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ОглавлениеSCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.
[Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and
ATTENDANTS.]
BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO.]
Signior Lucentio, this is the ‘pointed day
That Katherine 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?
KATHERINA.
No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d
To give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,
Unto a madbrain 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 invited, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.
Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
And say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.’
TRANIO.
Patience, good Katherine, 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.
KATHERINA.
Would Katherine had never seen him though!
[Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others.]
BAPTISTA.
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.]
Master, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!
BAPTISTA.
Is it new and old too? How may that be?
BIONDELLO.
Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?
BAPTISTA.
Is he come?
BIONDELLO.
Why, no, sir.
BAPTISTA.
What then?
BIONDELLO.
He is coming.
BAPTISTA.
When will he be here?
BIONDELLO.
When he stands where I am and sees you there.
TRANIO.
But, say, what to thine old news?
BIONDELLO. 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 windgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a half-checked 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 packthread.
BAPTISTA.
Who comes with him?
BIONDELLO. 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’ prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.
TRANIO.
‘Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.
BAPTISTA.
I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.
BIONDELLO.
Why, sir, he comes not.
BAPTISTA.
Didst thou not say he comes?
BIONDELLO.
Who? that Petruchio came?
BAPTISTA.
Ay, that Petruchio came.
BIONDELLO.
No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.
BAPTISTA.
Why, that’s all one.
BIONDELLO.
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.]
PETRUCHIO.
Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home?
BAPTISTA.
You are welcome, sir.
PETRUCHIO.
And yet I come not well.
BAPTISTA.
And yet you halt not.
TRANIO.
Not so well apparell’d
As I wish you were.
PETRUCHIO.
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?
BAPTISTA.
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.
TRANIO.
And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
PETRUCHIO.
Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforced to digress;
Which at more leisure I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, ‘tis time we were at church.
TRANIO.
See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
PETRUCHIO.
Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.
BAPTISTA.
But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
PETRUCHIO.
Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;
To me she’s married, not unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
‘Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride,
And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO, GRUMIO, and BIODELLO.]
TRANIO.
He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.
BAPTISTA.
I’ll after him and see the event of this.
[Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO and ATTENDENTS.]
TRANIO.
But to her love concerneth us to add
Her father’s liking; which to bring to pass,
As I before imparted to your worship,
I am to get a man,—whate’er he be
It skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,
And make assurance here in Padua,
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
LUCENTIO.
Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,
‘Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform’d, let all the world say no,
I’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.
TRANIO.
That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage in this business.
We’ll overreach the greybeard, Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amorous Licio;
All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.
[Re-enter GREMIO.]
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
GREMIO.
As willingly as e’er I came from school.
TRANIO.
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
GREMIO.
A bridegroom, say you? ‘Tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
TRANIO.
Curster than she? Why, ‘tis impossible.
GREMIO.
Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
TRANIO.
Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.
GREMIO.
Tut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him.
I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
Should ask if Katherine should be his wife,
‘Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud
That, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book;
And as he stoop’d again to take it up,
The madbrain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest:
‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’
TRANIO.
What said the wench, when he rose again?
GREMIO.
Trembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if
He had been abroad, carousing to his mates
After a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel,
And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,
Having no other reason
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly
And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck,
And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack
That at the parting all the church did echo.
And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
Such a mad marriage never was before.
Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.
[Music.]
[Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO,
GRUMIO, and Train.]
PETRUCHIO.
Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains:
I know you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer
But so it is-my haste doth call me hence,
And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
BAPTISTA.
Is’t possible you will away tonight?
PETRUCHIO.
I must away to-day before night come.
Make it no wonder: if you knew my business,
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
And, honest company, I thank you all,
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.
Dine with my father, drink a health to me.
For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
TRANIO.
Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
PETRUCHIO.
It may not be.
GREMIO.
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO.
It cannot be.
KATHERINA.
Let me entreat you.
PETRUCHIO.
I am content.
KATHERINA.
Are you content to stay?
PETRUCHIO.
I am content you shall entreat me stay;
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
KATHERINA.
Now, if you love me, stay.
PETRUCHIO.
Grumio, my horse!
GRUMIO.
Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.
KATHERINA.
Nay, then,
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
No, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself.
The door is open, sir; there lies your way;
You may be jogging whiles your boots are green;
For me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.
‘Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
PETRUCHIO.
O Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.
KATHERINA.
I will be angry: what hast thou to do?
Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
GREMIO.
Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
KATHERINA.
Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner:
I see a woman may be made a fool,
If she had not a spirit to resist.
PETRUCHIO.
They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves:
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
I will be master of what is mine own.
She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;
I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;
I’ll buckler thee against a million.
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO.]
BAPTISTA.
Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
GREMIO.
Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
TRANIO.
Of all mad matches, never was the like.
LUCENTIO.
Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?
BIANCA.
That, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.
GREMIO.
I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
BAPTISTA.
Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table,
You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place;
And let Bianca take her sister’s room.
TRANIO.
Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?
BAPTISTA.
She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A hall in PETRUCHIO’S country house.
[Enter GRUMIO.]
GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!
[Enter CURTIS.]
CURTIS.
Who is that calls so coldly?
GRUMIO. A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis.
CURTIS.
Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?
GRUMIO. O, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.
CURTIS.
Is she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?
GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
CURTIS.
Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.
GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?
CURTIS.
I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?
GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.
CURTIS.
There’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news?
GRUMIO.
Why, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as thou wilt.
CURTIS.
Come, you are so full of cony-catching.
GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the servingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?
CURTIS.
All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news?
GRUMIO.
First, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.
CURTIS.
How?
GRUMIO.
Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.
CURTIS.
Let’s ha’t, good Grumio.
GRUMIO.
Lend thine ear.
CURTIS.
Here.
GRUMIO.
[Striking him.] There.
CURTIS.
This ‘tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
GRUMIO. And therefore ‘tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to knock at your car and beseech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—
CURTIS.
Both of one horse?
GRUMIO.
What’s that to thee?
CURTIS.
Why, a horse.
GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with the horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she prayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away; how her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave.
CURTIS.
By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.
GRUMIO. Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?
CURTIS.
They are.
GRUMIO.
Call them forth.
CURTIS. Do you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.
GRUMIO.
Why, she hath a face of her own.
CURTIS.
Who knows not that?
GRUMIO.
Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.
CURTIS.
I call them forth to credit her.
GRUMIO.
Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
[Enter several SERVANTS.]
NATHANIEL.
Welcome home, Grumio!
PHILIP.
How now, Grumio!
JOSEPH.
What, Grumio!
NICHOLAS.
Fellow Grumio!
NATHANIEL.
How now, old lad!
GRUMIO. Welcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?
NATHANIEL.
All things is ready. How near is our master?
GRUMIO.
E’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,—
Cock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.
[Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA.]
PETRUCHIO.
Where be these knaves? What! no man at door
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—
ALL SERVANTS.
Here, here, sir; here, sir.
PETRUCHIO.
Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
You loggerheaded and unpolish’d grooms!
What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
GRUMIO.
Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.
PETRUCHIO.
You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
GRUMIO.
Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel;
There was no link to colour Peter’s hat,
And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;
There was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
PETRUCHIO.
Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.
[Exeunt some of the SERVANTS.]
Where is the life that late I led?
Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome.
Soud, soud, soud, soud!
[Re-enter SERVANTS with supper.]
Why, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—
Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains! when?
It was the friar of orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way:
Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:
[Strikes him.]
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho!
Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
[Exit SERVANT.]
One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—
[SERVANT lets the ewer fall. PETRUCHIO strikes him.]
You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?
KATHERINA.
Patience, I pray you; ‘twas a fault unwilling.
PETRUCHIO.
A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!
Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—
What’s this? Mutton?
FIRST SERVANT.
Ay.
PETRUCHIO.
Who brought it?
PETER. I.
PETRUCHIO.
‘Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser,
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
[Throws the meat, etc., at them.]
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.
You heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!
What! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.
KATHERINA.
I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
PETRUCHIO.
I tell thee, Kate, ‘twas burnt and dried away,
And I expressly am forbid to touch it;
For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
And better ‘twere that both of us did fast,
Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient; tomorrow ‘t shall be mended.
And for this night we’ll fast for company:
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and CURTIS.]
NATHANIEL.
Peter, didst ever see the like?
PETER.
He kills her in her own humour.
[Re-enter CURTIS.]
GRUMIO.
Where is he?
CURTIS.
In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her;
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak,
And sits as one new risen from a dream.
Away, away! for he is coming hither.
[Exeunt.]
[Re-enter PETRUCHIO.]
PETRUCHIO.
Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
And ‘tis my hope to end successfully.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty.
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg’d,
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come, and know her keeper’s call,
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate and beat, and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
Last night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not;
As with the meat, some undeserved fault
I’ll find about the making of the bed;
And here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets;
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her;
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:
And if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl,
And with the clamour keep her still awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness;
And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak; ‘tis charity to show.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.
[Enter TRANIO and HORTENSIO.]
TRANIO.
Is ‘t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
HORTENSIO.
Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.
[They stand aside.]
[Enter BIANCA and LUCENTIO.]
LUCENTIO.
Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
BIANCA.
What, master, read you, First resolve me that.
LUCENTIO.
I read that I profess, the Art to Love.
BIANCA.
And may you prove, sir, master of your art!
LUCENTIO.
While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
[They retire.]
HORTENSIO.
Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca
Lov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.
TRANIO.
O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
HORTENSIO.
Mistake no more; I am not Licio.
Nor a musician as I seem to be;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise
For such a one as leaves a gentleman
And makes a god of such a cullion:
Know, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.
TRANIO.
Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca;
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
I will with you, if you be so contented,
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
HORTENSIO.
See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her,
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter’d her withal.
TRANIO.
And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
Never to marry with her though she would entreat;
Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!
HORTENSIO.
Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealtlly widow
Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me
As I have lov’d this proud disdainful haggard.
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love; and so I take my leave,
In resolution as I swore before.
[Exit HORTENSIO. LUCENTIO and BIANCA advance.]
TRANIO.
Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
As ‘longeth to a lover’s blessed case!
Nay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love,
And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
BIANCA.
Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?
TRANIO.
Mistress, we have.
LUCENTIO.
Then we are rid of Licio.
TRANIO.
I’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now,
That shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.
BIANCA.
God give him joy!
TRANIO.
Ay, and he’ll tame her.
BIANCA.
He says so, Tranio.
TRANIO.
Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
BIANCA.
The taming-school! What, is there such a place?
TRANIO.
Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.
[Enter BIONDELLO, running.]
BIONDELLO.
O master, master! I have watch’d so long
That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied
An ancient angel coming down the hill
Will serve the turn.
TRANIO.
What is he, Biondello?
BIONDELLO.
Master, a mercatante or a pedant,
I know not what; but formal in apparel,
In gait and countenance surely like a father.
LUCENTIO.
And what of him, Tranio?
TRANIO.
If he be credulous and trust my tale,
I’ll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
And give assurance to Baptista Minola,
As if he were the right Vincentio.
Take in your love, and then let me alone.
[Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA.]
[Enter a PEDANT.]
PEDANT.
God save you, sir!
TRANIO.
And you, sir! you are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?
PEDANT.
Sir, at the farthest for a week or two;
But then up farther, and as far as Rome;
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
TRANIO.
What countryman, I pray?
PEDANT.
Of Mantua.
TRANIO.
Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,
And come to Padua, careless of your life!
PEDANT.
My life, sir! How, I pray? for that goes hard.
TRANIO.
‘Tis death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
Your ships are stay’d at Venice; and the duke,—
For private quarrel ‘twixt your duke and him,—
Hath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.
‘Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come
You might have heard it else proclaim’d about.
PEDANT.
Alas, sir! it is worse for me than so;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.
TRANIO.
Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will I do, and this I will advise you:
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
PEDANT.
Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
Pisa renowned for grave citizens.
TRANIO.
Among them know you one Vincentio?
PEDANT.
I know him not, but I have heard of him,
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
TRANIO.
He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.
BIONDELLO.
[Aside.] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.
TRANIO.
To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;
Look that you take upon you as you should!
You understand me, sir; so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city.
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.
PEDANT.
O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.
TRANIO.
Then go with me to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand:
My father is here look’d for every day
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
‘Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:
In all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.
[Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO.]
GRUMIO.
No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.
KATHERINA.
The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars that come unto my father’s door
Upon entreaty have a present alms;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;
But I, who never knew how to entreat,
Nor never needed that I should entreat,
Am starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat
‘Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.
I prithee go and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.
GRUMIO.
What say you to a neat’s foot?
KATHERINA.
‘Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.
GRUMIO.
I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?
KATHERINA.
I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.
GRUMIO.
I cannot tell; I fear ‘tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
KATHERINA.
A dish that I do love to feed upon.
GRUMIO.
Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
KATHERINA.
Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
GRUMIO.
Nay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
KATHERINA.
Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.
GRUMIO.
Why then the mustard without the beef.
KATHERINA.
Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
[Beats him.]
That feed’st me with the very name of meat.
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you
That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.
[Enter PETRUCHIO with a dish of meat; and HORTENSIO.]
PETRUCHIO.
How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?
HORTENSIO.
Mistress, what cheer?
KATHERINA.
Faith, as cold as can be.
PETRUCHIO.
Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.
Here, love; thou seest how diligent I am,
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:
[Sets the dish on a table.]
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,
And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here, take away this dish.
KATHERINA.
I pray you, let it stand.
PETRUCHIO.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
KATHERINA.
I thank you, sir.
HORTENSIO.
Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.
PETRUCHIO.
[Aside.] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
Kate, eat apace: and now, my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father’s house
And revel it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;
With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery,
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
What! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.
[Enter TAILOR.]
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
Lay forth the gown.—
[Enter HABERDASHER.]
What news with you, sir?
HABERDASHER.
Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
A velvet dish: fie, fie! ‘tis lewd and filthy:
Why, ‘tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby’s cap:
Away with it! come, let me have a bigger.
KATHERINA.
I’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
PETRUCHIO.
When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.
HORTENSIO.
[Aside] That will not be in haste.
KATHERINA.
Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
Your betters have endur’d me say my mind,
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, thou say’st true; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;
I love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.
KATHERINA.
Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
And it I will have, or I will have none.
[Exit HABERDASHER.]
PETRUCHIO.
Thy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t.
O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
What’s this? A sleeve? ‘Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down, carv’d like an appletart?
Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber’s shop.
Why, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?
HORTENSIO.
[Aside] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.
TAILOR.
You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
PETRUCHIO.
Marry, and did; but if you be remember’d,
I did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you shall hop without my custom, sir.
I’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.
KATHERINA.
I never saw a better fashion’d gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.
TAILOR.
She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.
PETRUCHIO.
O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,
Thou thimble,
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!
Brav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!
Away! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.
TAILOR.
Your worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made
Just as my master had direction.
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
GRUMIO.
I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.
TAILOR.
But how did you desire it should be made?
GRUMIO.
Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
TAILOR.
But did you not request to have it cut?
GRUMIO.
Thou hast faced many things.
TAILOR. I have.
GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be fac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.
TAILOR.
Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
PETRUCHIO.
Read it.
GRUMIO.
The note lies in ‘s throat, if he say I said so.
TAILOR.
‘Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’
GRUMIO.
Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the
skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread;
I said, a gown.
PETRUCHIO.
Proceed.
TAILOR.
‘With a small compassed cape.’
GRUMIO.
I confess the cape.
TAILOR.
‘With a trunk sleeve.’
GRUMIO.
I confess two sleeves.
TAILOR.
‘The sleeves curiously cut.’
PETRUCHIO.
Ay, there’s the villainy.
GRUMIO. Error i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.
TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where thou shouldst know it.
GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.
HORTENSIO.
God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.
PETRUCHIO.
Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
GRUMIO.
You are i’ the right, sir; ‘tis for my mistress.
PETRUCHIO.
Go, take it up unto thy master’s use.
GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s use!
PETRUCHIO.
Why, sir, what’s your conceit in that?
GRUMIO.
O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.
Take up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use!
O fie, fie, fie!
PETRUCHIO.
[Aside] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.
[To Tailor.] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.
HORTENSIO.
[Aside to Tailor.] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow;
Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
Away, I say! commend me to thy master.
[Exit TAILOR.]
PETRUCHIO.
Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s
Even in these honest mean habiliments.
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor
For ‘tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
If thou account’st it shame, lay it on me;
And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith,
To feast and sport us at thy father’s house.
Go call my men, and let us straight to him;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
Let’s see; I think ‘tis now some seven o’clock,
And well we may come there by dinner-time.
KATHERINA.
I dare assure you, sir, ‘tis almost two,
And ‘twill be suppertime ere you come there.
PETRUCHIO.
It shall be seven ere I go to horse.
Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
You are still crossing it. Sirs, let ‘t alone:
I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
It shall be what o’clock I say it is.
HORTENSIO.
Why, so this gallant will command the sun.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. Padua. Before BAPTISTA’S house.
[Enter TRANIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO.]
TRANIO.
Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call?
PEDANT.
Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived,
Signior Baptista may remember me,
Near twenty years ago in Genoa,
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.
TRANIO.
‘Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
With such austerity as ‘longeth to a father.
PEDANT.
I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;
‘Twere good he were school’d.
[Enter BIONDELLO.]
TRANIO.
Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
Imagine ‘twere the right Vincentio.
BIONDELLO.
Tut! fear not me.
TRANIO.
But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
BIONDELLO.
I told him that your father was at Venice,
And that you look’d for him this day in Padua.
TRANIO.
Thou’rt a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.
[Enter BAPTISTA and LUCENTIO.]
Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
[To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;
I pray you stand good father to me now;
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
PEDANT.
Soft, son!
Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between your daughter and himself:
And,—for the good report I hear of you,
And for the love he beareth to your daughter,
And she to him,—to stay him not too long,
I am content, in a good father’s care,
To have him match’d; and, if you please to like
No worse than I, upon some agreement
Me shall you find ready and willing
With one consent to have her so bestow’d;
For curious I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
BAPTISTA.
Sir, pardon me in what I have to say.
Your plainness and your shortness please me well.
Right true it is your son Lucentio here
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him,
Or both dissemble deeply their affections;
And therefore, if you say no more than this,
That like a father you will deal with him,
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
The match is made, and all is done:
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
TRANIO.
I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
We be affied, and such assurance ta’en
As shall with either part’s agreement stand?
BAPTISTA.
Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants;
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still,
And happily we might be interrupted.
TRANIO.
Then at my lodging, an it like you:
There doth my father lie; and there this night
We’ll pass the business privately and well.
Send for your daughter by your servant here;
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, that at so slender warning
You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.
BAPTISTA.
It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened:
Lucentio’s father is arriv’d in Padua,
And how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.
LUCENTIO.
I pray the gods she may, with all my heart!
TRANIO.
Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;
Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.
BAPTISTA.
I follow you.
[Exeunt TRANIO, Pedant, and BAPTISTA.]
BIONDELLO.
Cambio!
LUCENTIO.
What say’st thou, Biondello?
BIONDELLO.
You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?
LUCENTIO.
Biondello, what of that?
BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.
LUCENTIO.
I pray thee moralize them.
BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son.
