Katharine And Petruchio: TEI edition

Petru. There take it to you, trenchers, cups and all. Act II., Scene 1 Katharine And Petruchio . A Comedy, In Three Acts. Altered By David Garrick, From The Taming Of A Shrew, By William Shakespeare. With Illustrations By R. Cruikshank. Thomas Hailes Lacy, 89, Strand, London.

Covent Garden, 1838

Olympic April, 1864

Surrey, April, 1864

Marylebone, April, 1864

Characters. Petruchio Mr. Vining. Mr. H. Neville. Mr. J. Anderson. Mr. J. Dixon. (Gentlemen of Padua) BaptistaMr. Tilbury.Mr. Maclean.Mr. C. Butler.Mr. Thomson. HortensioMr. Roberts.Mr. H. Cooper.Mr. Allbrook. Mr. Wilson. Music-MasterMr. Yarnold. Mr. Rivers.Mr. Dalton. Mr. Baker. TailorMr. Meadows. Mr. H. Wigan. Mr. Wrighт. Mr. Skinner. (Baptista's Servants) BiondelloMr. Bender. Mr. R. Soutar. Mr. Fitzpatrick. Mr. Herne. Pedro Mr. Payne. Mr. Franks. Mr. Cracknell. Mr. Daniels. (Petruchio's Servants) Grumio Mr. Harley. Mr. Atkins. Mr. T. Thorne. Walter Mr. Sharpe. Mr. Bologna. Nathaniel Mr. C. J. Smith. Mr. Davy. Gregory Mr. Paulo. Mr. Pritchard. Mr. Walters. Gabriel Mr. Brady. Mr. Dardy. Mr. Markes. Katharine (Daughter to Baptista) Mrs. Warner. Miss Hughes. Miss Pauncefort. Miss J. Seaman. Bianca (her Sister, married to Hortensio) Miss E. Phillips. Miss F. Haydon. Rhodes. Miss G. Davis. Curtis (Housekeeper to Petruchio) Mrs. Garrick. Mrs. Stephens. Mrs. C. Foster. Mrs. Hannan. Ladies, Gentlemen and Servants.

Scene:—Padua.

Time in Performance:—1 hour and 20 minutes.

Costumes.

Petruchio.—Green velvet doublet, trunks, and cloak, embroidered and slashed, white pantaloons; sword, hat, plume, and boots. Second Dress: White jerkin, red cuffs, ruff, torn cloak, old blue full breeches, one red stocking, one flesh stocking, one boot, one shoe, sword fastened with rape, drab hat and broken feather, whip.

Baptista.—Black velvet shape, crimson puffs, embroidered trimmings, ruff, crimson pantaloons, hatand plume, sword, shoes, &c.

Hortensio.—White shape, slashed with blue, ruff, sword, hat and plume, shoes.

Musio-Master.—Black shape, white pantaloons, boots.

Grumio.—An old black jacket and breeches, patched; crimson cloak, patched; coloured leggings, one boot, hay band round the other leg, high-crowned hat, with playing card stuck in it, and one feather; sword, and whip.

Biondello.—Purple shape, trimmed; red stockings, shoes.

Pedro.—The same.

Tailor.—Black doublet, tailor's measure sown on the shoulder; red breeches, old stockings, shoes, small hat.

Walter, Nathaniel, Gregory, Gabriel, and two other Servants.—Drab shapes, trimmed with green, green leggings, shoes, and white jacket and apron for the cook.

Six Gentlemen.—Shaped dresses, embroidered—scarves, white pantaloons, ruffs, hat and plumes, shoes.

Katharine.—White satin dress, trimmed with pink satin; hat and white feathers, (see Lacy's Female Costumes, plate 94) Second Dress: Bridal wreath, and veil. Third Dress: Same as first.

Bianca.—Satin dress, embroidered; hat and feathers.

Curtis.—Dark gown, coif, cap and apron.

Glossary of obsolete words, And of words varying from their ordinary signification. "Amort."—Sad, melancholy. "Bug." A bugbear, a frightful object. "Chape." A little thin plate of silver or iron at the point of the scabbard of a sword. "Fret." The stop of a musical instrument which regulates the vibration of the string. "Haggard."—A wild hawk. "Jack." A term of contempt. "Ray." To agitatė. "Scurril."—Scurrilous, abusive. "Shrewd."—Having the qualities of a shrew.

Remarks.

The Taming of the Shrew, in its original form, was thought too long for the stage; and, although generally admitted to be "a very excellent piece of work," the audience, imitating the example of old Sly's son of Burton Heath, began before the performance was concluded to nod, and wish with Christophero, that "'twere done". David Garrick, therefore, thought that he might, without much offence to the admirers of Shakspere, apply to it the pruning knife: and, without pronouncing an opinion in regard to the alterations then made, it may be mentioned that the comedy eseaped from the hands of the operator as it is now produced under the title of "Katharine and Petruchio". The design of the play has been taken from "A pleasaunt Conceited Historie called the Taming of a Shrew;" but very learned critics have from time to time been discovering similar stories published in different forms and under various titles; and it is quite possible that some persevering antiquary may yet be fortunate enough to find out the original tale from which all the others are derived. Should such be discovered, of course it will be made public property, and added to the pile of valuable and important relics already collected and printed in order to illustrate and explain the obscure passages of the poet. When we read the plays of Shakespeare with the comments of the legion of learned and unlearned critics, we are induced to think, if we do not consider the matter with some attention, that the author's acquaintance with men and manners, and his skill in giving expression to every emotion of the mind, are less wonderful than his retentive memory, which must have enabled him to make use of ideas from almost every author of celebrity whose works could be procured in the sixteenth century. A host of erudite commentators having employed themselves in searching for passages in books in all languages, from which they in their wisdom considered it probable that Shakespeare borrowed the most admired portions of his poetry, it is not very surprising that, on viewing the extensive collection they have made, we should for an instant be led to regard the poet as a mere imitator or successful collector of the ideas of others, and not in reality possessed of that genius generally ascribed to him; but when we begin to examine the subject, we not only find that the passages supposed to bear a resemblance to each other are in many cases dissimilar, but we are convinced that it must have been impossible for Shakespeare to have consulted the works from which he is alleged to have drawn his inspiration. In regard to the Taming of the Shrew, various opinions have been entertained, and one eritic, whose opinion is entitled to some degree of respect, has expressed his belief that it is not the production of Shakespeare but of some older poet; however, as he has told us that he has formed his judgment from internal evidence only, we think the conclusion at which he has arrived entirely unwarranted. There are many parts of the comedy which bear evident marks of the bold pen of Shakespeare, and could have been written by no other poet. Although he has taken the title and general design from the old play before referred to, there is very little similarity in the language, and it is only in a few instances that a trace of the original can be discovered.

The Introduction bears more resemblance to the old play than any other part of the comedy; and, in order to show exactly to what extent Shakespeare has been indebted to the anonymous author, we may quote a portion from the beginning, which is not the worst part of the original play. It commences as follows:—

Enter Tapster, beating out of his doors Slie drunken.) Tapster. You whoreson drunken slave, you had best be gone, And empty your drunken panch somewhere else, For in this house you shall not rest to-night. Exit Tapster.) Slie. Tilly Vally, by crisee, Tapster, Ile fese you anone, Fills the tother pot, and all's paid for: looke you I doe drink it of mine own instigation. Heere Ile lie awhile: why, Tapster, I say, Fill's a fresh cushen heere, Heigh ho! heere's good warme lying. (he falles asleepe)) Enter a Nobleman and his Men from hunting.) Lord. Now that the gloomy shadow of the night, Longing to view Orion's drisling lookes, Leapes from th' Antartieke world unto the skie, And dims the welkin with her pitchie breath, And darksome night oreshades the cristall heavens, Heere break we off our hunting for to-night. Couple uppe the hounds and let us hie us home, And bid the huntsman see them meated well, For they have all deserv'd it well to daie. But soft, what sleepy fellow is this lies heere ? Or is he dead, see one what doeth lacke? Servingman. My Lord, 'tis nothing but a drunken sleepe, His head is too heavie for his bodie. And he hath drunke so much that he can go no furder.

The Lord desires his servants to convey Slie to his house, and gives them instructions as to their behaviour to him similar to those in Shakespeare's play; and so soon as he is carried off the stage, a servant announces the arrival of the players. They, also, receive directions from the Lord, and it is arranged that "The Taming of a Shrew" should be performed by them in presence of Slie: Pope has here inserted in his edition a speech of one of the players, which, however, is now generally left out. He introduces it after the 1st Player assures the Lord that they will contain themselves were Christopero "the veriest antic in the world," and it was as follows:—

San.

(to the other Player)

Go, get a dishclout to make cleane your shoes, and Ile speak for the properties. Exit Plaier.) My Lord, we must have a shoulder of mutton for a propertie, and a little vinegre to make our Diuell rore.

The shoulder of mutton, the vinegar to make the "diuell rore," and every thing necessary for the performance of the play being obtained, Slie is brought in again.

Enter two with a table and a banquet on it, and two other with Slie asleepe in a chaire, richly apparelled, and the musicke plaieing.) One. So, Sirha, now go call my Lord, And tell him all things are ready as he wild it. Another. Set thou some wine upon the boord, And then Ile go fetch my Lord presently. Enter the Lord and his Men,) Lord. How now, what is all things readie ? One. Yea, my Lord. Lord. Then sound the musicke and I'll wake him strait, And see you doe as earst I gave in charge.— My, Lord, my Lord! He sleepes soundly. My Lord. Slie. Tapster, gives a little small ale: Heigh ho! Lord. Heeres wine, my Lord, the purest of the grape. Slie. For which Lord ? Lord. For your honor, my Lord, Slie. Who I, am I a Lord? Jesus! What fine apparell have I got?

Being at length satisfied that he is not Slie but a Lord, the players are introduced, and the play proceeds. In the course of the performance he is much pleased with the "foole," and frequently inquires after him during his absence. The length of the play, however, renders it tedious, and before it is finished Slie falls asleep, and the Lord desires his attendants to carry him away, and lay him down at the ale-house door where they first discovered him. At the end of the play Slie is accordingly brought in, and Tapster again appears.

