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GRUMIO:
Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.
PETRUCHIO:
Why came I hither but to that intent?
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?
Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs.
GRUMIO:
For he fears none.
GREMIO:
Hortensio, hark:
This gentleman is happily arrived,
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
HORTENSIO:
I promised we would be contributors
And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er.
GREMIO:
And so we will, provided that he win her.
GRUMIO:
I would I were as sure of a good dinner.
TRANIO:
Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold,
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?
BIONDELLO:
He that has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean?
TRANIO:
Even he, Biondello.
GREMIO:
Hark you, sir; you mean not her to--
TRANIO:
Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you to do?
PETRUCHIO:
Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.
TRANIO:
I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.
LUCENTIO:
Well begun, Tranio.
HORTENSIO:
Sir, a word ere you go;
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?
TRANIO:
And if I be, sir, is it any offence?
GREMIO:
No; if without more words you will get you hence.
TRANIO:
Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me as for you?
GREMIO:
But so is not she.
TRANIO:
For what reason, I beseech you?
GREMIO:
For this reason, if you'll know,
That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
HORTENSIO:
That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.
TRANIO:
Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen,
Do me this right; hear me with patience.
Baptista is a noble gentleman,
To whom my father is not all unknown;
And were his daughter fairer than she is,
She may more suitors have and me for one.
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;
Then well one more may fair Bianca have:
And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one,
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.