The Taming of the Shrew

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Act II, Scene I
Enter Katherina and Bianca.

Bian.
Good sister wrong me not, nor wrong your self,
To make a bondmaide and a slaue of mee,
That I disdaine: but for these other goods,
Vnbinde my hands, Ile pull them off my selfe,
Yea all my raiment, to my petticoate,
Or what you will command me, wil I do,
So well I know my dutie to my elders.

Kate.
Of all thy sutors heere I charge tel
Whom thou lou'st best: see thou dissemble not.

Bianca.
Beleeue me sister, of all the men aliue,
I neuer yet beheld that speciall face,
Which I could fancie, more then any other.

Kate.
Minion thou lyest: Is't not Hortensio?

Bian.
If you affect him sister, heere I sweare
Ile pleade for you my selfe, but you shal haue him.

Kate.
Oh then belike you fancie riches more,
You wil haue Gremio to keepe you faire.

Bian.
Is it for him you do enuie me so?
Nay then you iest, and now I wel perceiue
You haue but iested with me all this while:
I prethee sister Kate, vntie my hands.

Ka.
Strikes her
If that be iest, then all the rest was so.
Enter Baptista.

Bap.
Why how now Dame, whence growes this insolence?
Bianca stand aside, poore gyrle she weepes:
Go ply thy Needle, meddle not with her.
For shame thou Hilding of a diuellish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her, that did nere wrong thee?
When did she crosse thee with a bitter word?

Kate.
Her silence flouts me, and Ile be reueng'd.
Flies after Bianca

Bap.
What in my sight? Bianca get thee in.
Exit.

Kate.
What will you not suffer me: Nay now I see
She is your treasure, she must haue a husband,
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day,
And for your loue to her, leade Apes in hell.
Talke not to me, I will go sit and weepe,
Till I can finde occasion of reuenge.

Bap.
Was euer Gentleman thus greeu'd as I?
But who comes heere.
Enter Gremio, Lucentio, in
the habit of a meane man, Petruchio with
Tranio,
with his boy bearing a Lute and Bookes.

Gre.
Good morrow neighbour Baptista.

Bap.
Good morrow neighbour Gremio: God saue
you Gentlemen.

Pet.
And you good sir: pray haue you not a daughter,
cal'd Katerina, faire and vertuous.

Bap.
I haue a daughter sir, cal'd Katerina.

Gre.
You are too blunt, go to it orderly.

Pet.
You wrong me signior Gremio, giue me leaue.
I am a Gentleman of Verona sir,
That hearing of her beautie, and her wit,
Her affability and bashfull modestie:
Her wondrous qualities, and milde behauiour,
Am bold to shew my selfe a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witnesse
Of that report, which I so oft haue heard,
And for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine

Cunning in Musicke, and the Mathematickes,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is not ignorant,
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong,
His name is Litio, borne in Mantua.

Bap.
Y'are welcome sir, and he for your good sake.
But for my daughter Katerine, this I know,
She is not for your turne, the more my greefe.

Pet.
I see you do not meane to part with her,
Or else you like not of my companie.

Bap.
Mistake me not, I speake but as I finde,
Whence are you sir? What may I call your name.

Pet.
Petruchio is my name, Antonio's sonne,
A man well knowne throughout all Italy.

Bap.
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

Gre.
Sauing your tale Petruchio, I pray
let vs that are poore petitioners speake too?
Bacare, you are meruaylous forward.

Pet.
Oh, Pardon me signior Gremio, I would faine be doing.

Gre.
I doubt it not sir. But you will curse / Your wooing
neighbors: this is a guift / Very gratefull, I am
sure of it, to expresse / The like kindnesse my selfe, that haue
beene / More kindely beholding to you then any: / Freely giue
vnto this yong Scholler, that
hath / Beene long studying at Rhemes, as cunning / In Greeke,
Latine, and other Languages, / As the other in Musicke and
Mathematickes: / His name is Cambio: pray accept his
seruice.

