Bia.
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me;
That I disdain: but for these other gawds ^note,—14Q0350
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
Or, what you will command me, will I do,
So well I know my duty to my elders.

Cat.
Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee ^note, tell
Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not.

Bia.
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive,
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.

Cat.
Minion thou ly'st; Is't ^note not Hortensio?

Bia.
If you ^note affect him, sister, here I swear,
I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.

Cat.
O then, belike, you fancy riches more;
You will have Gremio to keep you fair. ^note

Bia.
Is it for him you do envy me so?
Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive,
You have but jested with me all this while:
I pr'ythee sister ^note, Kate, unty ^note my hands.

Cat.
If that be jest, [striking her.] then all the rest was so.

Enter Baptista.

Bap.
Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?—
Bianca, stand aside;—poor girl! she weeps:—
Go, ply thy needle ^note; meddle not with her.—
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

Cat.
Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. [flies after Bianca.

Bap.
What, in my sight?—[stopping her.] Bianca, get thee in. [Exit Bianca.

Cat.
Will ^note you not suffer me? Nay, now I see,
She is your treasure, she must have a husband;
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day,
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep,
'Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Catherine.

Bap.
Was ever ^note gentleman thus griev'd as I?
But who comes here? Enter Gremio, and Lucentio; Petruchio, with Hortensio as a Musician; and Tranio, with Biondello attending, bearing a Lute and Books.

Gre.
Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

Bap.
Good morrow, neighbour Gremio:—God save you ^note, gentlemen!

Pet.
And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
Call'd—Catherina, fair ^note, and virtuous?

Bap.
I have a daughter, sir, call'd—Catherina.

Gre.
You are too blunt, go to it orderly.

Pet.
You wrong me, signior Gremio; give me leave.—

I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
That,—hearing of her beauty, and her wit,
Her affability, and bashful modesty,
Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour,—
Am bold to shew myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine, [presenting Hortensio.
Cunning in musick, and the mathematicks,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant:
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong;
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

Bap.
You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake:
But for my daughter Catherine,—this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

Pet.
I see, you do not mean to part with her;
Or else you like not of my company.

Bap.
Mistake me not, I speak but as I ^note find.
Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?

Pet.
Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.

Bap.
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

Gre.
Saving your tale,14Q0351 Petruchio, I pray, let
Us, that are poor petitioners, speak too:
Baccare! ^note you are marvelous forward, sir.

Pet.
O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.

Gre.
I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing.—
Neighbour, ^note [to Baptista.

This is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it:
And,—to express the like kindness myself,
That have been more beholding ^note to you than any,—
I freely give unto you this young scholar, [presenting Lucentio.
That hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning
In Latin, Greek ^note, and other languages,
As the other in musick, and the mathematicks:
His name is Cambio; pray, accept ^note his service.

Bap.
A thousand thanks, good signior Gremio:—
Welcome, good Cambio.—But, gentle sir, [to Tra.
Methinks, you walk here like a stranger; May I
Be bold ^note to know the cause too of your coming?

Tra.
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own;
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself ^note a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister:
This liberty is all that I request,—
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
And free access and favour as the rest.
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow &dagger2; a simple instrument,
And this &dagger2; small packet of Greek and Latin books: [giving the Lute, and Books.
If you accept them, then their worth is great.

Bap.
Lucentio is your name? of whence, I pray?

Tra.
Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

Bap.
A mighty man of Pisa, by report;
I know him well: you're very welcome, sir.—

Take you &dagger2; the lute,—and you &dagger2; the set of books,—
You shall go see your pupils presently.—
Hola, within there!— Enter a Servant.
—Sirrah, shew these ^note gentlemen
To my two ^note daughters; and then ^note tell them both, ^note
These are their tutors; bid them use them well.— [Exit Servant, with Luc. and Hor. Bio. follows.
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner: You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

Pet.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew ^note my father well; and, in him, me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd:
Then tell me,—if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

Bap.
After my death, the one half of my lands;
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.

Pet.
And, for that dowry, I'll assure her for ^note
Her widowhood,—be it that she survive me,—
In all my lands and leases whatsoever ^note:
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
That is,—her love; for that is all in all.

Pet.
Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
Though little fire grows great with little wind,

Yet extream gusts will blow out fire and all:
So I to her, and so she yields to me;
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Bap.
Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Pet.
Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds,
That shake ^note not, though they blow perpetually. Re-enter Hortensio, with his Head broke.

Bap.
How now, my friend? why dost thou look so pale?

Hor.
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

Bap.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

Hor.
I think, she'll sooner ^note prove a soldier;
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap.
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute.

Hor.
Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her, she mistook her frets,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;
When, with a most ^note impatient devilish spirit,
Frets call you these, quoth she? I'll fume with them:
And, with that word, she strook me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute:
While she did call me,—rascal fidler,
And,—twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms,
As she had ^note study'd to misuse me so.

Pet.
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did:
O, how I long to have some chat with her!

