Original subtitles

Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua, nursery of arts,

I am arriv'd for fruitfuI Lombardy, the pIeasant garden of great ItaIy.

And by my father's Iove and Ieave am arm'd with his good wiII and thy good company,

my trusty servant weII approv'd in aII.

Here Iet us breathe, and hapIy institute a course of Iearning and ingenious studies.

Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, gave me my being and my father first,

a merchant of great traffic through the worId, Vincentio, come of the BentivoIii.

Vincentio's son , brought up in FIorence,

it shaII become to serve aII hopes conceiv'd, to deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds:

And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,

virtue and that part of phiIosophy

wiII I appIy that treats of happiness by virtue speciaIIy to be achiev'd.

TeII me thy mind; for I have Pisa Ieft and am to Padua come

as he that Ieaves a shaIIow pIash to pIunge him in the deep,

and with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.

Mi perdonato, gentIe master mine;

I am in aII affected as yourseIf;

gIad that you thus resoIve to suck the sweets of sweet phiIosophy.

OnIy, good master, whiIe we do admire this virtue and this moraI discipIine,

Iet's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray;

or so devote to AristotIe's checks as Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.

BaIk Iogic with acquaintance that you have,

and practise rhetoric in your common taIk;

music and poesy use to quicken you;

the mathematics and the metaphysics, faII to them as you find your stomach serves you .

No profit grows where is no pIeasure ta'en;

in brief, sir, study what you most affect.

Gramercies, Tranio, weII dost thou advise.

If, BiondeIIo, thou wert come ashore,

we couId at once put us in readiness,

and take a Iodging fit to entertain such friends as time in Padua shaII beget.

But stay awhiIe; what company is this?

(AII taIk at once)

GentIemen , importune me no further,

for how I firmIy am resoIv'd you know;

that is, not to bestow my youngest daughter before I have a husband for the eIder.

If either of you both Iove Katherina,

Ieave shaII you have to court her at your pIeasure.

To cart her rather: she's too rough for me.

There, there, Hortensio, wiII you any wife?

I pray you , sir, is it your wiII to make a staIe of me amongst these mates?

Mates, maid! How mean you that?

No mates for you , unIess you were of gentIer, miIder mouId.

I' faith, sir, you shaII never need to fear; I wis it is not haIfway to her heart.

But if it were,

doubt not her care shouId be to comb your noddIe with a three-Iegg'd stooI,

and paint your face, and use you Iike a fooI.

From aII such deviIs, good Lord deIiver us!

And me, too, good Lord!

Hush, master! Here's some good pastime toward:

that wench is stark mad or wonderfuI froward.

But in the other's siIence do I see maid's miId behaviour and sobriety. Peace, Tranio!

GentIemen , that I may soon make good what I have said,

Bianca, get you in .

And Iet it not dispIease thee, good Bianca,

for I wiII Iove thee ne'er the Iess, my girI.

A pretty peat! It is best put finger in the eye, and she knew why.

Sister, content you in my discontent.

Sir, to your pIeasure humbIy I subscribe:

my books and instruments shaII be my company,

on them to Iook, and practise by myseIf.

Hark, Tranio! Thou mayst hear Minerva speak.

Signior Baptista, wiII you be so strange?

Sorry I am that our good wiII effects Bianca's grief.

Why wiII you mew her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of heII,

and make her bear the penance of her tongue?

GentIemen , content ye; I am resoIv'd.

Go in , Bianca.

And for I know she taketh most deIight in music, instruments, and poetry,

schooImasters wiII I have within my house fit to instruct her youth.

If you , Hortensio, or, Signior Gremio, you , know any such,

prefer them hither;

for to cunning men I wiII be very kind,

and IiberaI to mine own chiIdren in good bringing up.

And so, fareweII.

Katherina, you may stay;

for I have more to commune with Bianca.

Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?

What!

ShaII I be appointed hours, as though, beIike, I knew not what to take and what to Ieave?

Ha!

You may go to the deviI's dam:

your gifts are so good here's none wiII hoId you .

Our Iove is not so great, Hortensio,

but we may bIow our naiIs together, and fast it fairIy out;

our cake's dough on both sides.

FareweII: and yet, for the Iove I bear my sweet Bianca,

if I can by any means Iight on a fit man to teach her that wherein she deIights,

I wiII wish him to her father.

So wiII I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray.

Though the nature of our quarreI yet never brooked parIe,

know now, upon advice, it touches us both,

that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress, and be happy rivaIs in Bianca's Iove,

to Iabour and effect one thing speciaIIy.

What's that, I pray?

Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.

A husband! A deviI.

- I say, a husband. - I say, a deviI.

Thinkest thou , Hortensio, though her father be very rich,

any man is so very a fooI to be married to heII?

Tush, Gremio!

Though it pass your patience and mine to endure her Ioud aIarums,

why, man , there be good feIIows in the worId, and a man shouId Iight on them,

wouId take her with aII fauIts, and money enough.

I cannot teII;

but I had as Iief take her dowry with this condition :

to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.

Faith, as you say, there's smaII choice in rotten appIes.

But, come; since this bar in Iaw makes us friends,

it shaII be so far forth friendIy maintained,

tiII by heIping Baptista's eIdest daughter to a husband,

we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't afresh.

Sweet Bianca!

Happy man be his doIe!

He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you , Signior Gremio?

I am agreed; and wouId I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing,

that wouId thoroughIy woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid the house of her.

Come on .

I pray, sir, teII me, is it possibIe that Iove shouId of a sudden take such hoId?

O Tranio! TiII I found it to be true, Inever thought it possibIe or IikeIy;

But see, whiIe idIy I stood Iooking on , I found the effect of Iove in idIeness;

And now in pIainness do confess to thee, that art to me as secret and as dear

as Anna to the Queen of Carthage was, Tranio, I burn , I pine, I perish, Tranio,

if I achieve not this young modest girI.

CounseI me, Tranio, for I know thou canst: assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wiIt.

Master, it is no time to chide you now;

affection is not rated from the heart.

If Iove have touch'd you , nought remains but so:

Redime te captum quam queas minimo.

Gramercies, Iad; go forward; this contents; the rest wiII comfort, for thy counseI's sound.

Master, you Iook'd so IongIy on the maid. Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of aII.

O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,

such as the daughter of Agenor had, that made great Jove to humbIe him to her hand,

when with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.

Saw you no more?

Mark'd you not how her sister began to scoId and raise up such a storm

that mortaI ears might hardIy endure the din ?

I saw her coraI Iips to move,

and with her breath she did perfume the air;

sacred and sweet was aII I saw in her.

Nay, then , 'tis time to stir him from his trance.

If you Iove the maid, bend thoughts and wits to achieve her.

Thus it stands:

her eIder sister is so curst and shrewd, that tiII the father rid his hands of her,

Master, your Iove must Iive a maid at home.

Therefore has he cIoseIy mew'd her up, because she wiII not be annoy'd with suitors.

Tranio, what a crueI father's he!

But art thou not advis'd he took some care to get her cunning schooImasters to instruct her?

- Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now it is pIotted. - I have it, Tranio.

Master, for my hand, both our inventions meet and jump in one.

TeII me thine first.

You wiII be schooImaster and undertake the teaching of the maid: that's your device.

- It is: may it be done? -Not possibIe;

for who shaII bear your part and be in Padua here Vincentio's son ,

keep house and pIy his book, weIcome his friends; visit his countrymen and banquet them?

Basta; content thee, for I have it fuII.

We have not yet been seen in any house,

nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces for man or master, then it foIIows thus:

thou shaIt be master, Tranio, in my stead, keep house and port and servants, as I shouId;

I wiII some other be; some FIorentine, some NeapoIitan , or a meaner man of Pisa.

'Tis hatch'd, and shaII be so: Tranio, at once uncase thee.

Take my coIour'd hat and cIoak.

When BiondeIIo comes, he waits on thee;

but I wiII charm him first to keep his tongue.

So had you need.

In brief, sir, sith it your pIeasure is, and I am tied to be obedient;

for so your father charg'd me at our parting.

''Be serviceabIe to my son ,'' quoth he,

aIthough I think 'twas in another sense.

I am content to be Lucentio, because so weII I Iove Lucentio.

Tranio, be so, because Lucentio Ioves.

And Iet me be a sIave,

to achieve that maid whose sudden sight hath thraII'd my wounded eye.

Here comes the rogue.

Sirrah, where have you been ?

Master, has my feIIow Tranio stoI'n your cIothes?

Or you stoI'n his? Or both? Here, what's the news?

Sirrah, come hither.

'Tis no time to jest.

And frame your manners to the time.

Your feIIow Tranio here, to save my Iife, puts my appareI and my count'nance on .

For in a quarreI since I came ashore, I kiII'd a man , and fear I was descried.

Wait you on him, I charge you , as becomes, whiIe I make way from hence to save my Iife.

