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Take you your inftrument, stay you a while;
His lecture will be done ere you have tun'd.

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: Hic ibat Simois, hic eft Sigeia tellus, Hic fteterat Priami regia celfa fenis.

Bian. Conftrue them.

Luc. 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 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.
Bian. Let's hear: o, fie! the treble jars.

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

[returning.

Bian. Now let me fee if I can conftrue it: Hic 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, defpair not.

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Luc. All but the base.

Hor. The base 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 love;

Pedafcule, I'll watch better yet.

you

Bian. In time I may believe; yet I mistrust.

Luc. Miftruft it not; for, fure,

acides

Was Ajax, call'd fo from his grandfather.

Bian. I muft believe my mafter; elfe, I promise you,

I fhould be arguing still upon that doubt:

But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you:

Good masters, 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;

VOL. II.

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My

My leffons make no mufick in three parts.

Luc. Are you fo formal, fir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.

[Lucentio retires.

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 past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortenfio.

Bian. [reading.] Gamut, I am the ground of all accord,
A re, to plead Hortenfio's paffion,

B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C faut, that loves thee with all affection,
D fol re, one cliff, but two notes have I,
E la mi, fhow me 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 odd inventions.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave And help to dress your fifter's chamber up; You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

your books,

Exit.

Bian. Farewel, fweet mafters both; I must be gone. [Exit. Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; Methinks, he looks as though 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. SCENE

SCENE II.

Enter Baptifta, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, and Attendants.
Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day
That Cathrine and Petruchio fhould 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 madbrain rudefby, full of fpleen,

Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leifure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,

Hiding his bitter jefts 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 must 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.
Though he be blunt, I know him paffing wife;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honeft.

Cath. Would Catharine had never seen him though!

[Exit weeping.

Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For fuch an injury would vex a faint,

Much more a fhrew of thy impatient humour.

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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, fir.

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 sword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points; his horse hipp'd, with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred; befides, poffefs'd with the glanders, and like to mourn in the chine, troubled with the lampass, infected with the farcin, full of windgalls, fped with spavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the vives, ftark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, fway'd in the back, and shouldershotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-cheek'd bit, and a headstall of sheep's leather, which, being restrain'd to keep him from ftumbling hath been often burst, 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 packthread.

Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. O, fir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horse, with a linen ftock on one leg, and a kerfey boot-hose 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 monster in apparel, and not like a chriftian footboy, or gentleman's lackey.

Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion;

Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.

Bap. I am glad he's come, howfoever he comes.

Bion. Why, fir, he comes not.

Bap. Didit thou not say, he comes ?

Bion. Who? that Petruchio came?

Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion. No, fir; I fay, his horse comes with him on his back. Bap. Why, that's all one.

Bion. Nay, by faint Jamy, I hold you̟ a penny,

A horfe and a man is more than one, and yet not many.

SCENE IV.

Enter Petruchio, and Grumio, fantastically habited.

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

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. Why, 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 unusual prodigy?

Bap. Why, fir, you know this is your wedding-day :: First, were we fad, fearing you would not come;

Now, fadder, that you come fo unprovided.

Fie! doff this habit, fhame to your estate,

An eyefore to our folemn festival.

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

Pet..

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