Part 173

GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O’ my word, and 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; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll tell you what, sir, and she stand 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.

HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, For in Baptista’s keep my treasure is: He hath the jewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca, And her withholds from me and other more, Suitors to her and rivals in my love; Supposing it a thing impossible, For those defects I have before rehears’d, That ever Katherina will be woo’d: Therefore this order hath Baptista ta’en, That none shall have access unto Bianca Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.

GRUMIO. Katherine the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst.

HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguis’d in sober robes, To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; That so I may, by this device at least Have leave and leisure to make love to her, And unsuspected court her by herself.

GRUMIO. Here’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together!

Enter Gremio and Lucentio disguised, with books under his arm.

Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?

HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile.

GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous!

GREMIO. O! very well; I have perus’d the note. Hark you, sir; I’ll have them very fairly bound: All books of love, see that at any hand, And see you read no other lectures to her. You understand me. Over and beside Signior Baptista’s liberality, I’ll mend it with a largess. Take your papers too, And let me have them very well perfum’d; For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. What will you read to her?

LUCENTIO. Whate’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you, As for my patron, stand you so assur’d, As firmly as yourself were still in place; Yea, and perhaps with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.

GREMIO. O! this learning, what a thing it is.

GRUMIO. O! this woodcock, what an ass it is.

PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah!

HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio!

GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. I promis’d to enquire carefully About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; And by good fortune I have lighted well On this young man; for learning and behaviour Fit for her turn, well read in poetry And other books, good ones, I warrant ye.

HORTENSIO. ’Tis well; and I have met a gentleman Hath promis’d me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress: So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so belov’d of me.

GREMIO. Belov’d of me, and that my deeds shall prove.

GRUMIO. [_Aside._] And that his bags shall prove.

HORTENSIO. Gremio, ’tis now no time to vent our love: Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I’ll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katherine; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.

GREMIO. So said, so done, is well. Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?

PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

GREMIO. No, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?

PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio’s son. My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days and long to see.

GREMIO. O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange! But if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name; You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild-cat?

PETRUCHIO. Will I live?

GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.

PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds, Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang? And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to hear As will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire? Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs.

GRUMIO. [_Aside_] For he fears none.

GREMIO. Hortensio, hark: This gentleman is happily arriv’d, My mind presumes, for his own good and yours.

HORTENSIO. I promis’d we would be contributors, And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.

GREMIO. And so we will, provided that he win her.

GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.

Enter Tranio brave, and Biondello.

TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?

BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is’t he you mean?

TRANIO. Even he, Biondello!

GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to—

TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?

PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.

LUCENTIO. [_Aside_] Well begun, Tranio.

HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go. Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence?

GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence.

TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me as for you?

GREMIO. But so is not she.

TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you?

GREMIO. For this reason, if you’ll know, That she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.

HORTENSIO. That she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, Do me this right; hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown; And were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have, and me for one. Fair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have; And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.

GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all.

LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he’ll prove a jade.

PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words?

HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista’s daughter?

TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two, The one as famous for a scolding tongue As is the other for beauteous modesty.

PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.

GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more than Alcides’ twelve.

PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors, And will not promise her to any man Until the elder sister first be wed; The younger then is free, and not before.

TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; And if you break the ice, and do this feat, Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access, whose hap shall be to have her Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.

HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding.

TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress’ health; And do as adversaries do in law, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let’s be gone.

HORTENSIO. The motion’s good indeed, and be it so:— Petruchio, I shall be your _ben venuto_.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT II

SCENE I. Padua. A room in Baptista’s house.

Enter Katherina and Bianca.

BIANCA. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; That I disdain; but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders.

KATHERINA. Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell Whom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.

BIANCA. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other.

KATHERINA. Minion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?

BIANCA. If you affect him, sister, here I swear I’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.

KATHERINA. O! then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair.

BIANCA. Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while: I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.

KATHERINA. If that be jest, then all the rest was so.

[_Strikes her._]

Enter Baptista.

BAPTISTA. Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps. Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

KATHERINA. Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.

[_Flies after Bianca._]

BAPTISTA. What! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.

[_Exit Bianca._]

KATHERINA. What! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep Till I can find occasion of revenge.

[_Exit._]

BAPTISTA. Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I? But who comes here?

Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with Hortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and books.

GREMIO. Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

BAPTISTA. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!

PETRUCHIO. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call’d Katherina, fair and virtuous?

BAPTISTA. I have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.

GREMIO. You are too blunt: go to it orderly.

