Hor. So will I, signior Gremio: But a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both,—that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love,— to labour and effect one thing 'specially. Gre. What's that, I pray? Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. Gre. A husband! a devil. Hor. I say, a husband. Gre. I say, a devil: Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell? Hor. Tush, Gremio! though it pass your patience, and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. Gre. I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition,-to be whipp'd at the high-cross every morning. Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintain'd,―till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't afresh.-Sweet Bianca!Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest, gets the ring. How say you, signior Gremio? Gre. I am agreed: and 'would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that C would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her. Come on. [Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. Tra. [Advancing.] I pray, sir, tell me,—Is it pos sible That love should of a sudden take such hold? Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now; If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so,Redime te captum quam queas minimo. Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward: this contents; The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. Tra. Saw you no more? mark'd you not, how her sister Began to scold; and raise up such a storm, Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. I pray, awake, sir; If you love the maid, Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd, That, till the father rid his hands of her, Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! Tra. Master, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. Luc. Tell me thine first. Tra. You will be schoolmaster, And undertake the teaching of the maid: That's Luc. your device. It is May it be done? Keep house, and ply his book; welcome his friends; Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces, In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, And I am tied to be obedient; (For so your father charg'd me at our parting; Although, I think, 'twas in another sense,) Because so well I love Lucentio. Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye Enter Biondello. Here comes the rogue.-Sirrah, where have you been? Bion. Where have I been? Nay, how now, where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes? Or you stol'n his? or both? pray, what's the news? Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, Puts my apparel and my countenance on, I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried: Bion. I, sir? ne'er a whit. Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. your mouth; Bion. The better for him; 'Would, I were so too! Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah,-not for my sake, but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com panies: When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; But in all places else, your master Lucentio. One thing more rests, that thyself execute; To make one among these wooers: If thou ask me why, Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty, [Exeunt. 1 Serv. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely; Comes there any more of it? |