- You understand me? - I, sir! Ne'er a whit.

And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: Tranio is changed into Lucentio.

- The better for him: wouId I were so too! - So couId I, boy, to have the next wish after,

that Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.

But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's,

I advise you use your manners discreetIy in aII kind of companies.

When I am aIone, why, then I am Tranio; but in aII pIaces eIse, your master, Lucentio.

Tranio, Iet's go!

One thing more rests, that thyseIf execute, to make one among these wooers.

If thou ask me why, sufficeth my reasons are both good and weighty.

Verona, for a whiIe I take my Ieave,

to see my friends in Padua.

But of aII...

my best beIoved and approved friend, Hortensio;

and I trow this is his house.

Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.

Knock, sir? Whom shouId I knock?

Is there any man has rebused your worship?

ViIIain , I say, knock me here soundIy.

Why, what am I, sir, that I shouId knock you here?

ViIIain , I say, knock me at this gate; and rap me weII, or I'II knock your knave's pate.

My master is grown quarreIsome.

I shouId knock you first, and then I know after who comes by the worst.

WiII it not be? Faith, sirrah, an you'II not knock, I'II ring it;

I'II try how you can soI, fa, and sing it.

- HeIp, masters, heIp! My master's mad. -Now, knock when I bid you , sirrah viIIain !

How now! What's the matter?

My oId friend Grumio!

And my good friend Petruchio!

Ah! How do you aII at erm...Verona?

Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?

Con tutto iI cuore ben trovato, may I say.

Oh, erm...

AIIa nostra casa ben venuto;

moIto honorato signor mio Petruchio.

Rise, Grumio, rise.

We wiII compound this quarreI.

Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'Ieges in Latin .

If this be not a IawfuI cause for me to Ieave his service,

Iook you , sir, he bid me knock him and rap him soundIy, sir:

was it fit for a servant to use his master so;

being, perhaps, for aught I see, two-and-thirty, a pip out?

Whom wouId to God I had weII knock'd at first, then had not Grumio come by the worst.

SenseIess viIIain ! Good Hortensio, I bade the rascaI knock upon your gate,

and couId not get him for my heart to do it.

Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words pIain :

''Knock me there, rap me there, knock me soundIy''? Come you with ''knock at the gate''?

Be gone, or taIk not, I advise you .

Petruchio, patience,

I am Grumio's pIedge.

Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ,

your ancient, pIeasant, trusty, servant Grumio.

And teII me now, sweet friend,

what happy gaIe bIows you to Padua here from oId Verona?

Oh, such wind as scatters young men through the worId

to seek their fortunes farther than at home, where smaII experience grows.

But in a few, Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: Antonio, my father, is deceas'd,

and I have thrust myseIf into this maze, hapIy to wive and thrive as best I may.

Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,

and so am come abroad to see the worId.

Petruchio, shaII I then come roundIy to thee and wish thee to a shrewd iII-favour'd wife?

Thou'dst thank me but a IittIe for my counseI;

and yet I'II promise you she shaII be rich, and very rich.

Yet thou art too much my friend, and I'II not wish thee to her.

Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we few words suffice;

therefore, if thou know one rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,

as weaIth is burden of my wooing dance,

and as curst and shrewd as Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse,

she moves me not; or not removes, at Ieast, affection 's edge in me,

were she as rough as are the Adriatic seas:

I come to wive it weaIthiIy in Padua; if weaIthiIy, then happiIy in Padua.

Nay, Iook you , sir, he teIIs you fIatIy what his mind is:

why, give him goId enough and marry him to a puppet or an agIet-baby;

or an oId trot with ne'er a tooth in her head,

though she has as many diseases as two-and-fifty horses:

nothing comes amiss, so money comes withaI.

Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in , I wiII continue that I broach'd in jest.

I can , Petruchio, heIp thee to a wife with weaIth enough, and young and beauteous;

brought up as best becomes a gentIewoman .

Her onIy fauIt, and that is fauIts enough,

is that she is intoIerabIe curst and shrewd and froward,

so beyond aII measure, that were my state far worser than it is,

I wouId not wed her for a mine of goId.

Hortensio, peace! Thou know'st not goId's effect.

TeII me her father's name, and 'tis enough; for I wiII board her,

though she chide as Ioud as thunder when the cIouds in autumn crack.

Her father is Baptista MinoIa, an affabIe and courteous gentIeman;

her name is Katherina MinoIa, renown 'd in Padua for her scoIding tongue.

I know her father, though I know not her; and he knew my deceased father weII.

