And to be noted for a merry man, He'll wooe a thoufand, 'point the day of marriage, Cath. Would Catharine had never seen him the'! Much more a fhrew of thy impatient humour. Bion. Mafter, mafter; old news, and fuch 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 ftands where I am, and fees you there. Tra. But, fay, what to thine old news ? Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an ola jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rufty fword ta'en out of the townarmory, with a broken hilt, and chapelefs, with two broken points; his horfe hip'd with an old mothy faddle, the ftirrups of no kindred; befides, poffeft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, fped with fpavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the the fives, ftark spoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and shoulder-shotten, nearlegg'd before, and with a half checkt bit, and a headstall of theep's leather, which being reftrain'd, to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burft, and now repair'd with knots; one girt, fix times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly fet down in ftuds, and here and there piec'd with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horse, with a linnen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hofe on the other, garter'd with a red and blue lift, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prickt up in't for a feather: a monfter, a very monster in apparel, and not like a christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. Bap. I am glad he's come, howfoever he comes. Bap. Didft thou not fay, he comes? Bion. Who? that Petruchio came. Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Bion. No, Sir; I fay, his horfe comes with him on his back. Bap. Why, that's all one. Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and Grumio fantastically habited. Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at home? Bap. You're welcome. Sir. Pet. And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. Not fo well 'parell'd, as I wish you were. Pet. Were it better, I fhould 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 faw fome wondrous monument, Bap. Why, Sir, you know, this is your wedding day: First, were we fad, fearing you would not come; Now fadder, that you come fo unprovided. Fy, doff this habit, fhame to your estate, Tra. And tell us what occafion of import Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear : But, where is Kate? I ftay too long from her; Pet. Not I: believe me, thus I'll visit her. Bap. But thus, I truft, you will not marry her. To me fhe's married, not unto my cloaths: [words; When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, And feal the title with a lovely kifs? [Exit. Tra. He hath fome meaning in his mad attire: We will perfuade him, be it poffible, To put on better ere he go to church. Bap. I'll after him, and fee the event of this. [Exit. 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;) Of Of greater fums than I have promised: Luc. Were it not, that my fellow school-master Enter Gremio., Now, Signior Gremio, came you from the church? This mad-brain'd bridegroom took him fuch a cuff, Tra. What faid the wench, when he rofe up again? He calls for wine: a health, quoth he; as if [fvore As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, H'ad been aboard caroufing to his mates After a form; quafft off the mufcadel, And threw the fops all in the fexton's face Having Having no other caufe, but that his beard I know, the rout is coming: Such a mad marriage Enter Petruchio, Catharina, Bianca, Hortenfio, Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: Tra. Let us intreat you stay 'till after dinner. Gre. Let me intreat you. Pet. It cannot be. Cath. Let me intreat you. Pet. I am content Cath. Are you content to stay? Pet. I am content, you shall intreat me, stay; But yet not stay, intreat me how you can. Cath. Now, if you love me, ftay. Pet. Grumio, my horfes. Gru. Ay, Sir, they be ready; The oats have eaten the horfes. Cath. Nay, then, Do |