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Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while ; My

lessons make no music in three parts. Luc. Are you so formal, Sir ? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd, One fine musician groweth amorous.

Hor. Madam before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you Gamut in a briefer fort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade ;
And there it is in writing fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am paft my Gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the Gamut of Horlenfio.
Bian. [reading.] Gamut I am, the ground of all

A re, to plead Hortenfio's passion; (accord, B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C faut, that loves with all affection:
D folre, one cliff, but two notes haye I.
E la mi, show pity, or I die.

Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not;
Old fashions please me beft; I'm not so nice
To change true rules for new inventions.

Enter a Servant. Sarv. Mistress,


father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your sister's chamber up; You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day. Bian. Farewel, sweet masters, both; I must be gone.

[Exit. Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

[Exit. Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant, Methinks, he looks as tho' he were in love : Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, To cast thy wandring eyes on every Stale;

Sieze thee, who list; if once I find thee ranging,, Hortenso will be quit with thee by changing. Exit.

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Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio,

Bianca, and attendants.
Вар. .

IGNIOR Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day

ried ;
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
What will be faid? what mockery will it be,
To want the Bridegroom, when the Priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ?
Cath. No shame, but mine; I must, forsooth, be

forcod To give my hand oppos’d against my heart, Unto a mad-brain Rudesby, full of spleen; Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jefts in blunt behaviour : And to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes ; Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Catharine, And say, lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her.

Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptista too; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well ; What ever fortune stays him from

his word. Tho' he be blunt, I know him paffing wise: Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Cath. Would Catharine had never seen him tho'!

[Exit weeping Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep;


news as

For such an injury would vex a Saint,
Much more a Shrew of thy impatient humour.


Enter Biondello. Bion. ASTER, Master ; old news, and such

you never heard of. Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be ?

Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming ?

Bap. Is he come?
Bion. Why, no, Sir.
Baþ. What then ?
Bion. He is coming.
Bap. When will he be here?
Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you

Tra. But, say, what to thine old news?

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd ; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points ; his horse hip'd with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred; besides pofleft with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine, troubled with the lampasse, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and fhoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-check’t bit, and a headfall of sheep's leather, which being restrain'd, to keep him from Itumbling, hath been often burst, and now repair'd with knots ; one girt fix times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with packthread.


Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd like the horse, with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, garter'd with a red and blue list, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prickt up in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this

fashion ;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell’d.

Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoever he comes.
Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came not ?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion. No, Sir; I say, his horse comes with him on his back.

Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not many.

Pet. Co home?



IV. Enter Petruchio and Grumio fantastically habited.

OME, where be these gallants? who is at

home? Bap. You're welcome, Sir. Pet. And

yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you

halt Tra. Not so well 'parell'd, as I wish you were.

Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride ?
How does my Father? Gentles, methinks, you

And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unusual prodigy ?


G 5


Bap. Why, Sir, you know, this is your wedding

day :
First, were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now, fadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-fore to our folemn festival.

Tra. And tell us what occafion of import
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself ?

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to heare Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, Tho' in some part enforced to digress, Which at more leisure I will so excuse, As shall well be satisfied withal. But, where is Kate? I stay too long from her; The morning wears; 'tis time, we were at church.

Tra. See not your Bride in these unreverent robes ; Go to my chamber, puton clothes of mine.

Pet. Not I; believe me, thus I'll visit her.
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
Pet. Good footh, even thus; therefore ha' done

with words;
To me she's married, not unto my clothes :
Could I repair what she will wear in me,
As I could change these poor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I should bid good-morrow to my Bride,
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ?

Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire :
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.

Bap. I'll after him and see the event of this. (Exit.

S CE N E v. Tra. B : Her Father's liking; which to bring to pafs,


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