Tapster. Now that the darksome night is overpast, And dawning day appears in cristall skie, Now must I haste abrode; but soft, who's this? What, Slie? o wondrous! hath he laine heere all night?. Ile wake him, I think hee's starved by this, But that his belly was so stufft with ale: What now, Slie! awake, for shame! Slie.

Sim (one of the persons who attended upon him), give's some more wine; what, all the plaiers gone? am not I a Lord?

Tapster. A Lord with a murrin: Come, art thou drunken still? Slie.

Who's this? Tapster? o Lord! Sirha, I have had the bravest dreame to-night that ever thou heardest in all thy life.

Tapster. Yea, mary; but you had best get you home, For your wife will course you for dreaming here to-night. Slie. Will she? I know how to tame a shrew, I dreamt upon it all this night till now, And thou hast wakt me out of the best dreame. That ever I had in my life; but I'll to my wife presently, And tame her too, if she anger me. Tapster. Nay, tarry, Slie, for Ile go home with thee, And heare the rest that thou hast dreamt to-night. Exeunt Omnes.)

Shakespeare does not introduce Sly after the first scene in the play, but Pope, by inserting several passages from the original, brings him on the stage again, which must certainly be allowed to make the piece more consistent and complete. He has given the concluding scene (which however, he has quoted very incorrectly), with the exception of a few lines.

The reason given for the supposition that The Taming of the Shrew is not the production of Shakespeare, might, in our opinion, he stated with as much propriety in regard to any of his other plays, and would be as just in the one case as in the other. No one can say that it is not well written; none can assert that the characters introduced are not drawn by the hand of genius, and no one has ventured to lay his finger upon a particular passage and deliberately tell us that it is unworthy of Shakspeare. There may be some parts of the play inferior to others, but where is there a production of any kind in which you will not find one idea more happily expressed and more appropriately used, and followed out with more tact and delicacy than another? Such instances are to be found in the works of every author, and they may be pointed out in The Taming of the Shrew; but still there is nothing to justify the conclusion that it was not written by Shakespeare.

It is impossible to say when the original play of "The Taming of a Shrew" was written, but it is supposed that it was acted at some of the theatres with which Shakespeare was connected, a few years before the production of his own play. It was entered on the Stationers' books in the year 1594, and printed in quarto in 1607.

Malone, in an attempt to ascertain the order of Shakespeare's plays, states that he considers The Taming of the Shrew, to have been produced in the year 1596.

Katherine and Petruchio

Act I.

Scene First.—A Hall in Baptista's House, in Padua. Enter Baptista and Petruchio, R.) Baptista. L.C.) Thus have I, 'gainst my own self-interest, Repeated all the worst you're to expect: From my shrew daughter Katharine: if you'll venture, Maugre my plain and honest declaration, You have my free consent, —win her and wed her. Petruchio. R.C.) Signior Baptista, thus it stands with me:— Antonio, my father is deceas'd; You knew him well, and, knowing him, know me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd; And I have thrust myself into the world, Haply to wive and thrive, as best I may. My business asketh haste, old signior, And every day I cannot come to woo; Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. Baptis. Yes, when the special thing is well obtained, My daughter's love; for that is all in all... Petru. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury. Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all. So I to her, and so she yields to me; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. Baptis. And will you woo her, sir? Petru. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in the pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to the ear As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire? Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs. Baptis. Then thou'rt the man. The man for Katharine and her father too; That shall she know, and know my mind at once. I'll portion her above her gentler sister, New-married to Hortensio; And if, with scurril taunt and squeamish pride, She make a mouth, and will not taste her fortune, I'll turn her forth to seek it in the world; Nor henceforth shall she know her father's doors. Petru. Say'st thou me so? Then, as your daughter, signior, Is rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, Be she as curs'd as Socrates' Xantippe, She moves me not a whit; were she as rough As are the swelling Adriatic seas, I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; If wealthily, then happily in Padua. Baptis. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou armed for some unhappy words. Petru. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. (Katharine and the Music Master make a noise without, R.) Master.

(without, R.) Help, help!

Kath.

(without) Out of the house, you scraping fool!

Petru. What noise is that? Baptis. O, nothing; this is nothing. My daughter, Katharine, and her music master; This is the third I've had within this month: She is an enemy to harmony.

