Enter Beggar (Christopher Sly) and Hostess.
Enter a Lord from hunting, withhis train.
One exits with the Players.
Enter aloft Christopher Sly, the drunkard, withAttendants, some with apparel, basin and ewer, andother appurtenances, and Lord dressed as an Attendant.
Enter Page as Lady, with Attendants.
Enter Lucentio, and his man Tranio.
Enter Baptista with his two daughters, Katherine andBianca; Gremio, a pantaloon, and Hortensio, suitorsto Bianca.
Lucentio and Tranio stand by.
, to Gremio and Hortensio
, to Gremio and Hortensio
Gremio and Hortensio exit.
Tranio and Lucentio remain onstage.
The Presenters above speak.
Enter Petruchio and his man Grumio.
He wrings him by the ears. Grumio falls.
Enter Gremio and Lucentio, disguised as Cambio, aschoolmaster.
Petruchio, Hortensio, and Grumio stand aside.
Enter Tranio, disguised as Lucentio, and Biondello.
Enter Katherine and Bianca with her hands tied.
Enter Gremio; Lucentio disguised as Cambioin the habit of a mean man; Petruchio withHortensio disguised as Litio; and Tranio disguisedas Lucentio, with his boy, Biondello bearing a luteand books.
Presenting Hortensio, disguised as Litio
presentingLucentio, disguised as Cambio
Biondello comes forward with the gifts.
Servant exits with Hortensio and Lucentio.
Enter Hortensio as Litio with his head broke.
Enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio as Lucentio.
Petruchio and Katherine exitthrough different doors.
Enter Lucentio as Cambio, Hortensio as Litio, andBianca.
Hortensio steps aside to tune his lute.
Hortensio tunes his lute again.
Bianca, the Servant, and Lucentio exit.
Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio as Lucentio, Katherine,Bianca, Lucentio as Cambio, and others, Attendants.
Enter Petruchio and Grumio.
Petruchio exits, with Grumio.
All except Tranio and Lucentio exit.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista,Grumio, and Attendants.
Petruchio and Katherine exit, with Grumio.
He slaps Curtis on the ear.
Enter four or five Servingmen.
Enter Petruchio and Katherine.
Enter Servants with supper.
Servant begins to remove Petruchio’s boots.
He throws the food and dishes at them.
Enter Servants severally.
Enter Tranio as Lucentio and Hortensio as Litio.
Enter Bianca and Lucentio as Cambio.
They move aside and kiss and talk.
Bianca and Lucentio come forward.
Lucentio and Bianca exit.
Enter Katherine and Grumio.
Enter Petruchio and Hortensio with meat.
Katherine and Hortensio prepare to eat.
Enter Tranio as Lucentio, and the Merchant, booted,and dressed like Vincentio.
Enter Baptista and Lucentio as Cambio.
Merchant stands bareheaded.
He indicates Lucentio, and winks at him.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Hortensio, and Servants.
Enter Biondello, Lucentio as himself, and Bianca.Gremio is out before and stands to the side.
Lucentio exits with Bianca.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Vincentio, Grumio, withAttendants.
Merchant looks out of the window.
Enter Merchant with Servants, and Baptista andTranio disguised as Lucentio.
Enter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca.
Biondello, Tranio, and Merchantexit as fast as may be.
Lucentio and Bianca kneel.
Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Merchant,Lucentio, and Bianca; Hortensio and the Widow,Petruchio and Katherine; Tranio, Biondello, andGrumio,
with Servingmen bringing in a banquet.
Bianca, Katherine, and the Widow exit.
Enter Katherine, Bianca, and Widow.
Petruchio and Katherine exit.
|characters in the Induction
I’ll feeze you, in faith.
You’re a baggage! The Slys are no rogues. Look
in the chronicles. We came in with Richard Conqueror.
Therefore, paucas pallabris, let the world
No, not a denier. Go, by Saint Jeronimy! Go to
thy cold bed and warm thee.
Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him
by law. I’ll not budge an inch, boy. Let him come,
For God’s sake, a pot of small ale.
I am Christophero Sly! Call not me Honor nor
Lordship. I ne’er drank sack in my life. An if you
give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef.
Ne’er ask me what raiment I’ll wear, for I have no
more doublets than backs, no more stockings than
legs, nor no more shoes than feet, nay sometime
more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look
through the over-leather.
What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher
Sly, old Sly’s son of Burton Heath, by birth a
peddler, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation
a bearherd, and now by present profession a
tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Wincot,
if she know me not! If she say I am not fourteen
pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the
lying’st knave in Christendom. What, I am not
Am I a lord, and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? Or have I dreamed till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak,
I smell sweet savors, and I feel soft things.
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed
And not a tinker, nor Christopher Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight,
And once again a pot o’ the smallest ale.
These fifteen years! By my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time?
Ay, the woman’s maid of the house.
Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends!
I thank thee. Thou shalt not lose by it.
Marry, I fare well, for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife?
Are you my wife, and will not call me husband?
My men should call me lord. I am your goodman.
I know it well.—What must I call her?
Alice Madam, or Joan Madam?
Madam wife, they say that I have dreamed
And slept above some fifteen year or more.
’Tis much.—Servants, leave me and her alone.—
Madam, undress you, and come now to bed.
Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long; but
I would be loath to fall into my dreams again. I will
therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the
Marry, I will. Let them play it.
Is not a comonty a Christmas gambold or a tumbling
Well, we’ll see ’t. Come, madam wife, sit by my
side, and let the world slip. We shall ne’er be
Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely.
Comes there any more of it?
’Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady.
Would ’twere done.
Hostess of an alehouse
A pair of stocks, you rogue!
You will not pay for the glasses you have
I know my remedy. I must go fetch the
Huntsman, I charge thee tender well my hounds.
Breathe Merriman (the poor cur is embossed)
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouthed brach.
Saw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound!
Thou art a fool. If Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all.
Tomorrow I intend to hunt again.
What’s here? One dead, or drunk? See doth he
O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies!
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
Sirs, I will practice on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were conveyed to bed,
Wrapped in sweet clothes, rings put upon his
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?
Even as a flatt’ring dream or worthless fancy.
Then take him up, and manage well the jest.
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures;
Balm his foul head in warm distillèd waters,
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet;
Procure me music ready when he wakes
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound.
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
And, with a low, submissive reverence,
Say What is it your Honor will command?
Let one attend him with a silver basin
Full of rosewater and bestrewed with flowers,
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say Will ’t please your Lordship cool yourhands?
Someone be ready with a costly suit,
And ask him what apparel he will wear.
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease.
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic,
And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs.
It will be pastime passing excellent
If it be husbanded with modesty.
Take him up gently, and to bed with him,
And each one to his office when he wakes.
Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds.
Belike some noble gentleman that means
(Traveling some journey) to repose him here.
How now? Who is it?
Bid them come near.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
Do you intend to stay with me tonight?
With all my heart. This fellow I remember
Since once he played a farmer’s eldest son.—
’Twas where you wooed the gentlewoman so well.
I have forgot your name, but sure that part
Was aptly fitted and naturally performed.
’Tis very true. Thou didst it excellent.
Well, you are come to me in happy time,
The rather for I have some sport in hand
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play tonight;
But I am doubtful of your modesties,
Lest, over-eying of his odd behavior
(For yet his Honor never heard a play),
You break into some merry passion,
And so offend him. For I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile, he grows impatient.
Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery
And give them friendly welcome every one.
Let them want nothing that my house affords.
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page,
And see him dressed in all suits like a lady.
That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber,
And call him Madam, do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
He bear himself with honorable action,
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplishèd.
Such duty to the drunkard let him do
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
And say What is ’t your Honor will command,Wherein your lady and your humble wife
May show her duty and make known her love?
And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom,
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoyed
To see her noble lord restored to health,
Who, for this seven years, hath esteemed him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar.
And if the boy have not a woman’s gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift,
Which (in a napkin being close conveyed)
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
See this dispatched with all the haste thou canst.
Anon I’ll give thee more instructions.
I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman.
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband!
And how my men will stay themselves from
When they do homage to this simple peasant,
I’ll in to counsel them. Haply my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.
Heaven cease this idle humor in your Honor!
O, that a mighty man of such descent,
Of such possessions, and so high esteem
Should be infusèd with so foul a spirit!
Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house,
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have music? Hark, Apollo plays,
And twenty cagèd nightingales do sing.
Or wilt thou sleep? We’ll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimmed up for Semiramis.
Say thou wilt walk, we will bestrew the ground.
Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shall be trapped,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? Thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark. Or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid
And how she was beguilèd and surprised,
As lively painted as the deed was done.
Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord;
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.
Madam, and nothing else. So lords call ladies.
Huntsmen of the Lord
Why, Bellman is as good as he, my lord.
He cried upon it at the merest loss,
And twice today picked out the dullest scent.
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.
He breathes, my lord. Were he not warmed with ale,
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
It would seem strange unto him when he waked.
Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.
My lord, I warrant you we will play our part
As he shall think by our true diligence
He is no less than what we say he is.
Page (disguised as a lady)
Here, noble lord. What is thy will with her?
My husband and my lord, my lord and husband,
I am your wife in all obedience.
Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me,
Being all this time abandoned from your bed.
Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you
To pardon me yet for a night or two;
Or if not so, until the sun be set.
For your physicians have expressly charged,
In peril to incur your former malady,
That I should yet absent me from your bed.
I hope this reason stands for my excuse.
No, my good lord, it is more pleasing stuff.
So please your Lordship to accept our duty.
Fear not, my lord, we can contain ourselves
Were he the veriest antic in the world.
I think ’twas Soto that your Honor means.
An ’t please your Honor, players
That offer service to your Lordship.
Will ’t please your Lord drink a cup of sack?
Say thou wilt course. Thy greyhounds are as swift
As breathèd stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
And till the tears that she hath shed for thee
Like envious floods o’errun her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world—
And yet she is inferior to none.
Oh, yes, my lord, but very idle words.
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say you were beaten out of door,
And rail upon the hostess of the house,
And say you would present her at the leet
Because she brought stone jugs and no sealed
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
My lord, you nod. You do not mind the play.
Will ’t please your Honor taste of these conserves?
O, this is it that makes your servants droop.
Dost thou love pictures? We will fetch thee straight
Adonis painted by a running brook,
And Cytherea all in sedges hid,
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.
Will ’t please your Mightiness to wash your hands?
O, how we joy to see your wit restored!
O, that once more you knew but what you are!
These fifteen years you have been in a dream,
Or, when you waked, so waked as if you slept.
What raiment will your Honor wear today?
O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.
Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood,
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such maid,
Nor no such men as you have reckoned up,
As Stephen Sly and old John Naps of Greete,
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell,
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Your Honor’s players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy,
For so your doctors hold it very meet,
Seeing too much sadness hath congealed your
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy.
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play
And frame your mind to mirth and merriment,
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life.
father to Katherine and Bianca
Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
For how I firmly am resolved you know:
That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter
Before I have a husband for the elder.
If either of you both love Katherine,
Because I know you well and love you well,
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
What I have said—Bianca, get you in,
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
For I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.
Gentlemen, content you. I am resolved.—
Go in, Bianca.
And for I know she taketh most delight
In music, instruments, and poetry,
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
Or, Signior Gremio, you know any such,
Prefer them hither. For to cunning men
I will be very kind, and liberal
To mine own children in good bringing up.
And so, farewell.—Katherine, you may stay,
For I have more to commune with Bianca.
Why, how now, dame, whence grows this
Bianca, stand aside.—Poor girl, she weeps!
Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
What, in my sight?—Bianca, get thee in.
Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?
But who comes here?
Good morrow, neighbor Gremio.—God
save you, gentlemen.
I have a daughter, sir, called Katherina.
You’re 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.
Mistake me not. I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?
I know him well. You are welcome for his sake.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome,
good Cambio. But,
gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I
be so bold to know the cause of your coming?
Lucentio is your name. Of whence, I pray?
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.
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both
These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
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.
After my death, the one half of my lands,
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtained,
That is, her love, for that is all in all.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed.
But be thou armed for some unhappy words.
How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale?
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
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?
Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my
Why, how now, daughter Katherine? In your
I know not what to say, but give me your hands.
God send you joy, Petruchio. ’Tis a match.
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
The gain I seek, is quiet in the match.
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?
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?
Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolved:
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.
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?
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 humor.
Is it new and old too? How may that be?
I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.
Didst thou not say he comes?
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 eyesore to our solemn festival.
But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
I’ll after him, and see the event of this.
Is ’t possible you will away tonight?
Nay, let them go. A couple of quiet ones!
Neighbors and friends, though bride and
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
Lucentio, you shall supply the
And let Bianca take her sister’s room.
She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.
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.
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.
It likes me well.—Cambio, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight.
And, if you will, tell what hath happenèd:
Lucentio’s father is arrived in Padua,
And how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.
What, is the man lunatic?
You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir! Pray, what
do you think is his name?
Talk not, Signior Gremio. I say he shall go to
Away with the dotard, to the jail with him.
How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?
Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
But do you hear, sir, have you married my
daughter without asking my goodwill?
And I to sound the depth of this knavery.
Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.
How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?
O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
Son, I’ll be your half Bianca comes.
Now by my holidam, here comes Katherina!
Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won, and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns,
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is changed as she had never been.
his elder daughter
I pray you, sir, is it your will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates?
I’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear.
Iwis it is not halfway to her heart.
But if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legged stool
And paint your face and use you like a fool.
A pretty peat! It is best
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?
What, shall I be appointed hours as though, belike,
I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha!
Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
Whom thou lov’st best. See thou dissemble not.
Minion, thou liest. Is ’t not Hortensio?
O, then belike you fancy riches more.
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be revenged!
What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see
She is your treasure, she must have a husband,
I must dance barefoot 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.
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing.
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
Moved, in good time! Let him that moved you
Remove you hence. I knew you at the first
You were a movable.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
No such jade as you, if me you mean.
Too light for such a swain as you to catch,
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Well ta’en, and like a
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
So may you lose your arms.
If you strike me, you are no gentleman,
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
What is your crest? A coxcomb?
No cock of mine. You crow too like a craven.
It is my fashion when I see a crab.
Well aimed of such a young one.
I chafe you if I tarry. Let me go.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
A witty mother, witless else her son.
Call you me daughter? Now I promise you
You have showed a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half lunatic,
A madcap ruffian and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
I’ll see thee hanged on Sunday first.
No shame but mine. I must, forsooth, be forced
To give my hand, opposed against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior,
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, and proclaim the banns,
Yet never means to wed where he hath wooed.
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.
Would Katherine had never seen him, though!
Now, if you love me, stay.
Do what thou canst, I will not go today,
No, nor tomorrow, 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.
I will be angry. What hast thou to do?—
Father, be quiet. He shall stay my leisure.
Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner.
I see a woman may be made a fool
If she had not a spirit to resist.
Patience, I pray you, ’twas a fault unwilling.
I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet.
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
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 starved 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.
’Tis passing good. I prithee let me have it.
I like it well. Good Grumio, fetch it me.
A dish that I do love to feed upon.
Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest.
Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.
Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
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.
Faith, as cold as can be.
I pray you, let it stand.
I’ll have no bigger. This doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak,
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
Your betters have endured 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.
Love me, or love me not, I like the cap,
And it I will have, or I will have none.
I never saw a better-fashioned gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
I dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two,
And ’twill be supper time ere you come there.
The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now.
I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
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.
Then God be blest, it is the blessèd 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 named, even that it is,
And so it shall be so for Katherine.
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 favorable stars
Allots thee for his lovely bedfellow.
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.
Husband, let’s follow to see the end of
What, in the midst of the street?
No, sir, God forbid, but ashamed to kiss.
Nay, I will give thee a kiss.
Now pray thee, love, stay.
Mistress, how mean you that?
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round—
I pray you tell me what you meant by that.
And I am mean indeed, respecting you.
What is your will, sir, that you send for me?
They sit conferring by the parlor fire.
Fie, fie! Unknit that threat’ning unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labor both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience—
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot;
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
his younger daughter
Sister, content you in my discontent.—
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe.
My books and instruments shall be my company,
On them to look and practice by myself.
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me.
That I disdain. But for these other goods—
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.
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I’ll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.
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.
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
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned.
Let’s hear. Oh fie, the treble jars!
Now let me see if I can conster it. Hic ibatSimois, 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.
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt.
But let it rest.—Now, Litio, to you.
Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
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.
Farewell, sweet masters both. I must be gone.
That being mad herself, she’s madly mated.
What, master, read you? First resolve me that.
And may you prove, sir, master of your art.
Tranio, you jest. But have you both forsworn me?
The taming school? What, is there such a place?
Cambio is changed into Lucentio.
Head and butt! An hasty-witted body
Would say your head and butt were head and horn.
Ay, but not frighted me. Therefore I’ll sleep again.
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.—
You are welcome all.
Fie, what a foolish duty call you this?
The more fool you for laying on my duty.
|suitors to Bianca
To cart her, rather. She’s too rough for me.—
There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?
Why will you mew her up,
Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
And make her bear the penance of her tongue?
You may go to the devil’s dam! Your gifts are
so good here’s none will hold you.—Their love is
not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails
together and fast it fairly out. Our cake’s dough on
both sides. Farewell. Yet for the love I bear my
sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit
man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will
wish him to her father.
I say a devil. Think’st thou, Hortensio,
though her father be very rich, any man is so very a
fool to be married to hell?
I cannot tell. But I had as lief take her dowry
with this condition: to be whipped at the high cross
I am agreed, and would I had given him the
best horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would
thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid
the house of her. Come on.
O, very well, I have perused 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 perfumed,
For she is sweeter than perfume itself
To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
O this learning, what a thing it is!
And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
1 promised 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 behavior
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
And other books—good ones, I warrant you.
Beloved of me, and that my deeds shall prove.
So said, so done, is well.
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
No? Sayst me so, friend? What countryman?
Oh, sir, such a life with such a wife were strange.
But if you have a stomach, to ’t, i’ God’s name!
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you woo this wildcat?
This gentleman is happily arrived,
My mind presumes, for his own good and yours.
And so we will, provided that he win her.
Hark you, sir, you mean not her to—
No, if without more words you will get you hence.
For this reason, if you’ll know:
That she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.
What, this gentleman will out-talk us all!
Yea, leave that labor to great Hercules,
And let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.
Good morrow, neighbor Baptista.
You are too blunt. Go to it orderly.
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray
Let us that are poor petitioners speak too!
Bacare, you are marvelous forward.
I doubt it not, sir. But you will curse your wooing.
Neighbor, 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
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
Hark, Petruchio, she says she’ll see thee
Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.
Was ever match clapped up so suddenly?
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter.
Now is the day we long have lookèd for.
I am your neighbor and was suitor first.
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
But thine doth fry!
Skipper, stand back. ’Tis age that nourisheth.
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnishèd with plate and gold,
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;
In ivory coffers I have stuffed my crowns,
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,
Fine linen, Turkey cushions bossed with pearl,
Valance of Venice gold in needlework,
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 tomorrow this is hers,
If whilst I live she will be only mine.
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 Marcellus’ road.
What, have I choked you with an argosy?
Nay, I have offered all. I have no more,
And she can have no more than all I have.
If you like me, she shall have me and
And may not young men die as well as old?
Adieu, good neighbor.
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.
As willingly as e’er I came from school.
A bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
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 gog’s wouns! quoth he, and swore so loud
That, all amazed, the priest let fall the book,
And as he stooped again to take it up,
This mad-brained 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.
Trembled and shook, for why he stamped 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 aboard, carousing to his mates
After a storm; quaffed off the muscatel
And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,
Having no other reason
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,
And seemed to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck
And kissed 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.
Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.
They’re busy within. You were best knock louder.
Stay, officer. He shall not go to prison.
Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched
in this business. I dare swear this is the
Nay, I dare not swear it.
Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
Here’s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!
My cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
Ay, and a kind one, too.
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
(later disguised as the teacher Litio)
Mates, maid? How mean you that? No mates for
Unless you were of gentler, milder mold.
From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us!
Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
Sorry am I that our goodwill effects
So will I, Signior Gremio. But a word, I
pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never
brooked parle, know now upon advice, it toucheth
us both (that we may yet again have access to our
fair mistress and be happy rivals in Bianca’s love) to
labor and effect one thing specially.
Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
Tush, Gremio. Though it pass your patience
and mine to endure her loud alarums, why,
man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man
could light on them, would take her with all faults,
and money enough.
Faith, as you say, there’s small choice in
rotten apples. But come, since this bar in law
makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly
maintained till by helping Baptista’s eldest daughter
to a husband we set his youngest free for a
husband, and then have to ’t afresh. Sweet Bianca!
Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the
ring. How say you, Signior Gremio?
How now, what’s the matter? My old
friend Grumio and my good friend Petruchio? How
do you all at Verona?
Alia nostra casa ben venuto, moltohonorato signor mio Petruchio.—Rise, Grumio,
rise. We will compound this quarrel.
Petruchio, patience. I am Grumio’s pledge.
Why, this’ a heavy chance ’twixt him and you,
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?
Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favored wife?
Thou ’dst thank me but a little for my counsel—
And yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,
And very rich. But thou’rt too much my friend,
And I’ll not wish thee to her.
Petruchio, since we are stepped thus far in,
I will continue that I broached in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young and beauteous,
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman.
Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
Is that she is intolerable curst,
And shrewd, and froward, so beyond all measure
That, were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
Her father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman.
Her name is Katherina Minola,
Renowned in Padua for her scolding tongue.
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 rehearsed,
That ever Katherina will be wooed.
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,
That none shall have access unto Bianca
Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace
And offer me disguised 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.
Peace, Grumio, it is the rival of my love.
Petruchio, stand by awhile.
God save you, Signior Gremio.
’Tis well. And I have met a gentleman
Hath promised 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, ’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.
I promised we would be contributors
And bear his charge of wooing whatsoe’er.
Sir, a word ere you go.
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?
That she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.
Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?
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.
The motion’s good indeed, and be it so.—
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier!
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Why, no, for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
And bowed her hand to teach her fingering,
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
Frets call you these? quoth she. I’ll fume withthem!
And with that word she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way,
And there I stood amazèd 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 had she studied to misuse me so.
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.
Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
You’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
Madam, my instrument’s in
The bass 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!
Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.
You may go walk, and give me leave awhile.
My lessons make no music in three parts.
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.
Yet read the gamut of 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.
Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching.
Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.
Mistake no more. I am not Litio,
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 called 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 favors
That I have fondly flattered her withal.
Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow
Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me
As I have loved 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.
Signior Petruchio, fie, you are to blame.
Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.
That will not be in haste.
I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.
God-a-mercy, Grumio, then he shall have
Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow.
Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
Away, I say. Commend me to thy master.
Why, so, this gallant will command the sun!
Say as he says, or we shall never go.
Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.
He will make the man mad, to make the woman of
I do assure thee, father, so it is.
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.
For both our sakes I would that word were true.
My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.
Confess, confess! Hath he not hit you here?
Content, what’s the wager?
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Now, where’s my wife?
And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.
Now, go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst shrow.
(later disguised as the teacher Cambio)
Tranio, since for the great desire I had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy,
And by my father’s love and leave am armed
With his goodwill and thy good company.
My trusty servant well approved in all,
Here let us breathe and haply institute
A course of learning and ingenious studies.
Pisa, renownèd for grave citizens,
Gave me my being, and my father first,
A merchant of great traffic through the world,
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii.
Vincentio’s son, brought up in Florence,
It shall become to serve all hopes conceived
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds.
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study
Virtue, and that part of philosophy
Will I apply that treats of happiness
By virtue specially to be achieved.
Tell me thy mind, for I have Pisa left
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves
A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
We could at once put us in readiness
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.
But stay awhile! What company is this?
But in the other’s silence do I see
Maid’s mild behavior and sobriety.
Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!
O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
1 never thought it possible or likely.
But see, while idly I stood looking on,
I found the effect of love-in-idleness,
And now in plainness do confess to thee
That art to me as secret and as dear
As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was:
Tranio, I burn, I pine! I perish, Tranio,
If I achieve not this young modest girl.
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst.
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
Gramercies, lad. Go forward. This contents;
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel’s sound.
O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,
Such as the daughter of Agenor had,
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand
When with his knees he kissed the Cretan strand.
Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,
And with her breath she did perfume the air.
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.
Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father’s he!
But art thou not advised he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?
Basta, content thee, for I have it full.
We have not yet been seen in any house,
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces
For man or master. Then it follows thus:
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
Keep house, and port, and servants, as I should.
I will some other be, some Florentine,
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
’Tis hatched, and shall be so. Tranio, at once
Uncase thee. Take my colored hat and cloak.
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee,
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves,
And let me be a slave, t’ achieve that maid
Whose sudden sight hath thralled my wounded eye.
Here comes the rogue.—Sirrah, where have you
Sirrah, come hither. ’Tis no time to jest,
And therefore frame your manners to the time.
Your fellow, Tranio here, to save my life,
Puts my apparel and my count’nance on,
And I for my escape have put on his;
For in a quarrel since I came ashore
I killed a man and fear I was descried.
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
While I make way from hence to save my life.
You understand me?
And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth.
Tranio is changed into Lucentio.
Tranio, let’s go. One thing more rests, that
thyself execute, to make one among these wooers. If
thou ask me why, sufficeth my reasons are both
good and weighty.
Whate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you
As for my patron, stand you so assured,
As firmly as yourself were still in place,
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
Than you—unless you were a scholar, sir.
Sir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.
Fiddler, forbear. You grow too forward, sir.
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katherine welcomed you withal?
Preposterous ass, that never read so far
To know the cause why music was ordained.
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.
That will be never. Tune your
Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.
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, Hicsteterat, 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.
Spit in the hole, man, and tune
Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides
Was Ajax, called so from his grandfather.
Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait
And watch withal, for, but I be deceived,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,
’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage,
Which, once performed, let all the world say no,
I’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.
Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?
Now mistress, profit you in what you read?
I read that I profess, The Art to Love.
While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
Then we are rid of Litio.
What sayst thou, Biondello?
I pray thee, moralize them.
I may, and will, if she be so contented.
She will be pleased. Then wherefore should I
Hap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her.
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.
I fly, Biondello. But they may chance to
need thee at home. Therefore leave us.
Right son to the right Vincentio,
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine
While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne.
Love wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town,
And happily I have arrivèd at the last
Unto the wishèd haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to.
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
Look not pale, Bianca. Thy father will not
At last, though long, our jarring notes agree,
And time it is when raging war is done
To smile at ’scapes and perils overblown.
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
While I with selfsame kindness welcome thine.
Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house.
My banquet is to close our stomachs up
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down,
For now we sit to chat as well as eat.
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
I’ll have no halves. I’ll bear it all myself.
How now, what news?
Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
I would your duty were as foolish too.
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me a hundred crowns since suppertime.
Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha ’t.
But a harsh hearing when women are froward.
’Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so.
Fair sir, and you, my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amazed me,
My name is called Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,
And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
A son of mine which long I have not seen.
But is this true, or is it else your pleasure,
Like pleasant travelers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?
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.
Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
What if a man bring him a hundred pound
or two to make merry withal?
Come hither, you rogue! What, have you
What, you notorious villain, didst thou
never see thy master’s father, 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 university.
Thy father! O villain, he is a sailmaker in
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.
Lucentio? O, he hath murdered 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?
Thus strangers may be haled and abused.—
O monstrous villain!
Where is that damnèd villain, Tranio,
That faced and braved me in this matter so?
I’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have
sent me to the jail!
Fear not, Baptista, we will content you. Go
to! But I will in to be revenged for this villainy.
Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you?
’Tis a good hearing when children are toward.
|servants to Lucentio
(later impersonating Lucentio)
Mi perdonato, gentle master mine.
I am in all affected as yourself,
Glad that you thus continue your resolve
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue and this moral discipline,
Let’s be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray,
Or so devote to Aristotle’s checks
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured.
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,
And practice rhetoric in your common talk;
Music and poesy use to quicken you;
The mathematics and the metaphysics—
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta’en.
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
Master, some show to welcome us to town.
Husht, master, here’s some good pastime toward;
That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
Well said, master. Mum, and gaze your fill.
I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold?
Master, it is no time to chide you now.
Affection is not rated from the heart.
If love have touched you, naught remains but so:
Redime te captum quam queas minimo.
Master, you looked so longly on the maid,
Perhaps you marked not what’s the pith of all.
Saw you no more? Marked you not how her sister
Began to scold and raise up such a storm
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?
Nay, then ’tis time to stir him from his trance.—
I pray, awake, sir! If you love the maid,
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd
That till the father rid his hands of her,
Master, your love must live a maid at home,
And therefore has he closely mewed her up,
Because she will not be annoyed with suitors.
Ay, marry, am I, sir—and now ’tis plotted!
Master, for my hand,
Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
You will be schoolmaster
And undertake the teaching of the maid:
That’s your device.
Not possible. For who shall bear your part
And be in Padua here Vincentio’s son,
Keep house, and ply his book, welcome his friends,
Visit his countrymen and banquet them?
So had you need.
In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
And I am tied to be obedient
(For so your father charged me at our parting:
Be serviceable to my son, quoth he,
Although I think ’twas in another sense),
I am content to be Lucentio,
Because so well I love Lucentio.
So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,
That Lucentio indeed had Baptista’s youngest
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master’s, I
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of
When I am alone, why then I am Tranio;
But in all places else, your master Lucentio.
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?
Perhaps him and her, sir. What have you to do?
I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.
An if I be, sir, is it any offense?
Why sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me, as for you?
For what reason, I beseech you?
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.
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.
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.
Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,
Please you 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.
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 favor 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.
Of Pisa, sir, son to Vincentio.
Is this your speeding? Nay,
then, goodnight our part.
Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.
’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you.
’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.
Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.
But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.
That only came well in. Sir, list to
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 pinched you, Signior Gremio?
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.
Why, then, the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise. Gremio is outvied.
That’s but a cavil. He is old, I young.
A vengeance on your crafty withered hide!—
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.
’Tis in my head to do my master good.
I see no reason but supposed Lucentio
Must get a father, called supposed 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.
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.
But say, what to thine old news?
’Tis some odd humor pricks him to this fashion,
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-appareled.
Not so well appareled as I wish
And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detained you from your wife
And sent you hither so unlike yourself.