Bap.
Well, go with me, [to Hor.] and be not so discomfited ^note:
Proceed in practise with my younger daughter;

She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.—
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us;
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

Pet.
I pray you, do; I will attend ^note her here,— [Exeunt Bap. Gre. Tra. and Hor.
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say, that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain,
She signs ^note as sweetly as a nightingale:
Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say—she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banes, and when be marry'd:—
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. Enter Catherine.
Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear.

Cat.
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing;
They call me—Catherine, that do talk of me.

Pet.
You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in christendom,
Kate of Kate-hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates ^note: And therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;—
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded ^note,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs)

Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

Cat.
Mov'd! in good time. Let him that mov'd you hither ^note,
Remove you hence: I knew you at the first,
You were a moveable.

Pet.
Why, what's a moveable?

Cat.
A joint-stool.

Pet.
Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

Cat.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

Pet.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.

Cat.
No such jade, sir ^note, as you, if me you mean.

Pet.
Alas, good Kate! I will not burthen thee:
For, knowing thee to be but young and light,—

Cat.
Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet.
Should be? should buz.14Q0352

Cat.
Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

Pet.
O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

Cat.
Ay, for a turtle; as he takes a buzzard.

Pet.
Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too angry.

Cat.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Pet.
My remedy is then, to pluck it out.

Cat.
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

Pet.
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
In his tail.

Cat.
In his tail! in his tongue.

Pet.
In his tongue? whose tongue?

Cat.
Yours, if you talk of tails ^note; and so farewel.

Pet.
What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again,
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

Cat.
That I'll try. [striking him.

Pet.
I swear, I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

Cat.
So may you lose your arms: if you strike me,

You are no gentleman; and if no gentleman,
Why, then no arms.

Pet.
A herald, Kate? o, put
Me in thy books.

Cat.
What is your crest? a coxcomb?

Pet.
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

Cat.
No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.

Pet.
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

Cat.
It is my fashion, when I see a crab.

Pet.
Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.

Cat.
There is, there is.

Pet.
Then shew it me.

Cat.
Had I a glass, I would.

Pet.
What, you mean my face.

Cat.
Well aim'd of such a young one.

Pet.
Now, by saint George, I am too young for you.

Cat.
Yet you are wither'd.

Pet.
'Tis with cares.

Cat.
I care not.

Pet.
Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so.

Cat.
I chase you, if I tarry; let me go.

Pet.
No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me,—you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance ^note,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft, and affable.
Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp?.

O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazle twig
Is strait, and slender; and as brown in hue
As hazle nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

Cat.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

Pet.
Did ever Dian so become a grove,
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chast, and Dian sportful.

Cat.
Where did you study all this goodly speech?

Pet.
It is extempore from my mother-wit.

Cat.
A witty mother!14Q0353 witness ^note else her son.

Pet.
Am I not wise?

Cat.
Yes; keep you warm.

Pet.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Catherine, in thy bed:
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms;—Your father hath consented,
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;
For, by this light,—whereby I see thy beauty;
Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,—
Thou must be marry'd to no man but me:
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate;
And bring you from a wild Kate to ^note a Kate
Conformable, as other houshold Kates. Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio.
Here comes your father; never make denial,
I must and will have Catherine to my wife.

Bap.
Now, signior Petruchio; how speed
You with my daughter?

Pet.
How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible, I should speed amiss.

Bap.
Why, how now, daughter Catherine? in your dumps?

Cat.
Call you me—daughter? now I promise you,
You have shew'd a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half lunatick;
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

Pet.
Father, 'tis thus,—yourself and all the world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her;
If she be curst, it is for policy:
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience she will prove a second Grizelde,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity:
And to conclude,—we have 'greed so well together,
That upon sunday is the wedding-day.

Cat.
I'll see thee hang'd o'sunday first.

Gre.
Hark, Petruchio!
She says, she'll see thee hang'd o'sunday first.

Tra.
Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part.

Pet.
Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself;
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate!
She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss
She vy'd so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see,
How tame, when men and women are alone,

A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.—
Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day:—
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
I will be sure, my Catherine shall be fine.

Bap.
I know not what to say: but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

Gre. Tra.
Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.

Pet.
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;
I will to Venice, sunday comes apace:—
We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be marry'd o'sunday. [Exeunt Cat. and Pet.

Gre.
Was ever match clapt up so suddenly?

Bap.
'Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.

Tra.
'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

Bap.
The gain I seek is—quiet in the ^note match.

Gre.
No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter;—
Now is the day we long have looked for;
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

Tra.
And I am one, that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

Gre.
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

Tra.
Grey-beard, thy love doth freeze.

Gre.
But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back; 'tis age, that nourisheth.

Tra.
But youth, in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

Bap.
Content you, gentlemen; I will compound this strife:

'Tis deeds, must win the prize; and he, of both,
That can assure my daughter greatest dower,
Shall have Bianca's ^note love.—And, first, to you;
Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

Gre.
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold;
Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry:
In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;
In cypress chests my arras counterpanes ^note, ^note
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,
Fine linnen, Turky cushions bost with pearl,
Valance ^note of Venice gold in needle-work,
Pewter, and brass,—and all things that belong ^note
To house, or house-keeping: then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail ^note,
Six-score fat oxen standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am strook in years, I must confess;
And, if I die to morrow, this is hers,
If, whilst I live, she will be only mine.

