Читать книгу: «The Taming of the Shrew», страница 3

 
    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 join'd-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 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- buzz!
  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. [She strikes 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 springtime 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 a 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 will 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 needle-work;
    Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs
    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 to-morrow 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 any one
    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!
    [Aside] 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 off'rest next.
  GREMIO. Nay, I have off'red 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 withered 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
 

ACT III. SCENE I. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house

Enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, HORTENSIO as LICIO, and BIANCA

 
  LUCENTIO. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.
    Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
    Her sister Katherine welcome'd you withal?
  HORTENSIO. But, wrangling pedant, this is
    The patroness of heavenly harmony.
    Then give me leave to have prerogative;
    And when in music we have spent an hour,
    Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
  LUCENTIO. Preposterous ass, that never read so far
    To know the cause why music was ordain'd!
    Was it not to refresh the mind of man
    After his studies or his usual pain?
    Then give me leave to read philosophy,
    And while I pause serve in your harmony.
  HORTENSIO. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
  BIANCA. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong
    To strive for that which resteth in my choice.
    I arn no breeching scholar in the schools,
    I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
    But learn my lessons as I please myself.
    And to cut off all strife: here sit we down;
    Take you your instrument, play you the whiles!
    His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.
  HORTENSIO. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
  LUCENTIO. That will be never- tune your instrument.
  BIANCA. Where left we last?
  LUCENTIO. Here, madam:
    'Hic ibat Simois, hic est Sigeia tellus,
    Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
  BIANCA. Construe them.
  LUCENTIO. 'Hic ibat' as I told you before- 'Simois' I am
Lucentio-
    'hic est' son unto Vincentio of Pisa- 'Sigeia tellus'
disguised
    thus to get your love- 'Hic steterat' and that Lucentio that
    comes a-wooing- 'Priami' is my man Tranio- 'regia' bearing my
    port- 'celsa senis' that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
  HORTENSIO. Madam, my instrument's in tune.
  BIANCA. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.
  LUCENTIO. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
  BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois'
I
    know you not- 'hic est Sigeia tellus' I trust you not- 'Hic
    steterat Priami' take heed he hear us not- 'regia' presume
not-
   'celsa senis' despair not.
  HORTENSIO. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
  LUCENTIO. All but the bass.
  HORTENSIO. The bass is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
    [Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is!
    Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love.
    Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
  BIANCA. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
  LUCENTIO. Mistrust it not- for sure, AEacides
    Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
  BIANCA. I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
    I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
    But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.
    Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
    That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
  HORTENSIO. [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave
      awhile;
    My lessons make no music in three Parts.
  LUCENTIO. Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
    [Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
    Our fine musician groweth amorous.
  HORTENSIO. Madam, before you touch the instrument
    To learn the order of my fingering,
    I must begin with rudiments of art,
    To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
    More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
    Than hath been taught by any of my trade;
    And there it is in writing fairly drawn.
  BIANCA. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
  HORTENSIO. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
  BIANCA. [Reads]
         '"Gamut" I am, the ground of all accord-
         "A re" to plead Hortensio's passion-
         "B mi" Bianca, take him for thy lord-
         "C fa ut" that loves with all affection-
         "D sol re" one clef, two notes have I-
         "E la mi" show pity or I die.'
    Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not!
    Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice
    To change true rules for odd inventions.
 

Enter a SERVANT

 
  SERVANT. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
    And help to dress your sister's chamber up.
    You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.
  BIANCA. Farewell, sweet masters, both; I must be gone.
                                       Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT
  LUCENTIO. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
 Exit
  HORTENSIO. But I have cause to pry into this pedant;
    Methinks he looks as though he were in love.
    Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
    To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale-
    Seize thee that list. If once I find thee ranging,
  HORTENSIO will be quit with thee by changing. Exit
 

SCENE II. Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house

Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO as LUCENTIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and ATTENDANTS

 
  BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed
day
    That Katherine and Petruchio should be married,
    And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.
    What will be said? What mockery will it be
    To want the bridegroom when the priest attends
    To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!
    What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
  KATHERINA. No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd
    To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,
    Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen,
    Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure.
    I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,
    Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;
    And, to be noted for a merry man,
    He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
    Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;
    Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
    Now must the world point at poor Katherine,
    And say 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
    If it would please him come and marry her!'
  TRANIO. Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista 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.
  KATHERINA. Would Katherine had never seen him though!
                    Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others
  BAPTISTA. Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,
    For such an injury would vex a very saint;
    Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
 

Enter BIONDELLO

 
    Master, master! News, and such old news as you never heard
of!
  BAPTISTA. Is it new and old too? How may that be?
  BIONDELLO. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?
  BAPTISTA. Is he come?
  BIONDELLO. Why, no, sir.
  BAPTISTA. What then?
  BIONDELLO. He is coming.
  BAPTISTA. When will he be here?
  BIONDELLO. When he stands where I am and sees you there.
  TRANIO. But, say, what to thine old news?
  BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming- in a new hat and an old
    jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots
    that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd; an
old
    rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury, with a broken
hilt,
    and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with
an
    old motley saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides,
possess'd
    with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled
with
    the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls,
sped
    with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure of the fives,
    stark spoil'd with the staggers, begnawn with the bots,
sway'd in
    the back and shoulder-shotten, near-legg'd before, and with a
    half-cheek'd bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather which,
    being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often
    burst, and now repaired with knots; one girth six times
piec'd,
    and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for
her
    name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec'd with
    pack-thread.
  BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?
  BIONDELLO. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison'd
like
    the horse- with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey
boot-hose
    on the other, gart'red with a red and blue list; an old hat,
and
    the humour of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather; a
    monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
    footboy or a gentleman's lackey.
  TRANIO. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
    Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell'd.
  BAPTISTA. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
  BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.
  BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?
  BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?
  BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.
  BIONDELLO. No, sir; I say his horse comes with him on his back.
  BAPTISTA. Why, that's all one.
  BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy,
             I hold you a penny,
             A horse and a man
             Is more than one,
             And yet not many.
 

Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO

 
  PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who's at home?
  BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.
  PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.
  BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.
  TRANIO. Not so well apparell'd
    As I wish you were.
  PETRUCHIO. 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?
  BAPTISTA. 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!
  TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import
    Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife,
    And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
  PETRUCHIO. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
    Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
    Though in some part enforced to digress,
    Which at more leisure I will so excuse
    As you shall well be satisfied withal.
    But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
    The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.
  TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
    Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
  PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me; thus I'll visit her.
  BAPTISTA. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
  PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with
words;
    To me she's married, not unto my clothes.
    Could I repair what she will wear in me
    As I can 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 lovely kiss!
                                  Exeunt PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO
  TRANIO. He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
    We will persuade him, be it possible,
    To put on better ere he go to church.
  BAPTISTA. I'll after him and see the event of this.
              Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, BIONDELLO, and ATTENDENTS
  TRANIO. But to her love concerneth us to ad
    Her father's liking; which to bring to pass,
    As I before imparted to your worship,
    I am to get a man- whate'er he be
    It skills not much; we'll fit him to our turn-
    And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,
    And make assurance here in Padua
    Of greater sums than I have promised.
    So shall you quietly enjoy your hope
    And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
  LUCENTIO. Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
    Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
    'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
    Which once perform'd, let all the world say no,
    I'll keep mine own despite of all the world.
  TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into
    And watch our vantage in this business;
    We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio,
    The narrow-prying father, Minola,
    The quaint musician, amorous Licio-
    All for my master's sake, Lucentio.
 

Re-enter GREMIO

 
    Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
  GREMIO. As willingly as e'er I came from school.
  TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
  GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? 'Tis a groom indeed,
    A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
  TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossible.
  GREMIO. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
  TRANIO. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.
  GREMIO. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him!
    I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest
    Should ask if Katherine should be his wife,
    'Ay, by gogs-wouns' quoth he, and swore so loud
    That, all amaz'd, the priest let fall the book;
    And as he stoop'd again to take it up,
    This mad-brain'd 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.'
  TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?
  GREMIO. Trembled and shook, for why he stamp'd and swore
    As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
    But after many ceremonies done
    He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if
    He had been abroad, carousing to his mates
    After a storm; quaff'd 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 seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
    This done, he took the bride about the neck,
    And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack
    That at the parting all the church did echo.
    And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame;
    And after me, I know, the rout is coming.
    Such a mad marriage never was before.
    Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music plays]
 

Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, GRUMIO, and train

 
  PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains.
    I know you think to dine with me to-day,
    And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer
    But so it is- my haste doth call me hence,
    And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
  BAPTISTA. Is't possible you will away to-night?
  PETRUCHIO. 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.
  TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
  PETRUCHIO. It may not be.
  GREMIO. Let me entreat you.
  PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.
  KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.
  PETRUCHIO. I am content.
  KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?
  PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay;
    But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
  KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.
  PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse.
  GRUMIO. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.
  KATHERINA. Nay, then,
    Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day;
    No, nor to-morrow, not 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 be gone till I please myself.
    'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom
    That take it on you at the first so roundly.
  PETRUCHIO. O Kate, content thee; prithee be not angry.
  KATHERINA. I will be angry; what hast thou to do?
    Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
  GREMIO. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
  KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner.
    I see a woman may be made a fool
    If she had not a spirit to resist.
  PETRUCHIO. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.
    Obey the bride, you that attend on her;
    Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
    Carouse full measure to her maidenhead;
    Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves.
    But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
    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 any thing,
    And here she stands; touch her whoever dare;
    I'll bring mine action on the proudest he
    That stops my way in Padua. Grumio,
    Draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;
    Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man.
    Fear not, sweet wench; they shall not touch thee, Kate;
    I'll buckler thee against a million.
                         Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, and GRUMIO
  BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
  GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
  TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like.
  LUCENTIO. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?
  BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she's madly mated.
  GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
  BAPTISTA. Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom
wants
    For to supply the places at the table,
    You know there wants no junkets at the feast.
    Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place;
    And let Bianca take her sister's room.
  TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?
  BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go.
                                                          Exeunt