LUCENTIO.
And what of him?
BIONDELLO.
His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.
LUCENTIO.
And then?
BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.
LUCENTIO.
And what of all this?
BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum; to the church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses. If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.
[Going.]
LUCENTIO.
Hear’st thou, Biondello?
BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke’s to bid the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix.
[Exit.]
LUCENTIO.
I may, and will, if she be so contented.
She will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt?
Hap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her;
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her:
[Exit.]
SCENE V. A public road
[Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS.]
PETRUCHIO.
Come on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!
KATHERINA.
The moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.
PETRUCHIO.
I say it is the moon that shines so bright.
KATHERINA.
I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
PETRUCHIO.
Now by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Or ere I journey to your father’s house.
Go on and fetch our horses back again.
Evermore cross’d and cross’d; nothing but cross’d!
HORTENSIO.
Say as he says, or we shall never go.
KATHERINA.
Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please;
And if you please to call it a rush-candle,
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
PETRUCHIO.
I say it is the moon.
KATHERINA.
I know it is the moon.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.
KATHERINA.
Then, God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun;
But sun it is not when you say it is not,
And the moon changes even as your mind.
What you will have it nam’d, even that it is,
And so it shall be so for Katherine.
HORTENSIO.
Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.
PETRUCHIO.
Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But, soft! Company is coming here.
[Enter VINCENTIO, in a travelling dress.]
[To VINCENTIO] Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.
HORTENSIO.
‘A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.
KATHERINA.
Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child;
Happier the man whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad:
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d,
And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
KATHERINA.
Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green:
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
PETRUCHIO.
Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
Which way thou travellest: if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.
VINCENTIO.
Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
That with your strange encounter much amaz’d me,
My name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa;
And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
PETRUCHIO.
What is his name?
VINCENTIO.
Lucentio, gentle sir.
PETRUCHIO.
Happily met; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee my loving father:
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
Nor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
VINCENTIO.
But is this true? or is it else your pleasure,
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the company you overtake?
HORTENSIO.
I do assure thee, father, so it is.
PETRUCHIO.
Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
[Exeunt all but HORTENSIO.]
HORTENSIO.
Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.
[Exit.]
ACT V.
SCENE I. Padua. Before LUCENTIO’S house.
[Enter on one side BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO walking on other side.]
BIONDELLO.
Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.
LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at home, therefore leave us.
BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my master’s as soon as I can.
[Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO.]
GREMIO.
I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.
[Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, and ATTENDANTS.]
PETRUCHIO.
Sir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house:
My father’s bears more toward the marketplace;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
VINCENTIO.
You shall not choose but drink before you go.
I think I shall command your welcome here,
And by all likelihood some cheer is toward.
[Knocks.]
GREMIO.
They’re busy within; you were best knock louder.
[Enter PEDANT above, at a window.]
PEDANT.
What’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?
VINCENTIO.
Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
PEDANT.
He’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?
PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I live.
PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.
PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window.
VINCENTIO.
Art thou his father?
PEDANT.
Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.
PETRUCHIO. [To VINCENTIO] Why, how now, gentleman! why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man’s name.
PEDANT. Lay hands on the villain: I believe ‘a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.
[Re-enter BIONDELLO.]
BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together: God send ‘em good shipping! But who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio! Now we are undone and brought to nothing.
VINCENTIO.
[Seeing BIONDELLO.] Come hither, crack-hemp.
BIONDELLO.
I hope I may choose, sir.
VINCENTIO.
Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?
BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life.
VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain! didst thou never see thy master’s father, Vincentio?
BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window.
VINCENTIO.
Is’t so, indeed?
[He beats BIONDELLO.]
BIONDELLO.
Help, help, help! here’s a madman will murder me.
[Exit.]
PEDANT.
Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!
[Exit from the window.]
PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the end of this controversy.
[They retire.]
[Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS.]
TRANIO.
Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?
VINCENTIO. What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet cloak, and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university.
TRANIO.
