The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 479

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 meac.o.c.k 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.

G.o.d 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 a.s.sure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you a.s.sure 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 cus.h.i.+ons boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needle-work; Pewter and bra.s.s, 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 Ma.r.s.eilles 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 gallia.s.ses, And twelve tight galleys. These I will a.s.sure 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 a.s.surance, 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 a.s.surance; 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

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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 a.s.s, 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 ba.s.s.

HORTENSIO. The ba.s.s 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 pa.s.sion- "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 fas.h.i.+ons please me best; I am not so nice To change true rules for odd inventions.