Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence I pray? Tra. Of Pifa, Sir, fon to Vincentio. Bap. A mighty man of Pifa; by Report I know him well; you are very welcome, Sir. Take You the lute, and You the Set of books, [To Hortenfio and Lucentio. You fhall go fee your pupils presently. Holla, within! Enter a Servant. Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my two daughters; and then tell them Both, [Exit Serv. with Hortenfio and Lucentio. We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are paffing welcome, Pet. Signior Baptifta, my business afketh hafle, Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands: Bap. Ay, when the fpecial thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all. Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as the proud-minded. And where two raging fires meet together, They do confume the thing that feeds their fury; Tho' little fire grows great with little wind, For I am rough, and wooe not like a babe. Bap. Well may'ft thou wooe, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for fome unhappy words. Pet. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, That fhake not, tho' they blow perpetually. Enter Hortenfio with his head broke. Bap. How now, my friend, why dost thou look fa pale? Her. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mufician? Hor. I think, fhe'll fooner prove a foldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? Hor. Why, no; for fhe hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her fhe miftook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When, with a moft impatient devilish spirit, Frets call you them? quoth fhe: I'll fume with them. As on a pillory, looking through the lute: And twangling Jack, with twenty fuch vile terms, Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lufty wench; Bap. Well, go with me, and be not fo difcomfited, 4 Signior Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, [Exit Bap. with Grem. Horten. and Tranio. Say, that the frowns; I'll fay, the looks as clear And fay, the uttereth piercing eloquence: When I shall ask the banns, and when be married ? SCENE IV. Enter Catharina. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. Cath. Well have you heard, but fomething hard of hearing. They call me Catharine, that do talk of me. Pet. You lye, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate. And bonny Kate, and fometimes Kate the curft: But Kate, the prettiest Kate in christendom, Kate of Kate-ball, my fuper-dainty Kate, (For dainties are all Cates) and therefore Kate; Take this of me, Kate of my confolation! Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every Town, Thy virtues fpoke of, and thy beauty founded, Yet not fo deeply as to thee belongs : Myself am mov'd to wooe thee for my wife. Cath. Mov'd?-in good time-let him that mov'd you hither, Remove you hence; I knew you at the first You were a moveable. Pet. Why, what's a moveable? Cath. A join'd stool. Pet. Thou haft hit it; come, fit on me. Pet. Women are made to bear, and fo are you. Pet. Should bee ; Cath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. Pet. Oh, flow-wing'd turtle, fhall a buzzard take thee? Cath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. * Cath. Ah, if the fool could find it, where it lies. Pet. Who knows not, where a wafp doth wear his fting? In his tail. Cath. In his tongue. Pet. Whofe tongue? Cath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and fo farewel. Pet. What with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate, I am a gentleman. Cath. That I'll try. [She ftrikes him. Pet. I fwear, I'll cuff you, if you trike again. If Cath. So may you lofe your arms; you ftrike 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? Ay, for a turtle, as he takes may read better, buzzard. That is, he may take me for a turtle, and he shall find me a hawk. · Pet. Pet. A comblefs cock, fo Kate will be my hen. 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, fhew it me, Catb. Had I a glafs, 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. Pet. 'Tis with Cares. Cath. I care not. 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, gamefom, paffing courteous, Why doth the world report, that Kate doth limp? Cath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'ft command. As Kate this chamber with her princely gaite? And |