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

Pet.

Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

Kath.

Yet you are wither’d.

Pet.

’Tis with cares.

Kath.

I care not.

Pet.

Nay, hear you, Kate. In sooth you scape not so.

Kath.

I chafe you if I tarry. Let me go.

Pet.

No, not a whit, I find you passing gentle:

’Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen,

And now I find report a very liar;

For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,

But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.

Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askaunce,

Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,

Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;

But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers,

With gentle conference, soft, and affable.

Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?

O sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig

Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue

As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.

O, let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.

Kath.

Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.

Pet.

Did ever Dian so become a grove

As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?

O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,

And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!

Kath.

Where did you study all this goodly speech?

Pet.

It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

Kath.

A witty mother! witless else her son.

Pet.

Am I not wise?

Kath.

Yes, keep you warm.

Pet.

Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed;

And therefore setting all this chat aside,

Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented

That you shall be my wife; your dowry ’greed on;

And will you, nill you, I will marry you.

Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn,

For by this light whereby I see thy beauty,

Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,

Thou must be married to no man but me;

For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,

And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate

Conformable as other household Kates.

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio [as Lucentio].

Here comes your father. Never make denial;

I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

Bap.

Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

Pet.

How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible I should speed amiss.

Bap.

Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?

Kath.

Call you me daughter? Now I promise you

You have show’d a tender fatherly regard,

To wish me wed to one half lunatic,

A madcap ruffian and a swearing Jack,

That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

Pet.

Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world,

That talk’d of her, have talk’d amiss of her.

If she be curst, it is for policy,

For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;

She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;

For patience she will prove a second Grissel,

And Roman Lucrece for her chastity;

And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together

That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Kath.

I’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.

Gre.

Hark, Petruchio, she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.

Tra.

Is this your speeding? Nay then good night our part!

Pet.

Be patient, gentlemen, I choose her for myself.

If she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you?

’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone,

That she shall still be curst in company.

I tell you ’tis incredible to believe

How much she loves me. O, the kindest Kate,

She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss

She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,

That in a twink she won me to her love.

O, you are novices! ’tis a world to see

How tame, when men and women are alone,

A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.

Give me thy hand, Kate, I will unto Venice

To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.

Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests,

I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.

Bap.

I know not what to say, but give me your hands.

God send you joy, Petruchio, ’tis a match.

Gre., Tra.

Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.

Pet.

Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.

I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace.

We will have rings and things, and fine array;

And kiss me, Kate, we will be married a’ Sunday.

Exeunt Petruchio and Katherine [severally].

Gre.

Was ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?

Bap.

Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,

And venture madly on a desperate mart.

Tra.

’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;

’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

Bap.

The gain I seek is, quiet [in] the match.

Gre.

No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.

But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter;

Now is the day we long have looked for.

I am your neighbor, and was suitor first.

Tra.

And I am one that love Bianca more

Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.

Gre.

Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

Tra.

Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.

Gre.

But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back, ’tis age that nourisheth.

Tra.

But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.

Bap.

Content you, gentlemen, I will compound this strife.

’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both

That can assure my daughter greatest dower

Shall have my Bianca’s love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

Gre.

First, as you know, my house within the city

Is richly furnished with plate and gold,

Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;

My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;

In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;

In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,

Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,

Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,

Valens of Venice gold in needle-work;

Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs

To house or house-keeping. Then at my farm

I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,

Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls,

And all things answerable to this portion.

Myself am strook in years, I must confess,

And if I die to-morrow, this is hers,

If whilst I live she will be only mine.

Tra.

That ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me:

I am my father’s heir and only son.

If I may have your daughter to my wife,

I’ll leave her houses three or four as good,

Within rich Pisa walls, as any one

Old Signior Gremio has in Padua,

Besides two thousand ducats by the year

Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointer.

What, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?

Gre.

Two thousand ducats by the year of land!

Aside.

My land amounts not to so much in all.—

That she shall have, besides an argosy

That now is lying in Marsellis road.

What, have I chok’d you with an argosy?

Tra.

Gremio, ’tis known my father hath no less

Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses

And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her,