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Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard.
sense; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns
round. Pet. Roundly replied. Kath.
Mistress, how mean you that? Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 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:-I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.
Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
Kath. A very mean meaning.
Right, I mean you.
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? an hasty-witted body Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you?
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 grey
hound, 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, Tranio hits you now.
Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
Twenty crowns. Pet. Twenty crowns!
rance,nd unto nat obed
that gird,] A gird is a sarcasm, a gibe.
I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound,
A match; 'tis done. Hor. Who shall begin?
That will I. Go,
[Exit. Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.
Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy, and she cannot come.
Pet. How! she is busy, and she cannot come!
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pet. I hope, better.
Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. [Exit BIONDELLO. Pet.
0, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. Hor.
I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Re-enter BIONDELLO. Now where's my wife? Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in
hand; She will not come; she bids you come to her. Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come! O
vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd!
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress;
She will not come. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
Enter KATHARINA. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katha
rina! 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. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes.
Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet;
Re-enter KATHARINA, with Bianca and Widow. See, where she comes; and brings your froward
wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not;
[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. Fye! what a foolish duty call you this?
Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish to:
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.
strong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, · you're mocking; we will
have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Wid. She shall not. Pet. I say, she shall;—and first begin with her. Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind
brow; And 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 buds; And in no sense is meet, or amiable. 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, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands,