Her name is Catharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her fcolding tongue. Gru. I pray you, Sir, let him go while the humour lafts. O'my word, an' fhe 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 fo: why, that's nothing; an' he begin once, he'll rail-In his rope-tricks (I'll tell you what, Sir) an' fhe ftand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and fo disfigure her with it, that fhe fhall have no moré eyes to fee withal than a cat. You know him not, Sir. Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go 2 And her with-holds he from me, and others more For those defects I have before rehears'd, An' be begin once, he'll rail in bis rope-tricks.] This is obfcure. Sir Thomas Hanmer reads, be'll rail in bis rhetorick; I'll tell you, &c. Rhetorick agrees very well with figure in the fucceeding part of the fpeech, yet I am inclined to believe that Rope-trick is the true word. 2 It ftood thus: And her withholds he from me. Other more Suitors to her, and Rivals in my Love: &c.] The Regulation, which I have given to the Text, was dictated to me by the ingenious Dr. Thirlby. THEOBALD. Gru. Gru. Catharine the curft? A title for a maid of all titles the worst! Hor. Now fhall my Friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me difguis'd in fober robes To old Baptifta as a school-mafter, Well feen in mufick, to inftruct Bianca; That fo I may by this device, at least, Have leave and leisure to make love to her And, unfufpected, court her by herself. 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. Mafter, look about you: who goes there? ha! Hor. Peace, Grumio, 'tis the Rival of my love. Gru. A proper Stripling, and an amorous. I'll mend it with a largefs. Take your papers too, For she is sweeter than perfume itself, To whom they go; what will you read to her? As for my Patron, ftand you so affured; Gre. Oh this learning, what a thing it is! Hor. 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, A fine musician to inftruct our mistress; To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. deeds fhall prove. Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love. Hortenfio, have you told him all her faults? Pet. I know, fhe is an irkfome brawling Scold; If that be all, mafters, 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 stomach, to't, o' God's name; You fhall have me affifting you in all. But will you wooe this wild cat? Pet. Will I live? Gru. Will he wooe her? ay, or I'll hang her. Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Think you, a little din can daunt my ears? TAMING Loud larums, neighing steeds, 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 ours. 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 you, which is the readieft way to the house 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. Not her that chides, Sir, at any hand, I pray. 3 That gives not half fo great a blow to HEAR,1 This aukward phrafe could never come from Shakespeare. He wrote, without question, - fo great a blow to TH’EAR. WARBURTON. Tra. Tra. I love no chiders, Sir: Biondello, let's away. Hor. Sir, a word, ere you go: Are you a fuitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? Tra. An 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. But fo is not she. Tra. For what reason, I beseech you? To whom my Father is not all unknown; Gre. What, this Gentleman will out-talk us all! Tra. No, Sir; but hear I do, that he hath two: Pet. Sir, Sir, the first's for me; let her go by. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, infooth: The youngest Daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all accefs of fuitors, And |