Hor. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune ?
[Hortenfio retires.

Luc. That will be never: tune your inftrument.
Bian. Where left we laft?

Luc. Here, Madam: Hac ibat Simois; hiç eft Sigeia
tellus ;

Hic fteterat Priami regia celfa fenis.

Bian. Conftrue them.

Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before; Simois, I am Lucentio; hic eft, fon unto Vincentio of Pisa: Sigeia tellus, difguifed thus to get your love; hic fteterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio; regia, bearing my port; celfa fenis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.

Hor. Madam, my inftrument's in tune. [Returning.
Bian. Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

Bian. Now let me fee if I can conftrue it. Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hic eft Sigeia tellus, I truft you not; hic fteterat Priami, take heed he hear us not; regia, prefume not; celfa fenis, despair not. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc. All but the base.

Hor. The bafe is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and how froward is our pedant! Now, for my life, that knave doth court my Pedafcale*, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. Luc. Miftruft it not ;-for, fure, acides Was Ajax, call'd fo from his grandfather.

love;

Bian. I muft believe my mafter, elfe I promise you, I fhould be arguing ftill upon that doubt; But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you: Good mafters, take it not unkindly, pray,

That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while;

My leffons make no mufic in three parts.

Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? well, I muft wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

*He would have faid didafcale; but thinking this too honou rable, he coins the word pedafcale in imitation of it, from pedant.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the inftrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer fort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade ;
And there it is in writing fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am pafs'd my gamut-long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortenfio.

Bian. [reading.] Gamut I am, the ground of all ac-
Are, to plead Hortenfio's paffion;

Bmi, Bianca, take him for thy lord;
Cfaut, that loves with all affection;

D fol re, one cliff, but two notes have I;
Elami, fhow pity, or I die.

Call you this gamut ? tut, I like it not: Old fashions please me beft; I'm not so nice To change true rules for new inventions.

Enter a Servant.

[cord;

Serv. Miftrefs, your father prays you leave your books,

And help to dress your fifter's chamber up;
You know, to-morrow is the wedding-day.

Bian. Farewel, fweet mafters, both; I muft be gone.

[Exit. Luc. 'Faith, miftrefs, then I have no caufe to ftay.

Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant;
Methinks he looks as tho' he were in love:
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be fo humble,
To caft thy wand'ring eyes on every stale;
Seize thee who lift; if once I find thee ranging,
Hortenfio will be quit with thee by changing.

[Exit.

[Exit.

Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, Bianca, and attendants.

Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day That Cath'rine and Petruchio should be married;

And yet we hear not of our fon-in-law.

What will be faid? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?

What fays Lucentio to this fhame of ours!

Cath. No fhame, but mine; I muft, forfooth, be forc'd

To give my hand oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain rudefby, full of spleen;
Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leifure.
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 thoufand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes;
Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd.
Now muft the world point at poor Catharine,
And fay, Lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.

Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptifta too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word.
Tho' he be blunt, I know him paffing wife :
Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honeft.

Cath. Would Catharine had never feen him tho' ! [Exit weeping. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For fuch an injury would vex a faint,

Much more a threw of thy impatient humour.

SCENE III. Enter Biondello.

Bion. Mafter, mafter; old news, and fuch news as you never heard of.

Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be! Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?

Bap. Is he come ?

Bion. Why, no, Sir.

Bap. What then?

Bion. He is coming.

Bap. When will he be here?

Bion. When he ftands where I am, and fees you there.

Tra. But, fay, what to thine old news?

Bion. 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-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rufty fword ta'en out of the town-armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, ' with two broken points; his horfe hipp'd with an old mothy faddle, the ftirrups of no kindred; befides poffefs'd with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, infected with the fashions, 'full of windgalls, fped with fpavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the fives, ftark fpoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and fhoulder-fhotten, near legg'd before, and with a half-check'd bit, and a headftall of sheep's leather; which being reftrain'd, to keep him from ftumbling, hath been often burft, and now repair'd with knots; ⚫ one girt fix times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairly fet down in ftuds, and here and there piec'd with pack-thread.'

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horse, with a linen ftock on one leg, and a kerfey boot-hofe on the other, garter'd with a 'red and blue lift, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prick'd up in 't for a feather: a monster, a very monfter in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey.'

Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this faYet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.

[shion;

Bap. I am glad he's come, how foever he comes.

Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.

Bap. Didft thou not fay, he comes?

Bion. Who? that Petruchio came not?

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion. No, Sir; I fay, his horse comes with him on his back.

Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by St Jamy, I hold you a penny,

A horfe and a man is more than one, and yet not many.
Some balad or drollery of that time is here ridiculed.

Enter Petruchio and Grumió fantastically habited.

Pet. Come, where be thefe gallants? who is at home? Bap. You're welcome, Sir.

Pet. And yet I come not well.

Bap. And yet you halt not.

Tra. Not fo well 'parell'd as I wish you were.

Pet. Were it better, I fhould 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 faw fome wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unufual prodigy?

Bap. Why, Sir, you know, this is your wedding-day :
Firft, were we fad, fearing you would not come;
Now, fadder, that you come fo unprovided.

Fie, doff this habit, fhame to your eftate,
An eye-fore to our folemn feftival.

Tra. And tell us what occafion of import
Hath all fo long detain'd you from your wife,
And fent you hither fo unlike yourself?

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear :
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,
Tho' in fome part inforced to digrefs,
Which at more leifure I will fo excufe,
As you fhall well be fatisfied withal..

But, where is Kate? I ftay too long from her;
The morning wears; 'tis time we were at church.
Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes;

Go to my chamber, put on cloaths of mine.

Pet. Not I; believe me, thus I'll visit her.
Bap. But thus, I truft, you will not marry her.

Pet. Good footh, even thus; therefore ha' done with

words;

To me fhe's married, not unto my cloaths:
Could I repair what fhe will wear in me,
As I could change these poor accoutrements,
"Twere well for Kate, and better for myfelf.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I fhould bid good-morrow to my bride,