER:
He kills her in her own humour.

GRUMIO:
Where is he?

CURTIS:
In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,
And sits as one new-risen from a dream.
Away, away! for he is coming hither.

PETRUCHIO:
Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty;
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come and know her keeper's call,
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate and beat and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
As with the meat, some undeserved fault
I'll find about the making of the bed;
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets:
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her;
And in conclusion she shall watch all night:
And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl
And with the clamour keep her still awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour."
"He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak: 'tis charity to show.

TRANIO:
Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

HORTENSIO:
Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.

LUCENTIO:
Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?

BIANCA:
What, master, read you? first resolve me that.

LUCENTIO:
I read that I profess, the Art to Love.

BIANCA:
And may you prove, sir, master of your art!

LUCENTIO:
While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart!

HORTENSIO:
Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray,
You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.

TRANIO:
O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.

HORTENSIO:
Mistake no more: I am not Licio,
Nor a musician, as I seem to be;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman,
And makes a god of such a cullion:
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.

TRANIO:
Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca;
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
I will with you, if you be so contented,
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.

HORTENSIO:
See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her,
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

TRANIO:
And here I take the unfeigned oath,
Never to marry with her though she would entreat:
Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him!

HORTENSIO:
Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow,
Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me
As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard.
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love: and so I take my leave,
In resolution as I swore before.

TRANIO:
Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.

BIANCA:
Tranio, you jest: but have you both forsworn me?

TRANIO:
Mistress, we have.

LUCENTIO:
Then we are rid of Licio.

TRANIO:
I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
That shall be wood and wedded in a day.

BIANCA:
God give him joy!

TRANIO:
Ay, and he'll tame her.

BIANCA:
He says so, Tranio.

TRANIO:
Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.

BIANCA:
The taming-school! what, is there such a place?

TRANIO:
Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master;
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

BIONDELLO:
O master, master, I have watch'd so long
That I am dog-weary: but at last I spied
An ancient angel coming down the hill,
Will serve the turn."
"TRANIO:
What is he, Biondello?

BIONDELLO:
Master, a mercatante, or a pedant,
I know not what; but format in apparel,
In gait and countenance surely like a father.

LUCENTIO:
And what of him, Tranio?

TRANIO:
If he be credulous and trust my tale,
I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
And give assurance to Baptista Minola,
As if he were the right Vincentio
Take in your love, and then let me alone.

Pedant:
God save you, sir!

TRANIO:
And you, sir! you are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?

Pedant:
Sir, at the farthest for a week or two:
But then up farther, and as for as Rome;
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.

TRANIO:
What countryman, I pray?

Pedant:
Of Mantua.

TRANIO:
Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid!
And come to Padua, careless of your life?

Pedant:
My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard.

TRANIO:
'Tis death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua."
"Know you not the cause?
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke,
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:
'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come,
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.

Pedant:
Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence and must here deliver them.

TRANIO:
Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will I do, and this I will advise you:
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?

Pedant:
Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

TRANIO:
Among them know you one Vincentio?

Pedant:
I know him not, but I have heard of him;
A merchant of incomparable wealth.

TRANIO:
He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

BIONDELLO:

TRANIO:
To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of an your fortunes
That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged:
Look that you take upon you as you should;
You understand me, sir: so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city:
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

Pedant:
O sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.

TRANIO:
Then go with me to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand;
my father is here look'd for every day,
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here:
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you:
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.

GRUMIO:
No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.

KATHARINA:
The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
Upon entreaty have a present aims;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I, who never knew how to entreat,
Nor never needed that I should entreat,
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,
With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death."
"Know you not the cause?
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke,
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:
'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come,
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.

Pedant:
Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence and must here deliver them.

TRANIO:
Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will I do, and this I will advise you:
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?

Pedant:
Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

TRANIO:
Among them know you one Vincentio?

Pedant:
I know him not, but I have heard of him;
A merchant of incomparable wealth.

TRANIO:
He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

BIONDELLO:

TRANIO:
To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of an your fortunes
That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged:
Look that you take upon you as you should;
You understand me, sir: so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city:
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

Pedant:
O sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.

TRANIO:
Then go with me to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand;
my father is here look'd for every day,
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here:
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you:
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.

GRUMIO:
No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.

KATHARINA:
The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
Upon entreaty have a present aims;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I, who never knew how to entreat,
Nor never needed that I should entreat,
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep,
With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
I prithee go and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

GRUMIO:
What say you to a neat's foot?

KATHARINA:
'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it.

GRUMIO:
I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?

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,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie:
I love thee well, in that thou likest it not.

KATHARINA:
Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
And it I will have, or I will have none.

PETRUCHIO:
Thy gown? why, ay: come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon:
What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart?
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber's shop:
Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

HORTENSIO:

Tailor:
You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.

PETRUCHIO:
Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd,
I did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you shall hop without my custom, sir:
I'll none of it: hence! make your best of it.

KATHARINA:
I never saw a better-fashion'd gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.

Tailor:
She says your worship means to make
a puppet of her."
"PETRUCHIO:
O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,
thou thimble,
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!
Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread?
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou livest!
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.

Tailor:
Your worship is deceived; the gown is made
Just as my master had direction:
Grumio gave order how it should be done.

GRUMIO:
I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.

Tailor:
But how did you desire it should be made?

GRUMIO:
Marry, sir, with needle and thread.

Tailor:
But did you not request to have it cut?

GRUMIO:
Thou hast faced many things.

Tailor:
I have.

GRUMIO:
Face not me: thou hast braved many men; brave not
me; I will neither be faced nor braved."
"I say unto
thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did
not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.

Tailor:
Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify

PETRUCHIO:
Read it.

GRUMIO:
The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in
the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom
of brown thread: I said a gown.

PETRUCHIO:
Proceed.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
I confess the cape.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
I confess two sleeves.

Tailor:

PETRUCHIO:
Ay, there's the villany.

GRUMIO:
Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill.
I commanded the sleeves should be cut out and
sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee,
though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

Tailor:
This is true that I say: an I had thee
in place where, thou shouldst know it.

GRUMIO:
I am for thee straight: take thou the
bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.

HORTENSIO:
God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

GRUMIO:
You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my mistress.

PETRUCHIO:
Go, take it up unto thy master's use.

GRUMIO:
Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress'
gown for thy master's use!

PETRUCHIO:
Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?

GRUMIO:
O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for:
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
O, fie, fie, fie!

PETRUCHIO:

HORTENSIO:
Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow:
Take no unkindness of his hasty words:
Away! I say; commend me to thy master.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
Even in these honest mean habiliments:
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his fathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
Because his painted skin contents the eye?"
"I say unto
thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did
not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.

Tailor:
Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify

PETRUCHIO:
Read it.

GRUMIO:
The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in
the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom
of brown thread: I said a gown.

PETRUCHIO:
Proceed.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
I confess the cape.

Tailor:

GRUMIO:
I confess two sleeves.

Tailor:

PETRUCHIO:
Ay, there's the villany.

GRUMIO:
Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill.
I commanded the sleeves should be cut out and
sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee,
though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

Tailor:
This is true that I say: an I had thee
in place where, thou shouldst know it.

GRUMIO:
I am for thee straight: take thou the
bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.

HORTENSIO:
God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

GRUMIO:
You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my mistress.

PETRUCHIO:
Go, take it up unto thy master's use.

GRUMIO:
Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress'
gown for thy master's use!

PETRUCHIO:
Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?

GRUMIO:
O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for:
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
O, fie, fie, fie!

PETRUCHIO:

HORTENSIO:
Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow:
Take no unkindness of his hasty words:
Away! I say; commend me to thy master.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
Even in these honest mean habiliments:
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his fathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
if thou account'st it shame. lay it on me;
And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith,
To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot
Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
And well we may come there by dinner-time.

KATHARINA:
I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two;
And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.

PETRUCHIO:
It shall be seven ere I go to horse:
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do,
You are still crossing it."
"Sirs, let't alone:
I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
It shall be what o'clock I say it is.

HORTENSIO:

TRANIO:
Sir, this is the house: please it you that I call?

Pedant:
Ay, what else? and but I be deceived
Signior Baptista may remember me,
Sirs, let't alone:
I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
It shall be what o'clock I say it is.

HORTENSIO:

TRANIO:
Sir, this is the house: please it you that I call?

Pedant:
Ay, what else? and but I be deceived
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa,
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.

TRANIO:
'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father.

Pedant:
I warrant you.
But, sir, here comes your boy;
'Twere good he were school'd.

TRANIO:
Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you:
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.

BIONDELLO:
Tut, fear not me.

TRANIO:
But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?

BIONDELLO:
I told him that your father was at Venice,
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.

TRANIO:
Thou'rt a tall fellow: hold thee that to drink.
Here comes Baptista: set your countenance, sir.
Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of:
I pray you stand good father to me now,
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.

Pedant:
Soft son!
Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between your daughter and himself:
And, for the good report I hear of you
And for the love he beareth to your daughter
And she to him, to stay him not too long,
I am content, in a good father's care,
To have him match'd; and if you please to like
No worse than I, upon some agreement
Me shall you find ready and willing
With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
For curious I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.

BAPTISTA:
Sir, pardon me in what I have to say:
Your plainness and your shortness please me well.
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here
Doth love my daughter and she loveth him,
Or both dissemble deeply their affections:
And therefore, if you say no more than this,
That like a father you will deal with him
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
The match is made, and all is done:
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.

TRANIO:
I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
We be affied and such assurance ta'en
As shall with either part's agreement stand?

BAPTISTA:
Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know,
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants:
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still;
And happily we might be interrupted.

TRANIO:
Then at my lodging, an it like you:
There doth my father lie; and there, this night,
We'll pass the business privately and well.
Send for your daughter by your servant here:
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning,
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.

BAPTISTA:
It likes me well."
"Biondello, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened,
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.
BIONDELLO:
Biondello, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened,
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.
I pray the gods she may with all my heart!

TRANIO:
Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer:
Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.

BAPTISTA:
I follow you.

BIONDELLO:
Cambio!

LUCENTIO:
What sayest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO:
You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

LUCENTIO:
Biondello, what of that?

BIONDELLO:
Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind, to
expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.

LUCENTIO:
I pray thee, moralize them.

BIONDELLO:
Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the
deceiving father of a deceitful son.

LUCENTIO:
And what of him?

BIONDELLO:
His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.

LUCENTIO:
And then?

BIONDELLO:
The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at your
command at all hours.

LUCENTIO:
And what of all this?

BIONDELLO:
I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a
counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her,
'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the
church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient
honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for,
I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for
ever and a day.

LUCENTIO:
Hearest thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO:
I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an
afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to
stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: and so, adieu,
sir."
"My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
you come with your appendix.

LUCENTIO:
I may, and will, if she be so contented:
She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt?
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her:
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.

PETRUCHIO:
Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

KATHARINA:
The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Or ere I journey to your father's house.
Go on, and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!

HORTENSIO:
Say as he says, or we shall never go.

KATHARINA:
Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
An if you please to call it a rush-candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the moon.
PETRUCHIO:
My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
you come with your appendix.

LUCENTIO:
I may, and will, if she be so contented:
She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt?
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her:
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.

PETRUCHIO:
Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

KATHARINA:
The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Or ere I journey to your father's house.
Go on, and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!

HORTENSIO:
Say as he says, or we shall never go.

KATHARINA:
Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
An if you please to call it a rush-candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon.

KATHARINA:
I know it is the moon.
Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun.

KATHARINA:
Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun:
But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
And the moon changes even as your mind.
What you will have it named, even that it is;
And so it shall be so for Katharina.

HORTENSIO:
Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft! company is coming here.
Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away?
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,"
"As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

HORTENSIO:
A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.

KATHARINA:
Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child;
Happier the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow!

PETRUCHIO:
Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd,
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.

KATHARINA:
Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green:
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

PETRUCHIO:
Do, good old grandsire; and withal make known
Which way thou travellest: if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.

VINCENTIO:
Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amazed me,
My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

PETRUCHIO:
What is his name?

VINCENTIO:
Lucentio, gentle sir.

PETRUCHIO:
Happily we met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee my loving father:
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married."
"Wonder not,
Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem,
Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio,
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

VINCENTIO:
But is it true? or else is it your pleasure,
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?

HORTENSIO:
I do assure thee, father, so it is.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

HORTENSIO:
Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

BIONDELLO:
Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready.

LUCENTIO:
I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee
at home; therefore leave us.

BIONDELLO:
Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and
then come back to my master's as soon as I can.

GREMIO:
I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

PETRUCHIO:
Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house:
My father's bears more toward the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

VINCENTIO:
You shall not choose but drink before you go:
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.

GREMIO:
They're busy within; you were best knock louder.

Pedant:
What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?

VINCENTIO:
Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?

Pedant:
He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

VINCENTIO:
What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to
make merry withal?
Pedant:"
"Wonder not,
Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem,
Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio,
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

VINCENTIO:
But is it true? or else is it your pleasure,
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?

HORTENSIO:
I do assure thee, father, so it is.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

HORTENSIO:
Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

BIONDELLO:
Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready.

LUCENTIO:
I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee
at home; therefore leave us.

BIONDELLO:
Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and
then come back to my master's as soon as I can.

GREMIO:
I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

PETRUCHIO:
Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house:
My father's bears more toward the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

VINCENTIO:
You shall not choose but drink before you go:
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.

GREMIO:
They're busy within; you were best knock louder.

Pedant:
What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?

VINCENTIO:
Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?

Pedant:
He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

VINCENTIO:
What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to
make merry withal?
Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall
need none, so long as I live.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.
Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances,
I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is
come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.

Pedant:
Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here
looking out at the window.

VINCENTIO:
Art thou his father?

Pedant:
Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.

PETRUCHIO:

Pedant:
Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to
cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.

BIONDELLO:
I have seen them in the church together: God send
'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old
master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing.

VINCENTIO:

BIONDELLO:
Hope I may choose, sir.

VINCENTIO:
Come hither, you rogue."
"What, have you forgot me?

BIONDELLO:
Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I
never saw you before in all my life.

VINCENTIO:
What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
thy master's father, Vincentio?

BIONDELLO:
What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir:
see where he looks out of the window.

VINCENTIO:
Is't so, indeed.

BIONDELLO:
Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me.

Pedant:
Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!

PETRUCHIO:
Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of
What, have you forgot me?

BIONDELLO:
Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I
never saw you before in all my life.

VINCENTIO:
What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
thy master's father, Vincentio?

BIONDELLO:
What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir:
see where he looks out of the window.

VINCENTIO:
Is't so, indeed.

BIONDELLO:
Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me.

Pedant:
Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!

PETRUCHIO:
this controversy.

TRANIO:
Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?

VINCENTIO:
What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal
gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet
hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! O, I
am undone! I am undone! while I play the good
husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at
the university.

TRANIO:
How now! what's the matter?

BAPTISTA:
What, is the man lunatic?

TRANIO:
Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your
habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir,
what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I
thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.

VINCENTIO:
Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.

BAPTISTA:
You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, what do
you think is his name?

VINCENTIO:
His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought
him up ever since he was three years old, and his
name is Tranio.

Pedant:
Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio and he is
mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.

VINCENTIO:
Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold
on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. O, my
son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio?

TRANIO:
Call forth an officer.
Carry this mad knave to the gaol."
"Father Baptista,
I charge you see that he be forthcoming.

VINCENTIO:
Carry me to the gaol!

GREMIO:
Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison.

BAPTISTA:
Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison.

GREMIO:
Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be
cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this
is the right Vincentio.

Pedant:
Swear, if thou darest.

GREMIO:
Nay, I dare not swear it.

