Gru. Catharine the curft? A title for a maid of all titles the worst! Hor. Now fhall my Friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me difguis'd in fober robes To old Baptifta as a fchool-mafter, Well feen in mufick, to inftruct Bianca; That fo I may by this device, at least, And, unsuspected, court her by herself. Enter Gremio, and Lucentio difguis'd. Gru. Here's no knavery! fee, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together. Mafter, look about you: who goes there? ha! Hor. Peace, Grumio, 'tis the Rival of my love. Gru. A proper Stripling, and an amorous.— I'll mend it with a largefs. Take your papers too, For fhe is fweeter than perfume itself, To whom they go; what will you read to her? Hor Hor. Grumio, mum! God fave you, Signior Gremio. Gre. And you are well met, Signior Hortenfio. Trow you, whither I am going? to Baptifta Minola; I promis'd to enquire carefully about a school-mafter for the fair Bianca; and by good fortune I have lighted well on this young man, for Learning, and Behaviour fit for her turn, well read in Poetry, and other books; good ones, I warrant ye. Hor. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman, Hath promis'd me to help me to another, A fine musician to inftruct our mistress; So fhall I no whit be behind in duty Gre. Belov'd of me,-and that my deeds fhall prove. Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love. Pet. I know, fhe is an irkfome brawling Scold; If that be all, mafters, I hear no harm. Gre. No, fayeft me fo, friend? what Countryman? My Father's dead, my fortune lives for me, Gre. Oh, Sir, fuch a life with fuch a wife were ftrange; But will you wooe this wild cat? Pet. Will I live? Gru. Will he wooe her? ay, or I'll hang her. Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent? Think you, a little din can daunt my ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Loud larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clangue? Tufh, tufh, fear boys with bugs. Gru. For he fears none. Gre. Hortenfio, hark: This Gentleman is happily arriv'd, My mind prefumes, for his own good, and ours. Gre. And fo we will, provided that he win her. To them Tranio bravely apparell'd, and Biondello. Tra. Gentlemen, God fave you. If I may be bold, tell me, I beseech you, which is the readieft way to the houfe of Signior Baptifta Minola? Bion. He, that has the two fair Daughters? is't he you mean? Tra. Even he, Biondello. Gre. Hark you, Sir, you mean not her, to Tra. Perhaps, him and her; what have you to do? Pet. Not her that chides, Sir, at any hand, I pray. 3 That gives not half io great a blow to HEAR,] This aukward phrafe could never come from Shakespeare. He wrote, without queftion, — fo great a blone to 'TH’BAR. WARBURTON. Tra. I love no chiders, Sir: Biondello, let's away. Luc. Well begun, Tranio. Hor. Sir, a word, ere you go: Are you a fuitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? Tra. An if I be, Sir, is it any offence? Gre. No; if without more words you will get you hence. Tra. Why, Sir, I pray, are not the ftreets as free For me, as for you? Gre. But fo is not she. Tra. For what reason, I beseech you? Gre. For this reason, if you'll know: That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. To whom my Father is not all unknown; Gre. What, this Gentleman will out-talk us all! Pet. Sir, Sir, the firft's for me; let her go by. Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, infooth: The youngest Daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all accefs of fuitors, And And will not promise her to any man, Tra. If it be fo, Sir, that you are the man Hor. Sir, you fay well, and well you do conceive, Tra. Sir, I fhall not be flack; in fign whereof, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. Gru. Bion. O excellent motion! fellows, let's be gone. Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it fo, Petruchio, I fhall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. [The Prefenters, above, speak here. 1 Man. My Lord, you nod; you do not mind the Play. Sly. Yea, by St. Ann, do I. A good matter, furely! -comes there any more of it? Lady. My Lord, 'tis but begun. Sly. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, Madam Lady. 'Would, 'twere done! |