Bap.
A thousand thankes signior Gremio: / Welcome
good Cambio. But gentle sir, / Me thinkes you
walke like a stranger, / May I be so bold, to know the cause
of your comming?

Tra.
Pardon me sir, the boldnesse is mine owne,
That being a stranger in this Cittie heere,
Do make my selfe as utor to your daughter,
Vnto Bianca, faire and vertuous:
Nor is your firme resolue vnknowne to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request,
That vpon knowledge of my Parentage,
I may haue welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
And free accesse and fauour as the rest.
And toward the education of your daughters:
I heere bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greeke and Latine bookes:
If you accept them, then their worth is great:

Bap.
Lucentio is your name, of whence I pray.

Tra.
Of Pisa sir, sonne to Vincentio.

Bap.
A mightie man of Pisa by report,
I know him well: you are verie welcome sir:
Take you the Lute, and you the set of bookes,
You shall go see your Pupils presently.
Holla, within.
Enter a Seruant.
Sirrah, leade these Gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both
These are their Tutors, bid them vse them well,
We will go walke a little in the Orchard,
And then to dinner: you are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to thinke your selues.

Pet.
Signior Baptista, my businesse asketh haste,
And euerie day I cannot come to woo,
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solie heire to all his Lands and goods,
Which I haue bettered rather then decreast,
Then tell me, if I get your daughters loue,
What dowrie shall I haue with her to wife.

Bap.
After my death, the one halfe of my Lands,
And in possession twentie thousand Crownes.

Pet
And for that dowrie, Ile assure her of
Her widdow-hood, be it that she suruiue me
In all my Lands and Leases whatsoeuer,
Let specialties be therefore drawne betweene vs,
That couenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap.
I, when the speciall thing is well obtain'd,
That is her loue: for that is all in all.

Pet.
Why that is nothing: for I tell you father,
I am as peremptorie as she proud minded:
And where two raging fires meete together,
They do consume the thing that feedes their furie.
Though little fire growes great with little winde,
yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:
So I to her, and so she yeelds to me,
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Bap.
Well maist thou woo, and happy be thy speed:
But be thou arm'd for some vnhappie words.

Pet.
I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes,
That shakes not, though they blow perpetually.
Enter Hortensio with his head broke.

Bap.
How now my friend, why dost thou looke so pale?

Hor.
For feare I promise you, if I looke pale.

Bap.
What, will my daughter proue a good Musitian?

Hor.
I thinke she'l sooner proue a souldier,
Iron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes.

Bap.
Why then thou canst not break her to the Lute?

Hor.
Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me:
I did but tell her she mistooke her frets,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,
When (with a most impatient diuellish spirit)
Frets call you these? (quoth she) Ile fume with them:
And with that word she stroke me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way,
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute,
While she did call me Rascall, Fidler,
And twangling Iacke, with twentie such vilde tearmes,
As had she studied to misvse me so.

Pet.
Now by the world, it is a lustie Wench,
I loue her ten times more then ere I did,
Oh how I long to haue some chat with her.

Bap.
Wel go with me, and be not so discomfited.
Proceed in practise with my yonger daughter,
She's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes:
Signior Petruchio, will you go with vs,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you.

Pet.
I pray you do.
Exit. Manet Petruchio.
Ile attend her heere,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes,
Say that she raile, why then Ile tell her plaine,
She sings as sweetly as a Nightinghale:
Say that she frowne, Ile say she lookes as cleere
As morning Roses newly washt with dew:
Say she be mute, and will not speake a word,
Then Ile commend her volubility,
And say she vttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes,
As though she bid me stay by her a weeke:
If she denie to wed, Ile craue the day
When I shall aske the banes, and when be married.
But heere she comes, and now Petruchio speake.
Enter Katerina.
Good morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare.

Kate.
Well haue you heard, but something hard of hearing:
They call me Katerine, that do talke of me.

