validation.txt

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GREMIO:
Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

BAPTISTA:
Good morrow, neighbour Gremio.
God save you, gentlemen!

PETRUCHIO:
And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous?

BAPTISTA:
I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina.

GREMIO:
You are too blunt: go to it orderly.

PETRUCHIO:
You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,
Her affability and bashful modesty,
Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior,
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine,
Cunning in music and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is not ignorant:
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

BAPTISTA:
You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake.
But for my daughter Katharina, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

PETRUCHIO:
I see you do not mean to part with her,
Or else you like not of my company.

BAPTISTA:
Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?

PETRUCHIO:
Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.

BAPTISTA:
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

GREMIO:
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too:
Baccare! you are marvellous forward.

PETRUCHIO:
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.

GREMIO:
I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your
wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am
sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself,
that have been more kindly beholding to you than
any, freely give unto you this young scholar,
that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning
in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other
in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray,
accept his service.

BAPTISTA:
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio.
Welcome, good Cambio.
But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger:
may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?

TRANIO:
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request,
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo
And free access and favour as the rest:
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books:
If you accept them, then their worth is great.

BAPTISTA:
Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray?

TRANIO:
Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

BAPTISTA:
A mighty man of Pisa; by report
I know him well: you are very welcome, sir,
Take you the lute, and you the set of books;
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters; and tell them both,
These are their tutors: bid them use them well.
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

PETRUCHIO:
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreased:
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

BAPTISTA:
After my death the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

PETRUCHIO:
And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever:
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

BAPTISTA:
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:
So I to her and so she yields to me;
For I am rough and woo not like a babe.

BAPTISTA:
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

PETRUCHIO:
Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds,
That shake not, though they blow perpetually.

BAPTISTA:
How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale?

HORTENSIO:
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

BAPTISTA:
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

HORTENSIO:
I think she'll sooner prove a soldier
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

BAPTISTA:
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?

HORTENSIO:
Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
'Frets, call you these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume
with them:'
And, with that word, she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
While she did call me rascal fiddler
And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms,
As had she studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did:
O, how I long to have some chat with her!

BAPTISTA:
Well, go with me and be not so discomfited:
Proceed in practise with my younger daughter;
She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns.
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

PETRUCHIO:
I pray you do.
I will attend her here,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:
Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say she be mute and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week:
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns and when be married.
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.
Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

KATHARINA:
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:
They call me Katharina that do talk of me.

PETRUCHIO:
You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,
And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.

KATHARINA:
Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither
Remove you hence: I knew you at the first
You were a moveable.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, what's a moveable?

KATHARINA:
A join'd-stool.

PETRUCHIO:
Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

KATHARINA:
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

PETRUCHIO:
Women are made to bear, and so are you.

KATHARINA:
No such jade as you, if me you mean.

PETRUCHIO:
Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;
For, knowing thee to be but young and light--

KATHARINA:
Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

PETRUCHIO:
Should be! should--buzz!

KATHARINA:
Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO:
O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

KATHARINA:
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO:
Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.

KATHARINA:
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

PETRUCHIO:
My remedy is then, to pluck it out.

KATHARINA:
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies,

PETRUCHIO:
Who knows not where a wasp does
wear his sting? In his tail.

KATHARINA:
In his tongue.

PETRUCHIO:
Whose tongue?

KATHARINA:
Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.

PETRUCHIO:
What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

KATHARINA:
That I'll try.

PETRUCHIO:
I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

KATHARINA:
So may you lose your arms:
If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

PETRUCHIO:
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!

KATHARINA:
What is your crest? a coxcomb?

PETRUCHIO:
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

KATHARINA:
No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

KATHARINA:
It is my fashion, when I see a crab.

PETRUCHIO:
Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.

KATHARINA:
There is, there is.

PETRUCHIO:
Then show it me.

KATHARINA:
Had I a glass, I would.

PETRUCHIO:
What, you mean my face?

KATHARINA:
Well aim'd of such a young one.

PETRUCHIO:
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

KATHARINA:
Yet you are wither'd.

PETRUCHIO:
'Tis with cares.

KATHARINA:
I care not.

PETRUCHIO:
Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so.

KATHARINA:
I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go.

PETRUCHIO:
No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk,
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

KATHARINA:
Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

PETRUCHIO:
Did ever Dian so become a grove
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful!

KATHARINA:
Where did you study all this goodly speech?

PETRUCHIO:
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

KATHARINA:
A witty mother! witless else her son.

PETRUCHIO:
Am I not wise?

KATHARINA:
Yes; keep you warm.

PETRUCHIO:
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed:
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,
Thou must be married to no man but me;
For I am he am born to tame you Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Here comes your father: never make denial;
I must and will have Katharina to my wife.

BAPTISTA:
Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

PETRUCHIO:
How but well, sir? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAPTISTA:
Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps?

KATHARINA:
Call you me daughter? now, I promise you
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half lunatic;
A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

PETRUCHIO:
Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her:
If she be curst, it is for policy,
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity:
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

KATHARINA:
I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

GREMIO:
Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee
hang'd first.

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;
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.

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!
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.

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.
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
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.

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.
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?
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,
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 assu