TRANIO:
Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.

GREMIO:
Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
BAPTISTA:
Father Baptista,
I charge you see that he be forthcoming.

VINCENTIO:
Carry me to the gaol!

GREMIO:
Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison.

BAPTISTA:
Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison.

GREMIO:
Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be
cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this
is the right Vincentio.

Pedant:
Swear, if thou darest.

GREMIO:
Nay, I dare not swear it.

TRANIO:
Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.

GREMIO:
Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him!

VINCENTIO:
Thus strangers may be hailed and abused: O
monstrous villain!

BIONDELLO:
O! we are spoiled and--yonder he is: deny him,
forswear him, or else we are all undone.

LUCENTIO:

VINCENTIO:
Lives my sweet son?

BIANCA:
Pardon, dear father.

BAPTISTA:
How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?

LUCENTIO:
Here's Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio;
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne.

GREMIO:
Here's packing, with a witness to deceive us all!

VINCENTIO:
Where is that damned villain Tranio,
That faced and braved me in this matter so?

BAPTISTA:
Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?

BIANCA:
Cambio is changed into Lucentio.

LUCENTIO:
Love wrought these miracles."
"Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arrived at the last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

VINCENTIO:
I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent
me to the gaol.

BAPTISTA:
But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter
without asking my good will?

VINCENTIO:
Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but
I will in, to be revenged for this villany.

BAPTISTA:
And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

LUCENTIO:
Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.

GREMIO:
My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast.

KATHARINA:
Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

PETRUCHIO:
First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

KATHARINA:
What, in the midst of the street?

Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arrived at the last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

VINCENTIO:
I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent
me to the gaol.

BAPTISTA:
But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter
without asking my good will?

VINCENTIO:
Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but
I will in, to be revenged for this villany.

BAPTISTA:
And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

LUCENTIO:
Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.

GREMIO:
My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast.

KATHARINA:
Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

PETRUCHIO:
First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

KATHARINA:
What, in the midst of the street?
PETRUCHIO:
What, art thou ashamed of me?

KATHARINA:
No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, then let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away.

KATHARINA:
Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.

PETRUCHIO:
Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
Better once than never, for never too late.

LUCENTIO:
At last, though long, our jarring notes agree:
And time it is, when raging war is done,
To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.
Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
My banquet is to close our stomachs up,
After our great good cheer."
"Pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat as well as eat.

PETRUCHIO:
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

BAPTISTA:
Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO:
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

HORTENSIO:
For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.
Pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat as well as eat.

PETRUCHIO:
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

BAPTISTA:
Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO:
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

HORTENSIO:
For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

PETRUCHIO:

Widow:
Then never trust me, if I be afeard.

PETRUCHIO:
You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.

Widow:
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.

PETRUCHIO:
Roundly replied.

KATHARINA:
Mistress, how mean you that?

Widow:
Thus I conceive by him.

PETRUCHIO:
Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?

HORTENSIO:
My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

PETRUCHIO:
Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.

KATHARINA:
'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:'
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.

Widow:
Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe:
And now you know my meaning,

KATHARINA:
A very mean meaning.

Widow:
Right, I mean you.

KATHARINA:
And I am mean indeed, respecting you.

PETRUCHIO:
To her, Kate!

HORTENSIO:
To her, widow!

PETRUCHIO:
A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

HORTENSIO:
That's my office.

PETRUCHIO:
Spoke like an officer; ha' to thee, lad!

BAPTISTA:
How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?

GREMIO:
Believe me, sir, they butt together well.

BIANCA:
Head, and butt! an hasty-witted body
Would say your head and butt were head and horn.

VINCENTIO:
Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you?

BIANCA:
Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, that you shall not: since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two!

BIANCA:
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush;
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all.

PETRUCHIO:
She hath prevented me."
"Here, Signior Tranio.
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.

TRANIO:
O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself and catches for his master.

PETRUCHIO:
A good swift simile, but something currish.

TRANIO:
'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.

BAPTISTA:
O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.

LUCENTIO:
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

HORTENSIO:
Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?
Here, Signior Tranio.
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.

TRANIO:
O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself and catches for his master.

PETRUCHIO:
A good swift simile, but something currish.

TRANIO:
'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.

BAPTISTA:
O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.

LUCENTIO:
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

HORTENSIO:

PETRUCHIO:
A' has a little gall'd me, I confess;
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

BAPTISTA:
Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

PETRUCHIO:
Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance
Let's each one send unto his wife;
And he whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her,
Shall win the wager which we will propose.

HORTENSIO:
Content."
"What is the wager?

LUCENTIO:
Twenty crowns.

PETRUCHIO:
Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.

LUCENTIO:
A hundred then.

HORTENSIO:
Content.

PETRUCHIO:
A match! 'tis done.

HORTENSIO:
Who shall begin?

LUCENTIO:
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

BIONDELLO:
I go.

BAPTISTA:
Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.

LUCENTIO:
I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
How now! what news?

BIONDELLO:
Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy and she cannot come.

PETRUCHIO:
How! she is busy and she cannot come!
Is that an answer?

GREMIO:
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO:
I hope better.

HORTENSIO:
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.

PETRUCHIO:
O, ho! entreat her!
Nay, then she must needs come.

HORTENSIO:
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Now, where's my wife?

BIONDELLO:
She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
She will not come: she bids you come to her.

