That ever Katharina will be woo'd; A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. Hor. Now fhall my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguis'd in fober robes To old Baptifta as a school-mafter Well feen in mufick, to inftruct Bianca, Have leave and leifure to make love to her; SCENE VI. Enter Gremio, and Lucentio difguis'd. Gru. Here's no knavery! fee, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together. Master, look about you: who goes there? ha. Hor. Peace, Grumio, 'tis the rival of my love. Gru. A proper ftripling, and an amorous. I'll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too, For she is sweeter than perfume it self To whom they go: what will you read to her? Pet. Pet. Peace, Sirrah. Hor. Grumio, mum! God fave you, Signior Gremio. Gre. And you are well met, Signior Hortenfio. Trow you whither I am going? to Baptifta Minola; I promis'd to enquire carefully about a school-mafter for the fair Bianca, and by good fortune I have lighted well on this young man: for learning and behaviour fit for her turn, well read in poetry, and other books, good ones, I warrant ye. Hor. "Tis well; and I have met a gentleman Gre. Belov'd of me, and that my deeds fhall prove. Hor. 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. Hortenfio, have you told him all her faults? Pet, I know the is an irkfome brawling fcold; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. Gre. No, fayeft me fo, friend? what countryman? My father's dead, my fortune lives for me, Gre. Oh Sir, fuch a life with fuch a wife were ftrange; But if you have a ftomach, to't a God's name, But will you woo this wild cat? Pet. Will I live? Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. B 2 • Have "Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Loud larums, neighing fteeds, and trumpets clangue ? Tufh, tufh, fear boys with bugs. Gru. For he fears none. Gre. Hortenfio, hark: This gentleman is happily arriv'd, My mind prefumes, for his own good, and yours. Gre. And fo we will, provided that he win her. To them Tranio bravely apparell'd, and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen, God fave you. If I may be bold, tell me, I beseech thee, which is the readieft way to the houfe of Signior Baptifta Minola? Bion. He that has the two fair daughters? is't he you mean? Tra. Even he, Biondello. Gre. Hark you, Sir, you mean not her to Tra. Perhaps him and her, what have you to do? Pet. Nor her that chides, Sir, at any hand, I pray. Tra. I love no chiders, Sir: Biondello, let's away. Luc. Well begun, Tranio. Hor. Sir, a word ere you go: Are you a fuitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? Tra. And if I be, Sir, is it any offence? Gre. No; if without more words you will get you hence. Tra. Why, Sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me, as for you? Gre Gre. But fo is not she. Tra. For what reafon I befeech you? Gre. For this reafon, if you'll know. That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. To whom my father is not all unknown, Gre. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all. Pet. Sir, Sir, the firft's for me, let her go by.. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, infooth : Tra. If it be fo, Sir, that you are the man Hor. Sir, you fay well, and well you do conceive :And fince you do profefs-to-be a fuitor; You must, as we do, gratifie this gentleman, Tra. Sir, I fhall not be flack; in fign whereof, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. Gru. Bion. O excellent motion: fellows, let's be gone. Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so, Petruchio, I fhall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 1 Man. My Lord, you nod, you do not mind the play. Sly. Yea, by St. Ann do I: a good matter furely! comes there any more of it? Lady. My Lord, 'tis but begun. Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, Madam Lady. Would 'twere done! ACT II. G SCENE I. Baptifta's House in Padua. Enter Katherina and Bianca. BIANCA. Ood fifter, wrong me not, nor wrong your felf, To make a bond-maid and a slave of me; That I difdain: but for thefe other goods, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat, Kath. Of all thy fuitors here 1 charge thee tell Whom |