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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

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rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she stand
him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so
disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see
withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.
HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is.
He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca;
And her withholds from me, and other more,
Suitors to her and rivals in my love;
Supposing it a thing impossible-
For those defects I have before rehears'd-
That ever Katherina will be woo'd.
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,
That none shall have access unto Bianca
Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
GRUMIO. Katherine the curst!
A title for a maid of all titles the worst.
HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;
That so I may by this device at least
Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
And unsuspected court her by herself.

Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO

GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the
young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about
you. Who goes there, ha?
HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio,
stand by awhile.
GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous!
[They stand aside]
GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note.
Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound-
All books of love, see that at any hand;
And see you read no other lectures to her.
You understand me- over and beside
Signior Baptista's liberality,
I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
And let me have them very well perfum'd;
For she is sweeter than perfume itself
To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you
As for my patron, stand you so assur'd,
As firmly as yourself were still in place;
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is!
GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah!
HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! [Coming forward]
God save you, Signior Gremio!
GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
I promis'd to enquire carefully
About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;
And by good fortune I have lighted well
On this young man; for learning and behaviour
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
And other books- good ones, I warrant ye.
HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman
Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
So shall I no whit be behind in duty
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.
GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove.
GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove.
HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love.
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair
I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.
Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
Upon agreement from us to his liking,
Will undertake to woo curst Katherine;
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
GREMIO. So said, so done, is well.
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold;
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?
PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son.
My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
And I do hope good days and long to see.
GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange!
But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name;
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you woo this wild-cat?
PETRUCHIO. Will I live?
GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her.
PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent?
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds,
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear
As will a chestnut in a fariner's fire?
Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.
GRUMIO. For he fears none.
GREMIO. Hortensio, hark:
This gentleman is happily arriv'd,
My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her.
GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.

Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO

TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?
BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean?
TRANIO. Even he, Biondello.
GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to-
TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?
PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.
TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.
LUCENTIO. [Aside] Well begun, Tranio.
HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go.
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?
TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence?
GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence.
TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me as for you?
GREMIO. But so is not she.

TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you?
GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know,
That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.
TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,
Do me this right- hear me with patience.
Baptista is a noble gentleman,
To whom my father is not all unknown,
And, were his daughter fairer than she is,
She may more suitors have, and me for one.
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;
Then well one more may fair Bianca have;
And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.
GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all!
LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade.
PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words?
HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?
TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two:
The one as famous for a scolding tongue
As is the other for beauteous modesty.
PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by.
GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules,
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth:
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her father keeps from all access of suitors,
And will not promise her to any man
Until the elder sister first be wed.
The younger then is free, and not before.
TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest;
And if you break the ice, and do this feat,
Achieve the elder, set the younger free
For our access- whose hap shall be to have her
Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.
HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive;
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholding.
TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health;
And do as adversaries do in law-
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone.
HORTENSIO. The motion's good indeed, and be it so.
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. Exeunt


Padua. BAPTISTA'S house


BIANCA. 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,
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.
KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not.
BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?
BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him.
KATHERINA. O then, belike, you fancy riches more:
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
BIANCA. 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 prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
KATHERINA. [Strikes her] If that be jest, then an the rest was so.


BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence?
Bianca, stand aside- poor girl! she weeps.
[He unbinds her]
Go ply thy needle; 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?
KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.
[Flies after BIANCA]
BAPTISTA. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
KATHERINA. What, will 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 KATHERINA
BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I?
But who comes here?

Enter GREMIO, with LUCENTIO in the habit of a mean man;
PETRUCHIO, with HORTENSIO as a musician; and TRANIO,
as LUCENTIO, with his boy, BIONDELLO, bearing a lute and books

GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.
BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio.
God save you, gentlemen!
PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
Call'd Katherina, fair and virtuous?
BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina.
GREMIO. You are too blunt; go to it orderly.
PETRUCHIO. 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 show 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 music and the mathematics,
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.
BAPTISTA. Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her;
Or else you like not of my company.
BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?
PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
BAPTISTA. I know him well; you are welcome for his sake.
GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us that are poor petitioners speak too.
Bacare! you are marvellous forward.
PETRUCHIO. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio! I would fain be doing.
GREMIO. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing.
Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To
express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly
beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young
scholar [Presenting LUCENTIO] that hath been long studying at
Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the
other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio. Pray accept
his service.
BAPTISTA. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio.
[To TRANIO] But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger.
May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?
TRANIO. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself 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 a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
BAPTISTA. Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray?
TRANIO. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
BAPTISTA. A mighty man of Pisa. By report
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.
Take you the lute, and you the set of books;
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!


Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters; and tell them both
These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.

Exit SERVANT leading HORTENSIO carrying the lute
and LUCENTIO with the books

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.
PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
PETRUCHIO. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialities be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.
PETRUCHIO. 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 extreme 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.
BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shake not though they blow perpetually.

Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke

BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?
HORTENSIO. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
HORTENSIO. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier:
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
BAPTISTA. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
HORTENSIO. 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 impatient devilish spirit,
'Frets, call you these?' quoth she 'I'll fume with them.'
And with that word she struck 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 fiddler
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
As she had studied to misuse me so.
PETRUCHIO. 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!
BAPTISTA. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited;
Proceed in practice 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?
PETRUCHIO. I pray you do. Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO
I'll attend her here,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain
She sings 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 banns, and when be married.
But here she comes; :Lnd.now, Petruchio, speak.


Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear.
KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
PETRUCHIO. 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 Kates, 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,
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.
KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither
Remove you hence. I knew you at the first
You were a moveable.
PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable?
KATHERINA. A join'd-stool.
PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.
KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you.
KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean.
PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee!
For, knowing thee to be but young and light-
KATHERINA. Too light for such a swain as you to catch;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz!
KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?
KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry.
KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out.
KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
In his tail.
KATHERINA. In his tongue.
PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue?
KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.
PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
KATHERINA. That I'll try. [She strikes him]
PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.
KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms.
If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!
KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb?
PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
KATHERINA. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.
KATHERINA. There is, there is.
PETRUCHIO. Then show it me.
KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would.
PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face?
KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one.
PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd.
PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares.
KATHERINA. I care not.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so.
KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.
PETRUCHIO. 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 springtime flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
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 hazel-twig
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.
KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
PETRUCHIO. 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 chaste, and Dian sportful!
KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother wit.
KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son.
PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise?
KATHERINA. Yes, keep you warm.
PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, 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 married to no man but me;
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.


Here comes your father. Never make denial;
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?
PETRUCHIO. How but well, sir? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?
KATHERINA. Call you me daughter? Now I promise you
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard
To wish me wed to one half lunatic,
A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
PETRUCHIO. 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 Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
KATHERINA. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first.
TRANIO. Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!
PETRUCHIO. 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 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.


Padua. BAPTISTA'S house


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
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 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.
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.


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.
LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methinks he looks as though he were in 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

Padua. Before BAPTISTA'So house


BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
That Katherine and Petruchio should be married,
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be said? What mockery will it be
To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her!'
TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!
Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others
BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,
For such an injury would vex a very saint;
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.


Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard of!
BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be?
BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?
BAPTISTA. Is he come?
BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.
BAPTISTA. What then?
BIONDELLO. He is coming.
BAPTISTA. When will he be here?
BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.
TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news?
BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old
jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots
that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an old
rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt,
and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an
old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess'd
with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with
the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped
with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives,
stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in
the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a
half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which,
being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often
burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times piec'd,
and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her
name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with
BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?
BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like
the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose
on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and
the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a
monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
footboy or a gentleman's lackey.
TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd.
BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.
BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?
BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?
BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.
BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back.
BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one.
BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.


PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home?
BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.
PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.
BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.
TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd
As I wish you were.
PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
And wherefore gaze this goodly company
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet or unusual prodigy?
BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day.
First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforced to digress,
Which at more leisure I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.
TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her.
BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words;
To me she's married, not unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride
And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.
BAPTISTA. I'll after him and see the event of this.
TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us to ad
Her father's liking; which to bring to pass,
As I before imparted to your worship,
I am to get a man- whate'er he be
It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn-
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,
And make assurance here in Padua
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,
I'll keep mine own despite of all the world.
TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into
And watch our vantage in this business;
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amorous Licio-
All for my master's sake, Lucentio.

