Pet.
How fares my Kate? what, sweeting, all amort?

Hor.
Mistress, what cheer?

Kath.
'Faith as cold as can be.

Pet.
Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me;
Here love, thou seest how diligent I am,
To dress thy meat my self, and bring it thee:
I'm sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What, not a word? nay then, thou lov'st it not:
And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here take away the dish.

Kath.
I pray you let it stand.

Pet.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks,
And so shall mine before you touch the meat.

Kath.
I thank you, Sir.

Hor.
Signior Petruchio, fie, you are to blame:
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.

Pet.
Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me,
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart;
Kate, eat apace. And now my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house,
And revel it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs, and cuffs, and fardingals, and things:

With scarfs, and fans, and double change of brav'ry,
With amber bracelets, beads and all this knavery.
What, hast thou din'd? the taylor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ^{a note}rustling treasure.

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