PETRUCHIO:
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endured!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
Say, I command her to come to me.
What is the wager?

LUCENTIO:
Twenty crowns.

PETRUCHIO:
Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.

LUCENTIO:
A hundred then.

HORTENSIO:
Content.

PETRUCHIO:
A match! 'tis done.

HORTENSIO:
Who shall begin?

LUCENTIO:
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

BIONDELLO:
I go.

BAPTISTA:
Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.

LUCENTIO:
I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
How now! what news?

BIONDELLO:
Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy and she cannot come.

PETRUCHIO:
How! she is busy and she cannot come!
Is that an answer?

GREMIO:
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO:
I hope better.

HORTENSIO:
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.

PETRUCHIO:
O, ho! entreat her!
Nay, then she must needs come.

HORTENSIO:
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Now, where's my wife?

BIONDELLO:
She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
She will not come: she bids you come to her.

PETRUCHIO:
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endured!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;

HORTENSIO:
I know her answer.

PETRUCHIO:
What?

HORTENSIO:
She will not."
"PETRUCHIO:
The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

BAPTISTA:
Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!

KATHARINA:
What is your will, sir, that you send for me?

PETRUCHIO:
Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?

KATHARINA:
They sit conferring by the parlor fire.

PETRUCHIO:
Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come.
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands:
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

LUCENTIO:
Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.

HORTENSIO:
And so it is: I wonder what it bodes.

PETRUCHIO:
Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life,
And awful rule and right supremacy;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy?

BAPTISTA:
Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is changed, as she had never been.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, I will win my wager better yet
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
See where she comes and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not:
Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot.

Widow:
Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh,
Till I be brought to such a silly pass!

BIANCA:
Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?

LUCENTIO:
I would your duty were as foolish too:
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.

BIANCA:
The more fool you, for laying on my duty.

PETRUCHIO:
Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.

Widow:
Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling.

PETRUCHIO:
Come on, I say; and first begin with her.

Widow:
She shall not.

PETRUCHIO:
I say she shall: and first begin with her.

KATHARINA:
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey."
"Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

LUCENTIO:
Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't.

VINCENTIO:
'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.

LUCENTIO:
But a harsh hearing when women are froward.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
We three are married, but you two are sped.
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white;
And, being a winner, God give you good night!

HORTENSIO:
Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew.

LUCENTIO:
'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so.

Master:
Boatswain!

Boatswain:
Here, master: what cheer?

Master:
Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely,
or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

Boatswain:
Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!
yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the
master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind,
if room enough!

ALONSO:
Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master?
Play the men.

Boatswain:
I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO:
Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain:
Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your
cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO:
Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain:
When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers
for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO:
Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain:
None that I more love than myself. You are a
counsellor; if you can command these elements to
silence, and work the peace of the present, we will
not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you
cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make
yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of
the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out
of our way, I say.

GONZALO:
I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he
hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his
hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable,
for our own doth little advantage."
"If he be not
born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

Boatswain:
Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
her to try with main-course.
A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
the weather or our office.
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN:
A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
incharitable dog!

Boatswain:
Work you then.

ANTONIO:
Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker!
If he be not
born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

Boatswain:
Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring
her to try with main-course.
A plague upon this howling! they are louder than
the weather or our office.
Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er
and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN:
A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
incharitable dog!

Boatswain:
Work you then.

ANTONIO:
We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO:
I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were
no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an
unstanched wench.

Boatswain:
Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to
sea again; lay her off.

Mariners:
All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain:
What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO:
The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them,
For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN:
I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO:
We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards:
This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning
The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO:
He'll be hang'd yet,
Though every drop of water swear against it
And gape at widest to glut him.

ANTONIO:
Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN:
Let's take leave of him.

GONZALO:
Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an
acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any
thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain
die a dry death.

MIRANDA:
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart."
"Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO:
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.

MIRANDA:
O, woe the day!

PROSPERO:
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA:
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO:
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.

MIRANDA:
O, woe the day!

PROSPERO:
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA:
More to know

PROSPERO:
'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA:
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO:
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.

MIRANDA:
Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO:
By what? by any other house or person?
Of any thing the image tell me that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA:
'Tis far off
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants. Had I not
Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO:
Thou hadst, and more, Miranda."
"But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA:
But that I do not.

PROSPERO:
Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.

MIRANDA:
Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO:
Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA:
O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO:
Both, both, my girl:
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence,
But how is it
That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here,
How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA:
But that I do not.

PROSPERO:
Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since,
Thy father was the Duke of Milan and
A prince of power.

MIRANDA:
Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO:
Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father
Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir
And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA:
O the heavens!
What foul play had we, that we came from thence?
Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO:
Both, both, my girl:
But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA:
O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO:
My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio--
I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should
Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself
Of all the world I loved and to him put
The manage of my state; as at that time
Through all the signories it was the first
And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed
In dignity, and for the liberal arts
Without a parallel; those being all my study,
The government I cast upon my brother
And to my state grew stranger, being transported
And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle--
Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA:
Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO:
Being once perfected how to grant suits,
How to deny them, who to advance and who
To trash for over-topping, new created
The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em,
Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state
To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was
The ivy which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA:
O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO:
I pray thee, mark me.
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
With that which, but by being so retired,
O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother
Awaked an evil nature; and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of him
A falsehood in its contrary as great
As my trust was; which had indeed no limit,
A confidence sans bound."
"He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution
He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded,
But what my power might else exact, like one
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie, he did believe
And executing the outward face of royalty,
With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing--
Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA:
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO:
To have no screen between this part he play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library
Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable; confederates--
So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples
To give him annual tribute, do him homage,
Subject his coronet to his crown and bend
The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!--
To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA:
O the heavens!

