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Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musi

cian? Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier ; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?

Hor. 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 fume with them:
And with that word she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my Pate made way,
And there I ftood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
While she did call me rascal, fidler,
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms,
As she had studied to misuse me so.

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did;
Oh, how I long to have some chat with her!

Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited,
Proceed in pra&ice with my younger daughter,
She's apt to learn, and thankful for goodturns ;
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
Pet. I pray you, do. I will attend her here,

[Exit Bap. with Grem. Horten. and Tranio. And woo 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 frowns; 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 I'll commend her volubility; And say, sbe 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 lhe do deny to wed, I'll crave the day

When

When I shall ask the banes, and when be married? But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.

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Enter Catharina. Good morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. Cath. Well have you heard, but something hard

of hearing. They call me Catharine, that do talk of me.

Pét. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate. Ard bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curft: But Kate, the prettiest Kate in christendom, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-dainty Kate; (For dainties are all Cates) and therefore Kate; Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ! Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every Town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs: Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my

wife. Cath. Movd? in good time; let him that mov'd

you hither,

Remove you hence; I knew you at the first
You were a moveable.
Pet. Why, what's a moveable ?
Cath. A join'd-stool.
Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, fit on me.
Cath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you.
Cath. No such jade, Sir, as you; if me you mean.

Pet. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee;
For knowing thee to be but young and light-

Cath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet Should beé; should buz.
Cath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
Pet. Oh, flow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take
thee?

Cath.

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If you

Cath. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
Pet. Come, come, you walp, i' faith, you are too

angry:
Cath. If I be waspish, 'best beware my sting.
Pet. My Remedy is then to pluck it out.
Cath. Ah, if the fool could find it, where it lies.
Pet. Who knows not, where a wasp does wear his

sting? In his tail.

Cath. In his tongue.
Pet. Whose tongue?
Cath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewel.
Pet. What with my tongue in your tail? nay, come

again,
Good Kate, I am a gentleman.
Cath. That I'll try.

(She strikes him. Pet. I swear, I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Cath. So may you

lose

your arms. ftrike

ike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then, no arms.

Pet. A herald, Kate? oh, put me in thy books.
Cath. What is your creít, a coxcomb?
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
Cath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate; come, you must not look

so sower.
Cath. It is my falbion when I see a crab.
Pet. Why, here's no crab, and therefore look not

so fower.
Cath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then, shew it me.
Gath. Had I a glass, I would.
Pet. What, you mean my face?
Cath. Well aim'd of such a young one.
Pet. Now, by St. George, I am too young for

you.
Cath. Yet you are wither'd.
Pet. 'Tis with Cares.
Cath, I care not.

Pet.

Pet. Nay, hear you,'Kate; in-footh you 'scape not so.
Cath. I chafe you if I tarry; let me go.

Pet. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle:
'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find Report a very liar;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, paffing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look afcance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk:
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conf'rence, soft and affable.
Why doth the world report, that Kate doth limp?
Oh sland'rous world! Kate like the hazle-twig,
Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue
As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
0, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

Cath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chast, and Dian sportful!

Cath. Where did you study all this goodly fpeech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
Cath. A witty mother, witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wife?
Cath. Yes; keep you warm.

Pet. Why, so I mean, sweet Catharine, in thy bed :
And therefore setting all this chat afide,
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented,
That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on;
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn,
For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
(Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well ;)
Thou must be niarried to no man but me.
For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate;
And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate,

Con

Conformable as other houshold Kates;
Here comes your father, never make denial,
I muft and will have Catharine to my Wife.

S CE N E V.
Enter Baptifta, Gremio, and Tranio.
row,

Bap. No my famigh tetruchio, how speed you with

Pet. How but well, Sir? how but well ? It were impossible, I should speed amiss. Bap. Why how now, daughter Catharine, in your

dumps ? Cath. Call you me daughter? now, I promise you, You've few'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

Pet. Father, 'tis thus; yourself and all the World,
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her;
If she be curst, it is for policy,
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove :
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn;
For patience, she will prove a second Grisel;
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
And to conclude, we've 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day,

Cath. I'll see thée hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark: Petruchio! she says, she'll see thee

hang'd first. Tra. Is this your speeding ? nay, then, good night,

our part ! Pet. Be patient, Sirs, I chuse her for myself; If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curft in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me; oh, the kindest Kate!

She

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