Then give me leave to have prerogative;

And when in mufick we have fpent an hour, 978 197 Your lecture fhall have leifure for as machty at al

Luc. Prepofterous afs! that never read fo far o :) ▼ To know the caufe why mufick was ordain'd: - *? VS Was it not to refresh the mind of man

After his ftudies, or his usual pain ??
Then give me leave to read philofophy,15%
And, while I paufe, ferve in your harmony.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear thefe braves of thine.
Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,"
To ftrive for that which refteth in my choice
I am no breeching scholar in the schools;
I'll not be tied to hours, nor pointed times,
But learn my leffons as I please myself;
And, to cut off all strife, here fit we down,
Take you your inftrument, play you the while;
His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd.

Hor. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune?

[Hortenfio retires. Luc. That will be never: Tune your inftrument. Bian. Where left we laft?

7

Luc. Here, Madain: Hac ibat Simois, hic eft Sigeia tellus, Hic fleterat Priami regia celfa fenis.

Bian. Conftrue them.

Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, bic eft, fon unto Vincentio of Pifa, Sigeia tellus, difguifed thus to get your love, hic fteterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celfa fenis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor. Madam, my inftrument's in tune. [Returning. Bian. Let's hear. O fy, the treble jars...

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

Bian. Now let me fee, if I can conftrue it Hac ibat Simois, I know you not, hic eft Sigeia tellus, Itraftsyou not, hic fteterat Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, prefume not, celfa fenis, despair not. 'viygoh rai

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc. All but the base.

R 3

For.

For The bafe is right, 'tis the bafe knave that jars. How fiery and how froward is our pedant!

Now, for my life, that knave doth court my love;"
Pedafcule, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. (16)
Luc. Miftruft it not,for, fure, Eacides
Was Ajax, call'd fo from his grandfather.

Bian. I must believe my mafler, elfe I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you:

Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,

That I have been thus pleasant with you both. VI

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while; My leffons make no mufick in three parts 95. Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? well, I must wait,

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

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the inftrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
1 must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you Gamut in a briefer fort,
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 paft my Gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the Gamut of Hortenfio.

Bian. [reading ] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord,
Are, to plead Hortenfio's paffion;

B mi, Bianca, take him for thy Lord,
Cfaut, that loves with all affection;

D fol re, one cliff, but two notes have I.

Elami, fhow pity, or I die.

Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not;

(16) In time I may believe, yet I mifiruft.] This and the feven verfes, that follow, have in all the editions been ftupidly fhuffled and mifplac'd to wrong fpeakers: So that every word faid was glaringly out of character. I first directed the true regulation of them in my SHAKESPEARE reftor'd, and Mr. Pope has fince embraced it in his last edition, ought to take notice, the ingenious Dr. Thrilly, without seeing my book, had struck out the self-fame regulation,

Old

Old fashions please me beft; I'm not so nice (17)
To change true rules for odd inventions.

སྙན .

Enter a Servant,

Serv. Miftrefs, your father prays you leave your books, And help to drefs your fister's chamber up; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day."

Bian. Farewel, fweet mafters, both; I must be gone [Exit.
Luc. Faith, miftrefs, then have no cause to stay. [Exit.
Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant;
Methinks, he looks as tho' he were in love:
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be fo humble,
To caft thy wandring eyes on every stale;

Seize thee, who lift; if once I find thee ranging for
Hortenfio will be quit with thee by changing.

[Exit. Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, Bianca, and attendants.

Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
That Cathrine and Petruchio should be married;
And yet we hear not of our fon-in-law.
What will be faid? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonal rites of marriage?

What fays Lucentio to this fhame of ours?

Cath. No fhame, but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd

To give my hand oppos'd againft my heart,

Unto a mad-brain rudefby, fully of spleen;

Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leifure.

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

Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour:

(17) Old fashions please me beft: I'm not so nice To change true rules for new inventions.]

This is fenfe and the meaning of the paffage; but the reading of the fecond verfe, for all that, is fophisticated. The genuine copies all concur in reading,

To change true rules for old inventions.

This, indeed, is contrary to the very thing it should exprefs : But the eafy alteration, which I have made, reftores the sense, but adds a contraft in the terms perfectly just. True rules are oppos'dito ddd inventions; i, e. Whimsies.

R 4

And

And to be noted for a merry man,

He'll wooe a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes;
Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd.
Now moft the world point at poor Catharine,
And fay, lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her

to 150

Tra, Patience, good Gatharine, and Baptifla too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well;
What ever fortune ftays him from his word. on
Tho' he be blunt, I know him paffing wife;
Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honeft.

Cath. Would Catharine had never feen him tho'

[Exit weeping. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For fuch an injury would vex a faint, :

Much more a threw of thy impatient humour.

Enter Biondello.

Bion. Mafter, master; old news, and fuch 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?

Bin. When he ftands where I am, and fees you there. Tra. But, fay, what to thine old news?

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rufty fword ta'en out of the townarmory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points; his horfe hip'd with an old mothy faddle, the ftirrups of no kindred; befides, poffeft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, fped with spavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of

the

the fives, ftark fpoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and shoulder shotten, nearlegg'd before, and with a half checkt bit, and a headstall of theep's leather, which being restrain'd, to keep him from ftumbling, hath been often burft, and now repair'd with knots; one girt fix times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly fet down in studs, and here and there piec'd with packthread.

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horfe, with a linnen ftock on one leg, and a kerfey boot-hofe on the other, garter'd with a red and blue lift, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prickt up in't for a feather: a moniter, a very monster in apparel, and not like a christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey.

Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.

Bap. I am glad he's come, howfoever he comes.
Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.

Bap. Didit thou not fay, he comes?

Bon. Who? that Petruchio came?

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion. No, Sir; I fay, his horse comes with him on his back.

Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, I hold you a penny,

A horfe and a man is more than one, and yet not many.

Enter Petruchio and Grumio fantastically habited.

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

Bap. You're welcome, Sir.

Pet. And yet I come not well.

Bap. And yet you halt not.

Tra. Not fo well 'parell'd, as I wish you were.

Pet. Were it better, I thould 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,