Array MyBooks Classics - The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Illustrated edition (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents)

Bap.

Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?

Tra.

Of Pisa, sir, son to Vincentio.

Bap.

A mighty man of Pisa; by report

I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.

Take you the lute, and you the set of books.

You shall go see your pupils presently.

Holla, within!

Enter a Servant.

Sirrah, lead these gentlemen

To my daughters, and tell them both,

These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.

[Exit Servant with Lucentio and Hortensio, Biondello following.]

We will go walk a little in the orchard,

And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,

And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

Pet.

Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,

And every day I cannot come to woo.

You knew my father well, and in him me,

Left soly heir to all his lands and goods,

Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d.

Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,

What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

Bap.

After my death, the one half of my lands,

And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

Pet.

And for that dowry, I’ll assure her of

Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,

In all my lands and leases whatsoever.

Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,

That covenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap.

Ay, when the special 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 she proud-minded;

And where two raging fires meet together,

They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

Though little fire grows great with little wind,

Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;

So I to her, and so she yields to me,

For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Bap.

Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!

But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.

Pet.

Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,

That [shake] not, though they blow perpetually.

Enter Hortensio [as Litio] with his head broke.

Bap.

How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale?

Hor.

For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

Bap.

What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

Hor.

I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier,

Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap.

Why then thou canst not break her to the lute?

Hor.

Why no, for she hath broke the lute to me.

I did but tell her she mistook her frets,

And bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;

When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,

“Frets, call you these?” quoth she, “I’ll fume with them.”

And with that word she strook me on the head,

And through the instrument my pate made way,

And there I stood amazed for a while,

As on a pillory, looking through the lute,

While she did call me rascal fiddler

And twangling Jack, with twenty such vild terms,

As had she studied to misuse me so.

Pet.

Now by the world, it is a lusty wench!

I love her ten times more than e’er I did.

O, how I long to have some chat with her!

Bap.

Well, go with me and be not so discomfited.

Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;

She’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.

Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,

Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

Pet.

I pray you do. I’ll attend her here,

Exit [Baptista with Gremio, Tranio, and Hortensio]. Manet Petruchio.

And woo her with some spirit when she comes.

Say that she rail, why then I’ll tell her plain

She sings as sweetly as a nightingale;

Say that she frown, I’ll say she looks as clear

As morning roses newly wash’d with dew;

Say she be mute, and will not speak a word,

Then I’ll commend her volubility,

And say she uttereth piercing eloquence;

If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,

As though she bid me stay by her a week;

If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day

When I shall ask the banes, and when be married.

But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter Katherina.

Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name, I hear.

Kath.

Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:

They call me Katherine that do talk of me.

Pet.

You lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,

And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;

But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,

Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate,

For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate,

Take this of me, Kate of my consolation—

Hearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,

Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,

Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,

Myself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.

Kath.

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?

Kath.

A join’d-stool.

Pet.

Thou hast hit it; come sit on me.

Kath.

Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

Pet.

Women are made to bear, and so are you.

Kath.

No such jade as you, if me you mean.

Pet.

Alas, good Kate, I will not burthen thee,

For knowing thee to be but young and light.

Kath.

Too light for such a swain as you to catch,

And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet.

Should be! should—buzz!

Kath.

Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.

Pet.

O slow-wing’d turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?

Kath.

Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

Pet.

Come, come, you wasp, i’ faith you are too angry.

Kath.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Pet.

My remedy is then to pluck it out.

Kath.

Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

Pet.

Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?

In his tail.

Kath.

In his tongue.

Pet.

Whose tongue?

Kath.

Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.

Pet.

What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,

Good Kate; I am a gentleman—

Kath.

That I’ll try.

She strikes him.

Pet.

I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.

Kath.

So may you lose your arms.

If you strike me, you are no gentleman,

And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

Pet.

A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!

Kath.

What is your crest? a coxcomb?

Pet.

A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

Kath.

No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.

Pet.

Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

Kath.

It is my fashion when I see a crab.

Pet.

Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.

Kath.

There is, there is.

Pet.

Then show it me.

Kath.

Had I a glass, I would.

Pet.

What, you mean my face?

Kath.

Well aim’d of such a young one.