How now! what’s the matter?
BAPTISTA.
What, is the man lunatic?
TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what ‘cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it.
VINCENTIO.
Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.
BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his name?
VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio.
PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio.
VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the Duke’s name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
TRANIO.
Call forth an officer.
[Enter one with an OFFICER.]
Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming.
VINCENTIO.
Carry me to the gaol!
GREMIO.
Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison.
BAPTISTA.
Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison.
GREMIO. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio.
PEDANT.
Swear if thou darest.
GREMIO.
Nay, I dare not swear it.
TRANIO.
Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.
GREMIO.
Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
BAPTISTA.
Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him!
VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be haled and abus’d: O monstrous villain!
[Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA.]
BIONDELLO. O! we are spoiled; and yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone.
LUCENTIO.
[Kneeling.] Pardon, sweet father.
VINCENTIO.
Lives my sweetest son?
[BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, run out.]
BIANCA.
[Kneeling.] Pardon, dear father.
BAPTISTA.
How hast thou offended?
Where is Lucentio?
LUCENTIO.
Here’s Lucentio,
Right son to the right Vincentio;
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
While counterfeit supposes blear’d thine eyne.
GREMIO.
Here ‘s packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!
VINCENTIO.
Where is that damned villain, Tranio,
That fac’d and brav’d me in this matter so?
BAPTISTA.
Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
BIANCA.
Cambio is chang’d into Lucentio.
LUCENTIO.
Love wrought these miracles. Bianca’s love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town;
And happily I have arriv’d at the last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
What Tranio did, myself enforc’d him to;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
VINCENTIO. I’ll slit the villain’s nose that would have sent me to the gaol.
BAPTISTA. [To LUCENTIO.] But do you hear, sir? Have you married my daughter without asking my good will?
VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be revenged for this villainy.
[Exit.]
BAPTISTA.
And I to sound the depth of this knavery.
[Exit.]
LUCENTIO.
Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.
[Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA.]
GREMIO.
My cake is dough, but I’ll in among the rest;
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
[Exit.]
[PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA advance.]
KATHERINA.
Husband, let’s follow to see the end of this ado.
PETRUCHIO.
First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
KATHERINA.
What! in the midst of the street?
PETRUCHIO.
What! art thou ashamed of me?
KATHERINA.
No, sir; God forbid; but ashamed to kiss.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, then, let’s home again. Come, sirrah, let’s away.
KATHERINA.
Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay.
PETRUCHIO.
Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
Better once than never, for never too late.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. A room in LUCENTIO’S house.
[Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. TRANIO, BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO, and Others, attending.]
LUCENTIO.
At last, though long, our jarring notes agree:
And time it is when raging war is done,
To smile at ‘scapes and perils overblown.
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
While I with selfsame kindness welcome thine.
Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
My banquet is to close our stomachs up,
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat as well as eat.
[They sit at table.]
PETRUCHIO.
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!
BAPTISTA.
Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.
PETRUCHIO.
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.
HORTENSIO.
For both our sakes I would that word were true.
PETRUCHIO.
Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.
WIDOW.
Then never trust me if I be afeard.
PETRUCHIO.
You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
I mean Hortensio is afeard of you.
WIDOW.
He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
PETRUCHIO.
Roundly replied.
KATHERINA.
Mistress, how mean you that?
WIDOW.
Thus I conceive by him.
PETRUCHIO.
Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?
HORTENSIO.
My widow says thus she conceives her tale.
PETRUCHIO.
Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.
KATHERINA.
‘He that is giddy thinks the world turns round’:
I pray you tell me what you meant by that.
WIDOW.
Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
Measures my husband’s sorrow by his woe;
And now you know my meaning.
KATHERINA.
A very mean meaning.
WIDOW.
Right, I mean you.
KATHERINA.
And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.
PETRUCHIO.
To her, Kate!
HORTENSIO.
To her, widow!
PETRUCHIO.
A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.
HORTENSIO.
That’s my office.
PETRUCHIO.
Spoke like an officer: ha’ to thee, lad.
[Drinks to HORTENSIO.]
BAPTISTA.
How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?
GREMIO.
Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
BIANCA.
Head and butt! An hasty-witted body
Would say your head and butt were head and horn.
VINCENTIO.
Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken’d you?
BIANCA.
Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two.
BIANCA.
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all.
[Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW.]
PETRUCHIO.
She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;
This bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.
TRANIO.
O, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
PETRUCHIO.
A good swift simile, but something currish.
TRANIO.
‘Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
‘Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
BAPTISTA.
O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
LUCENTIO.
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
HORTENSIO.
Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here?
PETRUCHIO.
A’ has a little gall’d me, I confess;
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
‘Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright.
BAPTISTA.
Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
PETRUCHIO.
Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,
Let’s each one send unto his wife,
And he whose wife is most obedient,
To come at first when he doth send for her,
Shall win the wager which we will propose.
HORTENSIO.
Content. What’s the wager?
LUCENTIO.
Twenty crowns.
PETRUCHIO.
Twenty crowns!
I’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.
LUCENTIO.
A hundred then.
HORTENSIO.
Content.
PETRUCHIO.
A match! ‘tis done.
HORTENSIO.
Who shall begin?
LUCENTIO.
That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
BIONDELLO.
I go.
[Exit.]
BAPTISTA.
Son, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.
LUCENTIO.
I’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.
[Re-enter BIONDELLO.]
How now! what news?
BIONDELLO.
Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy and she cannot come.
PETRUCHIO.
How! She’s busy, and she cannot come!
Is that an answer?
GREMIO.
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
PETRUCHIO.
I hope, better.
HORTENSIO.
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.
[Exit BIONDELLO.]
PETRUCHIO.
O, ho! entreat her!
Nay, then she must needs come.
HORTENSIO.
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
[Re-enter BIONDELLO.]
Now, where’s my wife?
BIONDELLO.
She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
She will not come; she bids you come to her.
PETRUCHIO.
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endur’d!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; say,
I command her come to me.
[Exit GRUMIO.]
HORTENSIO.
I know her answer.
PETRUCHIO.
What?
HORTENSIO.
She will not.
PETRUCHIO.
The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
[Re-enter KATHERINA.]
BAPTISTA.
Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!
KATHERINA.
What is your sir, that you send for me?
PETRUCHIO.
Where is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?
KATHERINA.
They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
PETRUCHIO.
Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come,
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
[Exit KATHERINA.]
LUCENTIO.
Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
HORTENSIO.
And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.
PETRUCHIO.
Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
An awful rule, and right supremacy;
And, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.
BAPTISTA.
Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is chang’d, as she had never been.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
[Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW.]
Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:
Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.
[KATHERINA pulls off her cap and throws it down.]
WIDOW.
Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh
Till I be brought to such a silly pass!
BIANCA.
Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?
LUCENTIO.
I would your duty were as foolish too;
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me a hundred crowns since suppertime!
BIANCA.
The more fool you for laying on my duty.
PETRUCHIO.
Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.
WIDOW.
Come, come, you’re mocking; we will have no telling.
PETRUCHIO.
Come on, I say; and first begin with her.
WIDOW.
She shall not.
PETRUCHIO.
I say she shall: and first begin with her.
KATHERINA.
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience;
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?—
I am asham’d that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toll and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband’s foot:
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready; may it do him ease.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
LUCENTIO.
Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha’t.
VINCENTIO.
‘Tis a good hearing when children are toward.
LUCENTIO.
But a harsh hearing when women are froward.
PETRUCHIO.
Come, Kate, we’ll to bed.
We three are married, but you two are sped.
‘Twas I won the wager,
[To LUCENTIO.] though you hit the white;
And being a winner, God give you good night!
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA.]
HORTENSIO.
Now go thy ways; thou hast tam’d a curst shrew.
LUCENTIO.
‘Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam’d so.
[Exeunt.]
THE END
