Right son unto the right Vincentio; Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianco's love While he did bear my countenance in the town; Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the gaol. Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To LUCENTIO.] Have you married my daughter without asking my good-will? [go to: Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you: But I will in, to be reveng'd for this villainy. [Exit. Bap. And I to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and BIAN. Gre. My cake is dough: But I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all,-but my share of the feast. [Exit. PETRUCIO and KATHARINA advance. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow sense; mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. [round Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that Wid. Thus I conceive by him. [that? Pet. Conceives by me!-How likes Hortensio Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good widow. [round: Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Kath. A very mean meaning. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Hor. To her, widow! Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of Have at you for a bitter jest or two. this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray Pet. 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. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree; [They sit at table. Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have [begun, Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow:You are welcome all. [Exit BIAN., KATH., and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me.--Here, Signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey. hound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master. [rance, Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petrucio, Pet. Twenty crowns! Twenty crowns. I'll venture so much on my hawk, or houna, Nay, then she must needs come. Now, where's my wife? Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head strong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wil. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say, she shall;-and first begin with her. Kath. Fie, fie! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow. And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, And craves no other tribute at thy hands, Say I command her to come to me. [Exit GRUMIO. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Hor. I know her answer. What? Pet. Bap. Now,by my holidame, here comes Katharina! Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. 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 KATH. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet An awful rule, and right supremacy; [life, And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befall thee, good Petrucio! 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. Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. See, where she comes; and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not; Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. [KATH. pulls off her cap, and throws it down. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. Even such a woman oweth to her husband: Pet. Why, there's a wench!-Come on, and kiss me, Kate. [ha't. Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt Vin. "Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed: [froward. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; [TO LUCENTIO. And, being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt PET. and KATH. Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. Ber. And, I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam;-you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. [ment? Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How call you the man you speak of, madam? Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good ford, the king languishes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity,-they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. Count. "Tis the best brine a maiden can season No her praise in. The remembrance of her father Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. dead; excessive grief the enemy to the living. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou bless'd, Bertram, and succeed In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. [Exit. Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts [to HELENA] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father; And these great tears grace his remembrance more Than those I shed for him. What was he like? I have forgot him: my imagination Carries no favour in't but Bertram's. I am undone; there is no living, none, If Bertram be away. It were all one That I should love a bright particular star, And think to wed it, he is so above me: In his bright radiance and collateral light Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: The hind that would be mated by the lion One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Hel. And you, monarch. Par. No. Hel. And no. Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of a soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up! Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with't. Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin virginity murthers itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't: Out with't: within ten year it will make itselt ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: Away with't. [liking? Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. "Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept the less worth: off with't, while 'tis vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now: Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 'tis a withered pear: Will you anything with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet. There, shall your master have a thousand loves, Hel. That I wish well.-"Tis pity- Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit. Par. Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember thee, I will think of thee at court. Hel. Monsier Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Par. Why think you so? Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. Par. That's for advantage. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to Heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope: only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. SCENE II.-Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters; Lords and others attending. King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the So 'tis reported, sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it 1 Lord. King. 2 Lord. It well may serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick For breathing and exploit. King. What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. 1 Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. [face; King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's Frank Nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man [now As in your royal speech. King. 'Would I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks I hear him now: his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there, and to bear),- "Let me not live," This his good melancholy oft began, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, When it was out,-" Let me not live," quoth he, I, after him, do after him wish too, 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir: They that least lend it you shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is't, Since the physician of your father's died? [count, He was much fam'd. Ber. Some six months since, my lord. King. If he were living, I would try him yet;-Lend me an arm;-the rest have worn me out With several applications: nature and sickness Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; My son's no dearer. Ber. Thank your majesty. [Exeunt. Flourish. SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Enter COUNTESS, Steward, and Clown. Count. I will now hear: what say you of this gentlewoman? Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours: for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness that I do not: for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. "Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue o' my body; for, they say, bearns are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason Clo. Faith, madam. I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You're shallow, madam; e'en great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my tear. |