A woman moy'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,
While 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's 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 toil 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 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.

Pet. Why, there's a wench!-Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt

ha't.

Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward.

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to-bed:

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 Petruchio and Katharina. Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst

shrew.

Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be [Exeunt.

tam'd so.

Act III. Scene III. Shepherd. What have we here? Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty barne!