{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/ff/tos.htm","path":"sks/ff/tos.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/ff/tos.htm","text":"Actus primus. Scaena Prima.\nEnter Begger and Hostes, Christophero Sly.\nBegger. Ile pheeze you infaith\nHost. A paire of stockes you rogue\nBeg. Y'are a baggage, the Slies are no\nRogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came\nin with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas\npallabris, let the world slide: Sessa\nHost. You will not pay for the glasses you haue burst?\nBeg. No, not a deniere: go by S[aint]. Ieronimie, goe to thy\ncold bed, and warme thee\nHost. I know my remedie, I must go fetch the Head-borough\nBeg. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile answere\nhim by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come,\nand kindly.\nFalles asleepe.\nWinde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine.\nLo. Huntsman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds,\nBrach Meriman, the poore Curre is imbost,\nAnd couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach,\nSaw'st thou not boy how Siluer made it good\nAt the hedge corner, in the couldest fault,\nI would not loose the dogge for twentie pound\nHunts. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord,\nHe cried vpon it at the meerest losse,\nAnd twice to day pick'd out the dullest sent,\nTrust me, I take him for the better dogge\nLord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete,\nI would esteeme him worth a dozen such:\nBut sup them well, and looke vnto them all,\nTo morrow I intend to hunt againe\nHunts. I will my Lord\nLord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth\nhe breath?\n2.Hun. He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd\nwith Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly\nLord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes.\nGrim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image:\nSirs, I will practise on this drunken man.\nWhat thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed,\nWrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers:\nA most delicious banquet by his bed,\nAnd braue attendants neere him when he wakes,\nWould not the begger then forget himselfe?\n1.Hun. Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot choose\n2.H. It would seem strange vnto him when he wak'd\nLord. Euen as a flatt'ring dreame, or worthles fancie.\nThen take him vp, and manage well the iest:\nCarrie him gently to my fairest Chamber,\nAnd hang it round with all my wanton pictures:\nBalme his foule head in warme distilled waters,\nAnd burne sweet Wood to make the Lodging sweete:\nProcure me Musicke readie when he wakes,\nTo make a dulcet and a heauenly sound:\nAnd if he chance to speake, be readie straight\n(And with a lowe submissiue reuerence)\nSay, what is it your Honor wil command:\nLet one attend him with a siluer Bason\nFull of Rose-water, and bestrew'd with Flowers,\nAnother beare the Ewer: the third a Diaper,\nAnd say wilt please your Lordship coole your hands.\nSome one be readie with a costly suite,\nAnd aske him what apparrel he will weare:\nAnother tell him of his Hounds and Horse,\nAnd that his Ladie mournes at his disease,\nPerswade him that he hath bin Lunaticke,\nAnd when he sayes he is, say that he dreames,\nFor he is nothing but a mightie Lord:\nThis do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs,\nIt wil be pastime passing excellent,\nIf it be husbanded with modestie\n1.Hunts. My Lord I warrant you we wil play our part\nAs he shall thinke by our true diligence\nHe is no lesse then what we say he is\nLord. Take him vp gently, and to bed with him,\nAnd each one to his office when he wakes.\nSound trumpets.\nSirrah, go see what Trumpet 'tis that sounds,\nBelike some Noble Gentleman that meanes\n(Trauelling some iourney) to repose him heere.\nEnter Seruingman.\nHow now? who is it?\nSer. An't please your Honor, Players\nThat offer seruice to your Lordship.\nEnter Players.\nLord. Bid them come neere:\nNow fellowes, you are welcome\nPlayers. We thanke your Honor\nLord. Do you intend to stay with me to night?\n2.Player. So please your Lordshippe to accept our\ndutie\nLord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember,\nSince once he plaide a Farmers eldest sonne,\n'Twas where you woo'd the Gentlewoman so well:\nI haue forgot your name: but sure that part\nWas aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd\nSincklo. I thinke 'twas Soto that your honor meanes\nLord. 'Tis verie true, thou didst it excellent:\nWell you are come to me in happie time,\nThe rather for I haue some sport in hand,\nWherein your cunning can assist me much.\nThere is a Lord will heare you play to night;\nBut I am doubtfull of your modesties,\nLeast (ouer-eying of his odde behauiour,\nFor yet his honor neuer heard a play)\nYou breake into some merrie passion,\nAnd so offend him: for I tell you sirs,\nIf you should smile, he growes impatient\nPlai. Feare not my Lord, we can contain our selues,\nWere he the veriest anticke in the world\nLord. Go sirra, take them to the Butterie,\nAnd giue them friendly welcome euerie one,\nLet them want nothing that my house affoords.\nExit one with the Players.\nSirra go you to Bartholmew my Page,\nAnd see him drest in all suites like a Ladie:\nThat done, conduct him to the drunkards chamber,\nAnd call him Madam, do him obeisance:\nTell him from me (as he will win my loue)\nHe beare himselfe with honourable action,\nSuch as he hath obseru'd in noble Ladies\nVnto their Lords, by them accomplished,\nSuch dutie to the drunkard let him do:\nWith soft lowe tongue, and lowly curtesie,\nAnd say: What is't your Honor will command,\nWherein your Ladie, and your humble wife,\nMay shew her dutie, and make knowne her loue.\nAnd then with kinde embracements, tempting kisses,\nAnd with declining head into his bosome\nBid him shed teares, as being ouer-ioyed\nTo see her noble Lord restor'd to health,\nWho for this seuen yeares hath esteemed him\nNo better then a poore and loathsome begger:\nAnd if the boy haue not a womans guift\nTo raine a shower of commanded teares,\nAn Onion wil do well for such a shift,\nWhich in a Napkin (being close conuei'd)\nShall in despight enforce a waterie eie:\nSee this dispatch'd with all the hast thou canst,\nAnon Ile giue thee more instructions.\nExit a seruingman.\nI know the boy will wel vsurpe the grace,\nVoice, gate, and action of a Gentlewoman:\nI long to heare him call the drunkard husband,\nAnd how my men will stay themselues from laughter,\nWhen they do homage to this simple peasant,\nIle in to counsell them: haply my presence\nMay well abate the ouer-merrie spleene,\nWhich otherwise would grow into extreames.\nEnter aloft the drunkard with attendants, some with apparel, Bason\nand\nEwer, & other appurtenances, & Lord.\nBeg. For Gods sake a pot of small Ale\n1.Ser. Wilt please your Lord drink a cup of sacke?\n2.Ser. Wilt please your Honor taste of these Conserues?\n3.Ser. What raiment wil your honor weare to day\nBeg. I am Christophero Sly, call not mee Honour nor\nLordship: I ne're drank sacke in my life: and if you giue\nme any Conserues, giue me conserues of Beefe: nere ask\nme what raiment Ile weare, for I haue no more doublets\nthen backes: no more stockings then legges: nor\nno more shooes then feet, nay sometime more feete then\nshooes, or such shooes as my toes looke through the ouer-leather\nLord. Heauen cease this idle humor in your Honor.\nOh that a mightie man of such discent,\nOf such possessions, and so high esteeme\nShould be infused with so foule a spirit\nBeg. What would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher\nSlie, old Slies sonne of Burton-heath, by byrth a\nPedler, by education a Cardmaker, by transmutation a\nBeare-heard, and now by present profession a Tinker.\nAske Marrian Hacket the fat Alewife of Wincot, if shee\nknow me not: if she say I am not xiiii.d. on the score for\nsheere Ale, score me vp for the lyingst knaue in Christen\ndome. What I am not bestraught: here's-\n3.Man. Oh this it is that makes your Ladie mourne\n2.Man. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop\nLord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your house\nAs beaten hence by your strange Lunacie.\nOh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,\nCall home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,\nAnd banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:\nLooke how thy seruants do attend on thee,\nEach in his office readie at thy becke.\nWilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies,\nMusick\nAnd twentie caged Nightingales do sing.\nOr wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch,\nSofter and sweeter then the lustfull bed\nOn purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.\nSay thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground.\nOr wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd,\nTheir harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle.\nDost thou loue hawking? Thou hast hawkes will soare\nAboue the morning Larke. Or wilt thou hunt,\nThy hounds shall make the Welkin answer them\nAnd fetch shrill ecchoes from the hollow earth\n1.Man. Say thou wilt course, thy gray-hounds are as swift\nAs breathed Stags: I fleeter then the Roe\n2.M. Dost thou loue pictures? we wil fetch thee strait\nAdonis painted by a running brooke,\nAnd Citherea all in sedges hid,\nWhich seeme to moue and wanton with her breath,\nEuen as the wauing sedges play with winde\nLord. Wee'l shew thee Io, as she was a Maid,\nAnd how she was beguiled and surpriz'd,\nAs liuelie painted, as the deede was done\n3.Man. Or Daphne roming through a thornie wood,\nScratching her legs, that one shal sweare she bleeds,\nAnd at that sight shal sad Apollo weepe,\nSo workmanlie the blood and teares are drawne\nLord. Thou art a Lord, and nothing but a Lord:\nThou hast a Ladie farre more Beautifull,\nThen any woman in this waining age\n1.Man. And til the teares that she hath shed for thee,\nLike enuious flouds ore-run her louely face,\nShe was the fairest creature in the world,\nAnd yet shee is inferiour to none\nBeg. Am I a Lord, and haue I such a Ladie?\nOr do I dreame? Or haue I dream'd till now?\nI do not sleepe: I see, I heare, I speake:\nI smel sweet sauours, and I feele soft things:\nVpon my life I am a Lord indeede,\nAnd not a Tinker, nor Christopher Slie.\nWell, bring our Ladie hither to our sight,\nAnd once againe a pot o'th smallest Ale\n2.Man. Wilt please your mightinesse to wash your\nhands:\nOh how we ioy to see your wit restor'd,\nOh that once more you knew but what you are:\nThese fifteene yeeres you haue bin in a dreame,\nOr when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept\nBeg. These fifteene yeeres, by my fay, a goodly nap,\nBut did I neuer speake of all that time\n1.Man. Oh yes my Lord, but verie idle words,\nFor though you lay heere in this goodlie chamber,\nYet would you say, ye were beaten out of doore,\nAnd raile vpon the Hostesse of the house,\nAnd say you would present her at the Leete,\nBecause she brought stone-Iugs, and no seal'd quarts:\nSometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket\nBeg. I, the womans maide of the house\n3.Man. Why sir you know no house, nor no such maid\nNor no such men as you haue reckon'd vp,\nAs Stephen Slie, and old Iohn Naps of Greece,\nAnd Peter Turph, and Henry Pimpernell,\nAnd twentie more such names and men as these,\nWhich neuer were, nor no man euer saw\nBeg. Now Lord be thanked for my good amends\nAll. Amen.\nEnter Lady with Attendants.\nBeg. I thanke thee, thou shalt not loose by it\nLady. How fares my noble Lord?\nBeg. Marrie I fare well, for heere is cheere enough.\nWhere is my wife?\nLa. Heere noble Lord, what is thy will with her?\nBeg. Are you my wife, and will not cal me husband?\nMy men should call me Lord, I am your good-man\nLa. My husband and my Lord, my Lord and husband\nI am your wife in all obedience\nBeg. I know it well, what must I call her?\nLord. Madam\nBeg. Alce Madam, or Ione Madam?\nLord. Madam, and nothing else, so Lords cal Ladies\nBeg. Madame wife, they say that I haue dream'd,\nAnd slept aboue some fifteene yeare or more\nLady. I, and the time seeme's thirty vnto me,\nBeing all this time abandon'd from your bed\nBeg. 'Tis much, seruants leaue me and her alone:\nMadam vndresse you, and come now to bed\nLa. Thrice noble Lord, let me intreat of you\nTo pardon me yet for a night or two:\nOr if not so, vntill the Sun be set.\nFor your Physitians haue expressely charg'd,\nIn perill to incurre your former malady,\nThat I should yet absent me from your bed:\nI hope this reason stands for my excuse\nBeg. I, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long:\nBut I would be loth to fall into my dreames againe: I\nwil therefore tarrie in despight of the flesh & the blood\nEnter a Messenger.\nMes. Your Honors Players hearing your amendment,\nAre come to play a pleasant Comedie,\nFor so your doctors hold it very meete,\nSeeing too much sadnesse hath congeal'd your blood,\nAnd melancholly is the Nurse of frenzie,\nTherefore they thought it good you heare a play,\nAnd frame your minde to mirth and merriment,\nWhich barres a thousand harmes, and lengthens life\nBeg. Marrie I will let them play, it is not a Comontie,\na Christmas gambold, or a tumbling tricke?\nLady. No my good Lord, it is more pleasing stuffe\nBeg. What, houshold stuffe\nLady. It is a kinde of history\nBeg. Well, we'l see't:\nCome Madam wife sit by my side,\nAnd let the world slip, we shall nere be yonger.\nFlourish. Enter Lucentio, and his man Triano.\nLuc. Tranio, since for the great desire I had\nTo see faire Padua, nurserie of Arts,\nI am arriu'd for fruitfull Lumbardie,\nThe pleasant garden of great Italy,\nAnd by my fathers loue and leaue am arm'd\nWith his good will, and thy good companie.\nMy trustie seruant well approu'd in all,\nHeere let vs breath, and haply institute\nA course of Learning, and ingenious studies.\nPisa renowned for graue Citizens\nGaue me my being, and my father first\nA Merchant of great Trafficke through the world:\nVincentio's come of the Bentiuolij,\nVincentio's sonne, brought vp in Florence,\nIt shall become to serue all hopes conceiu'd\nTo decke his fortune with his vertuous deedes:\nAnd therefore Tranio, for the time I studie,\nVertue and that part of Philosophie\nWill I applie, that treats of happinesse,\nBy vertue specially to be atchieu'd.\nTell me thy minde, for I haue Pisa left,\nAnd am to Padua come, as he that leaues\nA shallow plash, to plunge him in the deepe,\nAnd with sacietie seekes to quench his thirst\nTra. Me Pardonato, gentle master mine:\nI am in all affected as your selfe,\nGlad that you thus continue your resolue,\nTo sucke the sweets of sweete Philosophie.\nOnely (good master) while we do admire\nThis vertue, and this morall discipline,\nLet's be no Stoickes, nor no stockes I pray,\nOr so deuote to Aristotles checkes\nAs Ouid; be an out-cast quite abiur'd:\nBalke Lodgicke with acquaintance that you haue,\nAnd practise Rhetoricke in your common talke,\nMusicke and Poesie vse, to quicken you,\nThe Mathematickes, and the Metaphysickes\nFall to them as you finde your stomacke serues you:\nNo profit growes, where is no pleasure tane:\nIn briefe sir, studie what you most affect\nLuc. Gramercies Tranio, well dost thou aduise,\nIf Biondello thou wert come ashore,\nWe could at once put vs in readinesse,\nAnd take a Lodging fit to entertaine\nSuch friends (as time) in Padua shall beget.\nBut stay a while, what companie is this?\nTra. Master some shew to welcome vs to Towne.\nEnter Baptista with his two daughters, Katerina & Bianca, Gremio\na\nPantelowne, Hortentio sister to Bianca. Lucen. Tranio, stand by.\nBap. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,\nFor how I firmly am resolu'd you know:\nThat is, not to bestow my yongest daughter,\nBefore I haue a husband for the elder:\nIf either of you both loue Katherina,\nBecause I know you well, and loue you well,\nLeaue shall you haue to court her at your pleasure\nGre. To cart her rather. She's to rough for mee,\nThere, there Hortensio, will you any Wife?\nKate. I pray you sir, is it your will\nTo make a stale of me amongst these mates?\nHor. Mates maid, how meane you that?\nNo mates for you,\nVnlesse you were of gentler milder mould\nKate. I'faith sir, you shall neuer neede to feare,\nIwis it is not halfe way to her heart:\nBut if it were, doubt not, her care should be,\nTo combe your noddle with a three-legg'd stoole,\nAnd paint your face, and vse you like a foole\nHor. From all such diuels, good Lord deliuer vs\nGre. And me too, good Lord\nTra. Husht master, heres some good pastime toward;\nThat wench is starke mad, or wonderfull froward\nLucen. But in the others silence do I see,\nMaids milde behauiour and sobrietie.\nPeace Tranio\nTra. Well said Mr, mum, and gaze your fill\nBap. Gentlemen, that I may soone make good\nWhat I haue said, Bianca get you in,\nAnd let it not displease thee good Bianca,\nFor I will loue thee nere the lesse my girle\nKate. A pretty peate, it is best put finger in the eye,\nand she knew why\nBian. Sister content you, in my discontent.\nSir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe:\nMy bookes and instruments shall be my companie,\nOn them to looke, and practise by my selfe\nLuc. Harke Tranio, thou maist heare Minerua speak\nHor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange,\nSorrie am I that our good will effects\nBianca's greefe\nGre. Why will you mew her vp\n(Signior Baptista) for this fiend of hell,\nAnd make her beare the pennance of her tongue\nBap. Gentlemen content ye: I am resolud:\nGo in Bianca.\nAnd for I know she taketh most delight\nIn Musicke, Instruments, and Poetry,\nSchoolemasters will I keepe within my house,\nFit to instruct her youth. If you Hortensio,\nOr signior Gremio you know any such,\nPreferre them hither: for to cunning men,\nI will be very kinde and liberall,\nTo mine owne children, in good bringing vp,\nAnd so farewell: Katherina you may stay,\nFor I haue more to commune with Bianca.\nEnter.\nKate. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?\nWhat shall I be appointed houres, as though\n(Belike) I knew not what to take,\nAnd what to leaue? Ha.\nExit\nGre. You may go to the diuels dam: your guifts are\nso good heere's none will holde you: Their loue is not\nso great Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together,\nand fast it fairely out. Our cakes dough on both sides.\nFarewell: yet for the loue I beare my sweet Bianca, if\nI can by any meanes light on a fit man to teach her that\nwherein she delights, I will wish him to her father\nHor. So will I signiour Gremio: but a word I pray:\nThough the nature of our quarrell yet neuer brook'd\nparle, know now vpon aduice, it toucheth vs both: that\nwe may yet againe haue accesse to our faire Mistris, and\nbe happie riuals in Bianca's loue, to labour and effect\none thing specially\nGre. What's that I pray?\nHor. Marrie sir to get a husband for her Sister\nGre. A husband: a diuell\nHor. I say a husband\nGre. I say, a diuell: Think'st thou Hortensio, though\nher father be verie rich, any man is so verie a foole to be\nmarried to hell?\nHor. Tush Gremio: though it passe your patience &\nmine to endure her lowd alarums, why man there bee\ngood fellowes in the world, and a man could light on\nthem, would take her with all faults, and mony enough\nGre. I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her dowrie\nwith this condition; To be whipt at the hie crosse euerie\nmorning\nHor. Faith (as you say) there's small choise in rotten\napples: but come, since this bar in law makes vs friends,\nit shall be so farre forth friendly maintain'd, till by helping\nBaptistas eldest daughter to a husband, wee set his\nyongest free for a husband, and then haue too't afresh:\nSweet Bianca, happy man be his dole: hee that runnes\nfastest, gets the Ring: How say you signior Gremio?\nGrem. I am agreed, and would I had giuen him the\nbest horse in Padua to begin his woing that would thoroughly\nwoe her, wed her, and bed her, and ridde the\nhouse of her. Come on.\nExeunt. ambo. Manet Tranio and Lucentio\nTra. I pray sir tel me, is it possible\nThat loue should of a sodaine take such hold\nLuc. Oh Tranio, till I found it to be true,\nI neuer thought it possible or likely.\nBut see, while idely I stood looking on,\nI found the effect of Loue in idlenesse,\nAnd now in plainnesse do confesse to thee\nThat art to me as secret and as deere\nAs Anna to the Queene of Carthage was:\nTranio I burne, I pine, I perish Tranio,\nIf I atchieue not this yong modest gyrle:\nCounsaile me Tranio, for I know thou canst:\nAssist me Tranio, for I know thou wilt\nTra. Master, it is no time to chide you now,\nAffection is not rated from the heart:\nIf loue haue touch'd you, naught remaines but so,\nRedime te captam quam queas minimo\nLuc. Gramercies Lad: Go forward, this contents,\nThe rest wil comfort, for thy counsels sound\nTra. Master, you look'd so longly on the maide,\nPerhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all\nLuc. Oh yes, I saw sweet beautie in her face,\nSuch as the daughter of Agenor had,\nThat made great Ioue to humble him to her hand,\nWhen with his knees he kist the Cretan strond\nTra. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how hir sister\nBegan to scold, and raise vp such a storme,\nThat mortal eares might hardly indure the din\nLuc. Tranio, I saw her corrall lips to moue,\nAnd with her breath she did perfume the ayre,\nSacred and sweet was all I saw in her\nTra. Nay, then 'tis time to stirre him fro[m] his trance:\nI pray awake sir: if you loue the Maide,\nBend thoughts and wits to atcheeue her. Thus it stands:\nHer elder sister is so curst and shrew'd,\nThat til the Father rid his hands of her,\nMaster, your Loue must liue a maide at home,\nAnd therefore has he closely meu'd her vp,\nBecause she will not be annoy'd with suters\nLuc. Ah Tranio, what a cruell Fathers he:\nBut art thou not aduis'd, he tooke some care\nTo get her cunning Schoolemasters to instruct her\nTra. I marry am I sir, and now 'tis plotted\nLuc. I haue it Tranio\nTra. Master, for my hand,\nBoth our inuentions meet and iumpe in one\nLuc. Tell me thine first\nTra. You will be schoole-master,\nAnd vndertake the teaching of the maid:\nThat's your deuice\nLuc. It is: May it be done?\nTra. Not possible: for who shall beare your part,\nAnd be in Padua heere Vincentio's sonne,\nKeepe house, and ply his booke, welcome his friends,\nVisit his Countrimen, and banquet them?\nLuc. Basta, content thee: for I haue it full.\nWe haue not yet bin seene in any house,\nNor can we be distinguish'd by our faces,\nFor man or master: then it followes thus;\nThou shalt be master, Tranio in my sted:\nKeepe house, and port, and seruants, as I should,\nI will some other be, some Florentine,\nSome Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.\n'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so: Tranio at once\nVncase thee: take my Coulord hat and cloake,\nWhen Biondello comes, he waites on thee,\nBut I will charme him first to keepe his tongue\nTra. So had you neede:\nIn breefe Sir, sith it your pleasure is,\nAnd I am tyed to be obedient,\nFor so your father charg'd me at our parting:\nBe seruiceable to my sonne (quoth he)\nAlthough I thinke 'twas in another sense,\nI am content to bee Lucentio,\nBecause so well I loue Lucentio\nLuc. Tranio be so, because Lucentio loues,\nAnd let me be a slaue, t' atchieue that maide,\nWhose sodaine sight hath thral'd my wounded eye.\nEnter Biondello.\nHeere comes the rogue. Sirra, where haue you bin?\nBion. Where haue I beene? Nay how now, where\nare you? Maister, ha's my fellow Tranio stolne your\ncloathes, or you stolne his, or both? Pray what's the\nnewes?\nLuc. Sirra come hither, 'tis no time to iest,\nAnd therefore frame your manners to the time\nYour fellow Tranio heere to saue my life,\nPuts my apparrell, and my count'nance on,\nAnd I for my escape haue put on his:\nFor in a quarrell since I came a-shore,\nI kil'd a man, and feare I was descried:\nWaite you on him, I charge you, as becomes:\nWhile I make way from hence to saue my life:\nYou vnderstand me?\nBion. I sir, ne're a whit\nLuc. And not a iot of Tranio in your mouth,\nTranio is chang'd into Lucentio\nBion. The better for him, would I were so too\nTra. So could I 'faith boy, to haue the next wish after,\nthat Lucentio indeede had Baptistas yongest daughter.\nBut sirra, not for my sake, but your masters, I aduise\nyou vse your manners discreetly in all kind of companies:\nWhen I am alone, why then I am Tranio: but in\nall places else, your master Lucentio\nLuc. Tranio let's go:\nOne thing more rests, that thy selfe execute,\nTo make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why,\nSufficeth my reasons are both good and waighty.\nExeunt. The Presenters aboue speakes.\n1.Man. My Lord you nod, you do not minde the\nplay\nBeg. Yes by Saint Anne do I, a good matter surely:\nComes there any more of it?\nLady. My Lord, 'tis but begun\nBeg. 'Tis a verie excellent peece of worke, Madame\nLadie: would 'twere done.\nThey sit and marke.\nEnter Petruchio, and his man Grumio.\nPetr. Verona, for a while I take my leaue,\nTo see my friends in Padua; but of all\nMy best beloued and approued friend\nHortensio: & I trow this is his house:\nHeere sirra Grumio, knocke I say\nGru. Knocke sir? whom should I knocke? Is there\nany man ha's rebus'd your worship?\nPetr. Villaine I say, knocke me heere soundly\nGru. Knocke you heere sir? Why sir, what am I sir,\nthat I should knocke you heere sir\nPetr. Villaine I say, knocke me at this gate,\nAnd rap me well, or Ile knocke your knaues pate\nGru. My Mr is growne quarrelsome:\nI should knocke you first,\nAnd then I know after who comes by the worst\nPetr. Will it not be?\n'Faith sirrah, and you'l not knocke, Ile ring it,\nIle trie how you can Sol, Fa, and sing it.\nHe rings him by the eares\nGru. Helpe mistris helpe, my master is mad\nPetr. Now knocke when I bid you: sirrah villaine.\nEnter Hortensio.\nHor. How now, what's the matter? My olde friend\nGrumio, and my good friend Petruchio? How do you all\nat Verona?\nPetr. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?\nContutti le core bene trobatto, may I say\nHor. Alla nostra casa bene venuto multo honorata signior\nmio Petruchio.\nRise Grumio rise, we will compound this quarrell\nGru. Nay 'tis no matter sir, what he leges in Latine.\nIf this be not a lawfull cause for me to leaue his seruice,\nlooke you sir: He bid me knocke him, & rap him soundly\nsir. Well, was it fit for a seruant to vse his master so,\nbeing perhaps (for ought I see) two and thirty, a peepe\nout? Whom would to God I had well knockt at first,\nthen had not Grumio come by the worst\nPetr. A sencelesse villaine: good Hortensio,\nI bad the rascall knocke vpon your gate,\nAnd could not get him for my heart to do it\nGru. Knocke at the gate? O heauens: spake you not\nthese words plaine? Sirra, Knocke me heere: rappe me\nheere: knocke me well, and knocke me soundly? And\ncome you now with knocking at the gate?\nPetr. Sirra be gone, or talke not I aduise you\nHor. Petruchio patience, I am Grumio's pledge:\nWhy this a heauie chance twixt him and you,\nYour ancient trustie pleasant seruant Grumio:\nAnd tell me now (sweet friend) what happie gale\nBlowes you to Padua heere, from old Verona?\nPetr. Such wind as scatters yongmen throgh y world,\nTo seeke their fortunes farther then at home,\nWhere small experience growes but in a few.\nSignior Hortensio, thus it stands with me,\nAntonio my father is deceast,\nAnd I haue thrust my selfe into this maze,\nHappily to wiue and thriue, as best I may:\nCrownes in my purse I haue, and goods at home,\nAnd so am come abroad to see the world\nHor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,\nAnd wish thee to a shrew'd ill-fauour'd wife?\nThou'dst thanke me but a little for my counsell:\nAnd yet Ile promise thee she shall be rich,\nAnd verie rich: but th'art too much my friend,\nAnd Ile not wish thee to her\nPetr. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as wee,\nFew words suffice: and therefore, if thou know\nOne rich enough to be Petruchio's wife:\n(As wealth is burthen of my woing dance)\nBe she as foule as was Florentius Loue,\nAs old as Sibell, and as curst and shrow'd\nAs Socrates Zentippe, or a worse:\nShe moues me not, or not remoues at least\nAffections edge in me. Were she is as rough\nAs are the swelling Adriaticke seas.\nI come to wiue it wealthily in Padua:\nIf wealthily, then happily in Padua\nGru. Nay looke you sir, hee tels you flatly what his\nminde is: why giue him Gold enough, and marrie him\nto a Puppet or an Aglet babie, or an old trot with ne're a\ntooth in her head, though she haue as manie diseases as\ntwo and fiftie horses. Why nothing comes amisse, so\nmonie comes withall\nHor. Petruchio, since we are stept thus farre in,\nI will continue that I broach'd in iest,\nI can Petruchio helpe thee to a wife\nWith wealth enough, and yong and beautious,\nBrought vp as best becomes a Gentlewoman.\nHer onely fault, and that is faults enough,\nIs, that she is intollerable curst,\nAnd shrow'd, and froward, so beyond all measure,\nThat were my state farre worser then it is,\nI would not wed her for a mine of Gold\nPetr. Hortensio peace: thou knowst not golds effect,\nTell me her fathers name, and 'tis enough:\nFor I will boord her, though she chide as loud\nAs thunder, when the clouds in Autumne cracke\nHor. Her father is Baptista Minola,\nAn affable and courteous Gentleman,\nHer name is Katherina Minola,\nRenown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue\nPetr. I know her father, though I know not her,\nAnd he knew my deceased father well:\nI wil not sleepe Hortensio til I see her,\nAnd therefore let me be thus bold with you,\nTo giue you ouer at this first encounter,\nVnlesse you wil accompanie me thither\nGru . I pray you Sir let him go while the humor lasts.