Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. [Exeunt PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, and VINCENTIO. Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart. Have to my widow and if she be forward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. ACT V. [Exit. SCENE I-PADUA. Before LUCENTIO'S House. Enter on one side BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO walking on the other side. Bion. Softly and swiftly, Sir; for the priest is ready. Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore leave us. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and then come back to my master as soon as I can. [Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO. Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHARINA, VINCENTIO, and Attend ants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, My father's bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, Sir. Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go; I think I shall command your welcome here, And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. [Knocks. Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock louder. Enter Pedant above, at a window. Ped. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate? Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, Sir? Ped. He's within, Sir, but not to be spoken withal. Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or wo, to make merry withal? Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none, so long as I live. Pet. Nay, I told you your son was beloved in Padua. -Do you hear, Sir?-to leave frivolous circumstances, -I pray you, tell signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Ped. Thou liest: his father is come from Pisa, and here looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father? Ped. Ay, Sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. Pet. Why, how now, gentleman! [To VINCEN.] why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name. Ped. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. Re-enter BIONDELLO. Bion. I have seen them in the church together; God Bend 'em good shipping!-But who is here? mine old master, Vincentio? now we are undone, and brought to nothing. Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing BIONDELLO. Bion. I hope I may choose, Sir. Vin. Come hither, you rogue What, have you forgot me? Bion. Forgot you! no, Sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, marry, Sir: see where he looks out of the window. Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beats BIONDello. Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me. [Exit. Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! [Exit from the window. Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the end of this controversy. [They retire. Re-enter Pedant below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and Servants. Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? Vin. What am I, Sir? nay, what are you, Sir?-0 immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat!-0, I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. Tra. How now! what's the matter? Bap. What, is the man lunatic? Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words shew you a madman. Why, Sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Vin. Thy father! O villain! he is a sail-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake, Sir; you mistake, Sir. Pray, what do you think is his name? Vin. His name! as if I knew not his name; I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is-Tranio. Ped. Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, signior Vincentio. Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master!Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name.O my son, my son!-tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? Tra. Call forth an officer: [Enter one with an Officer. carry this mad knave to the jail.-Father Baptista, charge you see that he be forthcoming. Vin. Carry me to the jail! Gre. Stay, officer; he shall not go to prison. Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio; I say he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be conycatched in this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio. Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard! to the jail with him! Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused:-0 monstrous villain! Re-erter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and-yonder he is; deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. Luc. Pardon, sweet father. Vin. Lives my sweetest son? [Kneeling [BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and Pedant run out. [Kneeling. Bian. Pardon, dear father. Bap. How hast thou offended?- Where is Lucentio? Luc. Here's Lucentio, Right son unto the right Vincentio ; That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, Bianca's love What Tranio did, myself enforced him to; Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the jail. Bap. But do you hear, Sir? [To LUCENTIO.] Have you married my daughter without asking my good-will? Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. [Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Luc. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. [Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA. Gre. My cake is dough: but I'll in among the rest; Out of hope of all,-but my share of the feast. [Ezit. PETRUCHIO and KATHARINA advance. Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado Kath. No, Sir; God forbid :-but ashamed to kiss. TRANIO, A Banquet set out. Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, [They sit at table. Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. Kath. Mistress, how mean you that? Pet. Conceives by me!-How likes Hortensio that? Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. Kath. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round: 1 pray you, tell me what you meant by that? Wid Your husband, being troubled with a shrew Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning. Kath. A very mean meaning. Wid. Right, I mean you. Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you. Hor. To her, widow! Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. Hor. That's my office. Pet. Spoke like an officer:-Ha' to thee, lad. [Drinks to HORTENSIO. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? Gre. Believe me, Sir, they butt together well. Bian. Head and butt? a hasty-witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two. Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, 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. Tra. 'Tis well, Sir, that you hunted for yourself; 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. Bap. O ho, Petruchio! Tranic 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 assurance, 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. Luc. Twenty crowns. Pet. Twenty crowns! Enter KATHARINA. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina! Kath. What is your will, Sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife! Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. Pet. Go fetch them hither; if they deny to come, Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. [Exit KATHARINA And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. Re-enter KATHARINA, with BIANCA and Widow. [KATHARINA pulls off her cap, and throws it down Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! Bian. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time. Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Pet. I say she shall:-and first begin with her. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, And, while it is so, nove so ery or thirsty To offer war, where they should kneel for peace; But that our soft conditions, and our hearts, Come, come, you froward and unable worms! [Kate. Pet. Why, there's a wench-Come on, and kiss me, Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't. 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, though you hit the white; [TO LUCENTIO, And, being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATH Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst shrew. Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed [Exeunt. So. ACT I. SCENE I. ROUSILLON. A Room in the COUNTESS'S Palace. Enter BERTRAM, the COUNTESS OF ROUSILLON, HELENA, and LAFEU, in mourning. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. 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 generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amendment? Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, Madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope; and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of 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 ould be set up against mortality. Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? Laf. A fistula, my lord. Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentle woman 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 her 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. Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Count. Be thou bless'd, Bertram! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood and virtue Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. [Exit COUNTESS. Ber. [To HELENA.] The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts 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. [Exeunt BERTRAM and LAFEU. Hel. O, were that all!-I think not on my father; That I should love a bright particular star, Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, One that goes with him: I love him for his 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 we see Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant n the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none; man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up!-Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men? Par. Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. It is not politic, in the commonwealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase; and there was never virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is metal to make virgins. ginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a companion; away with it. Vir Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by't. Out with 't: within ten years it will make itself ten, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: away with 't. Hel. How might one do, Sir, to lose it to her own Liking? Par. Let me see: marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off with 't, while 'tis vendible; answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and tooth-pick, which wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek: and your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our There shall your master have a thousand loves, I know not what he shall:-God send him well! The court's a learning-place;-and he is one- Hel. That I wish well.-'Tis pity Par. What's pity? Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Which might be felt: that we, the poorer børn, Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, Might with effects of them follow our friends, And shew what we alone must think; which never Returns us thanks. Par. Under Mars, I. Hel. I especially think, under Mars. Par. Why under Mars? Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you must needs be born under Mars. Par. When he was predominant. Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, rather. Hel. You go so much backward when you fight.. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition, that your valour and fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and 1 like the wear well. Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return perfect courtier; in the which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high; That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose What hath been cannot be: who ever strove To shew her merit, that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Exit. SCENE II.-PARIS. A Room in the KING's Palace. Flourish of cornets. Enter the KING OF FRANCE, with letters; Lords and others attending. 'King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears; Have fought with equal fortune, and continue A braving war. 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, Sir. King. Nay, 'tis most credible; we here receive it A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, With caution, that the Florentine will move us For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend Prejudicates the business, and would seem To have us make denial. 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, Approved so to your majesty, may plead For amplest credence. King. He hath arm'd our answer, Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see 2 Lord. It may well serve A nursery to our gentry, who are sick King. What's he comes here? Enter BERTRAM, LAFEU, and PAROLLES. 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, Young Bertram. King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral parts Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now Ber. His good remembrance, Sir, Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; As in your royal speech. King. Would I were with him! He would always say, (Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, To grow there, and to bear,)-"Let me not live,"- I, after him, do after him wish too, Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, I quickly were dissolvèd from my hive, To give some labourers room. 2 Lord. You are loved, Sir; They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. King. I fill a place, I know't.-How long is 't, count, Since the physician at your father's died? He was much famed. Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah the complaints I have heard of you, I do not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, Madam, I am a poor fellow Count. Well, Sir. Clo. No, Madam, 'tis not so well that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: but, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel, the woman, and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for they say, bearns are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, Madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo Faith, Madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, Madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and indeed I do marry, that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out of friends, Madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You are shallow, Madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to inn the crop; if I be his cuckold, he's my drudge: he that comforts my wife, is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend: ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one,they may joll horns together, like any deer i' the herd Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and calum. nious knave? Clo. A prophet I, Madam; and I speak the truth the next way : "For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Count. Get you gone, Sir; I'll talk with you more anon. Stew. May it please you, Madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to speak. Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen, I mean. Clo. "Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, [Singing. Was this king Priam's joy? And gave this sentence then; There's yet one good in ten." Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the song, sirrah. Clo. One good woman in ten, Madam; which is a purifying o'the song: would God would serve the world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the tithewoman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth 'a! an we might have a good woman born but for every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one. Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you? Clo. That man should be at woman's command, and yet no hurt done!-Though honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart.-I am going, forsooth: the business is for Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown. Count. Well, now. Stew. I know, Madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. Count. Faith, I do: her father bequeathed her to me; and she herself, without other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds: there is more owing her than is paid; and more shall be paid her than she'll demand. |