Enter Katherina and Bianca.
BIANCA.
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me
That I disdain; but for these other gawds
Unbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat
Or what you will command me will I do
So well I know my duty to my elders.
KATHERINA.
Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell
Whom thou lov’st best: see thou dissemble not.
BIANCA.
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
KATHERINA.
Minion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio
BIANCA.
If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I’ll plead for you myself but you shall have him.
KATHERINA.
O! then, belike, you fancy riches more
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
BIANCA.
Is it for him you do envy me so
Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive
You have but jested with me all this while
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
KATHERINA.
If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
Strikes her.
Enter Baptista.
BAPTISTA.
Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.
Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her.
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee
When did she cross thee with a bitter word
KATHERINA.
Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be reveng’d.
Flies after Bianca.
BAPTISTA.
What! in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
Exit Bianca.
KATHERINA.
What! will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see
She is your treasure, she must have a husband
I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep
Till I can find occasion of revenge.
Exit.
BAPTISTA.
Was ever gentleman thus griev’d as I
But who comes here
Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio, with Hortensio as a musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute and books.
GREMIO.
Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.
BAPTISTA.
Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen
PETRUCHIO.
And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
Call’d Katherina, fair and virtuous
BAPTISTA.
I have a daughter, sir, call’d Katherina.
GREMIO.
You are too blunt: go to it orderly.
PETRUCHIO.
You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave.
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit
Her affability and bashful modesty
Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment
I do present you with a man of mine
Presenting Hortensio.
Cunning in music and the mathematics
To instruct her fully in those sciences
Whereof I know she is not ignorant.
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
BAPTISTA.
Y’are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
PETRUCHIO.
I see you do not mean to part with her
Or else you like not of my company.
BAPTISTA.
Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name
PETRUCHIO.
Petruchio is my name, Antonio’s son
A man well known throughout all Italy.
BAPTISTA.
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.
GREMIO.
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.
Backare! you are marvellous forward.
PETRUCHIO.
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.
GREMIO.
I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar
Presenting Lucentio.
that has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio; pray accept his service.
BAPTISTA.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio. [To Tranio.] But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger. May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming
TRANIO.
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own
That, being a stranger in this city here
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request
That, upon knowledge of my parentage
I may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo
And free access and favour as the rest
And, toward the education of your daughters
I here bestow a simple instrument
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
BAPTISTA.
Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray
TRANIO.
Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
BAPTISTA.
A mighty man of Pisa: by report
I know him well: you are very welcome, sir.
To Hortensio.] Take you the lute
To Lucentio.] and you the set of books
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within
Enter a Servant.
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both
These are their tutors: bid them use them well.
Exeunt Servant with Hortensio, Lucentio and Biondello.
We will go walk a little in the orchard
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
PETRUCHIO.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods
Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d
Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love
What dowry shall I have with her to wife
BAPTISTA.
After my death, the one half of my lands
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
PETRUCHIO.
And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialities be therefore drawn between us
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
BAPTISTA.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d
That is, her love; for that is all in all.
PETRUCHIO.
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.
BAPTISTA.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed
But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.
PETRUCHIO.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds
That shake not though they blow perpetually.
Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broke.
BAPTISTA.
How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale
HORTENSIO.
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
BAPTISTA.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician
HORTENSIO.
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
BAPTISTA.
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute
HORTENSIO.
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 fume with them
And with that word she struck me on the head
And through the instrument my pate made way
And there I stood amazed for a while
As on a pillory, looking through the lute
While she did call me rascal fiddler
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile terms
As had she studied to misuse me so.
PETRUCHIO.
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 some chat with her
BAPTISTA.
To Hortensio.] Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter
She’s apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you
PETRUCHIO.
I pray you do.
Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio and Hortensio.
I will attend her here
And 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
Say she be mute, and will not speak a word
Then I’ll commend her volubility
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence
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.
But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.
Enter Katherina.
Good morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.
KATHERINA.
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
PETRUCHIO.
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
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation
Hearing thy mildness prais’d in every town
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs
Myself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.
KATHERINA.
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.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, what’s a moveable
KATHERINA.
A joint-stool.
PETRUCHIO.
Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.
KATHERINA.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
PETRUCHIO.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.
KATHERINA.
No such jade as bear you, if me you mean.
PETRUCHIO.
Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee
For, knowing thee to be but young and light
KATHERINA.
Too light for such a swain as you to catch
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
PETRUCHIO.
Should be! should buz
KATHERINA.
Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.
PETRUCHIO.
O, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee
KATHERINA.
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
PETRUCHIO.
Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.
KATHERINA.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
PETRUCHIO.
My remedy is then to pluck it out.
KATHERINA.
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
PETRUCHIO.
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting
In his tail.
KATHERINA.
In his tongue.
PETRUCHIO.
Whose tongue
KATHERINA.
Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.
PETRUCHIO.
What! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again
Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
KATHERINA.
That I’ll try.
Striking him.
PETRUCHIO.
I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.
KATHERINA.
So may you lose your arms
If you strike me, you are no gentleman
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
PETRUCHIO.
A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.
KATHERINA.
What is your crest? a coxcomb
PETRUCHIO.
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
KATHERINA.
No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
KATHERINA.
It is my fashion when I see a crab.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.
KATHERINA.
There is, there is.
PETRUCHIO.
Then show it me.
KATHERINA.
Had I a glass I would.
PETRUCHIO.
What, you mean my face
KATHERINA.
Well aim’d of such a young one.
PETRUCHIO.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
KATHERINA.
Yet you are wither’d.
PETRUCHIO.
Tis with cares.
KATHERINA.
I care not.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ’scape not so.
KATHERINA.
I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.
PETRUCHIO.
No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen
And now I find report a very liar
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk
But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp
O sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
KATHERINA.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.
PETRUCHIO.
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
KATHERINA.
Where did you study all this goodly speech
PETRUCHIO.
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
KATHERINA.
A witty mother! witless else her son.
PETRUCHIO.
Am I not wise
KATHERINA.
Yes; keep you warm.
PETRUCHIO.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed
And therefore, setting all this chat aside
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife your dowry ’greed on
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn
For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well
Thou must be married to no man but me
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Re-enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio.
Here comes your father. Never make denial
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
BAPTISTA.
Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter
PETRUCHIO.
How but well, sir? how but well
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
BAPTISTA.
Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps
KATHERINA.
Call you me daughter? Now I promise you
You have show’d a tender fatherly regard
To wish me wed to one half lunatic
A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
PETRUCHIO.
Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world
That talk’d of her have talk’d amiss of her
If she be curst, it is for policy
For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn
For patience she will prove a second Grissel
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity
And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
KATHERINA.
I’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.
GREMIO.
Hark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.
TRANIO.
Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part
PETRUCHIO.
Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself
If she and I be pleas’d, what’s that to you
Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me: O! the kindest Kate
She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O! you are novices: ’tis a world to see
How tame, when men and women are alone
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate; I will unto Venice
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.
BAPTISTA.
I know not what to say; but give me your hands.
God send you joy, Petruchio! ’Tis a match.
GREMIO, TRANIO.
Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
PETRUCHIO.
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.
I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace
We will have rings and things, and fine array
And kiss me, Kate; we will be married o’ Sunday.
Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina, severally.
GREMIO.
Was ever match clapp’d up so suddenly
BAPTISTA.
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
TRANIO.
Twas a commodity lay fretting by you
Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
BAPTISTA.
The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.
GREMIO.
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter
Now is the day we long have looked for
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
TRANIO.
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.
GREMIO.
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
TRANIO.
Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.
GREMIO.
But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back; ’tis age that nourisheth.
TRANIO.
But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.
BAPTISTA.
Content you, gentlemen; I’ll compound this strife
Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have my Bianca’s love.
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her
GREMIO.
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry
In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl
Valance of Venice gold in needlework
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess
And if I die tomorrow this is hers
If whilst I live she will be only mine.
TRANIO.
That ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me
I am my father’s heir and only son
If I may have your daughter to my wife
I’ll leave her houses three or four as good
Within rich Pisa’s walls as anyone
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua
Besides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
What, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio
GREMIO.
Two thousand ducats by the year of land
My land amounts not to so much in all
That she shall have, besides an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles’ road.
What, have I chok’d you with an argosy
TRANIO.
Gremio, ’tis known my father hath no less
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses
And twelve tight galleys; these I will assure her
And twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.
GREMIO.
Nay, I have offer’d all; I have no more
And she can have no more than all I have
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
TRANIO.
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.
BAPTISTA.
I must confess your offer is the best
And let your father make her the assurance
She is your own; else, you must pardon me
If you should die before him, where’s her dower
TRANIO.
That’s but a cavil; he is old, I young.
GREMIO.
And may not young men die as well as old
BAPTISTA.
Well, gentlemen
I am thus resolv’d. On Sunday next, you know
My daughter Katherine is to be married
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance
If not, to Signior Gremio.
And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
GREMIO.
Adieu, good neighbour.
Exit Baptista.
Now, I fear thee not
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and in his waning age
Set foot under thy table. Tut! a toy
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.
Exit.
TRANIO.
A vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide
Yet I have fac’d it with a card of ten.
Tis in my head to do my master good
I see no reason but suppos’d Lucentio
Must get a father, call’d suppos’d Vincentio
And that’s a wonder: fathers commonly
Do get their children; but in this case of wooing
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
Exit.