PROSPERO:
Mark his condition and the event; then tell me
If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA:
I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother:
Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO:
Now the condition.
The King of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit;
Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises
Of homage and I know not how much tribute,
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan
With all the honours on my brother: whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the purpose did Antonio open
The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA:
Alack, for pity!
I, not remembering how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint
That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO:
Hear a little further
And then I'll bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon's; without the which this story
Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA:
Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us?

PROSPERO:
Well demanded, wench:
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not,
So dear the love my people bore me, nor set
A mark so bloody on the business, but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark,
Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd,
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us,
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh
To the winds whose pity, sighing back again,
Did us but loving wrong.

MIRANDA:
Alack, what trouble
Was I then to you!

PROSPERO:
O, a cherubim
Thou wast that did preserve me."
"Thou didst smile.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA:
How came we ashore?

PROSPERO:
By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
Thou didst smile.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt,
Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me
An undergoing stomach, to bear up
Against what should ensue.

MIRANDA:
How came we ashore?

PROSPERO:
By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.

MIRANDA:
Would I might
But ever see that man!

PROSPERO:
Now I arise:
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arrived; and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princesses can that have more time
For vainer hours and tutors not so careful.

MIRANDA:
Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir,
For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason
For raising this sea-storm?

PROSPERO:
Know thus far forth.
By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune,
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore; and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon
A most auspicious star, whose influence
If now I court not but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions:
Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness,
And give it way: I know thou canst not choose.
Come away, servant, come. I am ready now.
Approach, my Ariel, come.

ARIEL:
All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come
To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task
Ariel and all his quality.

PROSPERO:
Hast thou, spirit,
Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee?

ARIEL:
To every article.
I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide,
And burn in many places; on the topmast,
The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks
Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune
Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble,
Yea, his dread trident shake.

PROSPERO:
My brave spirit!
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil
Would not infect his reason?

ARIEL:
Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad and play'd
Some tricks of desperation."
"All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty
And all the devils are here.'
All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,--
Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty

PROSPERO:
Why that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?

ARIEL:
Close by, my master.

PROSPERO:
But are they, Ariel, safe?

ARIEL:
Not a hair perish'd;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish,
But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me,
In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle.
The king's son have I landed by himself;
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs
In an odd angle of the isle and sitting,
His arms in this sad knot.

PROSPERO:
Of the king's ship
The mariners say how thou hast disposed
And all the rest o' the fleet.

ARIEL:
Safely in harbour
Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:
The mariners all under hatches stow'd;
Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet
Which I dispersed, they all have met again
And are upon the Mediterranean flote,
Bound sadly home for Naples,
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd
And his great person perish.

PROSPERO:
Ariel, thy charge
Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work.
What is the time o' the day?

ARIEL:
Past the mid season.

PROSPERO:
At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now
Must by us both be spent most preciously.

ARIEL:
Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains,
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
Which is not yet perform'd me.

PROSPERO:
How now? moody?
What is't thou canst demand?

ARIEL:
My liberty.

PROSPERO:
Before the time be out? no more!

ARIEL:
I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service;
Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served
Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise
To bate me a full year.

PROSPERO:
Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee?

ARIEL:
No.

PROSPERO:
Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze
Of the salt deep,
To run upon the sharp wind of the north,
To do me business in the veins o' the earth
When it is baked with frost.

ARIEL:
I do not, sir.

PROSPERO:
Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her?

ARIEL:
No, sir.

PROSPERO:
Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me.

ARIEL:
Sir, in Argier.

PROSPERO:
O, was she so? I must
Once in a month recount what thou hast been,
Which thou forget'st."
"This damn'd witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did
This damn'd witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
They would not take her life. Is not this true?

ARIEL:
Ay, sir.

PROSPERO:
This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child
And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave,
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her more potent ministers
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine; within which rift
Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain
A dozen years; within which space she died
And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans
As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island--
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with
A human shape.

ARIEL:
Yes, Caliban her son.

PROSPERO:
Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in; thy groans
Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts
Of ever angry bears: it was a torment
To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax
Could not again undo: it was mine art,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.

ARIEL:
I thank thee, master.

PROSPERO:
If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak
And peg thee in his knotty entrails till
Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters.

ARIEL:
Pardon, master;
I will be correspondent to command
And do my spiriting gently.

PROSPERO:
Do so, and after two days
I will discharge thee.

ARIEL:
That's my noble master!
What shall I do? say what; what shall I do?

PROSPERO:
Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject
To no sight but thine and mine, invisible
To every eyeball else. Go take this shape
And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence!
Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake!

MIRANDA:
The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.

PROSPERO:
Shake it off. Come on;
We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.

MIRANDA:
'Tis a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.

PROSPERO:
But, as 'tis,
We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
That profit us."
"What, ho! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.

CALIBAN:

PROSPERO:
Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
Come, thou tortoise! when?
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

ARIEL:
My lord it shall be done.

