Imatges de pÓgina

What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to;
Then pardon him, sweet Father, for my fake.

Vin. I'll Nit the villain's nose, that would have fent me to the jail.

Bap. But do you hear, Sir, have you married my Daughter without asking my good-will?

Vin. Fear not, Baptista, we will content you, go to; but I will in, to be reveng'd on this villain,

[Exit. Bap. And I, to found the depth of this knavery.



Luc. Look not pale, Bianca, thy Father will not frown.

[Exeunt. Gre. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest

, Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. [Exit.

[Petruchio and Catharina, advancing. Cath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado.

Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
Cath. What, in the midst of the street ?
Pet. What, art thou alham'd of me?
Catb. No, Sir, God forbid! but alham'd to kiss.
Pet. Why, then let's home again : come, firrah,
Cath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; now pray thee,

love, stay. Pet. Is not this well? come, my sweet Kate; Better once than never, for never too late. (Exeunt,

let's away.


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Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, Pedant, Lucentio,
Bianca, Tranio, Biondello, Petruchio, Catharina,
Grumio, Hortensio, and Widow. Tranio's

servants bringing in a banquet.

T laft, cho' long, our jarring notes agree;

And time it is, when raging war is done,
To smile at 'scapes and perils over-blown.
My fair Bianca, bid my Father welcome,
While I with self-fame kindness welcome thine;
Brother Petruchio, Sister Catharine,
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving Widow;
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house:
My banquet is to close our stomachs up
After our great good cheer: pray you, sit down;
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat.

Pet. Nothing but fit and fit, and eat and eat!
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, Son Petruchio.
Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.
Hor. For both our fakes, I would that word were

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Pet. Now, for my life, Hortenfio fears his Widow.
Wid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard.
Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you mils

I mean, Hortenfo is a feard of you.
Wid. He, that is giddy, thinks, the world curns

Pet. Roundly replied.
Cath. Mistress, how mean you that?
Wid. Thus I conceive by him.
Pet. Conceives by me, how likes Hortensio that?


Hor. My widow fays, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended; kiss him for that, good

Widow. Cath. He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns

round I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.

Wid. Your Husband, being troubled with a Shrew, Measures


Husband's sorrow by his woe.
And now you know my meaning.

Cath. A very mean meaning.
Wid. Right, I mean you.
Cath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.
Pet. To her, Kate.
Hor. To her, Widow.
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.
Hor. That's my office.
Pet. Spoke like an Officer; ha' to thee, lad.

[Drinks to Hortensio. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? Gre. Believe me, Sir, they butt heads together well,

Bian. Head and butt? an hafty-witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.

Vin. Ay, mistress Bride, hath that awaken'd you? Bian. Ay, but not frighted me, therefore I'll neep

again. Pet. Nay, that thou shalt not, since you have begun : Have at you for a better jest or two.

Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush: And then pursue me, as you

bow. You are welcome all.

[Exeunt Bianca, Catharine, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, tho' you hit it not; Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd.

Tra. Oh, Sir, Lucentio flip'd me like his grey-hound, Which runs himlelf, and catches for his master. Pet. A good switc Simile, but something currilh.


draw your

Tra. 'Tis well, Sir, that you hunted for your self: 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay.

Bap. Oh, oh, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.
Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you there?

Pet. He has a little gallid me, I confess;
And as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

Bap. Now, in good sadness, Son Petruchio, I think, thou hast the veriest Shrew of all.

Pet. Well, I say, no; and therefore for assurance, Let's each one send unto his Wife, and he Whose Wife is most obedient to come first, When he doth send for her, shall win the

wager. Hor. Content;

what wager? Luc. Twenty crowns.

Pet. Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much on my hawk or hound,
But twenty times fo much upon my Wife.

Luc. A hundred then.
Hor. Content.
Pet. A match, 'tis done.
Hor. Who shall begin?

Luc. That will I.
Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
Bion. I go.

[Exit. Bap. Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves: I'll bear it all my self.

Re-enter Biondello. How now, what news?

Bion. Sir my Mistress sends you word That she is busie, and cannot come Pet. How? she's busie and cannot come, is that an

answer? Gre. Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, Sir, your wife send you not a worse.

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Pet. I hope better.

Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and intreat my wife to come to me forth with.

[Exit Biondello. Pet, Oh, oh! intreat her! nay, then she needs must Hor. I am afraid, Sir, do


you can, Enter Biondello. Yours will not be intreated : now, where's my wife?

Bion. She fays, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come: she bids you come to her.

Pet. Worse and worse, she will not come!
Oh vile, intolerable, not to be indur'd:
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your Mistress,
Say, I command her to come to me.

(Exit Gru.
Hor. I know her answer.
Pet. What?
Hor. She will not.
Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there's an end.



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Enter Catharina. Bap. Now, by my hollidam, here comes Catharine! Cath. What is your will, Sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your Sister, and Hortensio's Wife? Cath. They fit conferring by the parlour fire.

Pet. Go fetch them hither; if they deny to come, Swinge me them foundly forth unto their husbands : Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

Exit Catharina. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is: I wonder, what it boads.

Pet. Marry, peace it boads, and love, and quiet life, And awful rule, and right fupremacy: And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Bap. Now fair befal chee, good Petruchio !


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