The Taming of the Shrew - William Shakespeare (books for new readers .TXT) 📗

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 two daughters, and tell them both

These are their tutors: bid them use them well.

 

[Exit 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 she had 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. I will attend her here.

 

[Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, and HORTENSIO.]

 

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 cates: 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.

Here comes your father. Never make denial;

I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

 

[Re-enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, and TRANIO.]

 

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