PROSPERO:
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

CALIBAN:
As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
And blister you all o'er!

PROSPERO:
For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins
What, ho! slave! Caliban!
Thou earth, thou! speak.

CALIBAN:

PROSPERO:
Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee:
Come, thou tortoise! when?
Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.

ARIEL:
My lord it shall be done.

PROSPERO:
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself
Upon thy wicked dam, come forth!

CALIBAN:
As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen
Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye
And blister you all o'er!

PROSPERO:
For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps,
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,
All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made 'em.

CALIBAN:
I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother,
Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first,
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile:
Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you!
For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest o' the island.

PROSPERO:
Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee,
Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honour of my child.

CALIBAN:
O ho, O ho! would't had been done!
Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else
This isle with Calibans.

PROSPERO:
Abhorred slave,
Which any print of goodness wilt not take,
Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which
good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confined into this rock,
Who hadst deserved more than a prison.

CALIBAN:
You taught me language; and my profit on't
Is, I know how to curse."
"The red plague rid you
For learning me your language!

PROSPERO:
Hag-seed, hence!
Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best,
The red plague rid you
For learning me your language!

PROSPERO:
Hag-seed, hence!
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice?
If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps,
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.

CALIBAN:
No, pray thee.
I must obey: his art is of such power,
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
and make a vassal of him.

PROSPERO:
So, slave; hence!
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Courtsied when you have and kiss'd
The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!

FERDINAND:
Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth?
It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon
Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This music crept by me upon the waters,
Allaying both their fury and my passion
With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell
Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell.

FERDINAND:
The ditty does remember my drown'd father.
This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.

PROSPERO:
The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
And say what thou seest yond.

MIRANDA:
What is't? a spirit?
Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir,
It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit.

PROSPERO:
No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses
As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest
Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd
With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him
A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows
And strays about to find 'em.

MIRANDA:
I might call him
A thing divine, for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble.

PROSPERO:

FERDINAND:
Most sure, the goddess
On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer
May know if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give
How I may bear me here: my prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be maid or no?

MIRANDA:
No wonder, sir;
But certainly a maid.

FERDINAND:
My language! heavens!
I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.

PROSPERO:
How? the best?
What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee?

FERDINAND:
A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples."
"He does hear me;
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.

MIRANDA:
Alack, for mercy!

FERDINAND:
Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
And his brave son being twain.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
Why speaks my father so ungently? This
He does hear me;
And that he does I weep: myself am Naples,
Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.

MIRANDA:
Alack, for mercy!

FERDINAND:
Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan
And his brave son being twain.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first
That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father
To be inclined my way!

FERDINAND:
O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The queen of Naples.

PROSPERO:
Soft, sir! one word more.
They are both in either's powers; but this swift business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning
Make the prize light.
One word more; I charge thee
That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp
The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself
Upon this island as a spy, to win it
From me, the lord on't.

FERDINAND:
No, as I am a man.

MIRANDA:
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.

PROSPERO:
Follow me.
Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come;
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together:
Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow.

FERDINAND:
No;
I will resist such entertainment till
Mine enemy has more power.

MIRANDA:
O dear father,
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle and not fearful.

PROSPERO:
What? I say,
My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor;
Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience
Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward,
For I can here disarm thee with this stick
And make thy weapon drop.

MIRANDA:
Beseech you, father.

PROSPERO:
Hence! hang not on my garments.

MIRANDA:
Sir, have pity;
I'll be his surety.

PROSPERO:
Silence! one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee."
"What!
An advocate for an imposter! hush!
Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
To the most of men this is a Caliban
And they to him are angels.

MIRANDA:
My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO:
Come on; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND:
So they are;
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
Be of comfort;
My father's of a better nature, sir,
What!
An advocate for an imposter! hush!
Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench!
To the most of men this is a Caliban
And they to him are angels.

MIRANDA:
My affections
Are then most humble; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.

PROSPERO:
Come on; obey:
Thy nerves are in their infancy again
And have no vigour in them.

FERDINAND:
So they are;
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness which I feel,
The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.

PROSPERO:

MIRANDA:
Be of comfort;
Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted
Which now came from him.

PROSPERO:
Thou shalt be free
As mountain winds: but then exactly do
All points of my command.

ARIEL:
To the syllable.

PROSPERO:
Come, follow. Speak not for him.

GONZALO:
Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause,
So have we all, of joy; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss."
"Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor's wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN:
He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO:
The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN:
Look he's winding up the watch of his wit;
by and by it will strike.

GONZALO:
Sir,--

SEBASTIAN:
One: tell.

GONZALO:
When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN:
A dollar.

GONZALO:
Dolour comes to him, indeed: you
have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN:
You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO:
Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO:
I prithee, spare.

GONZALO:
Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN:
He will be talking.
Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor's wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.

ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN:
He receives comfort like cold porridge.

ANTONIO:
The visitor will not give him o'er so.

SEBASTIAN:
Look he's winding up the watch of his wit;
by and by it will strike.

GONZALO:
Sir,--

SEBASTIAN:
One: tell.

GONZALO:
When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd,
Comes to the entertainer--

SEBASTIAN:
A dollar.

GONZALO:
Dolour comes to him, indeed: you
have spoken truer than you purposed.

SEBASTIAN:
You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should.

GONZALO:
Therefore, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue!

