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And her withholds from me, and other more, |
Suitors to her and rivals in my love; |
Supposing it a thing impossible- |
For those defects I have before rehears'd- |
That ever Katherina will be woo'd. |
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, |
That none shall have access unto Bianca |
Till Katherine the curst have got a husband. |
GRUMIO. Katherine the curst! |
A title for a maid of all titles the worst. |
HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, |
And offer me disguis'd in sober robes |
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster |
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; |
That so I may by this device at least |
Have leave and leisure to make love to her, |
And unsuspected court her by herself. |
Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO |
GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the |
young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about |
you. Who goes there, ha? |
HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, |
stand by awhile. |
GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous! |
[They stand aside] |
GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note. |
Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound- |
All books of love, see that at any hand; |
And see you read no other lectures to her. |
You understand me- over and beside |
Signior Baptista's liberality, |
I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, |
And let me have them very well perfum'd; |
For she is sweeter than perfume itself |
To whom they go to. What will you read to her? |
LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you |
As for my patron, stand you so assur'd, |
As firmly as yourself were still in place; |
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words |
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. |
GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is! |
GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is! |
PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah! |
HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward] |
God save you, Signior Gremio! |
GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. |
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. |
I promis'd to enquire carefully |
About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; |
And by good fortune I have lighted well |
On this young man; for learning and behaviour |
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry |
And other books- good ones, I warrant ye. |
HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman |
Hath promis'd me to help me to another, |
A fine musician to instruct our mistress; |
So shall I no whit be behind in duty |
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. |
GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove. |
GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove. |
HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love. |
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair |
I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. |
Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, |
Upon agreement from us to his liking, |
Will undertake to woo curst Katherine; |
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. |
GREMIO. So said, so done, is well. |
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? |
PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold; |
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. |
GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? |
PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son. |
My father dead, my fortune lives for me; |
And I do hope good days and long to see. |
GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange! |
But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name; |
You shall have me assisting you in all. |
But will you woo this wild-cat? |
PETRUCHIO. Will I live? |
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 fariner's fire? |
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs. |
GRUMIO. For he fears none. |
GREMIO. Hortensio, hark: |
This gentleman is happily arriv'd, |
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. |
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