To have him match'd; and—if you please to like With one consent to have her so bestow'd: Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 570 Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ;Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. Right true it is, your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 5,80 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best, We be affy'd; and such assurance talen, As shall with either part's agreement stand? Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir: Iiij 599 You'r You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. Bap. It likes me well :-Cambio, hie you home, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart! [Exit. Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: Bap. I follow you. Bion. Cambio. 602 [Exeunt. [LUCENTIO returns. Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello ? Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? Luc. Biondello, what of that? Bion, 'Faith, nothing; but he has left me here behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. 612 Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. Luc. And what of him? Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. Luc. And then? Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. 621 Luc. Luc. And what of all this? Bion. I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a counterfeit assurance; take you assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solùm: to the church take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest wit nesses: If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, But, bid Bianca farewel for ever and a day. Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 630 Bion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden för parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix. [Exit. Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented. She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt ? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. 1 [Exit: SCENE V. A green Lane. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINE, and HORTENSIO. Pet. Come on, o'God's name; once more toward our father's. 641 Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! Kath. Kath. The moon! the sun; it is not moon-light now.. Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house :Go on, and fetch our horses back again.— Evermore crost, and crost; nothing but crost! 650 Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. Kath. I know, it is the moon. Pet. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. Kath. Then, God be blest, it is the blessed sun :But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes, even as your mind. What you will have it nam'd, even that it is; And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 660 Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. run, And not unluckily against the bias.- Enter Enter VINCENTIO. Good-morrow, gentle mistress: Where away?— 670 [TO VINCENTIO. Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly tooHast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face ?— Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee: Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and sweet, Whither away; or where is thy abode ? Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow ! 680 Pet. Why, how now, Kate! I hope, thou art not mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd; Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, Pet. Do, good old grand-sire; and, withal, make known 690 |