Pet.
You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate,
And bony Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst:
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendome,
Kate of Kate-hall, my super-daintie Kate,
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation,
Hearing thy mildnesse prais'd in euery Towne,
Thy vertues spoke of, and thy beautie sounded,
Yet not so deepely as to thee belongs,
My selfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife.

Kate.
Mou'd, in good time, let him that mou'd you hether
Remoue you hence: I knew you at the first
You were a mouable.

Pet.
Why, what's a mouable?

Kat.
A ioyn'd stoole.

Pet.
Thou hast hit it: come sit on me.

Kate.
Asses are made to beare, and so are you.

Pet.
Women are made to beare, and so are you.

Kate.
No such Iade as you, if me you meane.

Pet.
Alas good Kate, I will not burthen thee,
For knowing thee to be but yong and light.

Kate.
Too light for such a swaine as you to catch,
And yet as heauie as my waight should be.

Pet.
Shold be, should: buzze.

Kate.
Well tane, and like a buzzard.

Pet.
Oh slow-wing'd Turtle, shal a buzard take thee?

Kat.
I for a Turtle, as he takes a buzard.

Pet.
Come, come you Waspe, y'faith you are too angrie.

Kate.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Pet.
My remedy is then to plucke it out.

Kate.
I, if the foole could finde it where it lies.

Pet.
Who knowes not where a Waspe does weare his sting?
In his taile.

Kate.
In his tongue?

Pet.
Whose tongue.

Kate.
Yours if you talke of tales, and so farewell.


Pet.
What with my tongue in your taile. / Nay, come againe,
good Kate, I am a Gentleman,

Kate.
That Ile trie.
she strikes him

Pet.
I sweare Ile cuffe you, if you strike againe.

Kate.
So may you loose your armes,
If you strike me, you are no Gentleman,
And if no Gentleman, why then no armes.

Pet.
A Herald Kate? Oh put me in thy bookes.

Kate.
What is your Crest, a Coxcombe?

Pet.
A comblesse Cocke, so Kate will be my Hen.

Kate.
No Cocke of mine, you crow too like a crauen

Pet.
Nay come Kate, come: you must not looke so sowre.

Kate.
It is my fashion when I see a Crab.

Pet.
Why heere's no crab, and therefore looke not sowre.

Kate.
There is, there is.

Pet.
Then shew it me.

Kate.
Had I a glasse, I would.

Pet.
What, you meane my face.

Kate.
Well aym'd of such a yong one.

Pet.
Now by S. George I am too yong for you.

Kate.
Yet you are wither'd.

Pet.
'Tis with cares.

Kate.
I care not.

Pet.
Nay heare you Kate.

Insooth you scape not so.

Kate.
I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go.

Pet.
No, not a whit, I finde you passing gentle:
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I finde report a very liar:
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech: yet sweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frowne, thou canst not looke a sconce,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be crosse in talke:
But thou with mildnesse entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft, and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limpe?
Oh sland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twig
Is straight, and slender, and as browne in hue
As hazle nuts, and sweeter then the kernels:
Oh let me see thee walke: thou dost not halt.

Kate.
Go foole, and whom thou keep'st command.

Pet.
Did euer Dian so become a Groue
As Kate this chamber with her princely gate:
O be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportfull.

Kate.
Where did you study all this goodly speech?

Petr.
It is extempore, from my mother wit.

Kate.
A witty mother, witlesse else her sonne.

Pet.
Am I not wise?

Kat.
Yes, keepe you warme.

Pet.
Marry so I meane sweet Katherine in thy bed:
And therefore setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plaine termes: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry greed on,
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now Kate, I am a husband for your turne,
For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,
Thou must be married to no man but me,
For I am he am borne to tame you Kate,
And bring you from a wilde Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other houshold Kates:
Enter Baptista, Gremio, Trayno.
Heere comes your father, neuer make deniall,
Imust, and will haue Katherine to my wife.

Bap.
Now Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

Pet.
How but well sir? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amisse.

Bap.
Why how now daughter Katherine, in your dumps?