Baptis. How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale? (Enter Music Master, with his forehead bleeding, and a broken lute in his hand, his face pale, R.—he runs across to L.) How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale? Master. (L.) For fear, I promise you, if I do look pale. Baptis. (C.) What, will my daughter prove a good musician? Master. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. Baptis. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute ? Master. Why no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, "Frets, call you these?" quoth she: "I'll fret your fool's cap!" And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for awhile, As on a pillory, looking through the lute: While she did call me rascal fiddler, And—twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As she had studied to misuse me so. Petru. (R.) Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have a grapple with her! Master. I would not have another grapple with her, To purchase Padua: for what is past, I'm paid sufficiently: if, at your leisure, You think my broken fortunes, head, and lute Deserve some reparation, you know where To enquire for me; and so, good gentlemen, I am your much disorder'd, broken-pated, humble servant. (Exit Music Master, L.) Baptis. What, are you mov'd, Petruchio? Do you flinch ? Petru. I'm more and more impatient, sir; and long To be a partner in these favourite pleasures. Baptis. O, by all means, sir. (crosses, R.) Will you go with me, Or shall I send my daughter, Kate, to you? Petru. I pray you do, I will attend her here. (Exit Baptista, R.) Since that her father is so resolute, I'll woo her with some spirit when she comes :— Say, that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain, She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :— Say, that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear. As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:— If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week :— If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. Kath. (without, R.) Sir, —father, —surely— Baptis. (without, R.) Hence, Kate —ne'er tell me. Petru. O, here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. (retires up stage) (Enter Katharine, R.) Kath. How? turn'd adrift, nor know my father's house? Reduc'd to this, or none? The maid's last prayer? Sent to be woo'd like bear unto the stake? Trim wooing like to be! (looks round) And he the bear; For I shall bait him. Yet the man's a man. Petru. (L.C.) Kate in a calm?—Maids must not be wooers. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. Kath. Well have you heard, but impudently said: They call me Katharine, that do talk of me. Petru. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate –the prettiest Kate in Christendom— Take this of me, Kate of my consolation :— Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtue spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Thy affability, and bashful modesty, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. Kath. Mov'd in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither, Remove you hence: I knew you at the first You were a moveable.

Petru. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Petru. A moveable! Why, what's that? Kath. A joint-stool. Petru. Thou hast hit it; come, sit on me. (kneels, offering his L. knee) Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Petru. Women are made to bear, and so are you. Alas, good Kate! I will not burden thee; For, knowing thee to be but young and light–– Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch. (going, L.) Petru. Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too angry. Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. Petru. My remedy is, then, to pluck it out. Kath. Ay, if the fool could find out where it lies. Petru. The fool knows where the honey lies, sweet Kate. Kath. 'Tis not for drones to taste. Petru.

That will I try.

(offers to kiss her—she strikes him) I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. Kath. How can I help it, when I see that face? But I'll be shocked no longer with the sight. (going, R.) Petru. Nay, hear you, Kate; in sooth you 'scape not so. Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. Petru. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen; But now I find report a very liar.(she frowns) Thou canst not frown, (she looks askance) thou canst not look askance, (she bites her lip) Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will; Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers With gentle conference, soft and affable. Kath.

This is beyond all patience.

(walks angrily across the stage to and fro) Don't provoke me! Petru. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O, slanderous world! Kate, like the hazel-twig, Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. Thou dost not limp; —so, let me see thee walk. Walk, walk, walk. Kath. (she stops suddenly, L.) Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. Petru. Did ever Dian so become a grove, As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful! Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech? Petru. Study ! It is extempore, from my mother-wit. Kath. A witty mother! witless else her son. Petru. Am I not wise? Kath. Yes, in your own conceit; Keep yourself warm with that, or else you'll freeze. Petru. Or rather, warm me in thy arms, my Kate! And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus, in plain terms:—Your father has consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. Kath. Whether I will or no?—O, fortune's spite! Petru. Nay, Kate, I am a husband to your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty— Thy beauty, that doth make me love thee well— Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he that's born to tame you, Kate. Kath.

That will admit dispute, my saucy groom.

(crosses R.) Petru. Here comes your father: never make denial; I must, and will, have Katharine to my wife. (Enter Baptista, R.) Baptis. (C.) Now, signior, now; how speed you with my daughter? Petru. (L.) How should I speed, but well, sir? How, but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. Baptis. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your dumps? Kath. (R.) Call you me daughter? Now, I promise you, You have showed a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. Baptis. Better this Jack than starve; and that's your portion. Petru. Father, 'tis thus: yourself, and all the world That talked of her, have talked amiss of her, If she be curst, it is for policy; For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience, she will prove a second Grissel; And, to conclude, we 'greed so well together, We've fixed to-morrow for the wedding-day. Kath. I'll see thee hanged to morrow first—to-morrow! Baptis. Petruchio, hark: she says, she'll see thee hanged first. Petru. What's that to you? If she and I be pleased, what's that to you? 'Tis bargained 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. Kath. (aside) A plague upon his impudence! I'm vexed; I'll marry my revenge, but I will tame him. Petru. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me. (Katharine exclaiming, "Oh!") O, the kindest Kate! She hung about my neck; (Katharine again "Oh!") and kiss on kiss, (Katharine again, "Oh!" and walks up and down the stage angrily, R.) She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That, in a twink, she won me to her love. O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see How tame, when men and women are alone. Give me thy hand, Kate. (crosses R.C.) I will now away, To buy apparel for my gentle bride. Father, provide the feast, and bid the guests. Baptis. What dost thou say, my Katharine? Give thy hand. Kath. Never to man shall Katharine give her hand; Here 'tis and let him take it, an he dare. Petru. Were it the fore-foot of an angry bear, I'd shake it off; but, as it's Kate's, I kiss it. Kath. (aside) You'll kiss it closer, ere our moon be wan'd. Baptis. Heaven send you joy, Petruchio! —'tis a match. Petru. Father and wife, adieu! I must away Unto my country house, and stir my grooms, Scour off their country rust, and make 'em fine, For the reception of my Katharine.(crosses L.) We will have rings, and things, and fine array, — To-morrow, Kate, shall be our wedding-day. (Exit Petruchio, L.) Baptis. Well, daughter, though the man be somewhat wild, And thereto frantic, yet his means are great. Thou hast done well to seize the first kind offer; For, by thy mother's soul, 'twill be the last. Kath. My duty, sir, hath followed your command. Baptis. Art thou in earnest? Hast no trick behind? I'll take thee at thy word, and send to invite My son in-law, Hortensio, and thy sister, And all our friends, to grace thy nuptials, Kate. (Exit Baptista, L.) Kath. Why, yes; sister Bianca now shall see, The poor abandoned Katharine, as she calls me, Can make her husband stoop unto her lure, And hold her head as high, and be as proud, As she, or e'er a wife in Padua. As double as my portion be my scorn! Look to your seat, Petruchio, or I throw you. Katharine shall tame this haggard; or, if she fails, Shall tie her tongue up, and pare down her nails. (Exit, R.)