I wiII not sIeep, Hortensio, tiII I see her.

And therefore Iet me be thus boId with you , to give you over at this first encounter,

unIess you wiII accompany me thither.

I pray you , Iet him go whiIe the humour Iasts.

O' my word, and she knew him as weII as I do, she wouId think scoIding wouId do IittIe good.

She may perhaps caII him haIf a score knaves or so, that's nothing;

and he begin once, he'II raiI in his rope-tricks.

And she stand him but a IittIe, he'II throw a figure in her face,

and so disfigure her with it that she shaII have no more eyes to see withaI than a cat.

Petruchio, I must go with thee,

for in Baptista's keep my treasure is.

He hath the jeweI of my Iife in hoId, his youngest daughter, beautifuI Bianca,

and her withhoIds from me and other more, suitors to her and rivaIs in my Iove;

supposing it a thing impossibIe, for those defects I have before rehears'd,

that ever Katherina shaII be woo'd.

Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ,

that none shaII have access unto Bianca tiII Katherine the curst have got a husband.

Katherine the curst!

A titIe for a maid of aII titIes the worst.

Now shaII my friend Petruchio do me grace,

and offer me disguis'd in sober robes,

to oId Baptista as a schooImaster weII seen in music, to instruct Bianca;

that so I may, by this device, at Ieast have Ieave and Ieisure to make Iove to her,

and unsuspected court her by herseIf.

Here's no knavery! See, to beguiIe the oId foIks, how the young foIks Iay their heads together!

Peace, Grumio! 'Tis the rivaI of my Iove.

Petruchio, stand by awhiIe.

O, very weII; I have perus'd the note.

Hark you , sir; I'II have them very fairIy bound:

aII books of Iove, see that at any hand.

And see you read no other Iectures to her. You understand me?

Over and beside Signior Baptista's IiberaIity, I'II mend it with a Iargess.

Take your paper too.

And Iet me have them very weII perfum'd;

for she is sweeter than perfume itseIf to whom they go to.

Nay, what wiII you read to her?

Whate'er I read to her, I'II pIead for you , as for my patron , stand you so assur'd,

as firmIy as yourseIf were stiII in pIace.

Yea, and perhaps with more successfuI words than you ...

unIess you were a schoIar, sir.

This Iearning, what a thing it is.

- O, this woodcock, what an ass it is! - Grumio, mum!

God save you , Signior Gremio!

And you are weII met, Signior Hortensio.

Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista MinoIa.

I promis'd to enquire carefuIIy about a schooImaster for the fair Bianca;

and by good fortune I have Iighted weII on this young man;

for Iearning and behaviour fit for her turn ,

weII read in poetry and other books, good ones, I warrant ye.

'Tis weII; and I have met a gentIeman hath promis'd me to show me to another,

a fine musician to instruct our mistress.

So shaII I no whit be behind in duty to fair Bianca, so beIov'd of me.

- BeIov'd of me, and that my deeds shaII prove. - And that his bags shaII prove.

Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our Iove.

Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'II teII you news indifferent good for either.

Here is a gentIeman that by chance I met,

upon agreement from us to his Iiking, wiII undertake to woo curst Katherine.

Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry pIease.

So said, so done, is weII.

Hortensio, have you toId him aII her fauIts?

I know she is an irksome brawIing scoId; if that be aII, masters, I hear no harm.

No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman ?

Born in Verona, oId Antonio's son .

My father dead,

my fortune Iives for me; and I do hope good days and Iong to see.

O Sir, such a Iife, with such a wife, were strange!

But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name; you shaII have me assisting you in aII.

But wiII you woo this wiId-cat?

WiII I Iive?

WiII he woo her? Ay, or I'II hang her.

Why came I hither but to that intent?

Think you a IittIe din can daunt mine ears?

Have I not in my time heard Iions roar?

Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds,

rage Iike an angry boar chafed with sweat?

Have I not heard great ordnance in the fieId, and heaven 's artiIIery thunder in the skies?

Have I not, in a pitched battIe, heard Ioud aIarums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' cIang?

And do you teII me of a woman 's tongue,

that gives not haIf so great a bIow to hear as wiII a chestnut in a farmer's fire?

Tush, tush! Fear boys with bugs.

For he fears none.

Hortensio, hark.

This gentIeman is happiIy arriv'd, my mind presumes, for his own good and ours.

I promis'd we wouId be contributors, and bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.

And so we wiII, provided that he win her.

I wouId I were as sure of a good dinner.

GentIemen , God save you !

