Re-enter BIONDELLO. Bion. I have seen them in the church together: God send 'em good shipping!-But who is here? mine old master, Vincentio! now we are undone, and brought to nothing. Vin. [Seeing BION.] Come hither, crack-hemp. Bion. I hope I may choose, Sir. Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? Bion. Forgot you! no, Sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, marry, Sir: see where he looks out of the window. Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beats BIONDELLO. Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me. [Exit. Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! [Exit from the window. Pet. Pry'thee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the end of this controversy. [They retire. Re-enter Pedant below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and Servants. Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? Vin. What am I, Sir! nay, what are you, Sir?O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat!O, I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. Tra. How now! what's the matter? Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, Sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Vin. Thy father! O villain! he is a sail-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake, Sir, you mistake, Sir. Pray, what do you think is his name? Vin. His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. Ped. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, signior Vincentio. Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master!-Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's -O my son, my son !-tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? name. Tra. Call forth an officer. Enter one with an Officer. Carry this mad knave to the jail.-Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. Vin. Carry me to the jail! Gre. Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lucentio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard! to the jail with him! Right son to the right Vincentio; Gre. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arrived at the last Unto the wished haven of my bliss. What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the jail. Bap. [To LUCENTIO.] But do you hear, Sir? Have you married my daughter without asking my good-will? Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. [Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and BIAN. Gre. My cake is dough: but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. [Exit. PETRUCHIO and Katharina advance. Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay. Pet. Is not this well?-Come, my sweet Kate: Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Room in LUCENTIO'S House. A Banquet set out. Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the Pedant, LUCENTIO, BIANCA, Petruchio, KaTHARINA, HORTENSIO, and Widow. TRANIO, BIONDELLO, GRUMIO, and others, attending. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And time it is, when raging war is done, To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown.— My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.— Brother Petruchio,-sister Katharina,- [They sit at table. true. Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Wid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss my I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. [sense: Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round: I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Pet. To her, Kate! Hor. To her, widow! Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow.— You are welcome all. [Exeunt BIANCA, KATHARINA, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior Tranio; This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Bap. O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Re-enter BIONDELLO. Now, where's my wife? Bion. She says you have some goodly jest in hand: I command her to come to me. Pet. What? Hor. She will not. [Exit GRUMIO. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katha rina! Re-enter KATHARINA. Kath. What is your will, Sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. Go, fetch them hither: if they deny to come, Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. [Exit KATHARINA. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is: I wonder what it bodes. Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, An awful rule, and right supremacy; you not: Katharine, that cap of yours becomes Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. [KATHARINA pulls off her cap, and throws it down. Wid. Lord! let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time. Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. Fet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Pet. I say she shall:-and first begin with her. brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience,Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, | And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord?I am asham'd that women are so simple To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason, haply, more, To bandy word for word, and frown for frown: But now I see our lances are but straws; Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,-That seeming to be most, which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot; And place your hands below your husband's foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. Pet. Why, there's a wench!-Come on, and kiss me, Kate. Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't. Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froPet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed.[ward. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, [To LUCENTIO.] though you hit the white; And, being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATH. Hor. Now, go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt. ACT I. SCENE I. ROUSILLON. A Room in the COUNTESS'S Mansion. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, all in black. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. Ber. And I, in going, Madam, weep o'er my father's death anew: but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, Madam;-you, Sir, a father: he that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, Madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father,— O, that "had!" how sad a passage 'tis !-whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How called you the man you speak of, Madam? Count. He was famous, Sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so,-Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, Madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity,-they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. Laf. Your commendations, Madam, get from her tears. Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from her cheek.-No more of this, Helena,-go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed; but I have it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the living. Hel. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down Laf. He cannot want the best Count. Heaven bless him!Farewell, Bertram. [Exit. Ber. [To HELENA.] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That you were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with 't! Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in 't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by 't: out with 't! within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't! Hel. How might one do, Sir, to lose it to her own liking? Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't, while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears,-it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear: will you any thing with it? not now. Hel. Not my virginity yet. There shall your master have a thousand loves, Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity- Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, |