ALONSO:
I prithee, spare.

GONZALO:
Well, I have done: but yet,--

SEBASTIAN:

ANTONIO:
Which, of he or Adrian, for a good
wager, first begins to crow?

SEBASTIAN:
The old cock.

ANTONIO:
The cockerel.

SEBASTIAN:
Done."
"The wager?

ANTONIO:
A laughter.

SEBASTIAN:
A match!

ADRIAN:
Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN:
Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN:
Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN:
Yet,--

ADRIAN:
Yet,--

ANTONIO:
He could not miss't.

ADRIAN:
It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate
temperance.

ANTONIO:
Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN:
Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN:
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN:
As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO:
Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
GONZALO:
The wager?

ANTONIO:
A laughter.

SEBASTIAN:
A match!

ADRIAN:
Though this island seem to be desert,--

SEBASTIAN:
Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid.

ADRIAN:
Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,--

SEBASTIAN:
Yet,--

ADRIAN:
Yet,--

ANTONIO:
He could not miss't.

ADRIAN:
It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate
temperance.

ANTONIO:
Temperance was a delicate wench.

SEBASTIAN:
Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered.

ADRIAN:
The air breathes upon us here most sweetly.

SEBASTIAN:
As if it had lungs and rotten ones.

ANTONIO:
Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen.
Here is everything advantageous to life.

ANTONIO:
True; save means to live.

SEBASTIAN:
Of that there's none, or little.

GONZALO:
How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!

ANTONIO:
The ground indeed is tawny.

SEBASTIAN:
With an eye of green in't.

ANTONIO:
He misses not much.

SEBASTIAN:
No; he doth but mistake the truth totally.

GONZALO:
But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost
beyond credit,--

SEBASTIAN:
As many vouched rarities are.

GONZALO:
That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in
the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and
glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with
salt water.

ANTONIO:
If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not
say he lies?

SEBASTIAN:
Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report

GONZALO:
Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we
put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of
the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.

SEBASTIAN:
'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return.

ADRIAN:
Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to
their queen.

GONZALO:
Not since widow Dido's time.

ANTONIO:
Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in?
widow Dido!

SEBASTIAN:
What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord,
how you take it!

ADRIAN:
'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that:
she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.

GONZALO:
This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.

ADRIAN:
Carthage?"
"GONZALO:
I assure you, Carthage.

SEBASTIAN:
His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath
raised the wall and houses too.

ANTONIO:
What impossible matter will he make easy next?

SEBASTIAN:
I think he will carry this island home in his pocket
and give it his son for an apple.

ANTONIO:
And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring
forth more islands.

GONZALO:
Ay.

ANTONIO:
Why, in good time.

GONZALO:
Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now
as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage
of your daughter, who is now queen.

ANTONIO:
And the rarest that e'er came there.

SEBASTIAN:
Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.

ANTONIO:
O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido.

GONZALO:
Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I
wore it? I mean, in a sort.

ANTONIO:
That sort was well fished for.

GONZALO:
When I wore it at your daughter's marriage?

ALONSO:
You cram these words into mine ears against
The stomach of my sense. Would I had never
Married my daughter there! for, coming thence,
My son is lost and, in my rate, she too,
Who is so far from Italy removed
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee?

FRANCISCO:
Sir, he may live:
I saw him beat the surges under him,
And ride upon their backs; he trod the water,
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd,
As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt
He came alive to land.

ALONSO:
No, no, he's gone.

SEBASTIAN:
Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss,
That would not bless our Europe with your daughter,
But rather lose her to an African;
Where she at least is banish'd from your eye,
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.

ALONSO:
Prithee, peace.

SEBASTIAN:
You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise
By all of us, and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam should bow."
"We have lost your
son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making
Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault's your own.

ALONSO:
So is the dear'st o' the loss.

GONZALO:
My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.

SEBASTIAN:
Very well.

ANTONIO:
And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO:
It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN:
Foul weather?

ANTONIO:
Very foul.

GONZALO:
Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN:
Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO:
And were the king on't, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN:
'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO:
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
We have lost your
son,
I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making
Than we bring men to comfort them:
The fault's your own.

ALONSO:
So is the dear'st o' the loss.

GONZALO:
My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in: you rub the sore,
When you should bring the plaster.

SEBASTIAN:
Very well.

ANTONIO:
And most chirurgeonly.

GONZALO:
It is foul weather in us all, good sir,
When you are cloudy.

SEBASTIAN:
Foul weather?

ANTONIO:
Very foul.

GONZALO:
Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,--

ANTONIO:
He'ld sow't with nettle-seed.

SEBASTIAN:
Or docks, or mallows.

GONZALO:
And were the king on't, what would I do?

SEBASTIAN:
'Scape being drunk for want of wine.

GONZALO:
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty;--

SEBASTIAN:
Yet he would be king on't.

ANTONIO:
The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the
beginning.

GONZALO:
All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.

SEBASTIAN:
No marrying 'mong his subjects?

ANTONIO:
None, man; all idle: whores and knaves.

GONZALO:
I would with such perfection govern, sir,
To excel the golden age.

SEBASTIAN:
God save his majesty!

ANTONIO:
Long live Gonzalo!

GONZALO:
And,--do you mark me, sir?

ALONSO:
Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me.

GONZALO:
I do well believe your highness; and
did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen,"