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D folre, one cliff, but two notes have I.
Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not ;
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,
And help to dress your fifter's chamber up;
Bian. Farewel, fweet masters, both; I must be gone. [Exit. Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit.
Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant, Methinks, he looks as tho' he was in love: Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be fo humble, To caft thy wandring eyes on every Stale; Seize thee, who lift; if once I find thee ranging, Hortenfio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit.
Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, Bianca, and attendants.
Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
To want the Bridegroom, when the Priest attends
Cath. No fhame, but mine; I muft, forfooth, be
To give my hand oppos'd against my heart,
Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,
Hiding his bitter jefts in blunt behaviour:
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns;
Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptista too;
Cath. Would Catharine had never feen him tho'!
Bion. Mafter, Mafter; old news, and fuch news as you never heard of.
Bap. Is it new and old teo? how may that be?
8 Full of Spleen.] That is, full of humour, caprice, and inconftancy.
Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? Bap. Is he come? Bion. Why, no, Sir. Bap. What then? Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here?
Bion. When he ftands where I am, and fees you there.
Tra. But, fay, 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-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd: an old rufty fword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelefs, with two broken points; his horfe hipp'd with an old mothy faddle, the stirrups of no kindred; befides, poffeft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, if ected with the fashions, full of windgalls, fped with spavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the fives, ftark spoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and fhoulder-fhotten, near-legg'd before, and with a halfcheck't bit, and a headftall of fheep's leather, which being reftrain'd, to keep him from ftumbling, hath been often burft, 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 fet down in ftuds, and here and there piec'd with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him?
Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world capari
fon'd like the horse, with a linnen ftock on one leg, and a kerfey boot-hofe on the other, garter'd with a red and blue lift, ' 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 fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet fometimes he goes but mean apparell'd.
Bap. I am glad he is come, howfoever he comes. Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didit thou not fay, he comes?
Bion. Who? that Petruchio came not.
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.
Bion. No, Sir; I fay, his horfe comes with him on his back.
Bap. Why, that's all one.
Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horfe and a man is more than one, and yet not
1 An old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prickt up in't for a feather: This was fome ballad or drollery of that time, which the Poet here ridicules, by making Petruchio prick it up in his foot-boy's old hat for a feather. His fpeakers are perpetually quoting fcraps and ftanzas of old Ballads, and often very obfcurely; for, fo well are they adapted to the occafion, that they feem of a piece with the reft. In Shakespear's time, the kingdom was over-run with thefe doggrel compofitions. And he feems to have born them a very particular grudge. He frequently ridicules both them and
their makers with exquifite humour. In Much ado about nothing, he makes Benedict fay, Prove that ever I lofe more blood with love than I get again with drinking, prick out my eyes with a ballad maker's pen. As the bluntnefs of it would make the execution of it extremely painful. And again in Troilus and Creffida, Pandarus in his diftrefs, having repeated a very ftupid ftanza from an old ballad, fays, with the higheft humour, There never was a truer rhyme; let us caft away nothing, for we may live to have need of fuch a verfe. We fee it, we jee it.
Enter Petruchio and Grumio fantastically habited.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at home?
Bap. You're welcome, Sir.
Bap. And yet you halt not.
Tra. Not fo well 'parell'd, as I wish you wère.
And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
Bap. Why, Sir, you know this is your wedding-
Firft, were we fad, fearing you would not come;
Tra. And tell us what occafion of import
Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
2 To digrefs] To deviate from any promise.