Pet. Be patient, gentlemen; I choose 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 : 0, the kindest Kate!- Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match. day. [Exeunt PET. and KATH. severally. Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? Bap. 'Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant'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 suitor 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. Gray-beard! thy love doth freeze. Gre. But thine doth fry, Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I'll compound this strife: 'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both, That can assure my daughter greatest dower, Shall have Bianca's love 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; In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, me: I am my father's heir, and only son: Than three great argosies; besides two galiasses, Gre. Nay, I have offer'd 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. Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. Bap. 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? Tra. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old? Bap. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv'd:-On Sunday next, you know, And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour.-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. Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd 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 suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd-suppos'd 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 cun[Exit. ning. ACT III. SCENE I. A Room in Baptista's House. Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA. Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far Then give me leave to read philosophy, Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: tune? [To BIANCA.-HORTENSIO retires. Luc. That will be never!-tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Here madam: Har ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio,-hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa,-Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love;-Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing,-Priami, is my man Tranio, -regia, bearing my port,-celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. Bian. Let's hear.- [Returning. [HORTENSIO plays. Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac ibat Simois, 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. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. All but the bass. Hor. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that How fiery and forward our pedant is! [jars. Now for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. I should be arguing still upon that doubt: My lessons make no music in three parts. Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, [accord. |