« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
For curious I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptifta, of whom I hear fo well.
Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say: Your plainnefs and your fhortnefs please me well, Right true it is, your fon Lucentio here Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, Or both diffemble deeply their affections; And therefore if you fay no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him, And pass my daughter a fufficient dowry, The match is made, and all is done, Your fon fhall have my daughter with confent. Tra. I thank you, Sir. *Where then do you beft,
Be we affied; and fuch affurance ta'en,
Eap. Not in my houfe, Lucentio; for, you know,
Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, Sir,
Bap. It likes me well. Go, Cambio, hie you home, And bid Bianca make her ready straight:
And if you will, tell what hath happen'd here;
And how fhe's like to be Lucentio's wife.
Luc. I pray the Gods fhe may, with all my heart!
Or thus, which I think is right,
*-Where then do you know beft,
Be we affied; -] This feems to be wrong. We may read more commodioufly,
Tra. Dally not, with the Gods, but
get thee gone.
Enter Lucentio, and Biondello.
Luc. What fay'ft thou, Biondello ?
Bion. You faw my mafter wink and laugh upon
Luc. Biondello, what of that?
Bion. 'Faith, nothing; but he's left me here behind to expound the meaning or moral of his figns and tokens.
Luc. I pray thee, moralize them.
Bion. Then thus. Baptifta is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful fon.
Luc. And what of him?
Bion. His Daughter is to be brought by you to the fupper.
Luc. And then?
Bion. The old Prieft at St. Luke's Church is at your command at all hours.
Luc. And what of all this?
Bion. I cannot tell; expect, they are bufied about a counterfeit affurance; take you affurance of her, Cum privilegio ad imprimendum folùm; to th' Church take the Prieft, Clark, and fome fufficient honeft witneffes: If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewel for ever and a day.
Luc. Hear'ft thou, Biondello?
Bion. I cannot tarry; I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parfly to stuff VOL. III.
a rabbet; and fo may you, Sir, and fo adieu, Sir; my master hath appointed me to go to St. Luke's, to bid the Prieft be ready to come againft you come with your Appendix, [Exit.
Luc. I may and will, if fhe be fo contented: She will be pleas'd, then wherefore fhould I doubt ? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her: It fhall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit.
A green Lane.
Enter Petruchio, Catharine, and Hortenfio.
Ome on, o'God's name, once more tow❜rds our Father's.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly fhines the Moon! Cath. The Moon! the Sun: it is not Moon-light
Pet. I fay, it is the Moon that fhines fo bright. Cath. I know, it is the Sun that thines fo bright. Pet. Now by my mother's fon, and that's myself, It fhall be Moon, or Star, or what I lift, Or ere I journey to your father's houfe: Go on, and fetch our horfes back again. Evermore croft and croft, nothing but croft!
Hor. Say, as he fays, or we fhall never go. Cath, Forward I pray, fince we are come fo far, And be it Moon, or Sun, or what you please : And if you please to call it a rush candle, Henceforth I vow it fhall be fo for me.
Pet. I fay, it is the Moon.
Cath. I know, it is the Moon.
Pet. Nay, then you lye; it is the bleffed Sun. Cath. Then, God be bleft, it is the bleffed Sun. But Sun it is not, when you fay it is not; And the Moon changes, even as your mind.
What you will have it named, even that it is,
Hor. Petruchio, go thy way, the field is won.
And not unluckily againft the bias:
Good morrow, gentle mistress, where away?
Tell me, fweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
In the firft fketch of this of the hand of Shakespear, tho' play, printed in 1607, we find the rest of that play is far infetwo speeches in this place worth rior. preferving, and feeming to be
Fair lovely maiden, young and affable,
-Sweet Catharine, this lovely woman
Hor. He will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.
Cath. Young budding Virgin, fair, and fresh, and
Whither away, or where is thy aboad?
Pet. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered,
Cath. Pardon, old Father, my mistaken eyes;
Pet. Do, good old Grandfire, and withal make
Which way thou travelleft: if along with us,
Vin. Fair Sir, and you my merry Mistress,
A fon of mine, which long I have not feen.
Vin. Lucentio, gentle Sir.
Pet. Happily met, the happier for thy fon;