Tra.
That, only, came well in. ^note—Sir, list to me;
I am my father's heir, and only son:
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I'll leave her houses three or four as good,
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old signior Gremio has in Padua;
Besides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.—
What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio?

Gre.
Two thousand ducats by the year of land!—
My land amounts but to ^note so much in all,

That she shall have; besides an argosy,
That now is lying in Marseilles' ^note road:—
What, have I choak'd you with an argosy?

Tra.
Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses,
And twelve tight gallies: these I will assure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

Gre.
Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more;
And she can have no more than all I have;—
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.

Tra.
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vy'd.

Bap.
I must confess, your offer is the best;
And, let your father make her the assurance,
She is your own; else, you must pardon me:
If you should die before him, where's her dower?

Tra.
That's but a cavil; he is old, I young.

Gre.
And may not young men die, as well as old?

Bap.
Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolv'd:—On sunday next, you know,
My daughter Catherine is to be marry'd:
Now, on the sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, Lucentio, if you
Make this assurance; if not, to signior Gremio:
And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit.

Gre.
Adieu, good neighbour.—Now I fear thee not;
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and, in his waining age,
Set foot under thy table: Tut! a toy!
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit.

Tra.
A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!
Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten.

'Tis in my head to do my master good:—
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio
May get ^note a father, call'd—suppos'd Vincentio;
And that's a wonder ^note: fathers, commonly,
Do get their children; but, in this case of wooing ^note,
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. [Exit. SCENE II. The same. Another Room. Enter Lucentio, amd Bianca, conversing; to them, Hortensio.

Luc.
Fidler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Catherine welcom'd you withal?

Hor.
She is a shrew;14Q0354 but, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony:
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in musick we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

Luc.
Prepost'rous ass! that never read so far,
To know the cause why musick was ordain'd!
Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,
After his studies, or his usual pain?
Then give me leave to read philosophy,
And, when I ^note pause, serve in your harmony.

Hor.
Sirrah, I will not ^note bear these braves of thine.

Bia.
Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,
To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
I am no breeching scholar in the schools;
I'll not be ty'd to hours, nor 'pointed times,
But learn my lessons as I please myself.
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:—

Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;
His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd.

Hor.
You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune? [to Bia. taking up his Lute.

Luc.
That will be never;—tune your instrument.

Bia.
Where left we last? [sitting to a Table with Luc.

Luc.
Here, madam:— [shewing a Book.
Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia ^note tellus;
  Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.

Bia.

Construe them.

Luc.

Hic ibat, as I told you before,—Simois, I am Lucentio,—hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa,—Sigeia ^note tellus, disguised thus to get your love;—Hic steterat ^note, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing,—Priami, is my man Tranio,—regia, bearing my port,—celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor.

Madam, my instrument's in tune.

Bia.
Let's hear:— [Hor. plays.
O, fie! the treble jars.

Luc.
Spit in the hole, man,
And tune again.

Bia.
Now let me see if I can construe it.

Hic ibat Simois, I know you not;—Hic est Sigeia ^note tellus, I trust you not;—Hic steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not;—regia, presume not;—celsa senis, despair not.

Hor.
Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc.
All but the base.

Hor.
The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars— ^note
&clquo;How fiery and how forward is our pedant ^note!&crquo;
&clquo;Now, for my life, the knave ^note doth court my love.&crquo;
&clquo;Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.&crquo;

Bia.
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. [seeing Hor. listen.

Luc.
Mistrust ^note it not; for, sure, Æacides
Was Ajax,—call'd so from his grandfather.

Bia.
I ^note must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
But let it rest.—Now, Licio, to you:— [rising.
Good masters ^note, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

Hor.
You ^note may go walk, [to Luc.] and give me leave a while;
My lessons make no musick in three parts.

&clquo;Luc.
&clquo;Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, [retiring.
&clquo;And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,&crquo;
&clquo;Our fine musician groweth amorous.&crquo;

Hor.
Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. [gives a Paper.

Bia.
Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

Hor.
Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

Bia.
Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, [reads.
    A re, to plead Hortensio's passion;
  B me ^note, Bianca, take him for thy lord,
    C faut, that loves with all affection:
  D sol re, one cliff, not two notes have I;
    E la mi, show me pity, or I die.
Call you this—gamut? tut! I like it not:

Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
To change ^note true rules for odd ^note inventions. Enter a Servant.

Ser.
Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,
And help to dress your sister's chamber up;
You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day.

Bia.
Farewel, sweet masters both; I must be gone. [Exeunt Ser. and Bia.

Luc.
'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit Lucentio.

Hor.
But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methinks, he looks as though he were in ^note love:—
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble,
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,
Seize thee, that list; If once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit.

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