Bap.
Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
That Cath'rine and Petruchio should be married;
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be said? what mockery will it be,
To want the Bridegroom, when the Priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

Cath.
No shame, but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain Rudesby, full of spleen;
Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour:
And to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes;
Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Catharine,
And say, lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife,

If it would please him come and marry her.

Tra.
Patience, good Catharine, and Baptista too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well;
What ever fortune stays him from his word.
Tho' he be blunt, I know him passing wise:
Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

Cath.
Would Catharine had never seen him tho'! [Exit weeping.

Bap.
Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
For such an injury would vex a Saint,
Much more a Shrew of thy impatient humour.

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