Cath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
Pet. Come, come, you wasp, i'faith, you are too

angry.

Cath. If I be waspish, 'best beware my sting.
Pet. My Remedy is then to pluck it out.

Cath. Ah, if the fool could find it, where it lies.

Pet. Who knows not, where a wasp does wear his

fting?

In his tail.

Cath. In his tongue.

Pet. Whose tongue?

Cath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewel. Pet. What with my tongue in your tail? nay, come

again,

Good Kate, I am a gentleman.

Cath. That I'll try.

[She strikes him.

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

Cath. So may you lose your arms.

If you strike me, you are no gentleman;

And if no gentleman, why then, no arms.

Pet. A herald, Kate? oh, put me in thy books.
Cath. What is your creft, a coxcomb?

Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
Cath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate; come, you must not look

fo fower.

Cath. It is my fashion when I fee a crab.

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

fo fower.

Cath. There is, there is.

Pet. Then, shew it me.

Cath. Had I a glass, I would.

Pet. What, you mean my face?

Cath. Well aim'd of fuch a young one.-
Pet. Now, by St. George, I am too young for you.

Cath. Yet you are wither'd.

Pet. 'Tis with Cares.

Cath. I care not.

Pet.

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate; in footh you 'scape not fo.
Cath. I chafe you if I tarry; let me go,

Pet. No, not a whit; I find you paffing gentle: 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and fullen, And now I find Report a very liar;

For thou art pleasant, gamesome, paffing courteous,
But flow in fpeech, yet fweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look afcance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor haft thou pleasure to be cross in talk:

But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conf'rence, soft and affable.

Why doth the world report, that Kate doth limp?
Oh fland'rous world! Kate like the hazle-twig,
Is ftraight and flender; and as brown in hue
As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me fee thee walk: thou doft not halt.

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

Pet. Did ever Dian fo 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 chaft, and Dian sportful!

Cath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Cath. A witty mother, witless elfe her fon.
Pet. Am I not wife?

Cath. Yes; keep you warm.

Pet. Why, fo I mean, sweet Catharine, 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 cat to a Kate,

Con

L

Conformable as other houshold Kates;
Here comes your father, never make denial,
I must and will have Catharine to my Wife.

Enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio.

Bap. NOW, fignior Petruchio, how speed you with

my daughter?

Pet. How but well, Sir? how but well? It were impoffible, I should speed amiss.

Bap. Why how now, daughter Catharine, in your

dumps?

Cath. Call you me daughter? now, I promise you,

You've shew'd a tender fatherly regard,
To with me wed to one half lunatic;

A mad cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

Pet. Father, 'tis thus; yourself and all the World,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her;
If the 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 Griffel;
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.

And to conclude, we've 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Cath. I'll fee thee hang'd on Sunday first.

Gre. Hark: Petruchio! she says, she'll fee thee

hang'd firft.

1

Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night,

our part!

Pet. Be patient, Sirs, I chuse her for myself;

If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd '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; oh, the kindest Kate!

She

She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vy'd fo fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
Oh, you are novices; 'tis a world to fee,
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,
OU To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day;
Father, provide the feaft, and bid the guests;
I will be fure, my Catharine shall be fine.

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

fe

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
Pet. Father, and wife, and Gentlemen, adieu;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace,
We will have rings and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.

Not

Gre.

W

[Exeunt Petruchio, and Catharine severally.

SCENE

VI.

AS ever match clapt up so suddenly?

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, I play a mer

chant's part,

And venture madly on a desperate mart.

Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the Seas. Bap. The gain I seek is quiet in the match. Gre. No doubt, but he hath got a quiet catch: But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for: I am your neighbour, and was fuitor first. Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as I. Tra. Grey-beard! thy love doth freeze.

Gre. But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.

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

$VOL. III.

G

Bap.

Bap. Content you, Gentlemen, I will compound this strife;

'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he, of Both, That can affure my daughter greatest dower, Shall have Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you affure her?
Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
Bafons and ewers to lave her dainty hands:
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;
In ivory coffers I have stufft my crowns;
In cypress chests my arras, counterpanes,
Coftly apparel, tents and canopies,
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl;
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work:
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house, or house-keeping: then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Sixfcore fat oxen standing in my stalls;
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myfelf am struck in years, I must confefs, W

And if I die tomorrow, this is hers;
If, whilst I live, she will be only mine.

Tra. That only came well in-Sir, lift to me;
I am my father's heir, and only fon;
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;
Befides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land; all which shall be her jointure.
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio?

Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year of land!

My land amounts but to fo much in all:

That she shall have, besides an Argofy

That now is lying in Marseilles's road.

What, have I choakt you with an Argofy?nid

Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father has no less

Than