\nA my word, and she knew him as wel as I do, she would\nthinke scolding would doe little good vpon him. Shee\nmay perhaps call him halfe a score Knaues, or so: Why\nthat's nothing; and he begin once, hee'l raile in his rope\ntrickes. Ile tell you what sir, and she stand him but a litle,\nhe wil throw a figure in her face, and so disfigure hir\nwith it, that shee shal haue no more eies to see withall\nthen a Cat: you know him not sir\nHor. Tarrie Petruchio, I must go with thee,\nFor in Baptistas keepe my treasure is:\nHe hath the Iewel of my life in hold,\nHis yongest daughter, beautiful Bianca,\nAnd her with-holds from me. Other more\nSuters to her, and riuals in my Loue:\nSupposing it a thing impossible,\nFor those defects I haue before rehearst,\nThat euer Katherina wil be woo'd:\nTherefore this order hath Baptista tane,\nThat none shal haue accesse vnto Bianca,\nTil Katherine the Curst, haue got a husband\nGru. Katherine the curst,\nA title for a maide, of all titles the worst\nHor. Now shal my friend Petruchio do me grace,\nAnd offer me disguis'd in sober robes,\nTo old Baptista as a schoole-master\nWell seene in Musicke, to instruct Bianca,\nThat so I may by this deuice at least\nHaue leaue and leisure to make loue to her,\nAnd vnsuspected court her by her selfe.\nEnter Gremio and Lucentio disguised.\nGru. Heere's no knauerie. See, to beguile the olde-folkes,\nhow the young folkes lay their heads together.\nMaster, master, looke about you: Who goes there? ha\nHor. Peace Grumio, it is the riuall of my Loue.\nPetruchio stand by a while\nGrumio. A proper stripling, and an amorous\nGremio. O very well, I haue perus'd the note:\nHearke you sir, Ile haue them verie fairely bound,\nAll bookes of Loue, see that at any hand,\nAnd see you reade no other Lectures to her:\nYou vnderstand me. Ouer and beside\nSignior Baptistas liberalitie,\nIle mend it with a Largesse. Take your paper too,\nAnd let me haue them verie wel perfum'd;\nFor she is sweeter then perfume it selfe\nTo whom they go to: what wil you reade to her\nLuc. What ere I reade to her, Ile pleade for you,\nAs for my patron, stand you so assur'd,\nAs firmely as your selfe were still in place,\nYea and perhaps with more successefull words\nThen you; vnlesse you were a scholler sir\nGre. Oh this learning, what a thing it is\nGru. Oh this Woodcocke, what an Asse it is\nPetru. Peace sirra\nHor. Grumio mum: God saue you signior Gremio\nGre. And you are wel met, Signior Hortensio.\nTrow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola,\nI promist to enquire carefully\nAbout a schoolemaster for the faire Bianca,\nAnd by good fortune I haue lighted well\nOn this yong man: For learning and behauiour\nFit for her turne, well read in Poetrie\nAnd other bookes, good ones, I warrant ye\nHor. 'Tis well: and I haue met a Gentleman\nHath promist me to helpe one to another,\nA fine Musitian to instruct our Mistris,\nSo shal I no whit be behinde in dutie\nTo faire Bianca, so beloued of me\nGre. Beloued of me, and that my deeds shal proue\nGru. And that his bags shal proue\nHor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our loue,\nListen to me, and if you speake me faire,\nIle tel you newes indifferent good for either.\nHeere is a Gentleman whom by chance I met\nVpon agreement from vs to his liking,\nWill vndertake to woo curst Katherine,\nYea, and to marrie her, if her dowrie please\nGre. So said, so done, is well:\nHortensio, haue you told him all her faults?\nPetr. I know she is an irkesome brawling scold:\nIf that be all Masters, I heare no harme\nGre. No, sayst me so, friend? What Countreyman?\nPetr. Borne in Verona, old Butonios sonne:\nMy father dead, my fortune liues for me,\nAnd I do hope, good dayes and long, to see\nGre. Oh sir, such a life with such a wife, were strange:\nBut if you haue a stomacke, too't a Gods name,\nYou shal haue me assisting you in all.\nBut will you woo this Wilde-cat?\nPetr. Will I liue?\nGru. Wil he woo her? I: or Ile hang her\nPetr. Why came I hither, but to that intent?\nThinke you, a little dinne can daunt mine eares?\nHaue I not in my time heard Lions rore?\nHaue I not heard the sea, puft vp with windes,\nRage like an angry Boare, chafed with sweat?\nHaue I not heard great Ordnance in the field?\nAnd heauens Artillerie thunder in the skies?\nHaue I not in a pitched battell heard\nLoud larums, neighing steeds, & trumpets clangue?\nAnd do you tell me of a womans tongue?\nThat giues not halfe so great a blow to heare,\nAs wil a Chesse-nut in a Farmers fire.\nTush, tush, feare boyes with bugs\nGru. For he feares none\nGrem. Hortensio hearke:\nThis Gentleman is happily arriu'd,\nMy minde presumes for his owne good, and yours\nHor. I promist we would be Contributors,\nAnd beare his charge of wooing whatsoere\nGremio. And so we wil, prouided that he win her\nGru. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.\nEnter Tranio braue, and Biondello.\nTra. Gentlemen God saue you. If I may be bold\nTell me I beseech you, which is the readiest way\nTo the house of Signior Baptista Minola?\nBion. He that ha's the two faire daughters: ist he you\nmeane?\nTra. Euen he Biondello\nGre. Hearke you sir, you meane not her to-\nTra. Perhaps him and her sir, what haue you to do?\nPetr. Not her that chides sir, at any hand I pray\nTranio. I loue no chiders sir: Biondello, let's away\nLuc. Well begun Tranio\nHor. Sir, a word ere you go:\nAre you a sutor to the Maid you talke of, yea or no?\nTra. And if I be sir, is it any offence?\nGremio. No: if without more words you will get you\nhence\nTra. Why sir, I pray are not the streets as free\nFor me, as for you?\nGre. But so is not she\nTra. For what reason I beseech you\nGre. For this reason if you'l kno,\nThat she's the choise loue of Signior Gremio\nHor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio\nTra. Softly my Masters: If you be Gentlemen\nDo me this right: heare me with patience.\nBaptista is a noble Gentleman,\nTo whom my Father is not all vnknowne,\nAnd were his daughter fairer then she is,\nShe may more sutors haue, and me for one.\nFaire Laedaes daughter had a thousand wooers,\nThen well one more may faire Bianca haue;\nAnd so she shall: Lucentio shal make one,\nThough Paris came, in hope to speed alone\nGre. What, this Gentleman will out-talke vs all\nLuc. Sir giue him head, I know hee'l proue a Iade\nPetr. Hortensio, to what end are all these words?\nHor. Sir, let me be so bold as aske you,\nDid you yet euer see Baptistas daughter?\nTra. No sir, but heare I do that he hath two:\nThe one, as famous for a scolding tongue,\nAs is the other, for beauteous modestie\nPetr. Sir, sir, the first's for me, let her go by\nGre. Yea, leaue that labour to great Hercules,\nAnd let it be more then Alcides twelue\nPetr. Sir vnderstand you this of me (insooth)\nThe yongest daughter whom you hearken for,\nHer father keepes from all accesse of sutors,\nAnd will not promise her to any man,\nVntill the elder sister first be wed.\nThe yonger then is free, and not before\nTranio. If it be so sir, that you are the man\nMust steed vs all, and me amongst the rest:\nAnd if you breake the ice, and do this seeke,\nAtchieue the elder: set the yonger free,\nFor our accesse, whose hap shall be to haue her,\nWil not so gracelesse be, to be ingrate\nHor. Sir you say wel, and wel you do conceiue,\nAnd since you do professe to be a sutor,\nYou must as we do, gratifie this Gentleman,\nTo whom we all rest generally beholding\nTranio. Sir, I shal not be slacke, in signe whereof,\nPlease ye we may contriue this afternoone,\nAnd quaffe carowses to our Mistresse health,\nAnd do as aduersaries do in law,\nStriue mightily, but eate and drinke as friends\nGru. Bion. Oh excellent motion: fellowes let's be gon\nHor. The motions good indeed, and be it so,\nPetruchio, I shal be your Been venuto.\nExeunt.\nEnter Katherina and Bianca.\nBian. Good sister wrong me not, nor wrong your self,\nTo make a bondmaide and a slaue of mee,\nThat I disdaine: but for these other goods,\nVnbinde my hands, Ile pull them off my selfe,\nYea all my raiment, to my petticoate,\nOr what you will command me, wil I do,\nSo well I know my dutie to my elders\nKate. Of all thy sutors heere I charge tel\nWhom thou lou'st best: see thou dissemble not\nBianca. Beleeue me sister, of all the men aliue,\nI neuer yet beheld that speciall face,\nWhich I could fancie, more then any other\nKate. Minion thou lyest: Is't not Hortensio?\nBian. If you affect him sister, heere I sweare\nIle pleade for you my selfe, but you shal haue him\nKate. Oh then belike you fancie riches more,\nYou wil haue Gremio to keepe you faire\nBian. Is it for him you do enuie me so?\nNay then you iest, and now I wel perceiue\nYou haue but iested with me all this while:\nI prethee sister Kate, vntie my hands\nKa. If that be iest, then all the rest was so.\nStrikes her\nEnter Baptista.\nBap. Why how now Dame, whence growes this insolence?\nBianca stand aside, poore gyrle she weepes:\nGo ply thy Needle, meddle not with her.\nFor shame thou Hilding of a diuellish spirit,\nWhy dost thou wrong her, that did nere wrong thee?\nWhen did she crosse thee with a bitter word?\nKate. Her silence flouts me, and Ile be reueng'd.\nFlies after Bianca\nBap. What in my sight? Bianca get thee in.\nEnter.\nKate. What will you not suffer me: Nay now I see\nShe is your treasure, she must haue a husband,\nI must dance bare-foot on her wedding day,\nAnd for your loue to her, leade Apes in hell.\nTalke not to me, I will go sit and weepe,\nTill I can finde occasion of reuenge\nBap. Was euer Gentleman thus greeu'd as I?\nBut who comes heere.\nEnter Gremio, Lucentio, in the habit of a meane man, Petruchio\nwith\nTranio, with his boy bearing a Lute and Bookes.\nGre. Good morrow neighbour Baptista\nBap. Good morrow neighbour Gremio: God saue\nyou Gentlemen\nPet. And you good sir: pray haue you not a daughter,\ncal'd Katerina, faire and vertuous\nBap. I haue a daughter sir, cal'd Katerina\nGre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly\nPet. You wrong me signior Gremio, giue me leaue.\nI am a Gentleman of Verona sir,\nThat hearing of her beautie, and her wit,\nHer affability and bashfull modestie:\nHer wondrous qualities, and milde behauiour,\nAm bold to shew my selfe a forward guest\nWithin your house, to make mine eye the witnesse\nOf that report, which I so oft haue heard,\nAnd for an entrance to my entertainment,\nI do present you with a man of mine\nCunning in Musicke, and the Mathematickes,\nTo instruct her fully in those sciences,\nWhereof I know she is not ignorant,\nAccept of him, or else you do me wrong.\nHis name is Litio, borne in Mantua\nBap. Y'are welcome sir, and he for your good sake.\nBut for my daughter Katerine, this I know,\nShe is not for your turne, the more my greefe\nPet. I see you do not meane to part with her,\nOr else you like not of my companie\nBap. Mistake me not, I speake but as I finde,\nWhence are you sir? What may I call your name\nPet. Petruchio is my name, Antonio's sonne,\nA man well knowne throughout all Italy\nBap. I know him well: you are welcome for his sake\nGre. Sauing your tale Petruchio, I pray let vs that are\npoore petitioners speake too? Bacare, you are meruaylous\nforward\nPet. Oh, Pardon me signior Gremio, I would faine be\ndoing\nGre. I doubt it not sir. But you will curse\nYour wooing neighbors: this is a guift\nVery gratefull, I am sure of it, to expresse\nThe like kindnesse my selfe, that haue beene\nMore kindely beholding to you then any:\nFreely giue vnto this yong Scholler, that hath\nBeene long studying at Rhemes, as cunning\nIn Greeke, Latine, and other Languages,\nAs the other in Musicke and Mathematickes:\nHis name is Cambio: pray accept his seruice\nBap. A thousand thankes signior Gremio:\nWelcome good Cambio. But gentle sir,\nMe thinkes you walke like a stranger,\nMay I be so bold, to know the cause of your comming?\nTra. Pardon me sir, the boldnesse is mine owne,\nThat being a stranger in this Cittie heere,\nDo make my selfe a sutor to your daughter,\nVnto Bianca, faire and vertuous:\nNor is your firme resolue vnknowne to me,\nIn the preferment of the eldest sister.\nThis liberty is all that I request,\nThat vpon knowledge of my Parentage,\nI may haue welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,\nAnd free accesse and fauour as the rest.\nAnd toward the education of your daughters:\nI heere bestow a simple instrument,\nAnd this small packet of Greeke and Latine bookes:\nIf you accept them, then their worth is great:\nBap. Lucentio is your name, of whence I pray\nTra. Of Pisa sir, sonne to Vincentio\nBap. A mightie man of Pisa by report,\nI know him well: you are verie welcome sir:\nTake you the Lute, and you the set of bookes,\nYou shall go see your Pupils presently.\nHolla, within.\nEnter a Seruant\nSirrah, leade these Gentlemen\nTo my daughters, and tell them both\nThese are their Tutors, bid them vse them well,\nWe will go walke a little in the Orchard,\nAnd then to dinner: you are passing welcome,\nAnd so I pray you all to thinke your selues\nPet. Signior Baptista, my businesse asketh haste,\nAnd euerie day I cannot come to woo,\nYou knew my father well, and in him me,\nLeft solie heire to all his Lands and goods,\nWhich I haue bettered rather then decreast,\nThen tell me, if I get your daughters loue,\nWhat dowrie shall I haue with her to wife\nBap. After my death, the one halfe of my Lands,\nAnd in possession twentie thousand Crownes\nPet. And for that dowrie, Ile assure her of\nHer widdow-hood, be it that she suruiue me\nIn all my Lands and Leases whatsoeuer,\nLet specialties be therefore drawne betweene vs,\nThat couenants may be kept on either hand\nBap. I, when the speciall thing is well obtain'd,\nThat is her loue: for that is all in all\nPet. Why that is nothing: for I tell you father,\nI am as peremptorie as she proud minded:\nAnd where two raging fires meete together,\nThey do consume the thing that feedes their furie.\nThough little fire growes great with little winde,\nYet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all:\nSo I to her, and so she yeelds to me,\nFor I am rough, and woo not like a babe\nBap. Well maist thou woo, and happy be thy speed:\nBut be thou arm'd for some vnhappie words\nPet. I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes,\nThat shakes not, though they blow perpetually.\nEnter Hortensio with his head broke.\nBap. How now my friend, why dost thou looke so\npale?\nHor. For feare I promise you, if I looke pale\nBap. What, will my daughter proue a good Musitian?\nHor. I thinke she'l sooner proue a souldier,\nIron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes\nBap. Why then thou canst not break her to the Lute?\nHor. Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me:\nI did but tell her she mistooke her frets,\nAnd bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,\nWhen (with a most impatient diuellish spirit)\nFrets call you these? (quoth she) Ile fume with them:\nAnd with that word she stroke me on the head,\nAnd through the instrument my pate made way,\nAnd there I stood amazed for a while,\nAs on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute,\nWhile she did call me Rascall, Fidler,\nAnd twangling Iacke, with twentie such vilde tearmes,\nAs had she studied to misvse me so\nPet. Now by the world, it is a lustie Wench,\nI loue her ten times more then ere I did,\nOh how I long to haue some chat with her\nBap. Wel go with me, and be not so discomfited.\nProceed in practise with my yonger daughter,\nShe's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes:\nSignior Petruchio, will you go with vs,\nOr shall I send my daughter Kate to you.\nExit. Manet Petruchio.\nPet. I pray you do. Ile attend her heere,\nAnd woo her with some spirit when she comes,\nSay that she raile, why then Ile tell her plaine,\nShe sings as sweetly as a Nightinghale:\nSay that she frowne, Ile say she lookes as cleere\nAs morning Roses newly washt with dew:\nSay she be mute, and will not speake a word,\nThen Ile commend her volubility,\nAnd say she vttereth piercing eloquence:\nIf she do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes,\nAs though she bid me stay by her a weeke:\nIf she denie to wed, Ile craue the day\nWhen I shall aske the banes, and when be married.\nBut heere she comes, and now Petruchio speake.\nEnter Katerina\nGood morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare\nKate. Well haue you heard, but something hard of\nhearing:\nThey call me Katerine, that do talke of me\nPet. You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate,\nAnd bony Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst:\nBut Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendome,\nKate of Kate-hall, my super-daintie Kate,\nFor dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate\nTake this of me, Kate of my consolation,\nHearing thy mildnesse prais'd in euery Towne,\nThy vertues spoke of, and thy beautie sounded,\nYet not so deepely as to thee belongs,\nMy selfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife\nKate. Mou'd, in good time, let him that mou'd you\nhether\nRemoue you hence: I knew you at the first\nYou were a mouable\nPet. Why, what's a mouable?\nKat. A ioyn'd stoole\nPet. Thou hast hit it: come sit on me\nKate. Asses are made to beare, and so are you\nPet. Women are made to beare, and so are you\nKate. No such Iade as you, if me you meane\nPet. Alas good Kate, I will not burthen thee,\nFor knowing thee to be but yong and light\nKate. Too light for such a swaine as you to catch,\nAnd yet as heauie as my waight should be\nPet. Shold be, should: buzze\nKate. Well tane, and like a buzzard\nPet. Oh slow-wing'd Turtle, shal a buzard take thee?\nKat. I for a Turtle, as he takes a buzard\nPet. Come, come you Waspe, y'faith you are too\nangrie\nKate. If I be waspish, best beware my sting\nPet. My remedy is then to plucke it out\nKate. I, if the foole could finde it where it lies\nPet. Who knowes not where a Waspe does weare\nhis sting? In his taile\nKate. In his tongue?\nPet. Whose tongue\nKate. Yours if you talke of tales, and so farewell\nPet. What with my tongue in your taile.\nNay, come againe, good Kate, I am a Gentleman,\nKate. That Ile trie.\nShe strikes him\nPet. I sweare Ile cuffe you, if you strike againe\nKate. So may you loose your armes,\nIf you strike me, you are no Gentleman,\nAnd if no Gentleman, why then no armes\nPet. A Herald Kate? Oh put me in thy bookes\nKate. What is your Crest, a Coxcombe?\nPet. A comblesse Cocke, so Kate will be my Hen\nKate. No Cocke of mine, you crow too like a crauen\nPet. Nay come Kate, come: you must not looke so\nsowre\nKate. It is my fashion when I see a Crab\nPet. Why heere's no crab, and therefore looke not\nsowre\nKate. There is, there is\nPet. Then shew it me\nKate. Had I a glasse, I would\nPet. What, you meane my face\nKate. Well aym'd of such a yong one\nPet. Now by S[aint]. George I am too yong for you\nKate. Yet you are wither'd\nPet. 'Tis with cares\nKate. I care not\nPet. Nay heare you Kate. Insooth you scape not so\nKate. I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go\nPet. No, not a whit, I finde you passing gentle:\n'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,\nAnd now I finde report a very liar:\nFor thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,\nBut slow in speech: yet sweet as spring-time flowers.\nThou canst not frowne, thou canst not looke a sconce,\nNor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,\nNor hast thou pleasure to be crosse in talke:\nBut thou with mildnesse entertain'st thy wooers,\nWith gentle conference, soft, and affable.\nWhy does the world report that Kate doth limpe?\nOh sland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twig\nIs straight, and slender, and as browne in hue\nAs hazle nuts, and sweeter then the kernels:\nOh let me see thee walke: thou dost not halt\nKate. Go foole, and whom thou keep'st command\nPet. Did euer Dian so become a Groue\nAs Kate this chamber with her princely gate:\nO be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,\nAnd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportfull\nKate. Where did you study all this goodly speech?\nPetr. It is extempore, from my mother wit\nKate. A witty mother, witlesse else her sonne\nPet. Am I not wise?\nKat. Yes, keepe you warme\nPet. Marry so I meane sweet Katherine in thy bed:\nAnd therefore setting all this chat aside,\nThus in plaine termes: your father hath consented\nThat you shall be my wife; your dowry greed on,\nAnd will you, nill you, I will marry you.\nNow Kate, I am a husband for your turne,\nFor by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,\nThy beauty that doth make me like thee well,\nThou must be married to no man but me,\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Trayno.\nFor I am he am borne to tame you Kate,\nAnd bring you from a wilde Kate to a Kate\nConformable as other houshold Kates:\nHeere comes your father, neuer make deniall,\nI must, and will haue Katherine to my wife\nBap. Now Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?\nPet. How but well sir? how but well?\nIt were impossible I should speed amisse\nBap. Why how now daughter Katherine, in your dumps?\nKat. Call you me daughter? now I promise you\nYou haue shewd a tender fatherly regard,\nTo wish me wed to one halfe Lunaticke,\nA mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Iacke,\nThat thinkes with oathes to face the matter out\nPet. Father, 'tis thus, your selfe and all the world\nThat talk'd of her, haue talk'd amisse of her:\nIf she be curst, it is for pollicie,\nFor shee's not froward, but modest as the Doue,\nShee is not hot, but temperate as the morne,\nFor patience shee will proue a second Grissell,\nAnd Romane Lucrece for her chastitie:\nAnd to conclude, we haue greed so well together,\nThat vpon sonday is the wedding day\nKate. Ile see thee hang'd on sonday first\nGre. Hark Petruchio, she saies shee'll see thee hang'd first\nTra. Is this your speeding? nay the[n] godnight our part\nPet. Be patient gentlemen, I choose her for my selfe,\nIf she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you?\n'Tis bargain'd twixt vs twaine being alone,\nThat she shall still be curst in company.\nI tell you 'tis incredible to beleeue\nHow much she loues me: oh the kindest Kate,\nShee hung about my necke, and kisse on kisse\nShee vi'd so fast, protesting oath on oath,\nThat in a twinke she won me to her loue.\nOh you are nouices, 'tis a world to see\nHow tame when men and women are alone,\nA meacocke wretch can make the curstest shrew:\nGiue me thy hand Kate, I will vnto Venice\nTo buy apparell 'gainst the wedding day;\nProuide the feast father, and bid the guests,\nI will be sure my Katherine shall be fine\nBap. I know not what to say, but giue me your ha[n]ds,\nGod send you ioy, Petruchio, 'tis a match\nGre. Tra. Amen say we, we will be witnesses\nPet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen adieu,\nI will to Venice, sonday comes apace,\nWe will haue rings, and things, and fine array,\nAnd kisse me Kate, we will be married a sonday.\nExit Petruchio and Katherine.\nGre. Was euer match clapt vp so sodainly?\nBap. Faith Gentlemen now I play a marchants part,\nAnd venture madly on a desperate Mart\nTra. Twas a commodity lay fretting by you,\n'Twill bring you gaine, or perish on the seas\nBap. The gaine I seeke, is quiet me the match\nGre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch:\nBut now Baptista, to your yonger daughter,\nNow is the day we long haue looked for,\nI am your neighbour, and was suter first\nTra. And I am one that loue Bianca more\nThen words can witnesse, or your thoughts can guesse\nGre. Yongling thou canst not loue so deare as I\nTra. Gray-beard thy loue doth freeze\nGre. But thine doth frie,\nSkipper stand backe, 'tis age that nourisheth\nTra. But youth in Ladies eyes that florisheth\nBap. Content you gentlemen, I wil co[m]pound this strife\n'Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both\nThat can assure my daughter greatest dower,\nShall haue my Biancas loue.\nSay signior Gremio, what can you assure her?\nGre. First, as you know, my house within the City\nIs richly furnished with plate and gold,\nBasons and ewers to laue her dainty hands:\nMy hangings all of tirian tapestry:\nIn Iuory cofers I haue stuft my crownes:\nIn Cypres chests my arras counterpoints,\nCostly apparell, tents, and Canopies,\nFine Linnen, Turky cushions bost with pearle,\nVallens of Venice gold, in needle worke:\nPewter and brasse, and all things that belongs\nTo house or house-keeping: then at my farme\nI haue a hundred milch-kine to the pale,\nSixe-score fat Oxen standing in my stalls,\nAnd all things answerable to this portion.\nMy selfe am strooke in yeeres I must confesse,\nAnd if I die to morrow this is hers,\nIf whil'st I liue she will be onely mine\nTra. That only came well in: sir, list to me,\nI am my fathers heyre and onely sonne,\nIf I may haue your daughter to my wife,\nIle leaue her houses three or foure as good\nWithin rich Pisa walls, as any one\nOld Signior Gremio has in Padua,\nBesides, two thousand Duckets by the yeere\nOf fruitfull land, all which shall be her ioynter.\nWhat, haue I pincht you Signior Gremio?\nGre. Two thousand Duckets by the yeere of land,\nMy Land amounts not to so much in all:\nThat she shall haue, besides an Argosie\nThat now is lying in Marcellus roade:\nWhat, haue I choakt you with an Argosie?\nTra. Gremio, 'tis knowne my father hath no lesse\nThen three great Argosies, besides two Galliasses\nAnd twelue tite Gallies, these I will assure her,\nAnd twice as much what ere thou offrest next\nGre. Nay, I haue offred all, I haue no more,\nAnd she can haue no more then all I haue,\nIf you like me, she shall haue me and mine\nTra. Why then the maid is mine from all the world\nBy your firme promise, Gremio is out-vied\nBap. I must confesse your offer is the best,\nAnd let your father make her the assurance,\nShee is your owne, else you must pardon me:\nIf you should die before him, where's her dower?\nTra. That's but a cauill: he is olde, I young\nGre. And may not yong men die as well as old?\nBap. Well gentlemen, I am thus resolu'd,\nOn sonday next, you know\nMy daughter Katherine is to be married:\nNow on the sonday following, shall Bianca\nBe Bride to you, if you make this assurance:\nIf not, to Signior Gremio:\nAnd so I take my leaue, and thanke you both.\nEnter.\nGre. Adieu good neighbour: now I feare thee not:\nSirra, yong gamester, your father were a foole\nTo giue thee all, and in his wayning age\nSet foot vnder thy table: tut, a toy,\nAn olde Italian foxe is not so kinde my boy.\nEnter.\nTra. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide,\nYet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten:\n'Tis in my head to doe my master good:\nI see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio\nMust get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio,\nAnd that's a wonder: fathers commonly\nDoe get their children: but in this case of woing,\nA childe shall get a sire, if I faile not of my cunning.\nEnter.\nActus Tertia.\nEnter Lucentio, Hortentio, and Bianca.\nLuc. Fidler forbeare, you grow too forward Sir,\nHaue you so soone forgot the entertainment\nHer sister Katherine welcom'd you withall\nHort. But wrangling pedant, this is\nThe patronesse of heauenly harmony:\nThen giue me leaue to haue prerogatiue,\nAnd when in Musicke we haue spent an houre,\nYour Lecture shall haue leisure for as much\nLuc. Preposterous Asse that neuer read so farre,\nTo know the cause why musicke was ordain'd:\nWas it not to refresh the minde of man\nAfter his studies, or his vsuall paine?\nThen giue me leaue to read Philosophy,\nAnd while I pause, serue in your harmony\nHort. Sirra, I will not beare these braues of thine\nBianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong,\nTo striue for that which resteth in my choice:\nI am no breeching scholler in the schooles,\nIle not be tied to howres, nor pointed times,\nBut learne my Lessons as I please my selfe,\nAnd to cut off all strife: heere sit we downe,\nTake you your instrument, play you the whiles,\nHis Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd\nHort. You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune?\nLuc. That will be neuer, tune your instrument\nBian. Where left we last?\nLuc. Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic est sigeria\ntellus, hic steterat Priami regia Celsa senis\nBian. Conster them\nLuc. Hic Ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio,\nhic est, sonne vnto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeria tellus,\ndisguised thus to get your loue, hic steterat, and that\nLucentio that comes a wooing, priami, is my man Tranio,\nregia, bearing my port, celsa senis that we might beguile\nthe old Pantalowne\nHort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune\nBian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres\nLuc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe\nBian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat simois,\nI know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not,\nhic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia presume\nnot, Celsa senis, despaire not\nHort. Madam, tis now in tune\nLuc. All but the base\nHort. The base is right, 'tis the base knaue that iars\nLuc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is,\nNow for my life the knaue doth court my loue,\nPedascule, Ile watch you better yet:\nIn time I may beleeue, yet I mistrust\nBian. Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides\nWas Aiax cald so from his grandfather\nHort. I must beleeue my master, else I promise you,\nI should be arguing still vpon that doubt,\nBut let it rest, now Litio to you:\nGood master take it not vnkindly pray\nThat I haue beene thus pleasant with you both\nHort. You may go walk, and giue me leaue a while,\nMy Lessons make no musicke in three parts\nLuc. Are you so formall sir, well I must waite\nAnd watch withall, for but I be deceiu'd,\nOur fine Musitian groweth amorous\nHor. Madam, before you touch the instrument,\nTo learne the order of my fingering,\nI must begin with rudiments of Art,\nTo teach you gamoth in a briefer sort,\nMore pleasant, pithy, and effectuall,\nThen hath beene taught by any of my trade,\nAnd there it is in writing fairely drawne\nBian. Why, I am past my gamouth long agoe\nHor. Yet read the gamouth of Hortentio\nBian. Gamouth I am, the ground of all accord:\nAre, to plead Hortensio's passion:\nBeeme, Bianca take him for thy Lord\nCfavt, that loues with all affection:\nD sol re, one Cliffe, two notes haue I,\nEla mi, show pitty or I die,\nCall you this gamouth? tut I like it not,\nOld fashions please me best, I am not so nice\nTo charge true rules for old inuentions.\nEnter a Messenger.\nNicke. Mistresse, your father prayes you leaue your books,\nAnd helpe to dresse your sisters chamber vp,\nYou know to morrow is the wedding day\nBian. Farewell sweet masters both, I must be gone\nLuc. Faith Mistresse then I haue no cause to stay\nHor. But I haue cause to pry into this pedant,\nMethinkes he lookes as though he were in loue:\nYet if thy thoughts Bianca be so humble\nTo cast thy wandring eyes on euery stale:\nSeize thee that List, if once I finde thee ranging,\nHortensio will be quit with thee by changing.\nEnter.\nEnter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katherine, Bianca, and others,\nattendants.\nBap. Signior Lucentio, this is the pointed day\nThat Katherine and Petruchio should be married,\nAnd yet we heare not of our sonne in Law:\nWhat will be said, what mockery will it be?\nTo want the Bride-groome when the Priest attends\nTo speake the ceremoniall rites of marriage?\nWhat saies Lucentio to this shame of ours?\nKate. No shame but mine, I must forsooth be forst\nTo giue my hand oppos'd against my heart\nVnto a mad-braine rudesby, full of spleene,\nWho woo'd in haste, and meanes to wed at leysure:\nI told you I, he was a franticke foole,\nHiding his bitter iests in blunt behauiour,\nAnd to be noted for a merry man;\nHee'll wooe a thousand, point the day of marriage,\nMake friends, inuite, and proclaime the banes,\nYet neuer meanes to wed where he hath woo'd:\nNow must the world point at poore Katherine,\nAnd say, loe, there is mad Petruchio's wife\nIf it would please him come and marry her\nTra. Patience good Katherine and Baptista too,\nVpon my life Petruchio meanes but well,\nWhat euer fortune stayes him from his word,\nThough he be blunt, I know him passing wise,\nThough he be merry, yet withall he's honest\nKate. Would Katherine had neuer seen him though.\nExit weeping.\nBap. Goe girle, I cannot blame thee now to weepe,\nFor such an iniurie would vexe a very saint,\nMuch more a shrew of impatient humour.\nEnter Biondello.\nBion. Master, master, newes, and such newes as you\nneuer heard of,\nBap. Is it new and olde too? how may that be?\nBion. Why, is it not newes to heard of Petruchio's comming?\nBap. Is he come?\nBion. Why no sir\nBap. What then?\nBion. He is comming\nBap. When will he be heere?\nBion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there\nTra. But say, what to thine olde newes?\nBion. Why Petruchio is comming, in a new hat and\nan old ierkin, a paire of old breeches thrice turn'd; a\npaire of bootes that haue beene candle-cases, one buckled,\nanother lac'd: an olde rusty sword tane out of the\nTowne Armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelesse: with\ntwo broken points: his horse hip'd with an olde mothy\nsaddle, and stirrops of no kindred: besides possest\nwith the glanders, and like to mose in the chine, troubled\nwith the Lampasse, infected with the fashions, full\nof Windegalls, sped with Spauins, raied with the Yellowes,\npast cure of the Fiues, starke spoyl'd with the\nStaggers, begnawne with the Bots, Waid in the backe,\nand shoulder-shotten, neere leg'd before, and with a\nhalfe-chekt Bitte, & a headstall of sheepes leather, which\nbeing restrain'd to keepe him from stumbling, hath been\noften burst, and now repaired with knots: one girth sixe\ntimes peec'd, and a womans Crupper of velure, which\nhath two letters for her name, fairely set down in studs,\nand heere and there peec'd with packthred\nBap. Who comes with him?\nBion. Oh sir, his Lackey, for all the world Caparison'd\nlike the horse: with a linnen stock on one leg, and\na kersey boot-hose on the other, gartred with a red and\nblew list; an old hat, & the humor of forty fancies prickt\nin't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparell,\n& not like a Christian foot-boy, or a gentlemans Lacky\nTra. 'Tis some od humor pricks him to this fashion,\nYet oftentimes he goes but meane apparel'd\nBap. I am glad he's come, howsoere he comes\nBion. Why sir, he comes not\nBap. Didst thou not say hee comes?\nBion. Who, that Petruchio came?\nBap. I, that Petruchio came\nBion. No sir, I say his horse comes with him on his backe\nBap. Why that's all one\nBion. Nay by S[aint]. Iamy, I hold you a penny, a horse and\na man is more then one, and yet not many.\nEnter Petruchio and Grumio.\nPet. Come, where be these gallants? who's at home?\nBap. You are welcome sir\nPetr. And yet I come not well\nBap. And yet you halt not\nTra. Not so well apparell'd as I wish you were\nPetr. Were it better I should rush in thus:\nBut where is Kate? where is my louely Bride?\nHow does my father? gentles methinkes you frowne,\nAnd wherefore gaze this goodly company,\nAs if they saw some wondrous monument,\nSome Commet, or vnusuall prodigie?\nBap. Why sir, you know this is your wedding day:\nFirst were we sad, fearing you would not come,\nNow sadder that you come so vnprouided:\nFie, doff this habit, shame to your estate,\nAn eye-sore to our solemne festiuall\nTra. And tell vs what occasion of import\nHath all so long detain'd you from your wife,\nAnd sent you hither so vnlike your selfe?\nPetr. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to heare,\nSufficeth I am come to keepe my word,\nThough in some part inforced to digresse,\nWhich at more leysure I will so excuse,\nAs you shall well be satisfied with all.\nBut where is Kate? I stay too long from her,\nThe morning weares, 'tis time we were at Church\nTra. See not your Bride in these vnreuerent robes,\nGoe to my chamber, put on clothes of mine\nPet. Not I, beleeue me, thus Ile visit her\nBap. But thus I trust you will not marry her\nPet. Good sooth euen thus: therefore ha done with words,\nTo me she's married, not vnto my cloathes:\nCould I repaire what she will weare in me,\nAs I can change these poore accoutrements,\n'Twere well for Kate, and better for my selfe.\nBut what a foole am I to chat with you,\nWhen I should bid good morrow to my Bride?\nAnd seale the title with a louely kisse.\nEnter.\nTra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire,\nWe will perswade him be it possible,\nTo put on better ere he goe to Church\nBap. Ile after him, and see the euent of this.\nEnter.\nTra. But sir, Loue concerneth vs to adde\nHer fathers liking, which to bring to passe\nAs before imparted to your worship,\nI am to get a man what ere he be,\nIt skills not much, weele fit him to our turne,\nAnd he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,\nAnd make assurance heere in Padua\nOf greater summes then I haue promised,\nSo shall you quietly enioy your hope,\nAnd marry sweet Bianca with consent\nLuc. Were it not that my fellow schoolemaster\nDoth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly:\n'Twere good me-thinkes to steale our marriage,\nWhich once perform'd, let all the world say no,\nIle keepe mine owne despite of all the world\nTra. That by degrees we meane to looke into,\nAnd watch our vantage in this businesse,\nWee'll ouer-reach the grey-beard Gremio,\nThe narrow prying father Minola,\nThe quaint Musician, amorous Litio,\nAll for my Masters sake Lucentio.\nEnter Gremio.\nSignior Gremio, came you from the Church?\nGre. As willingly as ere I came from schoole\nTra. And is the Bride & Bridegroom coming home?\nGre. A bridegroome say you? 'tis a groome indeed,\nA grumlling groome, and that the girle shall finde\nTra. Curster then she, why 'tis impossible\nGre. Why hee's a deuill, a deuill, a very fiend\nTra. Why she's a deuill, a deuill, the deuils damme\nGre. Tut, she's a Lambe, a Doue, a foole to him:\nIle tell you sir Lucentio; when the Priest\nShould aske if Katherine should be his wife,\nI, by goggs woones quoth he, and swore so loud,\nThat all amaz'd the Priest let fall the booke,\nAnd as he stoop'd againe to take it vp,\nThis mad-brain'd bridegroome tooke him such a cuffe,\nThat downe fell Priest and booke, and booke and Priest,\nNow take them vp quoth he, if any list\nTra. What said the wench when he rose againe?\nGre. Trembled and shooke: for why, he stamp'd and\nswore, as if the Vicar meant to cozen him: but after many\nceremonies done, hee calls for wine, a health quoth\nhe, as if he had beene aboord carowsing to his Mates after\na storme, quaft off the Muscadell, and threw the sops\nall in the Sextons face: hauing no other reason, but that\nhis beard grew thinne and hungerly, and seem'd to aske\nhim sops as hee was drinking: This done, hee tooke the\nBride about the necke, and kist her lips with such a clamorous\nsmacke, that at the parting all the Church did\neccho: and I seeing this, came thence for very shame, and\nafter mee I know the rout is comming, such a mad marryage\nneuer was before: harke, harke, I heare the minstrels\nplay.\nMusicke playes.\nEnter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista.\nPetr. Gentlemen & friends, I thank you for your pains,\nI know you thinke to dine with me to day,\nAnd haue prepar'd great store of wedding cheere,\nBut so it is, my haste doth call me hence,\nAnd therefore heere I meane to take my leaue\nBap. Is't possible you will away to night?\nPet. I must away to day before night come,\nMake it no wonder: if you knew my businesse,\nYou would intreat me rather goe then stay:\nAnd honest company, I thanke you all,\nThat haue beheld me giue away my selfe\nTo this most patient, sweet, and vertuous wife,\nDine with my father, drinke a health to me,\nFor I must hence, and farewell to you all\nTra. Let vs intreat you stay till after dinner\nPet. It may not be\nGra. Let me intreat you\nPet. It cannot be\nKat. Let me intreat you\nPet. I am content\nKat. Are you content to stay?\nPet. I am content you shall entreat me stay,\nBut yet not stay, entreat me how you can\nKat. Now if you loue me stay\nPet. Grumio, my horse\nGru. I sir, they be ready, the Oates haue eaten the\nhorses\nKate. Nay then,\nDoe what thou canst, I will not goe to day,\nNo, nor to morrow, not till I please my selfe,\nThe dore is open sir, there lies your way,\nYou may be iogging whiles your bootes are greene:\nFor me, Ile not be gone till I please my selfe,\n'Tis like you'll proue a iolly surly groome,\nThat take it on you at the first so roundly\nPet. O Kate content thee, prethee be not angry\nKat. I will be angry, what hast thou to doe?\nFather, be quiet, he shall stay my leisure\nGre. I marry sir, now it begins to worke\nKat. Gentlemen, forward to the bridall dinner,\nI see a woman may be made a foole\nIf she had not a spirit to resist\nPet. They shall goe forward Kate at thy command,\nObey the Bride you that attend on her.\nGoe to the feast, reuell and domineere,\nCarowse full measure to her maiden-head,\nBe madde and merry, or goe hang your selues:\nBut for my bonny Kate, she must with me:\nNay, looke not big, nor stampe, not stare, nor fret,\nI will be master of what is mine owne,\nShee is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,\nMy houshold-stuffe, my field, my barne,\nMy horse, my oxe, my asse, my any thing,\nAnd heere she stands, touch her who euer dare,\nIle bring mine action on the proudest he\nThat stops my way in Padua: Grumio\nDraw forth thy weapon, we are beset with theeues,\nRescue thy Mistresse if thou be a man:\nFeare not sweet wench, they shall not touch thee Kate,\nIle buckler thee against a Million.\nExeunt. P. Ka.\nBap. Nay, let them goe, a couple of quiet ones\nGre. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing\nTra. Of all mad matches neuer was the like\nLuc. Mistresse, what's your opinion of your sister?\nBian. That being mad her selfe, she's madly mated\nGre. I warrant him Petruchio is Kated\nBap. Neighbours and friends, though Bride & Bridegroom wants\nFor to supply the places at the table,\nYou know there wants no iunkets at the feast:\nLucentio, you shall supply the Bridegroomes place,\nAnd let Bianca take her sisters roome\nTra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?\nBap. She shall Lucentio: come gentlemen lets goe.\nEnter Grumio.\nExeunt.\nGru. Fie, fie on all tired Iades, on all mad Masters, &\nall foule waies: was euer man so beaten? was euer man\nso raide? was euer man so weary? I am sent before to\nmake a fire, and they are comming after to warme them:\nnow were not I a little pot, & soone hot; my very lippes\nmight freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roofe of my\nmouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire\nto thaw me, but I with blowing the fire shall warme my\nselfe: for considering the weather, a taller man then I\nwill take cold: Holla, hoa Curtis.\nEnter Curtis.\nCurt. Who is that calls so coldly?\nGru. A piece of Ice: if thou doubt it, thou maist\nslide from my shoulder to my heele, with no\ngreater a run but my head and my necke. A fire good\nCurtis\nCur. Is my master and his wife comming Grumio?\nGru. Oh I Curtis I, and therefore fire, fire, cast on no\nwater\nCur. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported\nGru. She was good Curtis before this frost: but thou\nknow'st winter tames man, woman, and beast: for it\nhath tam'd my old master, and my new mistris, and my\nselfe fellow Curtis\nGru. Away you three inch foole, I am no beast\nGru. Am I but three inches? Why thy horne is a foot\nand so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire,\nor shall I complaine on thee to our mistris, whose hand\n(she being now at hand) thou shalt soone feele, to thy\ncold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office\nCur. I prethee good Grumio, tell me, how goes the\nworld?\nGru. A cold world Curtis in euery office but thine, &\ntherefore fire: do thy duty, and haue thy dutie, for my\nMaster and mistris are almost frozen to death\nCur. There's fire readie, and therefore good Grumio\nthe newes\nGru. Why Iacke boy, ho boy, and as much newes as\nwilt thou\nCur. Come, you are so full of conicatching\nGru. Why therefore fire, for I haue caught extreme\ncold. Where's the Cooke, is supper ready, the house\ntrim'd, rushes strew'd, cobwebs swept, the seruingmen\nin their new fustian, the white stockings, and euery officer\nhis wedding garment on? Be the Iackes faire within,\nthe Gils faire without, the Carpets laide, and euerie\nthing in order?\nCur. All readie: and therefore I pray thee newes\nGru. First know my horse is tired, my master & mistris\nfalne out\nCur. How?\nGru. Out of their saddles into the durt, and thereby\nhangs a tale\nCur. Let's ha't good Grumio\nGru. Lend thine eare\nCur. Heere\nGru. There\nCur. This 'tis to feele a tale, not to heare a tale\nGru. And therefore 'tis cal'd a sensible tale: and this\nCuffe was but to knocke at your eare, and beseech listning:\nnow I begin, Inprimis wee came downe a fowle\nhill, my Master riding behinde my Mistris\nCur. Both of one horse?\nGru. What's that to thee?\nCur. Why a horse\nGru. Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crost me,\nthou shouldst haue heard how her horse fel, and she vnder\nher horse: thou shouldst haue heard in how miery a\nplace, how she was bemoil'd, how hee left her with the\nhorse vpon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbled,\nhow she waded through the durt to plucke him off\nme: how he swore, how she prai'd, that neuer prai'd before:\nhow I cried, how the horses ranne away, how her\nbridle was burst: how I lost my crupper, with manie\nthings of worthy memorie, which now shall die in obliuion,\nand thou returne vnexperienc'd to thy graue\nCur. By this reckning he is more shrew than she\nGru. I, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall\nfinde when he comes home. But what talke I of this?\nCall forth Nathaniel, Ioseph, Nicholas, Phillip, Walter, Sugersop\nand the rest: let their heads bee slickely comb'd,\ntheir blew coats brush'd, and their garters of an indifferent\nknit, let them curtsie with their left legges, and not\npresume to touch a haire of my Masters horse-taile, till\nthey kisse their hands. Are they all readie?\nCur. They are\nGru. Call them forth\nCur. Do you heare ho? you must meete my maister\nto countenance my mistris\nGru. Why she hath a face of her owne\nCur. Who knowes not that?\nGru. Thou it seemes, that cals for company to countenance\nher\nCur. I call them forth to credit her.\nEnter foure or fiue seruingmen.\nGru. Why she comes to borrow nothing of them\nNat. Welcome home Grumio\nPhil. How now Grumio\nIos. What Grumio\nNick. Fellow Grumio\nNat. How now old lad\nGru. Welcome you: how now you: what you: fellow\nyou: and thus much for greeting. Now my spruce\ncompanions, is all readie, and all things neate?\nNat. All things is readie, how neere is our master?\nGre. E'ne at hand, alighted by this: and therefore be\nnot- Cockes passion, silence, I heare my master.\nEnter Petruchio and Kate.\nPet. Where be these knaues? What no man at doore\nTo hold my stirrop, nor to take my horse?\nWhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Phillip\nAll ser. Heere, heere sir, heere sir\nPet. Heere sir, heere sir, heere sir, heere sir.\nYou logger-headed and vnpollisht groomes:\nWhat? no attendance? no regard? no dutie?\nWhere is the foolish knaue I sent before?\nGru. Heere sir, as foolish as I was before\nPet. You pezant, swain, you horson malt-horse drudg\nDid I not bid thee meete me in the Parke,\nAnd bring along these rascal knaues with thee?\nGrumio. Nathaniels coate sir was not fully made,\nAnd Gabrels pumpes were all vnpinkt i'th heele:\nThere was no Linke to colour Peters hat,\nAnd Walters dagger was not come from sheathing:\nThere were none fine, but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory,\nThe rest were ragged, old, and beggerly,\nYet as they are, heere are they come to meete you\nPet. Go rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.\nEx. Ser.\nWhere is the life that late I led?\nWhere are those? Sit downe Kate,\nAnd welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud.\nEnter seruants with supper.\nWhy when I say? Nay good sweete Kate be merrie.\nOff with my boots, you rogues: you villaines, when?\nIt was the Friar of Orders gray,\nAs he forth walked on his way.\nOut you rogue, you plucke my foote awrie,\nTake that, and mend the plucking of the other.\nBe merrie Kate: Some water heere: what hoa.\nEnter one with water.\nWhere's my Spaniel Troilus? Sirra, get you hence,\nAnd bid my cozen Ferdinand come hither:\nOne Kate that you must kisse, and be acquainted with.\nWhere are my Slippers? Shall I haue some water?\nCome Kate and wash, & welcome heartily:\nYou horson villaine, will you let it fall?\nKate. Patience I pray you, 'twas a fault vnwilling\nPet. A horson beetle-headed flap-ear'd knaue:\nCome Kate sit downe, I know you haue a stomacke,\nWill you giue thankes, sweete Kate, or else shall I?\nWhat's this, Mutton?\n1.Ser. I\nPet. Who brought it?\nPeter. I\nPet. 'Tis burnt, and so is all the meate:\nWhat dogges are these? Where is the rascall Cooke?\nHow durst you villaines bring it from the dresser\nAnd serue it thus to me that loue it not?\nThere, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all:\nYou heedlesse iolt-heads, and vnmanner'd slaues.\nWhat, do you grumble? Ile be with you straight\nKate. I pray you husband be not so disquiet,\nThe meate was well, if you were so contented\nPet. I tell thee Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,\nAnd I expressely am forbid to touch it:\nFor it engenders choller, planteth anger,\nAnd better 'twere that both of vs did fast,\nSince of our selues, our selues are chollericke,\nThen feede it with such ouer-rosted flesh:\nBe patient, to morrow't shalbe mended,\nAnd for this night we'l fast for companie.\nCome I wil bring thee to thy Bridall chamber.\nExeunt.\nEnter Seruants seuerally.\nNath. Peter didst euer see the like\nPeter. He kils her in her owne humor\nGrumio. Where is he?\nEnter Curtis a Seruant.\nCur. In her chamber, making a sermon of continencie\nto her, and railes, and sweares, and rates, that shee\n(poore soule) knowes not which way to stand, to looke,\nto speake, and sits as one new risen from a dreame. Away,\naway, for he is comming hither.\nEnter Petruchio.\nPet. Thus haue I politickely begun my reigne,\nAnd 'tis my hope to end successefully:\nMy Faulcon now is sharpe, and passing emptie,\nAnd til she stoope, she must not be full gorg'd,\nFor then she neuer lookes vpon her lure.\nAnother way I haue to man my Haggard,\nTo make her come, and know her Keepers call:\nThat is, to watch her, as we watch these Kites,\nThat baite, and beate, and will not be obedient:\nShe eate no meate to day, nor none shall eate.\nLast night she slept not, nor to night she shall not:\nAs with the meate, some vndeserued fault\nIle finde about the making of the bed,\nAnd heere Ile fling the pillow, there the boulster,\nThis way the Couerlet, another way the sheets:\nI, and amid this hurlie I intend,\nThat all is done in reuerend care of her,\nAnd in conclusion, she shal watch all night,\nAnd if she chance to nod, Ile raile and brawle,\nAnd with the clamor keepe her stil awake:\nThis is a way to kil a Wife with kindnesse,\nAnd thus Ile curbe her mad and headstrong humor:\nHe that knowes better how to tame a shrew,\nNow let him speake, 'tis charity to shew.\nExit\nEnter Tranio and Hortensio.\nTra. Is't possible friend Lisio, that mistris Bianca\nDoth fancie any other but Lucentio,\nI tel you sir, she beares me faire in hand\nLuc. Sir, to satisfie you in what I haue said,\nStand by, and marke the manner of his teaching.\nEnter Bianca.\nHor. Now Mistris, profit you in what you reade?\nBian. What Master reade you first, resolue me that?\nHor. I reade, that I professe the Art to loue\nBian. And may you proue sir Master of your Art\nLuc. While you sweet deere proue Mistresse of my\nheart\nHor. Quicke proceeders marry, now tel me I pray,\nyou that durst sweare that your Mistris Bianca\nLou'd me in the World so wel as Lucentio\nTra. Oh despightful Loue, vnconstant womankind,\nI tel thee Lisio this is wonderfull\nHor. Mistake no more, I am not Lisio,\nNor a Musitian as I seeme to bee,\nBut one that scorne to liue in this disguise,\nFor such a one as leaues a Gentleman,\nAnd makes a God of such a Cullion;\nKnow sir, that I am cal'd Hortensio\nTra. Signior Hortensio, I haue often heard\nOf your entire affection to Bianca,\nAnd since mine eyes are witnesse of her lightnesse,\nI wil with you, if you be so contented,\nForsweare Bianca, and her loue for euer\nHor. See how they kisse and court: Signior Lucentio,\nHeere is my hand, and heere I firmly vow\nNeuer to woo her more, but do forsweare her\nAs one vnworthie all the former fauours\nThat I haue fondly flatter'd them withall\nTra. And heere I take the like vnfained oath,\nNeuer to marrie with her, though she would intreate,\nFie on her, see how beastly she doth court him\nHor. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn\nFor me, that I may surely keepe mine oath.\nI wil be married to a wealthy Widdow,\nEre three dayes passe, which hath as long lou'd me,\nAs I haue lou'd this proud disdainful Haggard,\nAnd so farewel signior Lucentio,\nKindnesse in women, not their beauteous lookes\nShal win my loue, and so I take my leaue,\nIn resolution, as I swore before\nTra. Mistris Bianca, blesse you with such grace,\nAs longeth to a Louers blessed case:\nNay, I haue tane you napping gentle Loue,\nAnd haue forsworne you with Hortensio\nBian. Tranio you iest, but haue you both forsworne\nmee?\nTra. Mistris we haue\nLuc. Then we are rid of Lisio\nTra. I'faith hee'l haue a lustie Widdow now,\nThat shalbe woo'd, and wedded in a day\nBian. God giue him ioy\nTra. I, and hee'l tame her\nBianca. He sayes so Tranio\nTra. Faith he is gone vnto the taming schoole\nBian. The taming schoole: what is there such a place?\nTra. I mistris, and Petruchio is the master,\nThat teacheth trickes eleuen and twentie long,\nTo tame a shrew, and charme her chattering tongue.\nEnter Biondello.\nBion. Oh Master, master I haue watcht so long,\nThat I am dogge-wearie, but at last I spied\nAn ancient Angel comming downe the hill,\nWil serue the turne\nTra. What is he Biondello?\nBio. Master, a Marcantant, or a pedant,\nI know not what, but formall in apparrell,\nIn gate and countenance surely like a Father\nLuc. And what of him Tranio?\nTra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale,\nIle make him glad to seeme Vincentio,\nAnd giue assurance to Baptista Minola.\nAs if he were the right Vincentio\nPar. Take me your loue, and then let me alone.\nEnter a Pedant.\nPed. God saue you sir\nTra. And you sir, you are welcome,\nTrauaile you farre on, or are you at the farthest?\nPed. Sir at the farthest for a weeke or two,\nBut then vp farther, and as farre as Rome,\nAnd so to Tripolie, if God lend me life\nTra. What Countreyman I pray?\nPed. Of Mantua\nTra. Of Mantua Sir, marrie God forbid,\nAnd come to Padua carelesse of your life\nPed. My life sir? how I pray? for that goes hard\nTra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua\nTo come to Padua, know you not the cause?\nYour ships are staid at Venice, and the Duke\nFor priuate quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,\nHath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly:\n'Tis meruaile, but that you are but newly come,\nYou might haue heard it else proclaim'd about\nPed. Alas sir, it is worse for me then so,\nFor I haue bils for monie by exchange\nFrom Florence, and must heere deliuer them\nTra. Wel sir, to do you courtesie,\nThis wil I do, and this I wil aduise you.\nFirst tell me, haue you euer beene at Pisa?\nPed. I sir, in Pisa haue I often bin,\nPisa renowned for graue Citizens\nTra. Among them know you one Vincentio?\nPed. I know him not, but I haue heard of him:\nA Merchant of incomparable wealth\nTra. He is my father sir, and sooth to say,\nIn count'nance somewhat doth resemble you\nBion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, & all one\nTra. To saue your life in this extremitie,\nThis fauor wil I do you for his sake,\nAnd thinke it not the worst of all your fortunes,\nThat you are like to Sir Vincentio.\nHis name and credite shal you vndertake,\nAnd in my house you shal be friendly lodg'd,\nLooke that you take vpon you as you should,\nYou vnderstand me sir: so shal you stay\nTil you haue done your businesse in the Citie:\nIf this be court'sie sir, accept of it\nPed. Oh sir I do, and wil repute you euer\nThe patron of my life and libertie\nTra. Then go with me, to make the matter good,\nThis by the way I let you vnderstand,\nMy father is heere look'd for euerie day,\nTo passe assurance of a dowre in marriage\n'Twixt me, and one Baptistas daughter heere:\nIn all these circumstances Ile instruct you,\nGo with me to cloath you as becomes you.\nExeunt.\nActus Quartus. Scena Prima.\nEnter Katherina and Grumio.\nGru. No, no forsooth I dare not for my life\nKa. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.\nWhat, did he marrie me to famish me?\nBeggers that come vnto my fathers doore,\nVpon intreatie haue a present almes,\nIf not, elsewhere they meete with charitie:\nBut I, who neuer knew how to intreat,\nNor neuer needed that I should intreate,\nAm staru'd for meate, giddie for lacke of sleepe:\nWith oathes kept waking, and with brawling fed,\nAnd that which spights me more then all these wants,\nHe does it vnder name of perfect loue:\nAs who should say, if I should sleepe or eate\n'Twere deadly sicknesse, or else present death.\nI prethee go, and get me some repast,\nI care not what, so it be holsome foode\nGru. What say you to a Neats foote?\nKate. 'Tis passing good, I prethee let me haue it\nGru. I feare it is too chollericke a meate.\nHow say you to a fat Tripe finely broyl'd?\nKate. I like it well, good Grumio fetch it me\nGru. I cannot tell, I feare 'tis chollericke.\nWhat say you to a peece of Beefe and Mustard?\nKate. A dish that I do loue to feede vpon\nGru. I, but the Mustard is too hot a little\nKate. Why then the Beefe, and let the Mustard rest\nGru. Nay then I wil not, you shal haue the Mustard\nOr else you get no beefe of Grumio\nKate. Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt\nGru. Why then the Mustard without the beefe\nKate. Go get thee gone, thou false deluding slaue,\nBeats him.\nThat feed'st me with the verie name of meate.\nSorrow on thee, and all the packe of you\nThat triumph thus vpon my misery:\nGo get thee gone, I say.\nEnter Petruchio, and Hortensio with meate\nPetr. How fares my Kate, what sweeting all amort?\nHor. Mistris, what cheere?\nKate. Faith as cold as can be\nPet. Plucke vp thy spirits, looke cheerfully vpon me.\nHeere Loue, thou seest how diligent I am,\nTo dresse thy meate my selfe, and bring it thee.\nI am sure sweet Kate, this kindnesse merites thankes.\nWhat, not a word? Nay then, thou lou'st it not:\nAnd all my paines is sorted to no proofe.\nHeere take away this dish\nKate. I pray you let it stand\nPet. The poorest seruice is repaide with thankes,\nAnd so shall mine before you touch the meate\nKate. I thanke you sir\nHor. Signior Petruchio, fie you are too blame:\nCome Mistris Kate, Ile beare you companie\nPetr. Eate it vp all Hortensio, if thou louest mee:\nMuch good do it vnto thy gentle heart:\nKate eate apace; and now my honie Loue,\nWill we returne vnto thy Fathers house,\nAnd reuell it as brauely as the best,\nWith silken coats and caps, and golden Rings,\nWith Ruffes and Cuffes, and Fardingales, and things:\nWith Scarfes, and Fannes, & double change of brau'ry,\nWith Amber Bracelets, Beades, and all this knau'ry.\nWhat hast thou din'd? The Tailor staies thy leasure,\nTo decke thy bodie with his ruffling treasure.\nEnter Tailor.\nCome Tailor, let vs see these ornaments.\nEnter Haberdasher.\nLay forth the gowne. What newes with you sir?\nFel. Heere is the cap your Worship did bespeake\nPet. Why this was moulded on a porrenger,\nA Veluet dish: Fie, fie, 'tis lewd and filthy,\nWhy 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,\nA knacke, a toy, a tricke, a babies cap:\nAway with it, come let me haue a bigger\nKate. Ile haue no bigger, this doth fit the time,\nAnd Gentlewomen weare such caps as these\nPet. When you are gentle, you shall haue one too,\nAnd not till then\nHor. That will not be in hast\nKate. Why sir I trust I may haue leaue to speake,\nAnd speake I will. I am no childe, no babe,\nYour betters haue indur'd me say my minde,\nAnd if you cannot, best you stop your eares.\nMy tongue will tell the anger of my heart,\nOr els my heart concealing it wil breake,\nAnd rather then it shall, I will be free,\nEuen to the vttermost as I please in words\nPet. Why thou saist true, it is paltrie cap,\nA custard coffen, a bauble, a silken pie,\nI loue thee well in that thou lik'st it not\nKate. Loue me, or loue me not, I like the cap,\nAnd it I will haue, or I will haue none\nPet. Thy gowne, why I: come Tailor let vs see't.\nOh mercie God, what masking stuffe is heere?\nWhats this? a sleeue? 'tis like demi cannon,\nWhat, vp and downe caru'd like an apple Tart?\nHeers snip, and nip, and cut, and slish and slash,\nLike to a Censor in a barbers shoppe:\nWhy what a deuils name Tailor cal'st thou this?\nHor. I see shees like to haue neither cap nor gowne\nTai. You bid me make it orderlie and well,\nAccording to the fashion, and the time\nPet. Marrie and did: but if you be remembred,\nI did not bid you marre it to the time.\nGo hop me ouer euery kennell home,\nFor you shall hop without my custome sir:\nIle none of it; hence, make your best of it\nKate. I neuer saw a better fashion'd gowne,\nMore queint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:\nBelike you meane to make a puppet of me\nPet. Why true, he meanes to make a puppet of thee\nTail. She saies your Worship meanes to make a\npuppet of her\nPet. Oh monstrous arrogance:\nThou lyest, thou thred, thou thimble,\nThou yard three quarters, halfe yard, quarter, naile,\nThou Flea, thou Nit, thou winter cricket thou:\nBrau'd in mine owne house with a skeine of thred:\nAway thou Ragge, thou quantitie, thou remnant,\nOr I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard,\nAs thou shalt thinke on prating whil'st thou liu'st:\nI tell thee I, that thou hast marr'd her gowne\nTail. Your worship is deceiu'd, the gowne is made\nIust as my master had direction:\nGrumio gaue order how it should be done\nGru. I gaue him no order, I gaue him the stuffe\nTail. But how did you desire it should be made?\nGru. Marrie sir with needle and thred\nTail. But did you not request to haue it cut?\nGru. Thou hast fac'd many things\nTail. I haue\nGru. Face not mee: thou hast brau'd manie men,\nbraue not me; I will neither bee fac'd nor brau'd. I say\nvnto thee, I bid thy Master cut out the gowne, but I did\nnot bid him cut it to peeces. Ergo thou liest\nTail. Why heere is the note of the fashion to testify\nPet. Reade it\nGru. The note lies in's throate if he say I said so\nTail. Inprimis, a loose bodied gowne\nGru. Master, if euer I said loose-bodied gowne, sow\nme in the skirts of it, and beate me to death with a bottome\nof browne thred: I said a gowne\nPet. Proceede\nTai. With a small compast cape\nGru. I confesse the cape\nTai. With a trunke sleeue\nGru. I confesse two sleeues\nTai. The sleeues curiously cut\nPet. I there's the villanie\nGru. Error i'th bill sir, error i'th bill? I commanded\nthe sleeues should be cut out, and sow'd vp againe, and\nthat Ile proue vpon thee, though thy little finger be armed\nin a thimble\nTail. This is true that I say, and I had thee in place\nwhere thou shouldst know it\nGru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, giue\nme thy meat-yard, and spare not me\nHor. God-a-mercie Grumio, then hee shall haue no\noddes\nPet. Well sir in breefe the gowne is not for me\nGru. You are i'th right sir, 'tis for my mistris\nPet. Go take it vp vnto thy masters vse\nGru. Villaine, not for thy life: Take vp my Mistresse\ngowne for thy masters vse\nPet. Why sir, what's your conceit in that?\nGru. Oh sir, the conceit is deeper then you think for:\nTake vp my Mistris gowne to his masters vse.\nOh fie, fie, fie\nPet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the Tailor paide:\nGo take it hence, be gone, and say no more\nHor. Tailor, Ile pay thee for thy gowne to morrow,\nTake no vnkindnesse of his hastie words:\nAway I say, commend me to thy master.\nExit Tail.\nPet. Well, come my Kate, we will vnto your fathers,\nEuen in these honest meane habiliments:\nOur purses shall be proud, our garments poore:\nFor 'tis the minde that makes the bodie rich.\nAnd as the Sunne breakes through the darkest clouds,\nSo honor peereth in the meanest habit.\nWhat is the Iay more precious then the Larke?\nBecause his feathers are more beautifull.\nOr is the Adder better then the Eele,\nBecause his painted skin contents the eye.\nOh no good Kate: neither art thou the worse\nFor this poore furniture, and meane array.\nIf thou accountedst it shame, lay it on me,\nAnd therefore frolicke, we will hence forthwith,\nTo feast and sport vs at thy fathers house,\nGo call my men, and let vs straight to him,\nAnd bring our horses vnto Long-lane end,\nThere wil we mount, and thither walke on foote,\nLet's see, I thinke 'tis now some seuen a clocke,\nAnd well we may come there by dinner time\nKate. I dare assure you sir, 'tis almost two,\nAnd 'twill be supper time ere you come there\nPet. It shall be seuen ere I go to horse:\nLooke what I speake, or do, or thinke to doe,\nYou are still crossing it, sirs let't alone,\nI will not goe to day, and ere I doe,\nIt shall be what a clock I say it is\nHor. Why so this gallant will command the sunne.\nEnter Tranio, and the Pedant drest like Vincentio.\nTra. Sirs, this is the house, please it you that I call\nPed. I what else, and but I be deceiued,\nSignior Baptista may remember me\nNeere twentie yeares a goe in Genoa\nTra. Where we were lodgers, at the Pegasus,\nTis well, and hold your owne in any case\nWith such austeritie as longeth to a father.\nEnter Biondello.\nPed. I warrant you: but sir here comes your boy,\n'Twere good he were school'd\nTra. Feare you not him: sirra Biondello,\nNow doe your dutie throughlie I aduise you:\nImagine 'twere the right Vincentio\nBion. Tut, feare not me\nTra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista\nBion. I told him that your father was at Venice,\nAnd that you look't for him this day in Padua,\nTra. Th'art a tall fellow, hold thee that to drinke,\nHere comes Baptista: set your countenance sir.\nEnter Baptista and Lucentio: Pedant booted and bare headed.\nTra. Signior Baptista you are happilie met:\nSir, this is the gentleman I told you of,\nI pray you stand good father to me now,\nGiue me Bianca for my patrimony\nPed. Soft son: sir by your leaue, hauing com to Padua\nTo gather in some debts, my son Lucentio\nMade me acquainted with a waighty cause\nOf loue betweene your daughter and himselfe:\nAnd for the good report I heare of you,\nAnd for the loue he beareth to your daughter,\nAnd she to him: to stay him not too long,\nI am content in a good fathers care\nTo haue him matcht, and if you please to like\nNo worse then I, vpon some agreement\nMe shall you finde readie and willing\nWith one consent to haue her so bestowed:\nFor curious I cannot be with you\nSignior Baptista, of whom I heare so well\nBap. Sir, pardon me in what I haue to say,\nYour plainnesse and your shortnesse please me well:\nRight true it is your sonne Lucentio here\nDoth loue my daughter, and she loueth him,\nOr both dissemble deepely their affections:\nAnd therefore if you say no more then this,\nThat like a Father you will deale with him,\nAnd passe my daughter a sufficient dower,\nThe match is made, and all is done,\nYour sonne shall haue my daughter with consent\nTra. I thanke you sir, where then doe you know best\nWe be affied and such assurance tane,\nAs shall with either parts agreement stand\nBap. Not in my house Lucentio, for you know\nPitchers haue eares, and I haue manie seruants,\nBesides old Gremio is harkning still,\nAnd happilie we might be interrupted\nTra. Then at my lodging, and it like you,\nThere doth my father lie: and there this night\nWeele passe the businesse priuately and well:\nSend for your daughter by your seruant here,\nMy Boy shall fetch the Scriuener presentlie,\nThe worst is this that at so slender warning,\nYou are like to haue a thin and slender pittance\nBap. It likes me well:\nCambio hie you home, and bid Bianca make her readie\nstraight:\nAnd if you will tell what hath hapned,\nLucentios Father is arriued in Padua,\nAnd how she's like to be Lucentios wife\nBiond. I praie the gods she may withall my heart.\nEnter.\nTran. Dallie not with the gods, but get thee gone.\nEnter Peter.\nSignior Baptista, shall I leade the way,\nWelcome, one messe is like to be your cheere,\nCome sir, we will better it in Pisa\nBap. I follow you.\nExeunt.\nEnter Lucentio and Biondello.\nBion. Cambio\nLuc. What saist thou Biondello\nBiond. You saw my Master winke and laugh vpon\nyou?\nLuc. Biondello, what of that?\nBiond. Faith nothing: but has left mee here behinde\nto expound the meaning or morrall of his signes and tokens\nLuc. I pray thee moralize them\nBiond. Then thus: Baptista is safe talking with the\ndeceiuing Father of a deceitfull sonne\nLuc. And what of him?\nBiond. His daughter is to be brought by you to the\nsupper\nLuc. And then\nBio. The old Priest at Saint Lukes Church is at your\ncommand at all houres\nLuc. And what of all this\nBion. I cannot tell, expect they are busied about a\ncounterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, Cum\npreuilegio ad Impremendum solem, to th' Church take the\nPriest, Clarke, and some sufficient honest witnesses:\nIf this be not that you looke for, I haue no more to say,\nBut bid Bianca farewell for euer and a day\nLuc. Hear'st thou Biondello\nBiond. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench maried in an\nafternoone as shee went to the Garden for Parseley to\nstuffe a Rabit, and so may you sir: and so adew sir, my\nMaster hath appointed me to goe to Saint Lukes to bid\nthe Priest be readie to come against you come with your\nappendix.\nEnter.\nLuc. I may and will, if she be so contented:\nShe will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt:\nHap what hap may, Ile roundly goe about her:\nIt shall goe hard if Cambio goe without her.\nEnter.\nEnter Petruchio, Kate, Hortentio\nPetr. Come on a Gods name, once more toward our\nfathers:\nGood Lord how bright and goodly shines the Moone\nKate. The Moone, the Sunne: it is not Moonelight\nnow\nPet. I say it is the Moone that shines so bright\nKate. I know it is the Sunne that shines so bright\nPet. Now by my mothers sonne, and that's my selfe,\nIt shall be moone, or starre, or what I list,\nOr ere I iourney to your Fathers house:\nGoe on, and fetch our horses backe againe,\nEuermore crost and crost, nothing but crost\nHort. Say as he saies, or we shall neuer goe\nKate. Forward I pray, since we haue come so farre,\nAnd be it moone, or sunne, or what you please:\nAnd if you please to call it a rush Candle,\nHenceforth I vowe it shall be so for me\nPetr. I say it is the Moone\nKate. I know it is the Moone\nPetr. Nay then you lye: it is the blessed Sunne\nKate. Then God be blest, it is the blessed sun,\nBut sunne it is not, when you say it is not,\nAnd the Moone changes euen as your minde:\nWhat you will haue it nam'd, euen that it is,\nAnd so it shall be so for Katherine\nHort. Petruchio, goe thy waies, the field is won\nPetr. Well, forward, forward, thus the bowle should run,\nAnd not vnluckily against the Bias:\nBut soft, Company is comming here.\nEnter Vincentio.\nGood morrow gentle Mistris, where away:\nTell me sweete Kate, and tell me truely too,\nHast thou beheld a fresher Gentlewoman:\nSuch warre of white and red within her cheekes:\nWhat stars do spangle heauen with such beautie,\nAs those two eyes become that heauenly face?\nFaire louely Maide, once more good day to thee:\nSweete Kate embrace her for her beauties sake\nHort. A will make the man mad to make the woman\nof him\nKate. Yong budding Virgin, faire, and fresh, & sweet,\nWhether away, or whether is thy aboade?\nHappy the Parents of so faire a childe;\nHappier the man whom fauourable stars\nA lots thee for his louely bedfellow\nPetr. Why how now Kate, I hope thou art not mad,\nThis is a man old, wrinckled, faded, withered,\nAnd not a Maiden, as thou saist he is\nKate. Pardon old father my mistaking eies,\nThat haue bin so bedazled with the sunne,\nThat euery thing I looke on seemeth greene:\nNow I perceiue thou art a reuerent Father:\nPardon I pray thee for my mad mistaking\nPetr. Do good old grandsire, & withall make known\nWhich way thou trauellest, if along with vs,\nWe shall be ioyfull of thy companie\nVin. Faire Sir, and you my merry Mistris,\nThat with your strange encounter much amasde me:\nMy name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,\nAnd bound I am to Padua, there to visite\nA sonne of mine, which long I haue not seene\nPetr. What is his name?\nVinc. Lucentio gentle sir\nPetr. Happily met, the happier for thy sonne:\nAnd now by Law, as well as reuerent age,\nI may intitle thee my louing Father,\nThe sister to my wife, this Gentlewoman,\nThy Sonne by this hath married: wonder not,\nNor be not grieued, she is of good esteeme,\nHer dowrie wealthie, and of worthie birth;\nBeside, so qualified, as may beseeme\nThe Spouse of any noble Gentleman:\nLet me imbrace with old Vincentio,\nAnd wander we to see thy honest sonne,\nWho will of thy arriuall be full ioyous\nVinc. But is this true, or is it else your pleasure,\nLike pleasant trauailors to breake a Iest\nVpon the companie you ouertake?\nHort. I doe assure thee father so it is\nPetr. Come goe along and see the truth hereof,\nFor our first merriment hath made thee iealous.\nExeunt.\nHor. Well Petruchio, this has put me in heart;\nHaue to my Widdow, and if she froward,\nThen hast thou taught Hortentio to be vntoward.\nEnter.\nEnter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca, Gremio is out before.\nBiond. Softly and swiftly sir, for the Priest is ready\nLuc. I flie Biondello; but they may chance to neede\nthee at home, therefore leaue vs.\nEnter.\nBiond. Nay faith, Ile see the Church a your backe,\nand then come backe to my mistris as soone as I can\nGre. I maruaile Cambio comes not all this while.\nEnter Petruchio, Kate, Vincentio, Grumio with Attendants.