(End Of Act 1.)

Act II.

Scene First.—Baptista's House, as before. Katharine, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Gentlemen, and Ladies discovered, in wedding dresses. Baptis. Signior Hortensio, this is the 'pointed day, That Katharine and Petruchio should be married; And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. What says Hortensio to this shame of ours? Kath. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forced To give my hand, opposed against my heart, Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen; Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. Now must the world point at poor Katharine, And say, "Lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her." Bianca. Such hasty matches seldom end in good. Horten. Patience, good Katharine, and Bianca too; Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word; Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. Kath. 'Would I had never seen his honesty! O! I could tear my flesh for very madness. (Exit Katharine, R.) Baptis. Follow your sister, girl, and comfort her. (Exit Bianca, R.) I cannot blame thee now to weep and rage; For such an injury would vex a saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter Biondello, L. Bion.

Master, master, news; and such news as you never heard of.

Baptis.

Is Petruchio come?

Bion.

Why, no, sir.

Baptis. What then? Bion.

He is coming; but how? – Why, in a new hat, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned: a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt and chapeless. His horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the farcy, full of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots; swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten; ne'er legged before, and with a half-checked bit, and a headstall of sheep's leather; which being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots; one girt six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.

Baptis. Who comes with him? Bion.

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

(Petruchio is heard cracking his whip, L.) Petru. Holla! holla! (Exit Biondello, R.) Baptis. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. Enter Petruchio and Grumio, fantastically habited, L.—they cross over to R. and back to L., smacking their whips. Petru. Hoa! Where be these gallants? Who is at home? Baptis. You are welcome, sir. Petru. Well am I come, then, sir. Baptis. Not so well apparelled as I wish you were. Petru. (R.) Were it better I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride ? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown: And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet, or unusual prodigy. Baptis. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding day; First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival. Horten. (R.C.) And tell us what occasion of import Hath all so long detained you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself? Petru. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear; Let it suffice, I'm come to keep my word. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. Horten. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine. Petru. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her. Baptis. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. Petru. Good sooth, even thus; therefore have done with words; To me she's married, not unto my clothes: Could I repair what she will wear in me, As I could change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. But what a fool am I to chat with you, When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, And seal the title with a loving kiss ! What, ho! my Kate! my Kate! (crosses, c., cracking his whip) Grumio. What, ho! why Kate! why Kate! (Petruchio turns, cuts him, and goes off, R.—Grumio rubs his legs, and limps off after him) Horten. He hath some meaning in this mad attire. Baptis. Let's after him, and see the event of this. (Exeunt, R.) A pause, then enter Grumio, R. Grumio.

He's gone swearing to the church with her. I would sooner have led her to the gallows. If he can but hold it, 'tis well:—And if I know anything of myself and my master, no two men were ever born with such qualities to tame women. When madam goes home, we must look for another guise-master than we have had. We shall see old coil between 'em. If I can spy into futurity a little, there will be much clatter among the moveables, and some practice for the surgeons. By this, the parson has given 'em his licence to fall together by the ears.

(Enter Pedro hastily, L.) Pedro.

Grumio, your master bid me find you out, and speed you to his country house, to prepare for his reception; and, if he finds not things as he expects 'em, according to the directions that he gave you, you know, he says, what follows. This message he delivered before his bride, even in her way to church, and shook his whip in token of his love.

Grumio.

I understand it, sir; and will convey the same token to my horse immediately, that he may take to his heels, in order to save my bones and his own ribs.

(Exit Grumio, running, L.) Pedro. So odd a master, and so fit a man, Were never seen in Padua before. Enter Biondello hastily, R. Now, Biondello, came you from the church? Bion. As willingly as e'er I came from school. Pedro. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? Bion. A bridegroom, say you? 'tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. Pedro. Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. Bion. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. Pedro. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. Bion. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. I'll tell you, brother Pedro. When the priest Should ask—If Katharine should be his wife? "Ay, by gog's-wouns," quoth he; and swore so loud, That, all amazed, the priest let fall the book; And, as he stooped again to take it up, The mad-brained bridegroom took him such a cuff, That down fell priest and book, and book and priest. "Now take them up," quoth he, "if any list." Pedro. What said the wench when he arose again? Bion. Trembled and shook; for why, he stamped and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him.

Bion. The mad-brained bridegroom took him such a cuff, That down fell priest and book, and book and priest.. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine. "A health," quoth he, as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaffed off the muscadel, And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, And seemed to ask him sops, as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck, And kissed her lips with such a clamourous smack, That, at the parting, all the church did echo. I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. (music, R.) Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.— Such a mad marriage never was before. Exeunt Pedro and Biondello, L. Enter Gentlemen, Ladies, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista, Petruchio, singing and dancing, Katharine, Ladies and Gentlemen, R., they pass round the stage to R. Petru. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains; I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepared great store of wedding cheer; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence; And therefore here I mean to take my leave. Baptis. Is't possible, you will away to-night? Petru. I must away to-day, before night come. Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife. Dine with my father, drink a health to me; For I must hence, and farewell to you all. Horten. Let me entreat you stay till after dinner. Petru. It may not be. Bianca. Let me entreat you that my sister stay. I came on purpose to attend the wedding, And pass this day in mirth and festival. Petru. It cannot be. Kath. Let me entreat you. Petru. I am content. Kath. Are you content to stay? Petru. I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. Petru. My horses, there!(crosses, L.) What, ho, my horses, there ! Kath. Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow; nor till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green; For me, I'll not begone, till I please myself :— 'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, That take it on you at the first so roundly. Baptis. Nay, Kate, content thee. Pr'ythee be not angry. Kath. I will be angry! (fiercely) Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. Horten. (up stage c.) Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work. Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist. Petru. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer; Be mad and merry, – or go hang yourselves; But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.(seizes her) Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household-stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything. (she screams—he throws her round to L.) And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I'll bring my action on the proudest he, That stops my way in Padua. (the Company draw their swords) Petruchio, Draw forth thy weapon, thou'rt beset with thieves; Rescue thy wife, then, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench: they shall not touch thee, Kate, I'll buckler thee against a million, Kate. (Petruchio takes her on his L. shoulder, and goes off waving his sword, L., followed by the Company)

Scene Second.—Hall of Petruchio's Country House. Table and chairs. Enter Grumio, L. Grumio.

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

Enter Curtis, R. Curtis.

Who is that, calls so coldly?

Grumio.

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

Curtis.

Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

Grumio.

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

Curtis.

Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?

Grumio.

She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but thou know'st winter tames man, woman, and beast. Where's the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimmed, the serving men in their best clothes, and every officer his wedding garments on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, the carpets laid, and everything in order?

Curtis.

All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, what news?

Grumio.

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

Curtis.

How?

Grumio.

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

Curtis.

Let's ha't, good Grumio.

Grumio.

Lend thine ear.

Curtis.

Here.

Grumio.

There!

(boxes her ear) Curtis.

(rubbing her ear) This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

Grumio.

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

Curtis.

Both on one horse?

Grumio.

What's that to thee? Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not crossed me, thou should'st have heard how her horse fell, and she under her horse; thou should'st have heard in how miry a place; how she was bemoiled; how he left her with the horse upon her; how he beat me because her horse stumbled; how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me; how he swore; how she prayed –that never prayed before; how I cried; how the horses ran away; how her bridle was burst, how I lost my crupper; how my mistress lost her slippers, tore and bemired her garments, limped to the farm house, put on Rebecca's old shoes and petticoat; with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave.

Curtis.

By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she.

Grumio.

Ay, for the nonce; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Gabriel, Gregory, Adam, Walter, Ralph, and the rest. Are they all ready?

Curtis.

They are. Do you hear, ho?—Nathaniel, Gabriel, Gregory, where are you?

Enter Nathaniel, Gabriel, Gregory, Adam, Walter, and Ralph, R. Nath.

Welcome home, Grumio.

Gabriel.

How now, Grumio?

Greg.

What, Grumio?

Adam.

Fellow Grumio!

Walter. How now, old lad! Ralph.

Ha, Grumio!

Grumio.

Welcome, you; —how now, you; —what, you; —fellow, you; and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

Nath.

All things is ready. How near is our master?

Grumio.

E'en at hand; alighted by this; and therefore be not—

Petruchio.

(without, L.) Holloa!

Grumio.

Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.

(Enter Petruchio and Katharine, L.) Petru. Where be these knaves? What, no man at the door To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Adam? All The Servts. Here, here, sir; here, sir! Petru. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! You logger-headed and unpolished grooms! What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? Where is the foolish knave I sent before? Grumio. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. Petru. Thou peasant swain! thou stupid malt-horse drudge! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? Grumio. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made; And Gabriel's pumps were all unpinked i' the heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing; There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory. The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly. Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. Petru. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. Grumio. The supper, the supper! Exeunt all the Servants but Grumio, R. Petru. Here, take my boots off. Sit down, Kate, and welcome. (gives Katharine a chair, R. and sits himself L. C.) Enter the Cook, Nathaniel, Gabriel, Walter, and Ralph, with the supper, R. Pull off my boots. — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Some water for my hands—some water, Grumio. Exit Grumio, R. Enter Gregory, with slippers, and pulls off his boot, R. Petru. (sings) "It was the friar of orders grey, As he forth walked on his way,—" Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry! Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. (beats him) Some water here. –Be merry, Kate.—What, ho! Shall I have some water? Enter Grumio—and Adam with a basin of water, running, R.—Adam falls and breaks the basin. You careless villain will you let it fall? (beats him) Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. Petru. A blundering, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! What ho! my supper. Grumio. Supper, supper! Petru. Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. Kath. Indeed I have; And never was repast so welcome to me. (they sit) Petru. Will you say grace, sweet Kate, or else shall I?— What is this? Walter. Mutton. Petru. Who brought it? Walter. (pointing to the Cook)The cook./ Ralph. No; he did. (pointing to Walter) Petru. 'Tis burnt, and so is all the meat. Where is the rascal cook? Grumio.

Cook, cook!

(they thrust the Cook forward) Petru. How durst you, villain, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me, that love it not? There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all. (throws the meat at the Cook, and the dishes, &c., about the stage)

Petru. There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.. You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves! What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. (horsewhips the Servants till they run off R. and L.) Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; The meat was well, and well I could have eat, If you were so disposed; I'm sick with fasting. Petru. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away; And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choler, planteth anger; And better 'twere that both of us did fast— Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended, And, for this night, we'll fast for company. Come, I will show thee to thy bridal chamber. Kath. Fast?—Go to bed without my supper, thus? Petru. "Tis the unwholesom'st thing i' the world, sweet Kate! Come, I will show thee to thy bridal chamber. Exeunt, R. 1 E. Enter Grumio, Walter, Gabriel, Nathaniel, Gregory, Ralph, and Adam, R. U. E. and L. Nath.

Why, Grumio, didst thou ever see the like?

Grumio.

He kills her in her own humour. I did not think so good and kind a master could have put on so resolute a bearing. Enter Curtis, R. 1 E.) Where is he, Curtis?

Curtis.

In her chamber, making a sermon of patience to her; and all the while he rails, and swears at such a rate, that she, poor soul, knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak; but sits as one new-waking from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither.

Exeunt, L. Enter Petruchio, R. Petru. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'll find about the making of the bed; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, This way the coverlet, that way the sheets:— Ay, and amid this hurly, I'll pretend That all is done in reverend care of her; And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night: And if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl, And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness, And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak, 'twere charity to shew. Exit, R. (End Of Act II.)

Act III.

Scene. The same as the last. Enter Grumio, followed by Katharine, R. Grumio. No, no, forsooth; I dare not, for my life. Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears: What, did he marry me to famish me? But that, which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love; As who would say– if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death!— I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. Grumio. What say you to a neat's foot? Kath. 'Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have it. Grumio. I fear it is too phlegmatic a meat: How say you to a fat tripe finely boil'd? Kath. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. Grumio. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. Grumio. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. Kath. Why, then, the beef, and let the mustard rest. Grumio. Nay, that I will not; you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. Grumio. Why, then, the mustard, dame, without the beef. Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave. (beats him) That feed'st me only with the name of meat. Enter Petruchio, L. Petru. Holloa! how fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? Mistress, what cheer? Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. Petru. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me; For now, my honey-love, we are refreshed. Kath. Refreshed! with what? Petru. We will return unto thy father's house, And revel it as bravely as the best, With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things; Look up, my love; the tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his rustling treasure. Tailor, come in! (Petruchio sits, L., Katharine, R.) Enter Tailor, carrying a large band-box, L. Where are these ornaments? Tailor. (who stutters) Here is the cap your worship. did bespeak. Petru. The what? Tailor.

(as before) The cap.

Petru. Why, this was moulded on a porringer; A velvet dish! Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy: Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnut-shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap. Away with it, and let me have a bigger. Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. Petru. (aside) When you are gentle, you shall have one too. 'Tis a mere bauble; say no more about it. Kath. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will; I am no child, no babe; Your betters have endured me say my mind. And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. Petru. Thou say'st true, Kate; it is a paltry cap. I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; And I will have it; or I will have none. Petru.

The gown! Why, ay.—Come, tailor, let us see't.

(the Tailor shews the gown) O, mercy, heaven! What masking stuff is here! What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon. All up and down, carved like an apple tart! Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop, Why, what i' the devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? Grumio.

(aside, R.) I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown.

Tailor. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion of the time. Petru. Marry, and did; but, if you be remembered, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home; For you shall hop without my custom, sir. Hence, make your best of it; I'll none of it. Kath. I never saw a better fashioned gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. Petru. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. Tailor. She says, your worship means to make a puppet of her. Petru. O, most monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread! Thou thimble! (driving the Tailor to L. corner) Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail! Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket, thou— Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread! Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marred the gown. Tailor. (who has shrunk on his knees) Your worship is deceived; the gown is made Just as my master had direction. Grumio gave order how it should be done. Grumio. (kneels, R.) I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. How should it be made? Tailor. But how did you desire it should be made ? Grumio. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. How should it be made? Tailor. But how did you not request to have it cut. Grumio.

Though thou hast faced many things, face not me. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him to cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.

Tailor. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify. Petru. Read it. Tailor.

"Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown."

(Petruchio turns angrily to Grumio) Grumio.

Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: —I said a gown.

Grumio. I am for thee straight: come on, you parchment shred! Petru. (to Tailor)

Proceed.

Tailor.

"With a small compassed cape."

Grumio.

I confess the cape.

Tailor.

"With a trunk sleeve."

Grumio.

I confess two sleeves.

Tailor.

"The sleeves curiously cut."

Petru.

Ay, there's the villany.

(threateningly to Grumio) Grumio.

Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill:—I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

Tailor. This is true that I say, and I had thee in a place where—thou should'st know it. Grumio.

I am for thee straight: come on, you parchment shred!

(they fight) Petru. What, chickens spar in presence of the kite! I'll swoop upon you both: Out, out, ye vermin ! (Petruchio beats the Tailor off, L.—Grumio retires a little behind, laughing at him—Katharine has hidden behind table, he leads her forward) Kath. For heaven's sake, sir, have patience! How you fright me! (crying) Petru. Well, come, my Katharine; we will now away, To feast and sport us at thy father's house— Go, call my men, and bring our horses out. Exit Grumio, L. Kath. O, happy hearing! Let us straight be gone; I cannot tarry here another day. Petru. Cannot, my Kate? O, yes; indeed you can. Kath. Indeed, I cannot. Petru. O, yes, you could, my Katharine; if I wish'd it. Kath. I tell you, I'll not stay another moment. Enter Grumio, running, L. Grumio. The horses, sir, are ready, and– Petru. Put up:—On second thoughts, 'tis now too late; For look, how bright and goodly shines the moon. Kath. The moon? the sun :—It is not moonlight now. Petru. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. Petru. Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house/ Go you, and put the horses up again. Evermore cross'd. amd cross'd! nothing but cross'd! (crosses, R.) Grumio. (aside to Katherine) Say as he says: or we shall never go. (retires up) Kath. I see, 'tis vain to struggle with my bonds. Sir, be it moon, or sun, or what you please; And oif you please to call it a rush candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be sop for me. Petru. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright. Kath. I know it is the moon. Petru. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. Kath. Just as you please: it is the blessed sun. But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes, even as your mind. What you will have it nam'd, even that it is, And so it shall be for your Katharine. Petru. Get out the horses. (Exit Grumio, L.) Thus the bowl shall run, And not unluckily against the bias. (crosses, c.) But soft, what company is coming here, And stops our journey? Enter Baptista, Bianca, and Hortensio, L. Good morrow, gentle mistress. (to Baptista) Where away? Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly, too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face? Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee: Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake! Baptis. (L. C.) How now? Embrace me for my beauty's sake! What is all this? Kath. (crosses, C., to Baptista) Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and sweet, Whither away; or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child ! Happier the man whom favourable stars Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow! Baptis. What mummery is this! Petru. (R. C.) Why, how now, Kate? I hope thou art not mad. This is Baptista, our old reverend father; And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. Kath. (c.) Pardon, dear father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the–– (hesitating) Petru. The sun. Kath. The sun, That every thing I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive, thou art my reverend father. Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. (kneels) Baptis. Rise, rise, my child. What strange vagary's this? I came to see thee, with my son and daughter. How lik'st thou wedlock? Art not alter'd, Kate? Petru. Chang'd for the better much: art not, my Kate? Kath. Indeed I am almost transform'd to stone. So good a master cannot choose but mend me. Horten.

Here is a wonder, if you talk of wonders.

(going down with Bianca, R.) Bianca. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. Petru. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life And awful rule, and right supremacy: And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy? Bianca. Was ever woman's spirit broke so soon! What is the matter, Kate? Hold up thy head; Nor lose our sex's best prerogative, To wish, and have our will. Petru. (C.) Peace, brawler, peace! Or I will give the meek Hortensio, Your husband there, my taming recipe. Katharine, I charge thee, tell this headstrong woman What duty 'tis she owes her lord and husband. Kath. (L.C.) Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper; One that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance: commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Petru. Well said, my Kate! You'll learn that lesson, lady. Baptis. (L.) Now joy betide thee, son Petruchio! And fair befall thee, my now gentle Katharine! Go home with me along, and I will add Another fortune to another daughter: For thou art chang'd as thou hadst never been. Petru. My fortune is sufficient: here's my wealth. Kiss me, my Kate; and, since thou art become So prudent, kind, and dutiful a wife, Petruchio here shall doff the lordly husband; An honest mask, which I throw off with pleasure. Far hence all rudeness, wilfulness, and noise, And be our future lives one gentle stream Of mutual love, compliance, and regard! Kath. Nay, then, I'm all unworthy of thy love, And look with blushes on my former self. How shameful 'tis when women are so simple, To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, Where bound to love, to honour, and obey! Hortensio, Bianca. Petruchio. Katharine. Baptista. Curtain.