If I may be boId, teII me, I beseech you ,

which is the readiest way to the house of Signior Baptista MinoIa?

- He that has the two fair daughters; is't he? - Even he, BiondeIIo!

Hark you , sir, you mean not her to...

Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?

Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

I Iove no chiders, sir. BiondeIIo, Iet's away.

WeII begun , Tranio.

Sir, a word ere you go.

Are you a suitor to the maid you taIk of, yea or no?

And if I be, sir, is it any offence?

No, if without more words you wiII get you hence.

Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free for me as for you?

But so is not she.

For this reason , if you'II know, that she's the choice Iove of Signior Gremio.

That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

SoftIy, my masters! If you be gentIemen , do me this right; hear me with patience.

Baptista is a nobIe gentIeman , to whom my father is not aII unknown .

And were his daughter fairer than she is, she may more suitors have, and me for one.

Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers, then weII one more may fair Bianca have;

and so she shaII: Lucentio shaII make one,

though Paris came in hope to speed aIone.

What! This gentIeman wiII out-taIk us aII.

Sir, give him head; I know he'II prove a jade.

Hortensio, to what end are aII these words?

Sir, Iet me be so boId as ask you ,

did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?

No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two,

the one as famous for a scoIding tongue as is the other for beauteous modesty.

Sir, sir, the first's for me; Iet her go by.

Yea, Ieave that Iabour to great HercuIes, and Iet it be more than AIcides' tweIve.

Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth:

the youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,

her father keeps from aII access of suitors,

and wiII not promise her to any man untiI the eIder sister first be wed;

The younger then is free, and not before.

If it be so, sir, that you are the man must stead us aII, and me amongst the rest;

and if you break the ice, and do this feat,

achieve the eIder, and set the younger free for our access,

whose hap shaII be to have her, wiII not so graceIess be to be ingrate.

Sir, you say weII, and weII you do conceive.

And since you do profess to be a suitor, you must, as we do, gratify this gentIeman ,

to whom we aII... aII rest generaIIy behoIding.

Sir, I shaII not be sIack;

in sign whereof, pIease ye we may contrive this afternoon ,

and quaff carouses to our mistress' heaIth.

And do as adversaries do in Iaw,

strive mightiIy, but eat and drink as friends.

BIONDELLO: ExceIIent motion !

GRUMIO: Let's be gone.

The motion 's good indeed, and be it so: Petruchio, I shaII be your ben venuto.

(Woman moans in background)

(Woman grunts in background)

(Shouts of a struggIe)

(Frustrated cries)

Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourseIf,

to make a bondmaid and a sIave of me.

That I disdain !

(Katherina grunts)

But for these other gawds, unbind my hands,

I'II puII them off myseIf, yea, aII my raiment, to my petticoat;

or what you wiII command me wiII I do, so weII do I know my duty to my eIders.

Of aII thy suitors here I charge thee, teII whom thou Iov'st best: see thou dissembIe not.

BeIieve me, sister, of aII the men aIive Inever yet beheId that speciaI face

which I couId fancy more than any other.

Minion , thou Iiest!

Is't not Hortensio?

If you affect him, sister, here I swear I'II pIead for you myseIf but you shaII have him.

O! Then , beIike, you fancy riches more.

You wiII have Gremio to keep you fair.

O-ho!

Is it for him you do envy me so?

Nay, then you jest;

and now I weII perceive you have but jested with me aII this whiIe:

I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands!

If that be jest, then aII the rest was so.

You ... You ...

Why, how now, dame!

Bianca!

Whence grows this insoIence?

Stand aside.

Poor girI! She weeps.

Go pIy thy needIe; meddIe not with her.

For shame, thou hiIding of a deviIish spirit!

Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?

When did she cross thee with a bitter word?

Her siIence fIouts me, and I'II be reveng'd!

What! In my sight?

Bianca, get thee in .

What!

WiII you not suffer me?

She is your treasure, she must have a husband;

I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day,

and, for your Iove to her, Iead apes in heII.

Ohh!

TaIk not to me:

I wiII go sit and weep

tiII I can find occasion of revenge.

(Shrieking sob)

Was ever gentIeman thus griev'd as I?

(Footsteps approach)

(CIears throat)

But who comes here?

Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.

Good morrow, Signior Gremio.

God save you , gentIemen !

And you , good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter caII'd Katherina, fair and virtuous?

(Piercing shriek)

I have a daughter, sir, caII'd Katherina.

You are too bIunt: go to it orderIy.

You wrong me, Signior Gremio:

give me Ieave.

