centio, 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, bear

ing my port, celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor. [Returning.] Madam, my instrument 's in tune.

Bian. Let's hear.

O fie! the treble jars.

[HORTENSIO plays.

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

I know you not;

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac ibat Simois, 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, 't is now in tune.

Luc.

All but the base.

Hor. The base is right; 't is 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.

Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure,

Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.

acides

Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,

I should be arguing still upon that doubt:

But let it rest.

Now, Licio, to you. Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,

That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

Hor. [To LUCENTIO.]. You may go walk, and give me leave awhile:

My lessons make no music in three parts.

Luc. Are you so formal, Sir? [Aside.] Well, I must wait,

And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd.

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
And there it is in writing fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground off all accord,
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion,

B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,
C faut, that loves with all affection:
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I:
E la mi, show pity, or I die.

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.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your sister's chamber up:

You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day.

Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.

[Exeunt BIANCA and Servant.. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit. Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant: Methinks, he looks as though he were in love.. Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

The Same Before BAPTISTA'S House.

Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHARINE, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and Attendants.

Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.

What will be said? what mockery will it be,

To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?

What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forc'd

To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,

Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen;

Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure.

I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,

Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;

And to be noted for a merry man,

He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.

Now must the world point at poor Katharine,

-

And say, "Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her."

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too.
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,

Whatever fortune stays him from his word:
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

Kath. Would Katharine had never seen him though!

[Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA, and others.

Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep, For such an injury would vex a very saint,

Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

Enter BIONdello.

Bion. Master, master! old news, and sueh news as you never heard of!

Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be?

Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? Bap. Is he come?

Bion. Why, no, Sir.

Bap. What then?

Bion. He is coming.

Bap. When will he be here?

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there.

Tra. But, say, what to thine old news?

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, and stirrups of no kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots; swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten; ne'er-legged before, and with a half-cheeked bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather; which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots: one girth six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. O, Sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat, and "the humour of forty fancies" pricked in 't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey.

Tra. 'T is some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;

Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.

Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes.
Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.

Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion. No, Sir; I say, his horse comes, with him on his back
Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy,

I hold you a penny,

A horse and a man

Is more than one,

And yet not many.

Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.

Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at home?

Bap. You are welcome, Sir.

Pet.

Bap. And yet you halt not.
Tra.

As I wish you were.

And yet I come not well.

Not so well apparell'd,

Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus.

But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride?

How does my father? - Gentles, methinks you frown:

And wherefore gaze this goodly company,

As if they saw some wondrous monument,

Some comet, or unusual prodigy?

Bap. Why, Sir, you know, this is your wedding--day:

First were we sad, fearing you would not come;

Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.

Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,

An eye-sore to our solemn festival.

Tra. And tell us what occasion of import

Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: