Pet.
Verona, for a while I take my leave,
To see my friends in Padua; but of all
My best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio; and, I trow, this is the house;
Here, sirrah, Grumio, knock, I say.

Gru.

Knock, Sir? whom should I knock? is there any man, has rebus'd your Worship?

Pet.
Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

Gru.
Knock you here, Sir? why, Sir, what am I, Sir,
That I should knock you here, Sir?

Pet.
Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.

Gru.

My master is grown quarrelsome: I should knock you first,

Pet.
Will it not be?
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it,
I'll try how you can Sol, Fa, and sing it. [He wrings him by the Ears.

Gru.
Help, masters, help; my master is mad.

Pet.
Now knock, when I bid you: Sirrah! Villain!

Enter Hortensio.

Hor.

How now, what's the matter? my old friend Grumio, and my good friend Petruchio! how do you all at Verona?

Pet.

Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Con tutto el Core ben trovato, may I say.

Hor.
Alla nostra Casa ben venuto, molto honorato Signor mio Petruchio.
Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.

Gru.

Nay, 'tis no matter, what he leges in Latine. If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, Sir: he bid me knock him, and rap him soundly, Sir. Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so, being, perhaps, for ought I see, two and thirty, a pip out?

Pet.
A senseless villain!—Good Hortensio,
I bid the rascal knock upon your gate,
And could not get him for my heart to do it.

Gru.

Knock at the gate? O heav'ns! spake you not these words plain? sirrah, knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly: and come you now with knocking at the gate?

Pet.
Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.

Hor.
Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge:
Why, this is a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio;
And tell me now, sweet Friend, what happy Gale
Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona?

Pet.
Such wind as scatters young men through the world,
To seek their fortunes farther than at home;
(8) ^noteWhere small experience grows, but in a few.
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me,

Antonio my Father is deceas'd;
And I have thrust my self into this maze,
Happly to wive and thrive, as best I may:
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.

Hor.
Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?
Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel,
And yet, I'll promise thee, she shall be rich,
And very rich: but thou'rt too much my friend,
And I'll not wish thee to her.

Pet.
Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as us
Few words suffice; and therefore if you know
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife;
(As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance)
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,
As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd
As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse,
She moves me not; or not removes, at least,
Affection's edge in me. Were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatick Seas,
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua:
If wealthily, then happily, in Padua.

Gru.

Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: why, give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an aglet-baby, or an old Trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, tho' she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses; why, nothing comes amiss, so mony comes withal.

Hor.
Petruchio, since we are stept thus far in,
I will continue That I broach'd in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young and beauteous;
Brought up, as best becomes a gentlewoman.
Her only fault, and that is fault enough,
Is, that she is intolerable curst;
And shrewd, and froward, so beyond all measure,
That, were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a Mine of gold.

Pet.
Hortensio, peace; thou know'st not gold's effect;
Tell me her Father's name, and 'tis enough:
For I will board her, tho' she chide as loud
As thunder, when the clouds in Autumn crack.

Hor.
Her Father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous Gentleman;
Her name is Catharina Minola,
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.

Pet.
I know her Father, tho' I know not her;
And he knew my deceased Father well.
I will not sleep, Hortensio, 'till I see her,
And therefore let me be thus bold with you,
To give you over at this first encounter,
Unless you will accompany me thither.

Gru.

I pray you, Sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him. She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, Sir, an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat: you know him not, Sir.

Hor.
Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
For in Baptista's house my Treasure is:
He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
His youngest Daughter, beautiful Bianca;
(9) ^noteAnd her with-holds he from me, and others more
Suitors to her, and Rivals in my love:
Supposing it a thing impossible,
(For those defects I have before rehears'd,)
That ever Catharina will be woo'd;
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,

That none shall have access unto Bianca,
'Till Catharine the curst have got a husband.

Gru.
Catharine the curst?
A title for a maid of all titles the worst!

Hor.
Now shall my Friend Petruchio do me grace,
And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
To old Baptista as a school-master,
Well seen in musick, 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 her self. Enter Gremio, and Lucentio disguis'd.

Gru.

Here's no knavery! see, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together. Master, look about you: who goes there? ha.

Hor.
Peace, Grumio, 'tis the Rival of my love,
Petruchio, stand by a while.

Gru.
A proper Stripling, and an amorous.—

Gre.
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 papers too,
And let me have them very well perfum'd;
For she is sweeter than perfume it self,
To whom they go: what will you read to her?

Luc.
Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you,
As for my Patron, stand you so assured;
As firmly, as your self were still in place;
Yea, and, perhaps, with more successful words
Than you, unless you were a scholar, Sir.

Gre.
Oh this learning, what a thing it is!

Gru.
Oh this woodcock, what an ass it is!—

Pet.

Peace, Sirrah.

Hor.

Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio.

Gre.

And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you, whither I am going? to Baptista Minola; I promis'd

to enquire carefully about a school-master 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.

Hor.
'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 belov'd of me.

Gre.
Belov'd of me,—and that my deeds shall prove.

Gru.
And that his bags shall prove.

Hor.
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 wooe curst Catharine;
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.

Gre.
So said, so done, is well;—
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?

Pet.
I know, she is an irksome brawling Scold;
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

Gre.
No, sayest me so, friend? what Countryman?

Pet.
Born in Verona, old Antonio's Son;
My Father's dead, my fortune lives for me,
And I do hope good days and long to see.

Gre.
Oh, Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange;
But if you have a stomach, to't, o' God's name:
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you wooe this wild cat?

Pet.
Will I live?

Gru.
Will he wooe her? ay, or I'll hang her.

Pet.
Why came I hither, but to that intent?
Think you, a little din can daunt my 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 heav'n's artillery thunder in the skies?

Have I not in a pitched battel heard
Loud larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clangue?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear,
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire?
Tush, tush, fear boys with bugs.

Gru.
For he fears none.—

Gre.
Hortensio, hark:
This Gentleman is happily arriv'd,
My mind presumes, for his own good, and ours.

Hor.
I promis'd, we would be contributors;
And bear his charge of wooing whatsoe'er.

Gre.
And so we will, provided that he win her.

Gru.
I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. To them Tranio bravely apparell'd, and Biondello.

Tra.

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?

Bion.

He, that has the two fair Daughters? is't he you mean?

Tra.

Even he, Biondello.

Gre.

Hark you, Sir, you mean not her, to—

Tra.
Perhaps, him and her; what have you to do?

Pet.
Nor her that chides, Sir, at any hand, I pray.

Tra.
I love no chiders, Sir: Biondello, let's away.

Luc.
Well begun, Tranio.

Hor.
Sir, a word ere you go:
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

Tra.
An if I be, Sir, is it any offence?

Gre.
No; if without more words you will get you hence.

Tra.
Why, Sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me, as for you?

Gre.
But so is not she.

Tra.
For what reason, I beseech you?

Gre.
For this reason, if you'll know:
That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.

Hor.
That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

Tra.
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,
Tho' Paris came, in hope to speed alone.

Gre.
What, this Gentleman will out-talk us all!

Luc.
Sir, give him head; I know, he'll prove a jade.

Pet.
Hortensio, to what end are all these words?

Hor.
Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista's Daughter?

Tra.
No, Sir; but, hear I do, that he hath two:
The one as famous for a scolding tongue,
As the other is for beauteous modesty.

Pet.
Sir, Sir, the first's for me; let her go by.

Gre.
Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules;
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.

Pet.
Sir, understand you this of me, insooth:
The youngest Daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her Father keeps from all access of suitors,
And will not promise her to any man,
Until the eldest Sister first be wed:
The younger then is free, and not before.

Tra.
If it be so, Sir, that you are the man
Must steed us all, and me amongst the rest;
And if you break the ice, and do this feat,
Atchieve the elder, set the younger free
For our access; whose hap shall be to have her,
Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate.

Hor.
Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive:
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
You must, as we do, gratifie this Gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholden.

Tra.
(10) ^note

And quaff carouses to our Mistress' health;
And do as adversaries do in law,
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

Gru. Bion.
O excellent motion: fellows, let's be gone.

Hor.
The motion's good indeed, and be it so,
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. [The Presenters, above, speak here. 1 Man.
My Lord, you nod; you do not mind the Play. Sly.

Yea, by St. Ann, do I: a good matter, surely! comes there any more of it?