Re-enter GREMIO

Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school.
TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible.
GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.
GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him!
I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
Should ask if Katherine should be his wife,
'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud
That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book;
And as he stoop'd again to take it up,
This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest.
'Now take them up,' quoth he 'if any list.'
TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?
GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done
He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if
He had been abroad, carousing to his mates
After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face,
Having no other reason
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck,
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack
That at the parting all the church did echo.
And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
Such a mad marriage never was before.
Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music plays]

GRUMIO, and train

PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains.
I know you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer
But so it is- my haste doth call me hence,
And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away to-night?
PETRUCHIO. I must away to-day before night come.
Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
And, honest company, I thank you all
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.
Dine with my father, drink a health to me.
For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
PETRUCHIO. It may not be.
GREMIO. Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.
KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO. I am content.
KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?
PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay;
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.
PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse.
GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.
KATHERINA. Nay, then,
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself.
The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself.
'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
PETRUCHIO. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry.
KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do?
Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner.
I see a woman may be made a fool
If she had not a spirit to resist.
PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead;
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves.
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
I will be master of what is mine own-
She is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing,
And here she stands; touch her whoever dare;
I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;
I'll buckler thee against a million.
BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like.
LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?
BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.
GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place;
And let Bianca take her sister's room.
TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?
BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.


PETRUCHIO'S country house


GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all
foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray'd? Was
ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are
coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and soon
hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof
of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to
thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for,
considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold.
Holla, ho! Curtis!


CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly?
GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my
shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my
neck. A fire, good Curtis.
CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?
GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no
CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?
GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou know'st
winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old
master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.
GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so long
am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain
on thee to our mistress, whose hand- she being now at hand- thou
shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot
CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me how goes the world?
GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and
mistress are almost frozen to death.
CURTIS. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news?
GRUMIO. Why, 'Jack boy! ho, boy!' and as much news as thou wilt.
CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching!
GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold.
Where's the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes
strew'd, cobwebs swept, the serving-men in their new fustian,
their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on?
Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets
laid, and everything in order?
CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.
GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fall'n
GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a
CURTIS. Let's ha't, good Grumio.
GRUMIO. Lend thine ear.
GRUMIO. There. [Striking him]
CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this cuff
was but to knock at your car and beseech list'ning. Now I begin:
Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my
CURTIS. Both of one horse?
GRUMIO. What's that to thee?
CURTIS. Why, a horse.
GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not cross'd me, thou
shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse;
thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was
bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me
because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to
pluck him off me, how he swore, how she pray'd that never pray'd
before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was
burst, how I lost my crupper- with many things of worthy memory,
which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to
thy grave.
CURTIS. By this reck'ning he is more shrew than she.
GRUMIO. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find
when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth
Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the
rest; let their heads be sleekly comb'd, their blue coats brush'd
and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with
their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my mastcr's
horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?
CURTIS. They are.
GRUMIO. Call them forth.
CURTIS. Do you hear, ho? You must meet my master, to countenance my
GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.
CURTIS. Who knows not that?
GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.
CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her.
GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

Enter four or five SERVINGMEN

NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio!
PHILIP. How now, Grumio!
JOSEPH. What, Grumio!
NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio!
NATHANIEL. How now, old lad!
GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!- and
thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready,
and all things neat?
NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master?
GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not-
Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.


PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir.
PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.
PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel;
There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing;
There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.
Exeunt some of the SERVINGMEN

[Sings] Where is the life that late I led?
Where are those-

Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud!

Re-enter SERVANTS with supper

Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?

[Sings] It was the friar of orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way-

Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry;
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
[Strikes him]
Be merry, Kate. Some water, here, what, ho!

Enter one with water

Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? [Strikes him]
KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.
PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?
What's this? Mutton?
PETRUCHIO. Who brought it?
PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you villains bring it from the dresser
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;
[Throws the meat, etc., at them]
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.
KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,
And I expressly am forbid to touch it;
For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better 'twere that both of us did fast,
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended.
And for this night we'll fast for company.
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. Exeunt

Re-enter SERVANTS severally

NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like?
PETER. He kills her in her own humour.

Re-enter CURTIS

GRUMIO. Where is he?
CURTIS. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her,
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak.
And sits as one new risen from a dream.
Away, away! for he is coming hither. Exeunt


PETRUCHIO. Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty.
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg'd,
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come, and know her keeper's call,
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate and beat, and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
As with the meat, some undeserved fault
I'll find about the making of the bed;
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets;
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her-
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night;
And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl
And with the clamour keep her still awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness,
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show. Exit

Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house


TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.
[They stand aside]


LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that.
LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.'
BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art!
LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
[They retire]
HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
You that durst swear that your Mistress Blanca
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio.
Nor a musician as I seem to be;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise
For such a one as leaves a gentleman
And makes a god of such a cullion.
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca;
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
I will with you, if you be so contented,
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her,
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.
TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
Never to marry with her though she would entreat;
Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!
HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealtlly widow
Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me
As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard.
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love; and so I take my leave,
In resolution as I swore before. Exit
TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?
TRANIO. Mistress, we have.
LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio.
TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.
BIANCA. God give him joy!
TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her.
BIANCA. He says so, Tranio.
TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place?
TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.