See not your bride in these unreverent robes.
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.
But, sir, to love concerneth us to add
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 promisèd.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage in this business.
We’ll overreach the graybeard, Gremio,
The narrow prying father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amorous Litio,
All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
Curster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.
Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.
What said the wench when he rose again?
Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
Of all mad matches never was the like.
Shall sweet Bianca practice how to bride it?
Is ’t possible, friend Litio, that mistress Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
O despiteful love, unconstant womankind!
I tell thee, Litio, this is wonderful!
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 forever.
And here I take the like unfeignèd oath,
Never to marry with her, though she would entreat.
Fie on her, see how beastly she doth court him!
Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
As ’longeth to a lover’s blessèd case!
Nay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
I’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now
That shall be wooed and wedded in a day.
Faith, he is gone unto the taming school.
Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master,
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.
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.
And you, sir. You are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?
Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid!
And come to Padua, careless of your life?
’Tis death for anyone in Mantua
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
Your ships are stayed at Venice, and the Duke,
For private quarrel ’twixt your duke and him,
Hath published and proclaimed it openly.
’Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come,
You might have heard it else proclaimed about.
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?
Among them know you one Vincentio?
He is my father, sir, and sooth to say,
In count’nance somewhat doth resemble you.
To save your life in this extremity,
This favor 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 lodged.
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.
Then go with me, to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand:
My father is here looked for every day
To pass assurance of a dower 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.
Sir, this is the house. Please it you that I call?
’Tis well. And hold your own in any case
With such austerity as ’longeth to a father.
Fear you not him.—Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
Imagine ’twere the right Vincentio.
But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
Thou ’rt a tall fellow. Hold thee that to drink.
Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.
Signior Baptista, you are happily met.—
Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of.
I pray you stand good father to me now.
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
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?
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.
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.
Sir, what are you that offer to
beat my servant?
How now, what’s the matter?
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.
Call forth an officer.
Carry this mad knave to the jail.—Father Baptista, I
charge you see that he be forthcoming.
Then thou wert best say that I
am not Lucentio.
O, sir, Lucentio slipped me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself and catches for his master.
’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself.
’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
Where have I been? Nay, how now, where are you?
Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes?
Or you stolen his? Or both? Pray, what’s the news?
The better for him. Would I were so too.
He that has the two fair daughters—is ’t
he you mean?
O excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.
Master, master, news! And such old
news as you never heard of!
Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s
When he stands where I am, and sees you there.
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 and stirrups of no
kindred, besides possessed 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 spoiled with the staggers, begnawn
with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten,
near-legged before, and with a half-checked
bit and a headstall 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 pieced, and a woman’s
crupper of velour, which hath two letters for her
name fairly set down in studs, and here and there
pieced with packthread.
Oh, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned
like the horse: with a linen stock on one leg
and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with
a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humor of
forty fancies pricked in ’t for a feather. A monster,
a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.
Who? That Petruchio came?
No, sir, I say his horse comes with him on
Nay, by Saint Jamy.
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.
O master, master, I have watched so long
That I am dog-weary, but at last I spied
An ancient angel coming down the hill
Will serve the turn.
Master, a marcantant, or a pedant,
I know not what, but formal in apparel,
In gait and countenance surely like a father.
As much as an apple doth an
oyster, and all one.
I told him that your father was at Venice,
And that you looked for him this day in Padua.
I pray the gods she may, with all my heart.
You saw my master wink and laugh upon
Faith, nothing; but ’has left me here behind
to expound the meaning or moral of his signs
Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with
the deceiving father of a deceitful son.
His daughter is to be brought by you to the
The old priest at Saint Luke’s Church is at
your command at all hours.
I cannot tell, except they are busied
about a counterfeit assurance. Take you assurance
of her cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum. To th’
church take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient
If this be not that you look for, I have no more to
But bid Bianca farewell forever and a day.
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.
Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is
Nay, faith, I’ll see the church a’ your back,
and then come back to my master’s as soon as I
I have seen them in the church
together. God send ’em good shipping! But who is
here? Mine old master Vincentio! Now we are
undone and brought to nothing.
I hope I may choose, sir.
Forgot you? No, sir. I could not forget you,
for I never saw you before in all my life.
What, my old worshipful old master? Yes,
marry, sir. See where he looks out of the window.
Help, help, help! Here’s a madman will
O, we are spoiled, and yonder he is! Deny
him, forswear him, or else we are all undone.
Sir, my mistress sends you
That she is busy, and she cannot come.
She says you have some goodly jest in hand.
She will not come. She bids you come to her.
A Merchant (later disguised as Vincentio)
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.
My life, sir? How, I pray? For that goes hard.
Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so,
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.
Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renownèd for grave citizens.
I know him not, but I have heard of him:
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
O sir, I do, and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.
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.
I warrant you.
But, sir, here comes your boy.
’Twere good he were schooled.
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 matched. 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 bestowed,
For curious I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
What’s he that knocks as
he would beat down the gate?
He’s within, sir, but not to
be spoken withal.
Keep your hundred
pounds to yourself. He shall need none so long as I
Thou liest. His father is
come from Padua and here looking out at the
Ay, sir, so his mother says,
if I may believe her.