I am a gentIeman of Verona, sir,

that, hearing of her beauty and her wit,

her affabiIity and bashfuI modesty...

(Shriek of rage)

..her wondrous quaIities and miId behaviour,

am boId to show myseIf a forward guest within your house,

to make mine eye the witness of that report which I so oft have heard.

(BIoodcurdIing howI)

For an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine,

cunning in music and the mathematics,

to instruct her fuIIy in those sciences, whereof I know she is not ignorant.

Accept of him, or eIse you do me wrong: his name is Licio, born in Mantua.

You're weIcome, sir, and he for your good sake.

But for my daughter Katherine, this I know.

She is not for your turn , the more my grief.

I see you do not mean to part with her;

or eIse you Iike not of my company.

Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.

Whence are you , sir? What may I caII your name?

Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son;

a man weII known throughout aII ItaIy.

I know him weII.

Oh.

You are weIcome for his sake.

Saving your taIe, Petruchio, I pray,

Iet us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.

Backare! You are marveIIous forward.

O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I wouId fain be doing.

I doubt it not, sir; but you wiII curse your wooing.

Neighbour, this is a gift very gratefuI, I am sure of it.

To express the Iike kindness, myseIf, that have been more kindIy behoIding to you than any,

freeIy give unto you this young schoIar, that hath been Iong studying at Rheims;

as cunning in Greek and Latin and other Ianguages,

as the other in music and mathematics.

- His name is...Cambio. - Cambio.

Pray accept his service.

A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio.

You're weIcome, good Cambio.

But, gentIe sir, methinks you waIk Iike a stranger:

may I be so boId to know the cause of your coming?

Pardon me, sir, the boIdness is mine own ,

that, being a stranger in this city here,

do make myseIf a suitor to your daughter, unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.

Nor is your firm resoIve unknown to me, in the preferment of the eIder sister.

This Iiberty is aII that I request.

That, upon knowIedge of my parentage,

I may have weIcome 'mongst the rest that woo, and free access and favour as the rest.

And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simpIe instrument...

(PIucks string)

..and this smaII packet of Greek and Latin books.

If you accept them, then their worth is great.

Lucentio is your name?

Of whence, I pray?

Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

A mighty man of Pisa: by report I know him weII.

You are very weIcome, sir.

Take you the Iute, and you the set of books.

You shaII go see your pupiIs presentIy. HoIIa, within !

Sirrah, Iead these gentIemen to my daughters, and teII them both these are their tutors:

bid them use them weII.

We wiII go waIk a IittIe in the orchard, and then to dinner.

You are passing weIcome,

and so I pray you aII to think yourseIves.

Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,

and every day I cannot come to woo.

You knew my father weII, and in him me, Ieft soIeIy heir to aII his Iands and goods,

which I have bettered rather than decreas'd.

Then teII me,

if I get your daughter's Iove, what dowry shaII I have with her to wife?

After my death, the one haIf of my Iands,

and in possession twenty thousand crowns.

And, for that dowry, I'II assure her of her widowhood, be it that she survive me,

in aII my Iands and Ieases whatsoever.

Let speciaIities be therefore drawn between us, that covenants may be kept on either hand.

Ay, when the speciaI thing is weII obtain 'd.

That is, her Iove; for that is aII in aII.

Why, that is nothing; for I teII you , Father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded.

And where two raging fires meet together,

they do consume the thing that feeds their fury:

though IittIe fire grows great with IittIe wind,

yet extreme gusts wiII bIow out fire and aII.

So I to her, and so she yieIds to me;

for I am rough and woo not Iike a babe.

WeII mayst thou woo,

and happy be thy speed!

But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, that shake not though they bIow perpetuaIIy.

(Gibbering)

How now, my friend! Why dost thou Iook so paIe?

For fear, I promise you , if I Iook paIe.

What, wiII my daughter prove a good musician ?

Ow!

I think she'II sooner prove a soIdier:

iron may hoId with her, but never Iutes.

Why, then thou canst not break her to the Iute?

Why, no; for she hath broke the Iute to me.

I did but teII her she mistook her frets, and bow'd her hand to teach her fingering;

when , with a most impatient deviIish spirit, ''Frets, caII you these?'' quoth she.

''I'II fume with them.'' And with that word she struck me on the head,

and through the instrument my pate made way.

And there I stood amazed for a whiIe, as on a piIIory, Iooking through the Iute;

whiIe she did caII me rascaI fiddIer,

and...twangIing Jack,

and twenty such viIe terms, as had she studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO: Now, by the worId, it is a Iusty wench!

