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Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; Pisa, renowned for grave citizens.

Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio?

Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him; A merchant of incomparable wealth.

Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one. ■ [Aside.

Tra. To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes,
That you are like to sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake,
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;—
Look, that you take upon you as you should;
You understand me, sir;—so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city:
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

Ped. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.

Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good. This, by the way, I let you understand;— My father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance8 of a dower in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here: In all these circumstances I'll instruct you: Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you.7

[Exeunt.

8 To pass assurance—] To pass assurance means to make a conveyance or deed. Deeds are by law-writers called, " The common assurances of the realm," because thereby each man's property is assured to him.

7 Go with me, &c] There is an old comedy called Supposes, translated from Ariosto, by George Gascoigne. Thence Shakspeare borrowed this part of the plot, (as well as some of the phraseology,) though Theobald pronounces it his own invention. There, likewise, he found the names of Fetruchio and Licio.

SCENE III.
A Room in Petruchio's House.

Enter Katharina and Grumio.

Gru. No, no; forsooth; I dare not, for my life.

Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite

appears:

What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
Upon entreaty, have a present alms;
If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I,—who never knew how to entreat,—
Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed:
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say,—if I should sleep, or eat,
Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.—
I pr'y thee go, and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

Gru. What say you to a neat's foot?

Kath. 'Tis passing good; I pr'y thee let me have it.

Gru. I fear, it is too cholerick a meat:— How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd?

Kath. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.

Gru. I cannot tell; I fear, 'tis cholerick. What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard?

Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon.

Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

My young master and his man exchange habits, and persuade a Scentfse, as he is called, to personate the father, exactly as in this play, by the pretended danger of his coming from Sienua to Ferrara, contrary to the order of the government.

Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard

rest. Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou

wilt. Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beef. Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, [Beats him.

That feed'st me with the very name of meat:
Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you,
That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.

Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and

HORTENSIO.

Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort ?8

Hor. Mistress, what cheer?

Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be.

Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. Here, love; thou see'st how diligent I am, To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:

[Sets the dish on a table. I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov'st it not;

And all my pains is sorted to no proof:9

Here, take away this dish.

Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand.

Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.

* What, sweeting, all amort?] This gallicism is common

to many of the old plays. That is, all sunk and dispirited.

9 And all my pains is sorted to no proof:] And all my labour has ended in nothing, or proved nothing.

Kath. I thank you, sir.

Hor. Signior Petruchio, fye! you are to blame! Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.

Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me.—

[Aside.
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
Kate, eat apace:—And now, my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house;
And revel it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things;
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery,
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.1

Enter Tailor.
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;2

Enter Haberdasher.

Lay forth the gown.—What news with you, sir?

Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
A velvet dish;—fye, fye! 'tis lewd and filthy:
Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap;
Away with it, come, let me have a bigger.

Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.

Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then.

Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. Kat/i. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to

1 with his raffling treasure.] i. e. rustling.

* Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;] In our poet's time, women's gowns were usually made by men.

speak;

And speak I will; I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind;
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart;
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break:
And, rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

Pet. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-coffin,3 a bauble, a silken pie:
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not.

Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none.

Pet. Thy gown? why, ay:—Come, tailor, let us see't.

0 mercy, God! what masking stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: What! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart? Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash. Like to a censer4 in a barber's shop:—

Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor gown. [Aside.

Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion, and the time.

Pet. Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd,

1 did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home,
For you shall hop without my custom, sir:
I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it.

1 A custard-co$?n,] A coffin was the ancient culinary term for the raised crust of a pie or castard.

1 censer —] We learn from an ancient print, that these

censers resembled in shape our modern brasicres. They had pierced convex covers, and stood on feet. They not only served to sweeten a barber's shop, but to keep his water warm, and dry his cloths on.

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