Kat.
Call you me daughter? now I promise you
You haue shewd a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one halfe Lunaticke,
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Iacke,
That thinkes with oathes to face the matter out.

Pet.
Father, 'tis thus, your selfe and all the world
That talk'd of her, haue talk'd amisse of her:
If she be curst, it is for pollicie,
For shee's not froward, but modest as the Doue,
Shee is not hot, but temperate as the morne,
For patience shee will proue a second Grissell,
And Romane Lucrece for her chastitie:
And to conclude, we haue greed so well together,
That vpon sonday is the wedding day.

Kate.
Ile see thee hang'd on sonday first.

Gre.
Hark Petruchio, she saies shee'll see thee hang'd first.

Tra.
Is this your speeding? nay thẽ godnight our part.

Pet.
Be patient gentlemen, I choose her for my selfe,
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?
'Tis bargain'd twixt vs twaine being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you 'tis incredible to beleeue
How much she loues me: oh the kindest Kate,
Shee hung about my necke, and kisse on kisse
Shee vi'd so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twinke she won me to her loue.
Oh you are nouices, 'tis a world to see
How tame when men and women are alone,
A meacocke wretch can make the curstest shrew:
Giue me thy hand Kate, I will vnto Venice
To buy apparell 'gainst the wedding day;
Prouide the feast father, and bid the guests,
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.

Bap.
I know not what to say, but giue me your hãds,
God send you ioy, Petruchio, 'tis a match.

Gre.Tra.
Amen say we, we will be witnesses.

Pet.
Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu,
I will to Venice, sonday comes apace,
We will haue rings, and things, and fine array,
And kisse me Kate, we will be married a sonday.
Exit Petruchio and Katherine.

Gre.
Was euer match clapt vp so sodainly?

Bap.
Faith Gentlemen now I play a marchants part,
And venture madly on a desperate Mart.

Tra.
Twas a commodity lay fretting by you,
'Twill bring you gaine, or perish on the seas.

Bap.
The gaine I seeke, is quiet me the match.

Gre.
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch:
But now Baptista, to your yonger daughter,
Now is the day we long haue looked for,
I am your neighbour, and was suter first.

Tra.
And I am one that loue Bianca more
Then words can witnesse, or your thoughts can guesse.

Gre.
Yongling thou canst not loue so deare as I.

Tra.
Gray-beard thy loue doth freeze.

Gre.
But thine doth frie,
Skipper stand backe, 'tis age that nourisheth.

Tra.
But youth in Ladies eyes that florisheth.

Bap.
Content you gentlemen, I wil cõpound this strife
'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both
That can assure my daughter greatest dower,
Shall haue my Biancas loue.
Say signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

Gre.
First, as you know, my house within the City
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
Basons and ewers to laue her dainty hands:
My hangings all of tirian tapestry:
In Iuory cofers I haue stuft my crownes:
In Cypres chests my arras counterpoints,
Costly apparell, tents, and Canopies,
Fine Linnen, Turky cushions bost with pearle,
Vallens of Venice gold, in needle worke:
Pewter and brasse, and all things that belongs
To house or house-keeping: then at my farme
I haue a hundred milch-kine to the pale,
Sixe-score fat Oxen standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion.
My selfe am strooke in yeeres I must confesse,
And if I die to morrow this is hers,
If whil'st I liue she will be onely mine.

Tra.
That only came well in: sir, list to me,
I am my fathers heyre and onely sonne,
If I may haue your daughter to my wife,
Ile leaue her houses three or foure as good
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua,
Besides, two thousand Duckets by the yeere
Of fruitfull land, all which shall be her ioynter.
What, haue I pincht you Signior Gremio?

Gre.
Two thousand Duckets by the yeere of land,
My Land amounts not to so much in all:
That she shall haue, besides an Argosie
That now is lying in Marcellus roade:
What, haue I choakt you with an Argosie?