Lay hands on the villain. I
believe he means to cosen somebody in this city
under my countenance.
Help, son! Help, Signior
Away, away, mad ass! His
name is Lucentio and he is mine only son, and heir
to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio.
|servants to Petruchio
Knock, sir? Whom should I knock? Is there
any man has rebused your Worship?
Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir,
that I should knock you here, sir?
My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock
And then I know after who comes by the worst.
Help, mistress, help! My master is mad.
Nay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in
Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave
his service—look you, sir: he bid me knock him
and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit for a
servant to use his master so, being perhaps, for
aught I see, two-and-thirty, a pip out?
Whom, would to God, I had well knocked at first,
Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
Knock at the gate? O, heavens, spake you not
these words plain: Sirrah, knock me here, rap mehere, knock me well, and knock me soundly? And
come you now with knocking at the gate?
Nay, look you, sir, he tells you
flatly what his mind is. Why, give him gold enough
and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby, or an
old trot with ne’er a tooth in her head, though she
have as many diseases as two-and-fifty horses. Why,
nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.
I pray you, sir, let him go while
the humor lasts. O’ my word, an she knew him as
well as I do, she would think scolding would do little
good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a
score knaves or so. Why, that’s nothing; an he begin
once, he’ll 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.
Katherine the curst,
A title for a maid, of all titles the worst.
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?
A proper stripling, and an amorous.
O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
And that his bags shall prove.
Will he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.
I would I were as sure of a good dinner.
O excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.
Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the
Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters,
and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was
ever man so ’rayed? 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!
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!
Oh, ay, Curtis, ay, and therefore fire, fire! Cast
on no water.
She was, good Curtis, before this frost. But
thou know’st winter tames man, woman, and
beast, for it hath tamed my old master and my new
mistress and myself, fellow Curtis.
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 office?
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
Why, Jack boy, ho boy! and as much news
as wilt thou.
Why, therefore fire, for I have caught extreme
cold. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready, the house
trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the servingmen
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?
First, know my horse is tired, my master and
mistress fallen out.
Out of their saddles into the dirt, and thereby
hangs a tale.
And therefore ’tis called a sensible tale. And
this cuff was but to knock at your ear and beseech
list’ning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a
foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress—
Tell thou the tale! But hadst thou not crossed
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 bemoiled, 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 prayed that never prayed 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 unexperienced to thy grave.
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, Phillip,
Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest. Let their heads
be slickly combed, their blue coats brushed, and
their garters of an indifferent knit. Let them curtsy
with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair
of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands.
Are they all ready?
Why, she hath a face of her own.
Thou, it seems, that calls for company to
Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
Welcome, you!—How now, you?—What,
you!—Fellow, you!—And thus much for greeting.
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready and all
E’en at hand, alighted by this. And therefore
be not—Cock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
Here, sir, as foolish as I was before.
Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpinked i’ th’ heel.
There was no link to color Peter’s hat,
And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing.
There were none fine but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory.
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly.
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
No, no, forsooth, I dare not for my life.
What say you to a neat’s foot?
I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broiled?
I cannot tell. I fear ’tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
Nay then, I will not. You shall have the mustard
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
Why then, the mustard without the beef.
I gave him no order. I gave him the stuff.
Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
Thou hast faced many things.
Face not me. Thou hast braved many men;
brave not me. I will neither be faced nor braved. I
say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown,
but I did not bid him cut it to pieces. Ergo, thou
The note lies in ’s throat, if he say I said so.
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 thread. I said a gown.
Error i’ th’ bill, sir, error i’ th’ bill! I commanded
the sleeves should be cut out and sewed
up again, and that I’ll prove upon thee, though thy
little finger be armed in a thimble.
I am for thee straight. Take thou the bill, give
me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.
You are i’ th’ right, sir, ’tis for my mistress.
Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’
gown for thy master’s use!
O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think
for. Take up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!
O, fie, fie, fie!
Who is that calls so coldly?
Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?
Is she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?
Away, you three-inch fool, I am no beast!
I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the
There’s fire ready. And therefore, good Grumio,
Come, you are so full of cony-catching.
All ready. And therefore, I pray thee, news.
Let’s ha’ t, good Grumio.
This ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
By this reck’ning, he is more shrew than she.
Do you hear, ho? You must meet
my master to countenance my mistress.
I call them forth to credit her.
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
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!
All things is ready. How near is our
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
Peter, didst ever see the like?
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
Here! Here, sir, here, sir!
He kills her in her own humor.
Then never trust me if I be afeard.
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
Your husband being troubled with a shrew
Measures my husband’s sorrow by his woe.
And now you know my meaning.
Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh
Till I be brought to such a silly pass.
Come, come, you’re mocking. We will have no
You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
She says your Worship means to make a puppet of
Your Worship is deceived. The gown is made
Just as my master had direction.
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
But how did you desire it should be made?
But did you not request to have it cut?
Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown—
With a small-compassed cape—
The sleeves curiously cut.
This is true that I say. An I had thee in place
where, thou shouldst know it.
Here is the cap your Worship did bespeak.
Servants to Baptista and Petruchio
Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
And help to dress your sister’s chamber up.
You know tomorrow is the wedding day.