Luc.
At last, tho' long, our jarring notes agree;
And time it is, when raging war is done,
To smile at 'scapes and perils over-blown.
My fair Bianca, bid my Father welcome,
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine;
Brother Petruchio, Sister Catharine,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving Widow;
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
My banquet is to close our stomachs up
After our great good cheer: pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat.

Pet.
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

Bap.
Padua affords this kindness, Son Petruchio.

Pet.
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

Hor.
For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

Pet.
Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his Widow.

Wid.
Then never trust me, if I be afeard.

Pet.
You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.

Wid.
He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns round.

Pet.
Roundly replied.

Cath.
Mistress, how mean you that?

Wid.
Thus I conceive by him.

Pet.
Conceives by me, how likes Hortensio that?

Hor.
My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

Pet.
Very well mended; kiss him for that, good Widow.

Cath.
He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns round—
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.

Wid.
Your Husband, being troubled with a Shrew,
Measures my Husband's sorrow by his woe.
And now you know my meaning.

Cath.
A very mean meaning.

Wid.
Right, I mean you.

Cath.
And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.

Pet.
To her, Kate.

Hor.
To her, Widow.

Pet.
A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

Hor.
That's my office.

Pet.
Spoke like an Officer; ha' to thee, lad. [Drinks to Hortensio.

Bap.
How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?

Gre.
Believe me, Sir, they butt heads together well.

Bian.
Head and butt? an hasty-witted body
Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.

Vin.
Ay, mistress Bride, hath that awaken'd you?

Bian.
Ay, but not frighted me, therefore I'll sleep again.

Pet.
Nay, that thou shalt not, since you have begun:
Have at you for a better jest or two.

Bian.
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush:
And then pursue me, as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all. [Exeunt Bianca, Catharine, and Widow.

Pet.
She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio,
This bird you aim'd at, tho' you hit it not;
Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd.

Tra.
Oh, Sir, Lucentio slip'd me like his grey-hound,
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.

Pet.
A good swift Simile, but something currish.

Tra.
'Tis well, Sir, that you hunted for your self:
'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay.

Bap.
Oh, oh, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.

Luc.
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

Hor.
Confess, confess, hath he not hit you there?

Pet.
He has a little gall'd me, I confess;
And as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

Bap.
Now, in good sadness, Son Petruchio,
I think, thou hast the veriest Shrew of all.

Pet.
Well, I say, no; and therefore for assurance,
Let's each one send unto his Wife, and he
Whose Wife is most obedient to come first,
When he doth send for her, shall win the wager.

Hor.
Content;—what wager?

Luc.
Twenty crowns.

Pet.
Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much on my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my Wife.

Luc.
A hundred then.

Hor.
Content.

Pet.
A match, 'tis done.

Hor.
Who shall begin?

Luc.
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.

Bion.
I go. [Exit.

Bap.
Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.

Luc.
I'll have no halves: I'll bear it all my self. Re-enter Biondello.
How now, what news?

Bion.
Sir my Mistress sends you word
That she is busie, and cannot come.

Pet.
How? she's busie and cannot come, is that an answer?

Gre.
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, Sir, your wife send you not a worse.

Pet.

I hope better.

Hor.

Sirrah, Biondello, go and intreat my wife to come to me forthwith.

Pet.
Oh, oh! intreat her! nay, then she needs must come.

Hor.
I am afraid, Sir, do you what you can, Enter Biondello.
Yours will not be intreated: now, where's my wife?

Bion.
She says, you have some goodly jest in hand;
She will not come: she bids you come to her.

Pet.
Worse and worse, she will not come!
Oh vile, intolerable, not to be indur'd:
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your Mistress,
Say, I command her to come to me. [Exit Gru.

Hor.
I know her answer.

Pet.
What?

Hor.
She will not.

Pet.
The fouler fortune mine, and there's an end.

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