BIONDELLO. O master, master, have watch'd so long
That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied
An ancient angel coming down the hill
Will serve the turn.
TRANIO. What is he, Biondello?
BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant,
I know not what; but formal in apparel,
In gait and countenance surely like a father.
LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio?
TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale,
I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
And give assurance to Baptista Minola
As if he were the right Vincentio.
Take in your love, and then let me alone.

Enter a PEDANT

PEDANT. God save you, sir!
TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?
PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two;
But then up farther, and as far as Rome;
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
TRANIO. What countryman, I pray?
PEDANT. Of Mantua.
TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,
And come to Padua, careless of your life!
PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard.
TRANIO. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
Your ships are stay'd at Venice; and the Duke,
For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly.
'Tis marvel- but that you are but newly come,
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.
PEDANT. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so!
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.
TRANIO. Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will I do, and this I will advise you-
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renowned for grave citizens.
TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio?
PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him,
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you.
BIONDELLO. [Aside] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all
TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;
Look that you take upon you as you should.
You understand me, sir. So shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city.
If this be court'sy, sir, accept of it.
PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.
TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand:
My father is here look'd for every day
To pass assurance of a dow'r in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here.
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you.
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. Exeunt



GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.
KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars that come unto my father's door
Upon entreaty have a present alms;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;
But I, who never knew how to entreat,
Nor never needed that I should entreat,
Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed;
And that which spites me more than all these wants-
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
I prithee go and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.
GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot?
KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.
GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?
KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.
GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard,
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.
GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef.
KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
[Beats him]
That feed'st me with the very name of meat.
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you
That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.

Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meat

PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?
HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer?
KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be.
PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.
Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am,
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.
I am 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 this dish.
KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand.
PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
KATHERINA. I thank you, sir.
HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
PETRUCHIO. [Aside] 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 farthingales and things,
With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry.
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry.
What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.


Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
Lay forth the gown.


What news with you, sir?
HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy;
Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.
Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger.
KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.
HORTENSIO. [Aside] That will not be in haste.
KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind,
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;
I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not.
KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
And it I will have, or I will have none. Exit HABERDASHER
PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart?
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber's shop.
Why, what a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?
HORTENSIO. [Aside] I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown.
TAILOR. You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be rememb'red,
I did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you shall hop without my custom, sir.
I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it.
KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.
TAILOR. She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.
PETRUCHIO. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail,
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou-
Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread!
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st!
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.
TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made
Just as my master had direction.
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.
TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made?
GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut?
GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things.
TAILOR. I have.
GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I
will neither be fac'd nor brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy
master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces.
Ergo, thou liest.
TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown'-
GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the
skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown bread; I
said a gown.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a small compass'd cape'-
GRUMIO. I confess the cape.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'With a trunk sleeve'-
GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves.
TAILOR. [Reads] 'The sleeves curiously cut.'
PETRUCHIO. Ay, there's the villainy.
GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded the
sleeves should be cut out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll
prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.
TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where, thou
shouldst know it.
GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy
meteyard, and spare not me.
HORTENSIO. God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.
PETRUCHIO. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
GRUMIO. You are i' th' right, sir; 'tis for my mistress.
PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master's use.
GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress' gown for
thy master's use!
PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?
GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.
Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
O fie, fie, fie!
PETRUCHIO. [Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.-
Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.
HORTENSIO. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow;
Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
Away, I say; commend me to thy master. Exit TAILOR
PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
Even in these honest mean habiliments;
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me;
And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith
To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
Go call my men, and let us straight to him;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
And well we may come there by dinner-time.
KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two,
And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.
PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse.
Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone;
I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
It shall be what o'clock I say it is.
HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun.

Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house

Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO

TRANIO. Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call?
PEDANT. Ay, what else? And, but I be deceived,
Signior Baptista may remember me
Near twenty years ago in Genoa,
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.
TRANIO. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
With such austerity as longeth to a father.


PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;
'Twere good he were school'd.
TRANIO. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
BIONDELLO. Tut, fear not me.
TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice,
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
TRANIO. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.


Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
[To To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;
I pray you stand good father to me now;
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
PEDANT. Soft, son!
Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between your daughter and himself;
And- for the good report I hear of you,
And for the love he beareth to your daughter,
And she to him- to stay him not too long,
I am content, in a good father's care,
To have him match'd; and, if you please to like
No worse than I, upon some agreement
Me shall you find ready and willing
With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
For curious I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
BAPTISTA. 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,
Or both dissemble deeply their affections;
And therefore, if you say no more than this,
That like a father you will deal with him,
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
The match is made, and all is done-
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
We be affied, and such assurance ta'en
As shall with either part's agreement stand?
BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants;
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still,
And happily we might be interrupted.
TRANIO. Then at my lodging, an it like you.
There doth my father lie; and there this night
We'll pass the business privately and well.
Send for your daughter by your servant here;
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, that at so slender warning
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.
BAPTISTA. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened-
Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. Exit LUCENTIO
BIONDELLO. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart.
TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;
Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.
BAPTISTA. I follow you. Exeunt


LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello?
BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?
LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that?
BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound
the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.
LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them.
BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving
father of a deceitful son.
LUCENTIO. And what of him?
BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.
LUCENTIO. And then?
BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command
at all hours.
LUCENTIO. And what of all this?
BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a
counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio
ad imprimendum solum; to th' church take the priest, clerk, and
some sufficient honest witnesses.
If this be not that you look for, I have more to say,
But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.
LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello?
BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an afternoon
as she went to the garden for 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.
LUCENTIO. 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. Exit

A public road


PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!
KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now.
PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright.
KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
PETRUCHIO. 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 cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!
HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please;
And if you please to call it a rush-candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon.
KATHERINA. I know it is the moon.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.
KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, 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 Katherine.
HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.
PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft! Company is coming here.


[To VINCENTIO] Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?-
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
Hast 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.
HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.
KATHERINA. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child;
Happier the man whom favourable stars
Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow.
PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad!
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered,
And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green;
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
Which way thou travellest- if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.
VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me,
My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,
And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
PETRUCHIO. What is his name?
VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir.
PETRUCHIO. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee my loving father:
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure,
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?
HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
Exeunt all but HORTENSIO
HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow; and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. Exit


Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house


BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.
LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at
home, therefore leave us.
BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and then
come back to my master's as soon as I can.
GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.


PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house;
My father's bears more toward the market-place;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go;
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And by all likelihood some cheer is toward. [Knocks]
GREMIO. They're busy within; you were best knock louder.
[PEDANT looks out of the window]
PEDANT. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?
VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
PEDANT. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make
merry withal?
PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none so
long as I live.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do
you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell
Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here
at the door to speak with him.
PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking
out at the window.
VINCENTIO. Art thou his father?
PEDANT. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.
PETRUCHIO. [To VINCENTIO] Why, how now, gentleman!
Why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man's name.
PEDANT. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a means to cozen
somebody in this city under my countenance.


BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together. God send 'em
good shipping! But who is here? Mine old master, Vicentio! Now we
are undone and brought to nothing.
VINCENTIO. [Seeing BIONDELLO] Come hither, crack-hemp.
BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir.
VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?
BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir. I could not forget you, for I never
saw you before in all my life.
VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy
master's father, Vincentio?
BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see
where he looks out of the window.
VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed? [He beats BIONDELLO]
BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a madman will murder me.
PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! Exit from above
PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this
controversy. [They stand aside]


TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?
VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods!
O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak,
and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the
good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the
TRANIO. How now! what's the matter?
BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic?
TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but
your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I
wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to
maintain it.
VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.
BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you
think is his name?
VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him
up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio.
PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine
only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio.
VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red his master! Lay hold on
him, I charge you, in the Duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell
me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
TRANIO. Call forth an officer.

Enter one with an OFFICER

Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you
see that he be forthcoming.
VINCENTIO. Carry me to the gaol!
GREMIO. Stay, Officer; he shall not go to prison.
BAPTISTA. Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.
GREMIO. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catch'd in
this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio.
PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st.
GREMIO. Nay, I dare not swear it.
TRANIO. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.
GREMIO. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
BAPTISTA. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him!
VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous


BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him, forswear
him, or else we are all undone.
Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be
LUCENTIO. [Kneeling] Pardon, sweet father.
VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son?
BIANCA. Pardon, dear father.
BAPTISTA. How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?
LUCENTIO. Here's Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio,
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.
GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!

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