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 Katharine shall be fine.

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

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Pet. 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 o' Sunday."

[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA, severally.

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly?
Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.

Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you:
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
Bap. The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.
Gre. 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.

Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.
Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as I.
Tra. Graybeard! thy love doth freeze.

Gre.

But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.

Tra. But youth, in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

Bap. 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 Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

Gre. 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,10
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 belong
To house, or housekeeping:11 then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Sixscore 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.

Tra. 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 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 ?

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
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?

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses,12

And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd 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.

Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise; Gremio is outvied.

Bap. 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?
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,

I am thus resolv'd:-on Sunday next you know,
My daughter Katharine 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
Gre. Adieu, good neighbour.-

both.

[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.

Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!

Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.13

'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.

Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA.

Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir. Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? Hor. 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. Luc. 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.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,
To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
I am 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.

Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

[TO BIANCA.-HORTENSIO retires. Luc. That will be never ;-tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last?

Luc. Here, madam :

Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;

Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.

Bian. Construe them.

Luc. Hac 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 portcelsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune.

Bian. Let's hear;

[HORTENSIO plays.

O fie! the treble jars.

[Coming forward.

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac 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.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc.

All but the base.

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is!