\nPetr. Sir heres the doore, this is Lucentios house,\nMy Fathers beares more toward the Market-place,\nThither must I, and here I leaue you sir\nVin. You shall not choose but drinke before you go,\nI thinke I shall command your welcome here;\nAnd by all likelihood some cheere is toward.\nKnock.\nGrem. They're busie within, you were best knocke\nlowder.\nPedant lookes out of the window.\nPed. What's he that knockes as he would beat downe\nthe gate?\nVin. Is Signior Lucentio within sir?\nPed. He's within sir, but not to be spoken withall\nVinc. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or\ntwo to make merrie withall\nPed. Keepe your hundred pounds to your selfe, hee\nshall neede none so long as I liue\nPetr. Nay, I told you your sonne was well beloued in\nPadua: doe you heare sir, to leaue friuolous circumstances,\nI pray you tell signior Lucentio that his Father is\ncome from Pisa, and is here at the doore to speake with\nhim\nPed. Thou liest his Father is come from Padua, and\nhere looking out at the window\nVin. Art thou his father?\nPed. I sir, so his mother saies, if I may beleeue her\nPetr. Why how now gentleman: why this is flat knauerie\nto take vpon you another mans name\nPeda. Lay hands on the villaine, I beleeue a meanes\nto cosen some bodie in this Citie vnder my countenance.\nEnter Biondello.\nBio. I haue seene them in the Church together, God\nsend 'em good shipping: but who is here? mine old Master\nVincentio: now wee are vndone and brought to nothing\nVin. Come hither crackhempe\nBion. I hope I may choose Sir\nVin. Come hither you rogue, what haue you forgot\nmee?\nBiond. Forgot you, no sir: I could not forget you, for\nI neuer saw you before in all my life\nVinc. What, you notorious villaine, didst thou neuer\nsee thy Mistris father, Vincentio?\nBion. What my old worshipfull old master? yes\nmarie sir see where he lookes out of the window\nVin. Ist so indeede.\nHe beates Biondello.\nBion. Helpe, helpe, helpe, here's a mad man will murder\nme\nPedan. Helpe, sonne, helpe signior Baptista\nPetr. Preethe Kate let's stand aside and see the end of\nthis controuersie.\nEnter Pedant with seruants, Baptista, Tranio.\nTra. Sir, what are you that offer to beate my seruant?\nVinc. What am I sir: nay what are you sir: oh immortall\nGoddes: oh fine villaine, a silken doublet, a veluet\nhose, a scarlet cloake, and a copataine hat: oh I am\nvndone, I am vndone: while I plaie the good husband\nat home, my sonne and my seruant spend all at the vniuersitie\nTra. How now, what's the matter?\nBapt. What is the man lunaticke?\nTra. Sir, you seeme a sober ancient Gentleman by\nyour habit: but your words shew you a mad man: why\nsir, what cernes it you, if I weare Pearle and gold: I thank\nmy good Father, I am able to maintaine it\nVin. Thy father: oh villaine, he is a Saile-maker in\nBergamo\nBap. You mistake sir, you mistake sir, praie what do\nyou thinke is his name?\nVin. His name, as if I knew not his name: I haue\nbrought him vp euer since he was three yeeres old, and\nhis name is Tronio\nPed. Awaie, awaie mad asse, his name is Lucentio, and\nhe is mine onelie sonne and heire to the Lands of me signior\nVincentio\nVen. Lucentio: oh he hath murdred his Master; laie\nhold on him I charge you in the Dukes name: oh my\nsonne, my sonne: tell me thou villaine, where is my son\nLucentio?\nTra. Call forth an officer: Carrie this mad knaue to\nthe Iaile: father Baptista, I charge you see that hee be\nforth comming\nVinc. Carrie me to the Iaile?\nGre. Staie officer, he shall not go to prison\nBap. Talke not signior Gremio: I saie he shall goe to\nprison\nGre. Take heede signior Baptista, least you be conicatcht\nin this businesse: I dare sweare this is the right\nVincentio\nPed. Sweare if thou dar'st\nGre. Naie, I dare not sweare it\nTran. Then thou wert best saie that I am not Lucentio\nGre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio\nBap. Awaie with the dotard, to the Iaile with him.\nEnter Biondello, Lucentio and Bianeu.\nVin. Thus strangers may be haild and abusd: oh monstrous\nvillaine\nBion. Oh we are spoil'd, and yonder he is, denie him,\nforsweare him, or else we are all vndone.\nExit Biondello, Tranio and Pedant as fast as may be.\nLuc. Pardon sweete father.\nKneele.\nVin. Liues my sweete sonne?\nBian. Pardon deere father\nBap. How hast thou offended, where is Lucentio?\nLuc. Here's Lucentio, right sonne to the right Vincentio,\nThat haue by marriage made thy daughter mine,\nWhile counterfeit supposes bleer'd thine eine\nGre. Here's packing with a witnesse to deceiue vs all\nVin. Where is that damned villaine Tranio,\nThat fac'd and braued me in this matter so?\nBap. Why, tell me is not this my Cambio?\nBian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio\nLuc. Loue wrought these miracles. Biancas loue\nMade me exchange my state with Tranio,\nWhile he did beare my countenance in the towne,\nAnd happilie I haue arriued at the last\nVnto the wished hauen of my blisse:\nWhat Tranio did, my selfe enforst him to;\nThen pardon him sweete Father for my sake\nVin. Ile slit the villaines nose that would haue sent\nme to the Iaile\nBap. But doe you heare sir, haue you married my\ndaughter without asking my good will?\nVin. Feare not Baptista, we will content you, goe to:\nbut I will in to be reueng'd for this villanie.\nEnter.\nBap. And I to sound the depth of this knauerie.\nEnter.\nLuc. Looke not pale Bianca, thy father will not frown.\nExeunt.\nGre. My cake is dough, but Ile in among the rest,\nOut of hope of all, but my share of the feast\nKate. Husband let's follow, to see the end of this adoe\nPetr. First kisse me Kate, and we will\nKate. What in the midst of the streete?\nPetr. What art thou asham'd of me?\nKate. No sir, God forbid, but asham'd to kisse\nPetr. Why then let's home againe: Come Sirra let's\nawaie\nKate. Nay, I will giue thee a kisse, now praie thee\nLoue staie\nPetr. Is not this well? come my sweete Kate.\nBetter once then neuer, for neuer to late.\nExeunt.\nActus Quintus.\nEnter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, and\nBianca.\nTranio, Biondello Grumio, and Widdow: The Seruingmen with\nTranio bringing\nin a Banquet.\nLuc. At last, though long, our iarring notes agree,\nAnd time it is when raging warre is come,\nTo smile at scapes and perils ouerblowne:\nMy faire Bianca bid my father welcome,\nWhile I with selfesame kindnesse welcome thine:\nBrother Petruchio, sister Katerina,\nAnd thou Hortentio with thy louing Widdow:\nFeast with the best, and welcome to my house,\nMy Banket is to close our stomakes vp\nAfter our great good cheere: praie you sit downe,\nFor now we sit to chat as well as eate\nPetr. Nothing but sit and sit, and eate and eate\nBap. Padua affords this kindnesse, sonne Petruchio\nPetr. Padua affords nothing but what is kinde\nHor. For both our sakes I would that word were true\nPet. Now for my life Hortentio feares his Widow\nWid. Then neuer trust me if I be affeard\nPetr. You are verie sencible, and yet you misse my\nsence:\nI meane Hortentio is afeard of you\nWid. He that is giddie thinks the world turns round\nPetr. Roundlie replied\nKat. Mistris, how meane you that?\nWid. Thus I conceiue by him\nPetr. Conceiues by me, how likes Hortentio that?\nHor. My Widdow saies, thus she conceiues her tale\nPetr. Verie well mended: kisse him for that good\nWiddow\nKat. He that is giddie thinkes the world turnes round,\nI praie you tell me what you meant by that\nWid. Your housband being troubled with a shrew,\nMeasures my husbands sorrow by his woe:\nAnd now you know my meaning\nKate. A verie meane meaning\nWid. Right, I meane you\nKat. And I am meane indeede, respecting you\nPetr. To her Kate\nHor. To her Widdow\nPetr. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down\nHor. That's my office\nPetr. Spoke like an Officer: ha to the lad.\nDrinkes to Hortentio.\nBap. How likes Gremio these quicke witted folkes?\nGre. Beleeue me sir, they But together well\nBian. Head, and but an hastie witted bodie,\nWould say your Head and But were head and horne\nVin. I Mistris Bride, hath that awakened you?\nBian. I, but not frighted me, therefore Ile sleepe againe\nPetr. Nay that you shall not since you haue begun:\nHaue at you for a better iest or too\nBian. Am I your Bird, I meane to shift my bush,\nAnd then pursue me as you draw your Bow.\nYou are welcome all.\nExit Bianca.\nPetr. She hath preuented me, here signior Tranio,\nThis bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not,\nTherefore a health to all that shot and mist\nTri. Oh sir, Lucentio slipt me like his Gray-hound,\nWhich runs himselfe, and catches for his Master\nPetr. A good swift simile, but something currish\nTra. 'Tis well sir that you hunted for your selfe:\n'Tis thought your Deere does hold you at a baie\nBap. Oh, oh Petruchio, Tranio hits you now\nLuc. I thanke thee for that gird good Tranio\nHor. Confesse, confesse, hath he not hit you here?\nPetr. A has a little gald me I confesse:\nAnd as the Iest did glaunce awaie from me,\n'Tis ten to one it maim'd you too out right\nBap. Now in good sadnesse sonne Petruchio,\nI thinke thou hast the veriest shrew of all\nPetr. Well, I say no: and therefore sir assurance,\nLet's each one send vnto his wife,\nAnd he whose wife is most obedient,\nTo come at first when he doth send for her,\nShall win the wager which we will propose\nHort. Content, what's the wager?\nLuc. Twentie crownes\nPetr. Twentie crownes,\nIle venture so much of my Hawke or Hound,\nBut twentie times so much vpon my Wife\nLuc. A hundred then\nHor. Content\nPetr. A match, 'tis done\nHor. Who shall begin?\nLuc. That will I.\nGoe Biondello, bid your Mistris come to me\nBio. I goe.\nEnter.\nBap. Sonne, Ile be your halfe, Bianca comes\nLuc. Ile haue no halues: Ile beare it all my selfe.\nEnter Biondello.\nHow now, what newes?\nBio. Sir, my Mistris sends you word\nThat she is busie, and she cannot come\nPetr. How? she's busie, and she cannot come: is that\nan answere?\nGre. I, and a kinde one too:\nPraie God sir your wife send you not a worse\nPetr. I hope better\nHor. Sirra Biondello, goe and intreate my wife to\ncome to me forthwith.\nExit. Bion.\nPet. Oh ho, intreate her, nay then shee must needes\ncome\nHor. I am affraid sir, doe what you can\nEnter Biondello.\nYours will not be entreated: Now, where's my wife?\nBion. She saies you haue some goodly Iest in hand,\nShe will not come: she bids you come to her\nPetr. Worse and worse, she will not come:\nOh vilde, intollerable, not to be indur'd:\nSirra Grumio, goe to your Mistris,\nSay I command her come to me.\nEnter.\nHor. I know her answere\nPet. What?\nHor. She will not\nPetr. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.\nEnter Katerina.\nBap. Now by my hollidam here comes Katerina\nKat. What is your will sir, that you send for me?\nPetr. Where is your sister, and Hortensios wife?\nKate. They sit conferring by the Parler fire\nPetr. Goe fetch them hither, if they denie to come,\nSwinge me them soundly forth vnto their husbands:\nAway I say, and bring them hither straight\nLuc. Here is a wonder, if you talke of a wonder\nHor. And so it is: I wonder what it boads\nPetr. Marrie peace it boads, and loue, and quiet life,\nAn awfull rule, and right supremicie:\nAnd to be short, what not, that's sweete and happie\nBap. Now faire befall thee good Petruchio;\nThe wager thou hast won, and I will adde\nVnto their losses twentie thousand crownes,\nAnother dowrie to another daughter,\nFor she is chang'd as she had neuer bin\nPetr. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,\nAnd show more signe of her obedience,\nHer new built vertue and obedience.\nEnter Kate, Bianca, and Widdow.\nSee where she comes, and brings your froward Wiues\nAs prisoners to her womanlie perswasion:\nKaterine, that Cap of yours becomes you not,\nOff with that bable, throw it vnderfoote\nWid. Lord let me neuer haue a cause to sigh,\nTill I be brought to such a sillie passe\nBian. Fie what a foolish dutie call you this?\nLuc. I would your dutie were as foolish too:\nThe wisdome of your dutie faire Bianca,\nHath cost me fiue hundred crownes since supper time\nBian. The more foole you for laying on my dutie\nPet. Katherine I charge thee tell these head-strong\nwomen, what dutie they doe owe their Lords and husbands\nWid. Come, come, your mocking: we will haue no\ntelling\nPet. Come on I say, and first begin with her\nWid. She shall not\nPet. I say she shall, and first begin with her\nKate. Fie, fie, vnknit that threatning vnkinde brow,\nAnd dart not scornefull glances from those eies,\nTo wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Gouernour.\nIt blots thy beautie, as frosts doe bite the Meads,\nConfounds thy fame, as whirlewinds shake faire budds,\nAnd in no sence is meete or amiable.\nA woman mou'd, is like a fountaine troubled,\nMuddie, ill seeming, thicke, bereft of beautie,\nAnd while it is so, none so dry or thirstie\nWill daigne to sip, or touch one drop of it.\nThy husband is thy Lord, thy life, thy keeper,\nThy head, thy soueraigne: One that cares for thee,\nAnd for thy maintenance. Commits his body\nTo painfull labour, both by sea and land:\nTo watch the night in stormes, the day in cold,\nWhil'st thou ly'st warme at home, secure and safe,\nAnd craues no other tribute at thy hands,\nBut loue, faire lookes, and true obedience;\nToo little payment for so great a debt.\nSuch dutie as the subiect owes the Prince,\nEuen such a woman oweth to her husband:\nAnd when she is froward, peeuish, sullen, sowre,\nAnd not obedient to his honest will,\nWhat is she but a foule contending Rebell,\nAnd gracelesse Traitor to her louing Lord?\nI am asham'd that women are so simple,\nTo offer warre, where they should kneele for peace:\nOr seeke for rule, supremacie, and sway,\nWhen they are bound to serue, loue, and obay.\nWhy are our bodies soft, and weake, and smooth,\nVnapt to toyle and trouble in the world,\nBut that our soft conditions, and our harts,\nShould well agree with our externall parts?\nCome, come, you froward and vnable wormes,\nMy minde hath bin as bigge as one of yours,\nMy heart as great, my reason haplie more,\nTo bandie word for word, and frowne for frowne;\nBut now I see our Launces are but strawes:\nOur strength as weake, our weakenesse past compare,\nThat seeming to be most, which we indeed least are.\nThen vale your stomackes, for it is no boote,\nAnd place your hands below your husbands foote:\nIn token of which dutie, if he please,\nMy hand is readie, may it do him ease\nPet. Why there's a wench: Come on, and kisse mee\nKate\nLuc. Well go thy waies olde Lad for thou shalt ha't\nVin. Tis a good hearing, when children are toward\nLuc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward,\nPet. Come Kate, wee'le to bed,\nWe three are married, but you two are sped.\n'Twas I wonne the wager, though you hit the white,\nAnd being a winner, God giue you good night.\nExit Petruchio\nHorten. Now goe thy wayes, thou hast tam'd a curst\nShrow\nLuc. Tis a wonder, by your leaue, she wil be tam'd so.\nFINIS. THE Taming of the Shrew.","title":"The Taming of the Shrew","type":"page"}