She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vied 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 Katherine shall be fine.
BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands.
God send you joy, Petruchio! 'Tis a match.
GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be
witnesses.
PETRUCHIO. 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 married a Sunday.
Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA severally
GREMIO. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?
BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And
venture madly on a
desperate mart.
TRANIO. 'Twas a
commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you gain, or
perish on the seas.
BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is quiet in the match.
GREMIO. 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.
TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can
witness or your thoughts can guess.
GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.
GREMIO. But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.
TRANIO. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.
BAPTISTA. 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 my Bianca's love.
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?
GREMIO. First, as you know, my house within the city
Is
richly furnished with plate and gold,
Basins 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 counterpoints,
Costly
apparel, tents, and canopies,
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work;
Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs
To house or
housekeeping. Then at my farm
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Six score fat oxen
standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must
confess;
And if I die to-morrow this is hers,
If
whilst I live she will be only mine.
TRANIO. That 'only' came well in. 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's 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?
GREMIO. Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
[Aside] My land amounts not to so much in all.-
That she shall have, besides an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles road.
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy?
TRANIO. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses,
And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her,
And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next.
GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red 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.
TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.
BAPTISTA. 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?
TRANIO. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young.
GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old?
BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolv'd: on Sunday next you know
My daughter Katherine is to be married;
Now, on the Sunday following shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;
If not, to Signior Gremio.
And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour. Exit BAPTISTA
Now, I fear thee not.
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and in his waning age
Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy!
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. Exit
TRANIO. A
vengeance on your
crafty withered 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
Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio;
And that's a wonder- fathers commonly
Do get their children; but in this case of wooing
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
Exit
ACT III. SCENE I.
Padua. BAPTISTA'S house
Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA
LUCENTIO. Fiddler,
forbear; you grow too forward, sir.
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katherine welcome'd you
withal?
HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of
heavenly harmony.
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in music we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have
leisure for as much.
LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far
To know the cause why music 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 while I pause serve in your harmony.
HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong
To
strive for that which resteth in my choice.
I arn no breeching
scholar in the schools,
I'll not be tied 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.
HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your
instrument.
BIANCA. Where left we last?
LUCENTIO. Here, madam:
'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
BIANCA. Construe them.
LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am Lucentio-
'hic est' son unto Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus' disguised
thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' 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.
HORTENSIO. Madam, my
instrument's in tune.
BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the
treble jars.
LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois' I
know you not- 'hic est Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic
steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia'
presume not-
'celsa senis'
despair not.
HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
LUCENTIO. All but the bass.
HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
[Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love.
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I
mistrust.
LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.
Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave
awhile;
My lessons make no music in three Parts.
LUCENTIO. Are you so
formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
[Aside] And watch
withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine
musician groweth amorous.
HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the
instrumentTo 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.
BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
BIANCA. [Reads]
'"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord-
"A re" to plead Hortensio's passion-
"B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord-
"C fa ut" that loves with all affection-
"D sol re" one clef, two notes have I-
"E la mi" show 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 true rules for odd inventions.
Enter a SERVANT
SERVANT. 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.
BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone.
Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT
LUCENTIO. Faith,
mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
Exit
HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;