PETRUCHIO. You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine,

[_Presenting Hortensio._]

Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant. Accept of him, or else you do me wrong: His name is Licio, born in Mantua.

BAPTISTA. Y’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief.

PETRUCHIO. I see you do not mean to part with her; Or else you like not of my company.

BAPTISTA. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?

PETRUCHIO. Petruchio is my name, Antonio’s son; A man well known throughout all Italy.

BAPTISTA. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.

GREMIO. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too. Backare! you are marvellous forward.

PETRUCHIO. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.

GREMIO. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar,

[_Presenting Lucentio._]

that has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio; pray accept his service.

BAPTISTA. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [_To Tranio._] But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?

TRANIO. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request, That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo, And free access and favour as the rest: And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great.

BAPTISTA. Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?

TRANIO. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

BAPTISTA. A mighty man of Pisa: by report I know him well: you are very welcome, sir. [_To Hortensio_.] Take you the lute, [_To Lucentio_.] and you the set of books; You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within!

Enter a Servant.

Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my daughters, and tell them both These are their tutors: bid them use them well.

[_Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello._]

We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

PETRUCHIO. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d: Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

BAPTISTA. After my death, the one half of my lands, And in possession twenty thousand crowns.

PETRUCHIO. And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever. Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand.

BAPTISTA. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d, That is, her love; for that is all in all.

PETRUCHIO. Why, that is nothing; for I 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: Though 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 woo not like a babe.

BAPTISTA. Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.

PETRUCHIO. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, That shake not though they blow perpetually.

Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.

BAPTISTA. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?

HORTENSIO. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

BAPTISTA. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

HORTENSIO. I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

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

HORTENSIO. 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 these?’ 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 stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute; While she did call me rascal fiddler, And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench! I love her ten times more than e’er I did: O! how I long to have some chat with her!

BAPTISTA. [_To Hortensio_.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited; Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; She’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?

PETRUCHIO. I pray you do.

[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio._]

I will attend her here, 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 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 I’ll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter Katherina.

Good morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.

KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine that do talk of me.

PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, 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.

KATHERINA. Mov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first, You were a moveable.

PETRUCHIO. Why, what’s a moveable?

KATHERINA. A joint-stool.

PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you.

KATHERINA. No such jade as bear you, if me you mean.

PETRUCHIO. Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee; For, knowing thee to be but young and light,—

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

PETRUCHIO. Should be! should buz!

KATHERINA. Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.

KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out.

KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.

KATHERINA. In his tongue.

PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue?

KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.

PETRUCHIO. What! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

KATHERINA. That I’ll try.

[_Striking him._]

PETRUCHIO. I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.

KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.

KATHERINA. What is your crest? a coxcomb?

PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

KATHERINA. No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.

PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

KATHERINA. It is my fashion when I see a crab.

PETRUCHIO. Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.

KATHERINA. There is, there is.

PETRUCHIO. Then show it me.

KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would.

PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face?

KATHERINA. Well aim’d of such a young one.

PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

KATHERINA. Yet you are wither’d.

PETRUCHIO. ’Tis with cares.

KATHERINA. I care not.

PETRUCHIO. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.

KATHERINA. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.

PETRUCHIO. 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, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers. Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 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 conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. O! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.

KATHERINA. Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.

PETRUCHIO. 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 chaste, and Dian sportful!

KATHERINA. Where did you study all this goodly speech?

PETRUCHIO. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

KATHERINA. A witty mother! witless else her son.

PETRUCHIO. Am I not wise?

KATHERINA. Yes; keep you warm.

PETRUCHIO. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed; And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 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 married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates.

Re-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.

Here comes your father. Never make denial; I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

BAPTISTA. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

PETRUCHIO. How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAPTISTA. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?

KATHERINA. Call you me daughter? Now I promise you You have show’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.

PETRUCHIO. 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 Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity; And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

KATHERINA. I’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.

GREMIO. Hark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.

TRANIO. Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!

PETRUCHIO. Be patient, gentlemen. I choose 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 curst in company. I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O! you are novices: ’tis a world to see, How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice, To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.

BAPTISTA. I know not what to say; but give me your hands. God send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.

GREMIO, TRANIO. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.

PETRUCHIO. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu. I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace; We will have rings and things, and fine array; And kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.

[_Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally._]

GREMIO. Was ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?

BAPTISTA. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part, And venture madly on a desperate mart.

TRANIO. ’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you; ’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.

BAPTISTA. The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.