Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you Bion. I have seen them in the church to-be cony-catched in this business: I dare swear gether: God send 'em good shipping!-But this is the right Vincentio.

Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. [hemp.not Lucentio.

Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. I Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. Gre. My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest;

Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast.

Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore

Re-enter Biondello.

[begun, Now, where's my wife?

I'll sleep again.
Pet. Nay, that you shall not: since you have
Have at you for a bitter jest or two. [bush,
Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all.

[Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me.-Here, signior Tranio;

This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not,
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.
Tra. O sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his

greyhound,

Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish.

[yourself:

Tra. Tis well, sir, that you hunted for
Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
Bap. O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you
here?

Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ;
And, as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.
Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
Pet. Well, I say no: and therefore, for as-

surance,

Let's each one send unto his wife;
And he whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her,
Shall win the wager which we will propose.
Hor. Content. What is the wager?
Luc.

Twenty crowns.

Pet. Twenty crowns!
I'll venture so much on my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.
Luc. A hundred then.

Hor.

Pet.

Hor. Who shall begin?
Luc.

[in hand :

Bion. She says you have some goodly jest
She will not come; she bids you come to her.
Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come!
Intolerable, not to be endur'd !— [O vile,
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; say,
I command her to come to me. [Exit Grumio.
Hor. I know her answer.
Hor. She will not.
[end.
Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an
Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes
Katharina!

Re-enter Katharina.

Pet. What?

quiet life,

An awful rule, and right supremacy;

And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and
happy.

Bap. Now, fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is chang'd, as she had never been.

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow.
A match! 'tis done. See, where she comes, and brings your fro-
ward wives

Content.

That will I.Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. Bion. I go. [Exit. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.

Re-enter Biondello.

How now! what news?

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy, and she cannot come.
Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot
Is that an answer?
[come!
Gre.
Ay, and a kind one too :
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
Pet. I hope, better.
[wife
Her. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello.

Pet.

O ho entreat her !
Nay, then she must needs come.
Hor.

I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions, and our hearts,
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason, haply, more,
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown:
But now I see our lances are but straws;
Our strength as weak, our weakness past com-
pare,-

Pet. I say she shall :-and first begin with Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and her. [kind brow; smooth, Kath. Fie, fie! unknit that threat'ning unAnd dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads; Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair And in no sense is meet or amiable. [buds; A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,

And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and
safe;

And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience,—
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?—
I am asham'd that women are so simple
To offer war, where they should kneel for
peace;

Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.

That seeming to be most, which we least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot;
And place your hands below your husband's
In token of which duty, if he please, [foot:
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
Pet. Why, there's a wench! - Come on,
and kiss me, Kate.
[shalt ha't.
Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are

toward.

Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward.

Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed.

We three are married, but you two are sped.
'Twas I won the wager, [To Lucentio.] though
you hit the white;

And, being a winner, God give you good night!
[Exeunt Petruchio and Kath.
Hor. Now, go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a
curst shrew.

Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will
be tam'd so.
[Exeunt.

Steward, Clown, and Page to the Countess of Lords, Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Rousillon.

Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram.

Florentine.

SCENE,-Partly in France and partly in Tuscany.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Rousillon. A Room in the
Countess's Palace.

Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon,

Helena, and Lafeu.

Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my father's death anew; but I must attend his majesty's command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in subjection.

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam ;-you, sir, a father: he that so gener

Count. In delivering my son from me, I ally is at all times good, must of necessity hold bury a second husband.

This virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir

it up where it wanted, rather than lack where there is such abundance.

Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment?

Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, Under thy own life's key: be check'd for madam; under whose practices he hath per- silence, [more will, secuted time with hope; and finds no other But never tax'd for speech. What heaven advantage in the process but only the losing of That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck hope by time.

Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (0, that had!" how sad a passage 'tis!) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for lack of work. Would, for the king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease.

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, madam?

Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so,-Gerard de Narbon.

Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam: the king very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningly he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowledge could be set up against mortality.

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king
Laf. A fistula, my lord. [languishes of?
Ber. I heard not of it before.

Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon?

Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity,-they are virtues and traitors too in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness.

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her tears.

Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance of her father never approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from ber cheek. No more of this, Helena,--go to, no more; lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.

Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed; but I have it too.

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the living.

Hel. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal.

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that?
Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and suc-
ceed thy father

In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtuel

down,

Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord,
'Tis an unseason'd courtier; good my lord,
Advise him.
Laf.

He cannot want the best
That shall attend his love.
Count.

Farewell, Bertram.

Heaven bless him! [Exit. Ber. [To Helena.] The best wishes that can be forged in your thought be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: you must hold the credit of your father.

father;

[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.
Hel. O, were that all-I think not on my
[more
And these great tears grace his remembrance
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him? my imagination
Carries no favour in't but Bertram's.
I am undone there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me:
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
Th' ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a
plague,

To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eyes, his curls,
In our heart's table,-heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour:
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.-[Enter Parolles.]
Who comes here?

One that goes with him: I love him for his
And yet I know him a notorious liar, [sake;
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him,
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind: withal, full oft