Petruchio.
Come on, in Heav'n's name; once more toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

Cat.
The moon! the sun; it is not moon-light now.

Pet.
I say, it is the moon that shines so bright.

Cat.
I know, it is the sun that shines so bright.

Pet.
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 crost, and crost; nothing but crost!

Hor.
Say as he says, or we shall never go.

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

Pet.
I say, it is the moon.

Cat.
I know, it is the moon.

Pet.
Nay, then, you lie; it is the blessed sun.

Cat.
Then, Heav'n be blest, 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 nam'd, even that it is;
And so it shall be, sir, for Catherine.

Hor.
Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.

Pet.
Well, forward, forward:—thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.—
But soft; some company is coming here.— Enter Vincentio, journeying.
Good morrow, gentle mistress: Whither 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.

Hor.

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

Cat.
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 bedfellow!

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

Cat.
Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzl'd with the sun,
That every thing I look on seemeth green:
Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking* ^note.

Pet.
Do, good old grand-sire; and, withal, make known
Which way thou travel'st: if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.

Vin.
Fair sir,—and you, my merry mistress here,—
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me;

My name is call'd—Vincentio, dwelling—Pisa:
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

Pet.
What is his name?

Vin.
Lucentio, gentle sir.

Pet.
Happily met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee—my loving father;
The sister of my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath marry'd:—Wonder not,
Nor be not griev'd; she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualify'd 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.

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

Hor.
I do assure thee, father, so it is.

Pet.
Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. [Exeunt Cat. Pet. and Vin.

Hor.
Well, sir Petruchio, this has put me in heart:—
Have to my widow; and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio be untoward. [Exit.

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