Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his sting?

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails;

Whose tongue?

and so farewell.

Pet. What with my tongue in your tale? nay, come

again,

Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

Kath.

That I'll try.

[Striking him. Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Kath. So may you lose your arms.

If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms.
Pet. A herald, Kate! Õh, put me in thy books.
Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb?

Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so

sour.

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

Pet. Why here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. Kath. There is, there is.

Pet.

Kath.

Then shew it me.

Had I a glass, 1 would.

Pet. What! you mean my face?

Kath.

Well aim'd of such a young one.

Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. Kath. Yet you are wither'd.

Pet.

Kath.

'Tis with cares.

I care not.

Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you 'scape not so. Kath. 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, 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 slanderous world! Kate, like the hazel-twig,
Is straight, and slender; and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
Oh let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st, command.
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,

As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
Oh, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate;
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.

Kath. A witty mother! witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wise?

Kath.

Yes; keep you warm. Pet. 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 wellThou 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. Here comes your father. Never make denial, I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO.

Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with My daughter?

Pet.

How but well, sir? how but well?

It were impossible I should speed amiss.

Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katherine! in your dumps?

Kath. Call you me daughter? now I promise you, You have shew'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 Grissel;
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.

And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
Kath. I'll see thee 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, 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. Oh, 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.
Oh, 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.

Bap. I know not what to say. But give me your

hands.

God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match.

Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. Pet. 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 PET. and KATH. severally.

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart.

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

Bap. The gain I seek is, quiet in the match. Gre. 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.

Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. Gre. Youngling! thou canst not love so dear as I. Tra. Grey-beard! thy love doth freeze.

Gre. But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. Bap. 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?

Gre. First, as you know, my house within the city

Is richly furnished with plate and gold;

Basons, 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 needle-work,
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 to-morrow, this is hers,

If, whilst I live, she will be only mine.

Tra. 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 walls, as any one
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?
Gre. 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?

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

Bap. 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? Tra. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old?