Tra.
Gremio, 'tis knowne my father hath no lesse
Then three great Argosies, besides two Galliasses
And twelue tite Gallies, these I will assure her,
And twice as much what ere thou offrest next.

Gre.
Nay, I haue offred all, I haue no more,
And she can haue no more then all I haue,
If you like me, she shall haue me and mine.

Tra.
Why then the maid is mine from all the world
By your firme promise, Gremio is out-vied.

Bap.
I must confesse your offer is the best,
And let your father make her the assurance,
Shee is your owne, else you must pardon me:
If you should die before him, where's her dower?

Tra.
That's but a cauill: he is olde, I young.

Gre.
And may not yong men die as well as old?

Bap.
Well gentlemen,
I am thus resolu'd, / On sonday next, you know
My daughter Katherine is to be married:
Now on the sonday following, shall Bianca
Be Bride to you, if you make this assurance:
If not, to Signior Gremio:
And so I take my leaue, and thanke you both.

Gre.
Adieu good neighbour:
Exit.
now I feare thee not:
Sirra, yong gamester, your father were a foole
To giue thee all, and in his wayning age
Set foot vnder thy table: tut, a toy,
An olde Italian foxe is not so kinde my boy.
Exit.

Tra.
A vengeance on your crafty withered hide,
Yet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten:
'Tis in my head to doe my master good:
I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio
Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Uincentio,
And that's a wonder: fathers commonly
Doe get their children: but in this case of woing,
A childe shall get a sire, if I faile not of my cunning.
Exit.
Modern text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Katherina, and Bianca with her hands tied

BIANCA
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me.
That I disdain. But for these other gauds,
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat,
Or what you will command me will I do,
So well I know my duty to my elders.

KATHERINA
Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not.

BIANCA
Believe me, sister, of all men alive
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.

KATHERINA
Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?

BIANCA
If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him.

KATHERINA
O then, belike, you fancy riches more.
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.

BIANCA
Is it for him you do envy me so?
Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive
You have but jested with me all this while.
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.

KATHERINA
Strikes her
If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
Enter Baptista

BAPTISTA
Why, how now, dame, whence grows this insolence?
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl, she weeps.
He unties her hands
Go ply thy needle, meddle not with her.
(to Katherina) For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

KATHERINA
Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged.
She flies after Bianca

BAPTISTA
What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
Exit Bianca

KATHERINA
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.
Exit Katherina

BAPTISTA
Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?
But who comes here?
Enter Gremio, with Lucentio, disguised as Cambio, in
the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with Hortensio,
disguised as Licio; and Tranio, disguised as Lucentio,
with his boy, Biondello, bearing a lute and books

GREMIO
Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

BAPTISTA
Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save
you, gentlemen.

PETRUCHIO
And you, good sir. Pray have you not a daughter
Called Katherina, fair and virtuous?

BAPTISTA
I have a daughter, sir, called Katherina.

GREMIO
You are too blunt, go to it orderly.

PETRUCHIO
You wrong me, Signor Gremio, give me leave.
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
That hearing of her beauty and her wit,
Her affability and bashful modesty,
Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour,
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And for an entrance to my entertainment
I do present you with a man of mine,
(presenting Hortensio)
Cunning in music and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is not ignorant.
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong.
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

BAPTISTA
Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake.
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

PETRUCHIO
I see you do not mean to part with her,
Or else you like not of my company.

BAPTISTA
Mistake me not, I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?

PETRUCHIO
Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.

BAPTISTA
I know him well. You are welcome for his sake.

GREMIO
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray
Let us that are poor petitioners speak too.
Baccare! You are marvellous forward.

PETRUCHIO
O pardon me, Signor Gremio, I would fain be doing.

GREMIO
I doubt it not, sir, but you will curse your wooing.
(to Baptista) Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am
sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have
been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give
unto you this young scholar (presenting Lucentio) that
hath been long studying at Rheims, as cunning in Greek,
Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and
mathematics. His name is Cambio. Pray accept his
service.

