Pet.
Come on, o'God's name, once more tow'rds our Father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the Moon!

Cath.
The Moon! the Sun: it is not Moon-light now.

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

Cath.
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.

Cath.
Forward I pray, since we are 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.

Cath.
I know, it is the Moon.

Pet.
Nay, then you lye; it is the blessed Sun.

Cath.
Then, God 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 named, even that it is,
And so it shall be so for Catharine.

Hor.
Petruchio, go thy way, 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.

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