Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. I Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? Wid. Thus I conceive by him. Pet. Conceives by me!-How likes Hortensio that? Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended: Kiss him for that, good widow. Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round: pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. 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 together well. Bian. Head, and butt? an hasty-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 sleep again. Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two. Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow:You are welcome all. [Exeunt BIANCA, Katharina, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me.-Here, signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Which runs himself, and catches for his master. O Luc. I thank thee for that gird,' good Tranio. Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. Pet. Well, I say-no: and therefore, for assu rance, Let's each one send unto his wife; And he, whose wife is most obedient To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose. Pet. Twenty crowns! Twenty crowns. 1 that gird,] A gird is a sarcasm, a gibe. I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound, [Exit. Luc. Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. Bion. I go. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Re-enter BIONDELLO. How now! what news? Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you That she is busy, and she cannot come. word Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come! Is that an answer? Gre. Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. Pet. [Exit BIONDELlo. O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. Hor. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Now where's Re-enter BIONdello. my wife? Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come; she bids you come to her. vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd! Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; [Exit GRUMIO. She will not come. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Enter KATHARINA. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katha rina! Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? come, Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. See, where she comes; and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not; [KATHARINA pulls off her cap, and throws it down. Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! Bian. Fye! what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish to: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Pet. I say, she shall;-and first begin with her. Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, |