BAPTISTA
A thousand thanks, Signor Gremio. Welcome,
good Cambio. (To Tranio) But, gentle sir, methinks you
walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the cause
of your coming?

TRANIO
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request –
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
And free access and favour as the rest.
And toward the education of your daughters
I here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.
Biondello steps forward with the lute and the books
If you accept them, then their worth is great.

BAPTISTA
(opening one of the books)
Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray?

TRANIO
Of Pisa, sir, son to Vincentio.

BAPTISTA
A mighty man of Pisa. By report
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.
(to Hortensio) Take you the lute, (to Lucentio) and you the set of books.
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!
Enter a Servant
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both
These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
Exit Servant, conducting Hortensio
and Lucentio, followed by Biondello
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

PETRUCHIO
Signor Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered rather than decreased.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

BAPTISTA
After my death the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

PETRUCHIO
And, for that dowry I'll assure her of
Her widowhood – be it that she survive me –
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

BAPTISTA
Ay, when the special thing is well obtained,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.

PETRUCHIO
Why, that is nothing. For I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all.
So I to her, and so she yields to me,
For I am rough and woo not like a babe.

BAPTISTA
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed.
But be thou armed for some unhappy words.

PETRUCHIO
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shakes not though they blow perpetually.
Enter Hortensio with his head broke

BAPTISTA
How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale?

HORTENSIO
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

BAPTISTA
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

HORTENSIO
I think she'll sooner prove a soldier.
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

BAPTISTA
Why then, thou canst not break her to the lute?

HORTENSIO
Why no, for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
And bowed her hand to teach her fingering,
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
Frets, call you these?’ quoth she, ‘ I'll fume with them.’
And with that word she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way,
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute,
While she did call me rascal fiddler
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
As had she studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench.
I love her ten times more than e'er I did.
O, how I long to have some chat with her!

BAPTISTA
Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited.
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter,
She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns.
Signor Petruchio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

PETRUCHIO
I pray you do.
Exeunt all but Petruchio
I'll attend her here,
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say that she rail, why then I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.
Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew.
Say she be mute and will not speak a word,
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week.
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.
But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.
Enter Katherina
Good morrow, Kate – for that's your name, I hear.

KATHERINA
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing;
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.

PETRUCHIO
You lie, in faith, for you are called plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst.
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.

KATHERINA
Moved, in good time! Let him that moved you hither
Remove you hence. I knew you at the first
You were a movable.

PETRUCHIO
Why, what's a movable?

KATHERINA
A joint-stool.

PETRUCHIO
Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.

KATHERINA
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

PETRUCHIO
Women are made to bear, and so are you.

KATHERINA
No such jade as you, if me you mean.

PETRUCHIO
Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee!
For knowing thee to be but young and light

KATHERINA
Too light for such a swain as you to catch,
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

PETRUCHIO
Should be? Should – buzz!

KATHERINA
Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO
O slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?

KATHERINA
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO
Come, come, you wasp, i'faith, you are too angry.

KATHERINA
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

PETRUCHIO
My remedy is then to pluck it out.

KATHERINA
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

PETRUCHIO
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
In his tail.

KATHERINA
In his tongue.

PETRUCHIO
Whose tongue?

KATHERINA
Yours, if you talk of tails, and so farewell.
She turns to go

PETRUCHIO
What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again.
He takes her in his arms
Good Kate, I am a gentleman –

KATHERINA
That I'll try.
She strikes him

PETRUCHIO
I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.

KATHERINA
So may you loose your arms.
If you strike me, you are no gentleman,
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

PETRUCHIO
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!

KATHERINA
What is your crest – a coxcomb?

PETRUCHIO
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

KATHERINA
No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.

PETRUCHIO
Nay, come, Kate, come, you must not look so sour.

KATHERINA
It is my fashion when I see a crab.

PETRUCHIO
Why, here's no crab, and therefore look not sour.

KATHERINA
There is, there is.

PETRUCHIO
Then show it me.

