&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Fidler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
&blquo;Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
&blquo;Her sister Catherine welcom'd you withal?

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;She is a shrew; but, wrangling pedant, this is
&blquo;The patroness of heavenly harmony:
&blquo;Then give me leave to have prerogative;
&blquo;And when in music we have spent an hour,
&blquo;Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Prepost'rous ass! that never read so far,
&blquo;To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
&blquo;Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,
&blquo;After his studies, or his usual pain?
&blquo;Then give me leave to read philosophy,

&blquo;And, when I pause, serve in your harmony.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,
&blquo;To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
&blquo;I am no breeching scholar in the schools;
&blquo;I'll not be ty'd to hours, nor 'pointed times,
&blquo;But learn my lessons as I please myself.
&blquo;And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:—
&blquo;Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;
&blquo;His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune? [To Bia. taking up his Lute.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;That will be never;—tune your instrument.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Where left we last? [Sitting to a Table with Luc. shewing a Book.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Here, madam:—
&blquo;Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;
  &blquo;Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.

&blquo;Bia.

&blquo;Construe them.&brquo;

&blquo;Luc.

&blquo;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,—Priamì,, is my man Tranio,—regia, bearing my port,—celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.&brquo;

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;Madam, my instrument's in tune.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Let's hear:— [Hor. plays.
&blquo;O, fie! the treble jars.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Spit in the hole, man,
&blquo;And tune again.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Now let me see if I can construe it.

&blquo;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.&brquo;

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;Madam, 'tis now in tune.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;All but the base.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars—
&blquo;How fiery and how forward is our pedant! [Aside.
&blquo;Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:

&blquo;Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. [Seeing Hor. listen.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Mistrust it not; for, sure, Æacides
&blquo;Was Ajax,—call'd so from his grandfather.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
&blquo;I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
&blquo;But let it rest.—Now, Licio, to you:— [Rising.
&blquo;Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
&blquo;That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;You may go walk, [to Luc.] and give me leave a while;
&blquo;My lessons make no music in three parts.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, [Retiring.
&blquo;And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
&blquo;Our fine musician groweth amorous.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;Madam, before you touch the instrument,
&blquo;To learn the order of my fingering,
&blquo;I must begin with rudiments of art;
&blquo;To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
&blquo;More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
&blquo;Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
&blquo;And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. [Gives a paper.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

&blquo;Bia.

Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, [Reads.
  &blquo;A re, to plead Hortensio's passion;
&blquo;B me, Bianca, take him for thy lord,
  &blquo;C faut, that loves with all affection:
&blquo;D sol re, one cliff, not two notes have I;
  &blquo;E la mi, show me pity, or I die.
&blquo;Call you this—gamut? tut! I like it not:
&blquo;Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
&blquo;To change true rules for odd inventions. &blquo;Enter a Servant.

&blquo;Ser.
&blquo;Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,
&blquo;And help to dress your sister's chamber up;
&blquo;You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day.

&blquo;Bia.
&blquo;Farewel, sweet masters both; I must be gone. &blquo;[Exeunt Ser. and Bia.

&blquo;Luc.
&blquo;'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. &blquo;[Exit Lucentio.

&blquo;Hor.
&blquo;But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
&blquo;Methinks, he looks as though he were in love:—
&blquo;Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble,
&blquo;To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,
&blquo;Seize thee, that list; if once I find thee ranging,
&blquo;Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. &blquo;[Exit* ^note.&brquo;

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