Pet. Father, 'tis thus: Yourself and all the world,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amifs of her;
If the be curs'd, it is for policy,

For the's not froward, but modeft as the dove:
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ;
For patience, the will prove a fecond Grizel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity;
And to conclude, we've 'greed fo well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Cath. I'll fee thee hang'd on Sunday first.

Gre. Hark: Petruchio! the fays fhe'll fee thee hang'd firit.

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

Pet. Be patient, Sirs, I chufe her for myfelf;
If the and I be pleas d, what's that to you?
'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That the fhall ftill be curs'd in company.
I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe

How much he loves me; oh, the kindeft Kate !
She hung about my neck, and kifs on kifs
She vy'd fo falt, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink fhe won me to her love.
Oh, you are novices; 'tis a world to fee.
How tame (when men and women are alone)
A meacock wretch can make the curfteft fhrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate, I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day ;
Father, provide the feaft, and bid the guests;
I will be fure my Catharine fhall be fine.

Bap. I know not what to fay, but give your hands; God fend you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

Gre. Tra. Amen, fay we; we will be witneffes.
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;

I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace,

We will have rings and things, and fine array;
And kits me Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.

[Exeunt Petruchio and Catharine feverally.

SCENE VI.

Gre. Was ever match clapt up fo fuddenly?
Bap. Faith, Gentlemen, I play a merchant's part,

And

And venture madly on a desperate mart.

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

Bap. The gain I feek is quiet in the match.
Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptifta, to your younger daughter.
Now is the day we long have looked for:
I am your neighbour, and was fuitor first.

Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witnefs, or your thoughts can guefs. Gre. Youngling! thou can't not love fo dear as I. Tra. Grey-beard! thy love doth freeze.

Gre. But thine doth fry.

Skipper, ftand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.
Tra. ut youth in ladies' eyes that flouritheth.
Bap. Content you, Gentlemen, I will compound
this trife.

'Tis deels mult win the prize; and he, of both,
That can affure my daughter greatest dower,
Shall have Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you affure her?
Gre. Firit, as you know, my houfe within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,

Balons and ewers to lave her dainty hands:
My hangings all of Tyriam tapestry;

In ivory coffers i have ftuff'd my crowns;
In cypreis cheits my arras, counterpanes,
Coitly apparel, tents and canopies,

Fine linen, Turky cushions bols'd with pearl;
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work;
Fewter and brass, and all things that belang
To houfe, or houfe-keeping: then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Sixfcore fat oxen ftanding in my talls;
And all things anfwerable to this portion.
Myfelf am truck in years, I must confefs;
And, if I die to-morrow, this is her's,
If, whilt, I live, fhe will be only mine:
Tra. That only came well in.

Sir, list to me;

I am my father's heir, and only fon;
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I'll leave her houses three or four as good,

Within rich Pifa walls, as any one

Old Signior Gremio has in Padua;
Befides two thousand ducats by the year

Of fruitful land; all which thall 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 fo much in all.
That the fhall have, befides an Argofie
That now is lying in Marfeilles's road.
What, have I choak'd you with an Argofie?

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great Argofies, befides to galliaffes,
And twelve tight gallies: thefe I will affure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'ft next.
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all; I have no more;
And the can have no more than all I have;
If you
like me,
fhe fhall have me and mine.
Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.

Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best;
And let your father make her the affurance,
She is your own: elie you must pardon me;
If you fhould 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, then I am thus refolv’d.
On Sunday next, you know,

My daughter Catharine is to be married.
Now on the Sunday following thall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this affurance;
If not, to Signior Gremio:

And fo I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit.
Gre. Adicu, good neighbour.-Now I fear thee

not

Sirrah, young gamefter, 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 fo kind my boy.

[Exit.

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide! Yet I have face'd it with a card of ten : 'Tis in my head to do my master good, I fee no reason, but fuppos'd Lucentio

May

May get a father, call'd, fuppos'd Vincentio;
And that's a wonder: fathers commonly

Do get their children; but, in this cafe of wooing,
A child fhall get a fire, if I fail not of my cunning.

[The prefenters, above, speak here.

Sly. Sim, when will the fool come again?
Sim. Anon, my Lord.

[Exit.

Sly. Give's fome more drink here—Where's the tapfter? Here, Sim, eat fome of these things.

Sim. So I do, my Lord.

Sly. Here, Sim, I drink to thee.

A CT III.

SCENE I.

Luc.

Baptifta's houfe.

Enter Lucentio, Hortenfio, and Bianca.

Idler, forbear; you grow too forward, Sir:
Have you fo foon forgot the entertainment
Her fifter Catharine welcom'd you withal?
Hor. Wrangling pedant, this is

The patronefs of heavenly harmony;
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in mufic we have spent an hour,
Your lecture fhall have leifure for as much.

Luc. Prepofterous afs! that never read so far
To know the caufe why mufic was ordain'd:
Was it not to refresh the mind of man
After his ftudies, or his ufual pain?
Then give me leave to read philofophy,

And, while I paufe, ferve in your harmony.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear thefe braves of thine, Bian. Why, Gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To ftrive for that which refteth in my choice. I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, But learn my leffons as I pleafe myfelf; And to cut off all strife, here fit we down, Take you your inftrument, play you the while; His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.

Her.

Hor. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune? [Hortenfio retires.

Luc. That will be never: tune your inftrument.
Bian Where left we laft?

Luc. Here, Madam: Hac ibat Simois; hic eft Sigeia tellus ;

Hic fteterat Priami regia celfa fenis.

Bian. Conftrue them.

Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before; Simois, I am Lucentio; hic eft, fon unto Vincentio of Pifa; Sigeia tellus, difguifed thus to get your love; hic fteterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing; Priami, is my man Tranio; regia, bearing my port; celfa fenis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor. Madam, my inftrument's in tune. [Returning.
Bian. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

Bian. Now let me fee if I can conftrue it. Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hic eft Sigeia tellus, I trust you not; hic fteterat Priami, take heed he hear us not; regia, prefume not; celfa fenis, despair not.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc. All but the bafe.

Hor. The bafe is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and how froward is our pedant! Now, for my life, that knave doth court my love; Pedafcale, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. Miftruft it not ;-for, fure, Æacides Was Ajax, call'd fo from his grandfather.

Bian. I must believe my mafter, elfe I promise you, I fhould be arguing ftill upon that doubt; But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you:` Good mafters, take it not unkindly, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while; My leffons make no mufic in three parts.

Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for but I be deceiv'd,

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

He would have faid didafcale; but thinking this too honourable, he coins the word pedafeole in imitation of it, from pedant.

Hor.