KATHERINA
Had I a glass, I would.

PETRUCHIO
What, you mean my face?

KATHERINA
Well aimed of such a young one.

PETRUCHIO
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

KATHERINA
Yet you are withered.

PETRUCHIO
'Tis with cares.

KATHERINA
I care not.

PETRUCHIO
Nay, hear you, Kate –
She struggles
In sooth, you scape not so.

KATHERINA
I chafe you, if I tarry. Let me go.

PETRUCHIO
No, not a whit. I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar.
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk.
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
He lets her go
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazel-nuts and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.

KATHERINA
Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

PETRUCHIO
Did ever Dian so become a grove
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful.

KATHERINA
Where did you study all this goodly speech?

PETRUCHIO
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

KATHERINA
A witty mother, witless else her son.

PETRUCHIO
Am I not wise?

KATHERINA
Yes, keep you warm.

PETRUCHIO
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms – your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn,
For by this light whereby I see thy beauty,
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,
Thou must be married to no man but me.
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio
Here comes your father. Never make denial;
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

BAPTISTA
Now, Signor Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

PETRUCHIO
How but well, sir? How but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAPTISTA
Why, how now, daughter Katherine? In your dumps?

KATHERINA
Call you me daughter? Now I promise you
You have 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.

PETRUCHIO
Father, 'tis thus – yourself and all the world
That talked of her have talked amiss of her.
If she be curst, it is for policy,
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove.
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn.
For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

KATHERINA
I'll see thee hanged on Sunday first.

GREMIO
Hark, Petruchio, she says she'll see thee hanged first.

TRANIO
Is this your speeding? Nay then, good night our part.

PETRUCHIO
Be patient, gentlemen, I choose her for myself.
If she and I be pleased, what's that to you?
'Tis bargained 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me – O, the kindest Kate!
She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O, you are novices! 'Tis a world to see
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate, I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests.
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.

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

GREMIO and TRANIO
Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.

PETRUCHIO
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu,
I will to Venice – Sunday comes apace.
We will have rings, and things, and fine array,
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.
Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina

GREMIO
Was ever match clapped up so suddenly?

BAPTISTA
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.

TRANIO
'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you,
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

BAPTISTA
The gain I seek is quiet in the match.

GREMIO
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter –
Now is the day we long have looked for.
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

TRANIO
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.

GREMIO
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

TRANIO
Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.

GREMIO
But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back, 'tis age that nourisheth.

TRANIO
But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.

BAPTISTA
Content you, gentlemen, I will compound this strife.
'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have my Bianca's love.
Say, Signor Gremio, what can you assure her?

GREMIO
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands –
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry.
In ivory coffers I have 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,
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess,
And if I die tomorrow this is hers,
If whilst I live she will be only mine.

TRANIO
That ‘ only ’ came well in. Sir, list to me.
I am my father's heir and only son.
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I'll leave her houses three or four as good,
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old Signor 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, Signor Gremio?

GREMIO
Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
(aside) My land amounts not to so much in all.
(to them) That she shall have, besides an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles road.
What, have I choked you with an argosy?

TRANIO
Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses
And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her,
And twice as much whate'er thou off'rest next.

GREMIO
Nay, I have 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 mine.

TRANIO
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world
By your firm promise. Gremio is out-vied.

BAPTISTA
I must confess your offer is the best,
And let your father make her the assurance,
She is your own. Else, you must pardon me,
If you should die before him, where's her dower?

TRANIO
That's but a cavil. He is old, I young.

GREMIO
And may not young men die as well as old?

BAPTISTA
Well, gentlemen,
I am thus 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 this assurance;
If not, to Signor Gremio.
And so I take my leave, and thank you both.

GREMIO
Adieu, good neighbour.
Exit Baptista
Now I fear thee not.
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and in his waning age
Set foot under thy table. Tut, a toy!
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.
Exit

TRANIO
A vengeance on your crafty withered hide!
Yet I have 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.
Exit
x

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