To strive for that which resteth in my choice: 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 port, -celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.5 Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. Bian. Let's hear; [Returning. [HORTENSIO plays. O fye! the treble jars. Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Has ibat Simois, I know you not; hic est Segeia tellus, I trust you not;-Hic steterat Priami, take heed he No school-boy, liable to be whipt. 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! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: 6 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Was Ajax,-call'd so from his grandfather. you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: My lessons make no music in three parts. Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. Hor. 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, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: 6 Pedant. Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord. A re, to plead Hortensio's passion; Call you this-gamut? tut! I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,7 To change true rules for odd inventions. Enter a Servant. Serv. Mistress, your father books, prays you leave your And help to dress your sister's chamber up; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be [Exeunt BIANCA and Servant. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. gone. [Exit. Hor. 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,8 Seize thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. 8 Bait, decoy. 7 Fantastical. Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHARINE, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and Attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, [To TRANIO.] this is the 'pointed day That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : What will be said? what mockery will it be, Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forc'd To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour: He'll woo a thousand, point the day of marriage, Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, 9 Caprice, inconstancy. Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him though! [Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA, and others. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For such an injury would vex a saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter BIONDELLO. Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of! Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming? Bap. Is he come? Bion. Why, no, sir. Bap. What then? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there. Tra. But, say, what:-To thine old news. Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: His horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose |