ACT III. SCENE L Baptifta's House. Enter Lucentio, Hortenfio, and Bianca. Lucentio. Idler, forbear; you grow too forward, Sir: The patronefs of heavenly harmony: Luc. Prepofterous afs! that never read fo far Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Luc. That will be never; tune your inftrument. Bian. Where left we laft? Luc. Here, Madam: Hac ibat Simois, hic 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 Lucentio of Pila, Sigeia tellus, difguifed thus to get your love, hic Hor. Madam, my inftrument's in tune. [Returning. 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 bafe knave that jars. Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. My leffons make no mufic in three parts. Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? Well, I must wait, [Afide. Pantaloon, the old cully in Italian farces. 1 Hor. Yet read the Gamut of Hortenfio. Bian. reading.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, A re, to plead Hortenfio's paffion; C faut, that loves with all affection; Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not; Enter a Servant. Serv. Miftrefs, your father prays you leave your books, And help to dress your fifter's chamber up. Bian. Farewell, fweet mafters both: I must be gone. [Exit. Luc. Faith, Mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit. Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant. Methinks he looks as tho' he was 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 II. Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, 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, 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. Hiding his bitter jefts in blunt behaviour; He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Much more a fhrew of thy impatient humour. 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 there. Tra. But, fay, what thine old news? you 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 VOL. III. S out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points *; his horfe hipp'd with an old mothy faddle, the stirrups of no kindred; befides, pofleft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampafle, infected with the fashions +, full of windgalls, iped with fpavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the fives, ftark fpoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, d in the back, and fhoulder-fhotten, near leggia before, and with a half check'd bit, and a headstall of theep'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 iet down in ftuds, and here and there piec'd with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horse, with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey 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 monfter, a very monfter in apparel, and not like a Chriftian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet fometimes he goes but mean apparell'd. howfoever he comes. Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not. Bap. Didit thou not fay he comes? Bion. Who? that Petruchio came not. Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Bion. No, Sir; I fay his horfe comes with him on his back. * How a fword should have two broken points I cannot tell. There is, I think, a tranfpofition caufed by the feeming relation of point to word. I read, a pair of boots, one buckled, another laced with two broken ponts; an old rufty word with a broken hilt, and chapeless. Johnion. tie. The farcy. |