Part 174

GREMIO. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for; I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

TRANIO. And I am one that love Bianca more Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.

GREMIO. Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.

TRANIO. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.

GREMIO. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.

TRANIO. But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.

BAPTISTA. Content you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife: ’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca’s love. Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

GREMIO. First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold: Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needlework; Pewter and brass, and all things that belong To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And if I die tomorrow this is hers, If whilst I live she will be only mine.

TRANIO. That ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me: I am my father’s heir and only son; If I may have your daughter to my wife, I’ll leave her houses three or four as good Within rich Pisa’s walls as anyone Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. What, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?

GREMIO. Two thousand ducats by the year of land! My land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall have, besides an argosy That now is lying in Marseilles’ road. What, have I chok’d you with an argosy?

TRANIO. Gremio, ’tis known my father hath no less Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses, And twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.

GREMIO. Nay, I have offer’d all; I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have; If you like me, she shall have me and mine.

TRANIO. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.

BAPTISTA. I must confess your offer is the best; And let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me; If you should die before him, where’s her dower?

TRANIO. That’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.

GREMIO. And may not young men die as well as old?

BAPTISTA. Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know, My daughter Katherine is to be married; Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you make this assurance; If not, to Signior Gremio. And so I take my leave, and thank you both.

GREMIO. Adieu, good neighbour.

[_Exit Baptista._]

Now, I fear thee not: Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table. Tut! a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.

[_Exit._]

TRANIO. A vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide! Yet I have fac’d it with a card of ten. ’Tis in my head to do my master good: I see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio Must get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio; And that’s a wonder: fathers commonly Do get their children; but in this case of wooing A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.

[_Exit._]

ACT III

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

Enter Lucentio, Hortensio and Bianca.

LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir. Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katherine welcome’d you withal?

HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far To know the cause why music was ordain’d! Was it not to refresh the mind of man After his studies or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And while I pause serve in your harmony.

HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice. I am no breeching scholar in the schools, I’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down; Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done ere you have tun’d.

HORTENSIO. You’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

[_Retires._]

LUCENTIO. That will be never: tune your instrument.

BIANCA. Where left we last?

LUCENTIO. Here, madam:— _Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis._

BIANCA. Construe them.

LUCENTIO. _Hic ibat_, as I told you before, _Simois_, I am Lucentio, _hic est_, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, _Sigeia tellus_, disguised thus to get your love, _Hic steterat_, and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, _Priami_, is my man Tranio, _regia_, bearing my port, _celsa senis_, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

HORTENSIO. [_Returning._] Madam, my instrument’s in tune.

BIANCA. Let’s hear.—

[Hortensio _plays._]

O fie! the treble jars.

LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: _Hic ibat Simois_, I know you not; _hic est Sigeia tellus_, I trust you not; _Hic steterat Priami_, take heed he hear us not; _regia_, presume not; _celsa senis_, despair not.

HORTENSIO. Madam, ’tis now in tune.

LUCENTIO. All but the base.

HORTENSIO. The base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars. [_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.

BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not; for sure, Æacides Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.

BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt; But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you. Good master, take it not unkindly, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

HORTENSIO. [_To Lucentio_] You may go walk and give me leave a while; My lessons make no music in three parts.

LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait, [_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d, Our fine musician groweth amorous.

HORTENSIO. 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 sort, More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

BIANCA. _Gamut_ I am, the ground of all accord, _A re_, to plead Hortensio’s passion; _B mi_, Bianca, take him for thy lord, _C fa ut_, that loves with all affection: _D sol re_, one clef, two notes have I _E la mi_, show pity or I die. Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, To change true rules for odd inventions.

Enter a Servant.

SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your sister’s chamber up: You know tomorrow is the wedding-day.

BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.

[_Exeunt Bianca and Servant._]

LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

[_Exit._]

HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant: Methinks he looks as though he were in love. Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble To cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale, Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.

[_Exit._]

SCENE II. The same. Before Baptista’s house.

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherina, Bianca, Lucentio and Attendants.

BAPTISTA. [_To Tranio_.] Signior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day That Katherine and Petruchio should be married, And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. What will be said? 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?

KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d 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 jests in blunt behaviour; And to be noted for a merry man, He’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage, Make friends, invite, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d. Now must the world point at poor Katherine, And say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife, If it would please him come and marry her.’

TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.

KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!

[_Exit weeping, followed by Bianca and others._]

BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep, For such an injury would vex a very saint; Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

Enter Biondello.

Master, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!

BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be?

BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?

BAPTISTA. Is he come?

BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.

BAPTISTA. What then?

BIONDELLO. He is coming.

BAPTISTA. When will he be here?

BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.

TRANIO. But say, what to thine old news?

BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a half-checked bit, and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with pack-thread.

BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?

BIONDELLO. O, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.

TRANIO. ’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell’d.

BAPTISTA. I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.

BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.

BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?

BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?

BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.

BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

BAPTISTA. Why, that’s all one.

BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many.

Enter Petruchio and Grumio.

PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home?

BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.

PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.

BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.

TRANIO. Not so well apparell’d as I wish you were.

PETRUCHIO. Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown; And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy?

BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival.

TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

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

TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.

PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.

BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.

PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, 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 can 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!

[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]

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

BAPTISTA. I’ll after him and see the event of this.

[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]

TRANIO. But, sir, to love concerneth us to add Her father’s liking; which to bring to pass, As I before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man,—whate’er he be It skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,— And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa, And make assurance here in Padua, Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent.

LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly, ’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Which once perform’d, let all the world say no, I’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.

TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business. We’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio; All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.

Re-enter Gremio.

Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

GREMIO. As willingly as e’er I came from school.

TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.

GREMIO. Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

TRANIO. Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.

GREMIO. Tut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him. I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, ’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud That, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book; And as he stoop’d again to take it up, The mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff That down fell priest and book, and book and priest: ‘Now take them up,’ quoth he ‘if any list.’

TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?

GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why, he stamp’d and swore As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine: ‘A health!’ quoth he, as if He had been abroad, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel, And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face, Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck, And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo. And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before. Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.

[_Music plays._]

Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and Train.

PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: I know you think to dine with me today, And have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

BAPTISTA. Is’t possible you will away tonight?

PETRUCHIO. I must away today before night come. Make it no wonder: if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife. Dine with my father, drink a health to me. For I must hence; and farewell to you all.

TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

PETRUCHIO. It may not be.

GREMIO. Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.

KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO. I am content.

KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?

PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.

PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse!

GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.

KATHERINA. Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go today; No, nor tomorrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; For me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself. ’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom That take it on you at the first so roundly.

PETRUCHIO. O Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.

KATHERINA. I will be angry: what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.

GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.

KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.

PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves: But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own. She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate; I’ll buckler thee against a million.

[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Grumio._]

BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.

GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.

TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like.

LUCENTIO. Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?

BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.

GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets at the feast. Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place; And let Bianca take her sister’s room.

TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

SCENE I. A hall in Petruchio’s country house.

Enter Grumio.

GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!

Enter Curtis.

CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly?

GRUMIO. A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis.

CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

GRUMIO. O, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.

CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?

GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.

CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.

GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

CURTIS. There’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

GRUMIO. Why, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.

CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching.

GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the servingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?

CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.

GRUMIO. First, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.

CURTIS. How?

GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.

CURTIS. Let’s ha’t, good Grumio.

GRUMIO. Lend thine ear.

CURTIS. Here.

GRUMIO. [_Striking him._] There.

CURTIS. This ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

GRUMIO. And therefore ’tis called a sensible tale; and this cuff was but to knock at your ear and beseech listening. Now I begin: _Imprimis_, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,—

CURTIS. Both of one horse?

GRUMIO. What’s that to thee?

CURTIS. Why, a horse.

GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled; how he left her with the horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me: how he swore; how she prayed, that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away; how her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper; with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave.

CURTIS. By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.

GRUMIO. Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?

CURTIS. They are.

GRUMIO. Call them forth.

CURTIS. Do you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.

GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.

CURTIS. Who knows not that?

GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.

CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her.

GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.