That she shall have; besides an argosy, Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied. 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 cunning. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. A ROOM IN BAPTISTA'S HOUSE. Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. Luc. Fidler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in musick we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far To know the cause why musick was ordain'd! Was it not, to refresh the mind of man, After his studies, or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? [To Bianca.-Hortensio retires. E Luc. That will be never;-tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Here, madam: Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. 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: O fie! the treble jars. [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 base. Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is! 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. acides Was Ajax,-call'd so from his grandfather. Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: My lessons make no musick in three parts. Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art; Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, A re, to plead Hortensio's passion; Call you this-gamut? tut! I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, To change true rules for odd inventions. |