Clown. Ay, and have been sc, for any time this half


Old Shep. And so have I, boy.

Clown. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then, the pringe, my brother, and the princess, my sister (that is, that was my sister) call'd my father, father; and so we all wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.

Old Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more.

Clown. Ay, or else 'twere hard luck, being in so prepo

sterous estate as we are,

Autol. I humbly beseech you, Sir, tọ pardon all the faults 1 have committed to your worship; and to give me your good report to the prince my master.

Old Shep. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.

Clown. Thou wilt amend thy life?

Autol. Ay, an't like your good worship.

Clown. No, it does not like my worship now; but it is like it may like my worship when it is amended; therefore have heed that thou do'st amend it.

Autol. I will, an't like you.

Clown. Give me thy hand; hast nothing in't? am not I a gentleman? I must be gently consider'd-am not la courtier? Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?

Autol. Here is what gold I have, Sir;-so, I have brib'd him with his own money. [Aside. Clown. And when am I to have the other moiety? and the young man in pawn till you bring it me?

Autol. After you have done the business, Sir.

Clown. Well, I swear to the prince, thou art as honest a tall fellow as any in Bobemia.

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HUS have I, 'gainst my own self-interest,
Repeated all the worst you are t' expect

From my shrewd daughter, Catb'rine; if you'll venture,

Maugre my plan and honest declaration,

You have my free consent, win her, and wed her.
Pet. Signior Baptista, thus it stands with me.
Antbonio, my father, is deceased;

You knew him well, and knowing him, know me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,

Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd,
And I have thrust myself into the world,
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may;
My business asketh haste, old Signior,
And ev'ry day I cannot come to wooe.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That cov'nants may be kept on either hand,

Bapt. Yes, when the special thing is well obtain'd,


My daughter's love, for that is all in all.

Fet. Why, that is nothing; for 1 tell you, father,
I am as peremptory, as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury,
Tho' little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;
So I to her, and so she yields to me;

For I am rough, and wooe not like a babe.

Grum. Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is; why give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head. Tho' she had as many diseases as two and fifty horses; why nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.

Bapt. As I have shew'd you, Sir, the coarser side,
Now let me tell you she is young and beauteous,
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman;
Her only fault (and that is fault enough)

Is that she is intolerably froward;

If that you can away with, she is yours.

Grum. I pray you, Sir let her see him while thhe amour lasts. O' my word an' she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a score knaves, or so; why, that's nothing; an' he begin once, she'll find her match, I'll tell you what, Sir, an' she stands him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat-You know him not, Sir,

Bapt. And you will wooe her, Sir?

Pet. Why came I hither bu to that intent
Think you a little din can daunt my ears?
Have I not, in my time, heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds?
Have I not heard great ord'nance in the field?
And heav'n's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets C angue
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue;

That gives not half so great a blow to hear,
As will a chessut in a farmer's fire?

Tush tush! scare boys with bugs.

Bapt. Then thou'rt the man,
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The man of Cath'rine, and her father too:
That shall she know, and know my mind at once
I'll portion her above her gentler sister,

New-married to Hortensio :

And if with scurral taunt, and squeamish pride,
She make a mouth, and will not taste her fortune,

I'll turn her forth to seek it in the world;

Nor henceforth shall she know her father's doors.

Pet. Sayest thou me so? then as your daughter, Signior, Is rich enough to be Petruchio's wite;

Be she as crust as Socratus' Zantippe,

She moves me not a whit-were she as rough,

As are the swelling Adriatic seas,

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ;

If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

Bapt. Well may'st thou wooe, and happy be thy speed; But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Pet. Aye, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shake not, tho' they blow perpetually.

CATHARINE and the Music-master make a noise within.
Music-mast. [within] Help! help!

Cath. [within] Out of the house, you scraping fool
Pet. What noise is that?

Bapt. Oh, nothing; that is nothing

My daughter Catbrine, and her Music-master;
This is the third I've had within this month:

She is an enemy to harmony.

Enter Musie-MASTER.

How now, friend, why dost thou look so pale? Music-mast. For fear, I promise you, If I do look pale. Bapt. What, will my daughter prove a good musician? Music-mast. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bapt. Why, then, thou canst not break her to the lute? Music-mast. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets,

And bow'd her hand, to teach her fingering,
When with a most impatient devilish spirit,

Frets call you them? quoth she, I'll fret your fools cap:
And with that word, she struck me on the head,

And through the instrument my pate made way,
And there I stood amazed for a while,


As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
While she did call me rascal-fidler,

And twagling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
As she hath studied to misuse me so.

Pet. Now by the world, it is lusty wench.

I love her ten times more than e'er I did,

Oh how I long to have a grapple with her!

Music-mast. I wou'd not make another trial with her,
To purchase Padua: for what is past,
I'm paid sufficiently: if at your leisure,
You think my broken fortunes, head and lute
Deserve some reparation, you know where
T'enquire for me; and so goed gentlemen,
I am your much disorder'd humble servant.
Bapt. Not yet mov'd, Petruchio! do you flinch?
Pet. I am more and more impatient, Sir; and long

To be a part'ner in these favourite pleasures.


Bapt. O, by all means, Sir;-will you go with me;

Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

Pet. I pray you do, I will attend her here. [Exit Bapt. Grumio, retire, and wait my call within.

Since that her father is so resolute,

[Exit Grum.

I'll wooe her with some spirit when she comes;
Say that she rail, why then, I'll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale ;
Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear
As morning roses, newly wash'd with dew;
Say she be mute, and will not speak a word,
Then l'il commend her volubility,
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks.
As tho' she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day

When I shall ask the banes, and when be married:

But here she comes, and now Petruchio, speak,


Catb. How! turn'd adrift, nor know my fathers house! Reduc'd to this, or none, the maids last prayer;

Sent to be woo'd like bear unto the stake?

Trim wooing like to be!and he the bear,
For I shall bait him-yet the man's a man.

Pet. Kate in a calm !-maids must not be wooers.


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