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Take you your instrument, stay you a while;
His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.
Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

[Hortensio retires.
Luc. That will be never : tune your instrument.
Bian. Where left we last?

Luc. Here, madam: Hic ibat Simois, hic eft Sigeia tellus, Hic fteterat Priami regia celsa senis.

Bian. Construe them.

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

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. [returning
Bian. Let's hear: o, fiel the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hic ibat Simois, I know you not, hic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not, hic fteterat. Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, presume not, celsa senis, despair not.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
Luc. All but the base.

Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
How fiery and how froward is our pedant !
Now, for my life, that knave doth court my love;
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe ; yet I mistrust.

Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, Æacides
Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.

Bian. I must believe my master; else, 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

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while;



Vol. II.

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My leffons make no musick in three parts.
Luc. Are


so formal, fir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Lucentio retires.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art,
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
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 past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortenfo.
Bian. [reading.] Gamut, I am the ground of all accord,

A rę, to plead Hortenko's passion,
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C faut, that loves thee with all affection,
D fol re, one cliff, but two notes have 1,
E la mi, show me pity, or I die.'

you this gamut? tut! I like it not ; Old fashions please me beft; I'm not so nice To change true rules for odd inventions.

Enter a Servant. Serv. Mistress, your father prays you

leave And help to dress your fifter's chamber up; You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

Bian. Farewel, sweet masters both; I must be gone. [Exit.
Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

( Exit.
Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
Methinks, he looks as though he were in love:
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble,
To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale,
Seize thee who list; if once I find thee ranging,
Hortenso will be quit with thee by changing.


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Enter Baptista, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, and Attendants.

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

Cath. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
To give my hand oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a madbrain rudesby, full of fpleen,
Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour :
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes ;
Yet never means to wed where he hath wood,
Now must the world point at poor Catharine,
And fay, lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.

Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptista too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honeft.
Cath. Would Catharine had never seen him though!

[Exit weeping
Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;
For such an injury would vex a saint,
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

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Enter Biondello.
Bion. Master, master! old news, and such 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, fir.
Bap. What then?
Bion. He is coming.
Bap. When will he be here?
Bion. When he stands where I am, and fees you there.
Tra. But say, 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-cases, one buckled, another lac’d; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points ; his horse hipp’d, with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess’d with the glanders, and like to mourn in the chine, troubled with the lampass, infected with the farcin, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the vives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, sway'd in the back, and shouldershotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-cheek’d bit, and a headstall of sheep's leather, which, being restrain’d to keep him from stumbling hath been often burst, 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 set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with packthread.

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. O, fir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like the horse, with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, garter'd with a red and blue list, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prick'd up in’t for a feather: a monster, a




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very monster in apparel, and not like a christian footboy, or
gentleman's lackey.

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

Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoever he comes.
Bion. Why, fir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.
Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him on his back.
Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, I hold yoy a penny,
A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many.

Enter Petruchio, and Grumio, fantastically habited..
Pet. Come, where be these 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 so well ’parell’d as I wish you were.

Pet. Why, were it better, I should 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,
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unusual prodigy?

Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day ::
First, were we fad, fearing you would not come;
Now, fadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eyesore to our solemn festival.

Tra. And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you

And fent

hither so unlike yourself?


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your wife,

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