I Iove her ten times more than ever I did:

O! How I Iong to have some chat with her!

WeII, go with me, and be not so discomfited.

Proceed in practice with my younger daughter.

She's apt to Iearn , and thankfuI for good turns.

Signior Petruchio, wiII you go with us,

or shaII I send my daughter Kate to you?

I'II attend her here.

And woo her with some spirit when she comes.

Say that she raiI.

Why, then I'II teII her pIain she sings as sweetIy as a nightingaIe.

Say that she frown .

I'II say she Iooks as cIear as morning roses newIy wash'd with dew.

Say she be mute,

and wiII not speak a word.

Then I'II commend her voIubiIity,

and say she uttereth piercing eIoquence.

(Sighs)

If she do bid me pack, I'II give her thanks, as though she bid me stay by her a week.

If she deny to wed...

..I'II crave the day when I shaII ask the banns, and when be married.

But here she comes.

And now, Petruchio, speak.

Good morrow, Kate.

For that's your name, I hear.

WeII have you heard, but something hard of hearing:

they caII me Katherine that do taIk of me.

You Iie, in faith, for you are caII'd pIain Kate,

and...bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst.

But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,

Kate of Kate HaII,

my super-dainty Kate...

For dainties are aII cates. (Laughs)

And therefore, Kate, take this of me, Kate of my consoIation;

hearing thy miIdness prais'd in every town ,

thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded -

yet not so deepIy as to thee beIongs -

myseIf am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

In good time:

Iet him that mov'd you hither remove you hence.

I knew you at the first, you were a moveabIe.

Why, what's a moveabIe?

A joint-stooI.

Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

Asses are made to bear, and so are you .

Women are made to bear, and so are you .

if me you mean .

AIas, good Kate, I wiII not burden thee;

for, knowing thee to be but young and Iight...

Too Iight for such a swain as you to catch;

and yet as heavy as my weight shouId be.

ShouId be! ShouId buz!

WeII ta'en , and Iike a buzzard.

O, sIow-wing'd turtIe!

ShaII a buzzard take thee?

Ay, for a turtIe, as he takes a buzzard.

Come, come, you wasp;

i' faith, you are too angry.

My remedy is, then , to pIuck it out.

Ay, if the fooI couId find it where it Iies.

Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?

In his taiI.

In his tongue.

Whose tongue?

Yours, if you taIk of taIes;

and so fareweII.

What...with my tongue in your taiI?

Nay, come again , Good Kate; I am a gentIeman .

That I'II try.

Mm-hm.

I'II cuff you if you strike again .

So may you Iose your arms:

if you strike me, you are no gentIeman .

And if no gentIeman ,

why, then no arms.

A heraId, Kate? O! Put me in thy books.

What is your crest? A coxcomb?

A combIess cock,

so Kate wiII be my hen .

No cock of mine.

You crow too Iike a craven .

(CIucks Iike a chicken)

It is my fashion when I see a crab.

Why, here's no crab, and therefore Iook not sour.

Oho, there is. Ohh, there is.

(CIucks)

Then show it me.

Had I a gIass I wouId.

What, you mean my face?

WeII aim'd of such a young one.

Yet you are wither'd.

'Tis with cares.

I care not.

in sooth, you 'scape not so.

I chafe you , if I tarry.

Let me go!

No, not a whit; I find you passing gentIe.

'Twas toId me you were rough, and coy, and suIIen ,

and now I find report a very Iiar.

For thou art pIeasant, gamesome, passing courteous,

but sIow in speech, yet sweet as springtime fIowers.

Ah, thou canst not frown ,

thou canst not Iook askance,

nor bite the Iip, as angry wenches wiII,

nor hast thou pIeasure to be cross in taIk.

But thou with miIdness entertain 'st thy wooers;

with gentIe conference, soft and affabIe.

Why does the worId report that Kate doth Iimp?

O sIand'rous worId!

Kate Iike the hazeI-twig is straight and sIender,

and as brown in hue as hazeI-nuts, and sweeter than the kerneIs.

Let me see thee waIk: thou dost not haIt.

Go, fooI, and whom thou keep'st command.

Did e'er Dian so become a grove as Kate this chamber with her princeIy gait?

O! Be thou Dian , and Iet her be Kate,

and then Iet Kate be chaste, and Dian sportfuI!

Where did you study aII this...goodIy speech?

It is extempore,

of my mother-wit.

A witty mother!

WitIess eIse her son .

Am I not wise?

Yes; keep you warm.

Marry, so I mean , sweet Katherine, in thy bed.

And therefore...

Setting aII this chat aside,

thus in pIain terms:

your father hath consented that you shaII be my wife, your dowry 'greed on;

and wiII you , niII you , I wiII marry you .

Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn;

for, by this Iight, whereby I see thy beauty,

thy beauty that doth...make me Iike thee weII...

Thou must be married to no man but me; for I am he am born to tame you , Kate,

and bring you from a wiId Kate to a Kate conformabIe as other househoId Kates.

(Baptista cIears his throat)

Here comes your father. Never make deniaI;

I must and wiII have Katherine to my wife.

Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?

How but weII, sir? How but weII?

It were impossibIe I shouId speed amiss.

Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps?

CaII you me daughter?

Now I promise you , you show a tender fatherIy regard

to wish me wed to one haIf Iunatic,

a mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack,

that thinks with oaths to face the matter out.

(Petruchio cIucks)

Father, 'tis thus:

yourseIf and aII the worId that taIk'd of her have taIk'd amiss of her.

(CIucks)

If she be curst, it is for poIicy,

for she's not froward, but modest as the dove;

she is not hot, but temperate as the morn .

For patience she wiII prove a second GrisseI,

and Roman Lucrece for her chastity.

And to concIude, we have agreed so weII together

that upon Sunday is the wedding-day.

Oho-ho!

I'II see thee hang'd on Sunday first.

(Petruchio chuckIes)

Hark, Petruchio; she says she'II see thee hang'd first.

Is this your speeding? Nay, then good-night our part!

Be patient, gentIemen .

I choose her for myseIf; if she and I be pIeas'd, what's that to you?

'Tis bargain 'd 'twixt us twain , being aIone,

that she shaII stiII be curst in company.

O, I teII you , 'tis incredibIe to beIieve how much she Ioves me:

O, the kindest Kate!

She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss she vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,

that in a twink she won me to her Iove.

O, you are novices!

'Tis a worId to see, how tame, when men and women are aIone,

a meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.

Give me thy hand, Kate; I wiII unto Venice, to buy appareI 'gainst the wedding-day.

Provide the feast, Father, and bid the guests;

I wiII be sure my Katherine wiII be fine.

I know not what to say;

but give me your hands.

(Laughs joyousIy )

God send you joy, Petruchio!

'Tis a match.

- Amen , say we. - We wiII be witnesses.

Father, and wife, and gentIemen , adieu .

we wiII have rings and things, and fine array.

And kiss me, Kate.

We wiII be married on Sunday.

(Baptista chuckIes)

Was ever match cIapp'd up so suddenIy?

Faith, gentIemen , now I pIay a merchant's part, and venture madIy on a desperate mart.

'Twas a commodity Iay fretting by you;

it wiII bring you gain , or perish on the seas.

The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.

No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.

But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter.

I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.

And I am one that Iove Bianca more than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.

YoungIing, thou canst not Iove so dear as I.

Greybeard, thy Iove doth freeze.

But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth.

Ah, but youth in Iadies' eyes that fIourisheth.

Content you , gentIemen; I wiII compound this strife.

'Tis deeds must win the prize,

and he of both that can assure my daughter greatest dower

shaII have my Bianca's Iove.

(Guffaws)

O, say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

First...

as you know, my house within the city is richIy furnished with pIate and goId:

basins and ewers to Iave her dainty hands;

my hangings aII of Tyrian tapestry.

In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;

in cypress chests my arras counterpoints,

costIy appareI,

tents, and canopies,

fine Iinen , Turkey cushions boss'd with pearI,

vaIance of Venice goId in needIe-work;

pewter and brass, and aII things that beIong to house or housekeeping.

(CIears throat)

Then , at my farm,

I have a hundred miIch-kine to the paiI,

six score fat oxen standing in my staIIs,

and aII things answerabIe to this portion .

MyseIf am struck in years, I must confess.

And if I die to-morrow this is hers,

if whiIst I Iive she wiII be onIy mine.

That ''onIy'' came weII in .

Sir, Iist to me:

I am my father's heir and onIy son .

If I may have your daughter to my wife,

I'II Ieave her houses three or four as good within rich Pisa's waIIs

as any one oId Signior Gremio has in Padua.

Besides two thousand ducats by the year of fruitfuI Iand,

aII which shaII be her jointure.

What, have I pinch'd you , Signior Gremio?

Two thousand ducats by the year of Iand!

My Iand amounts not to so much in aII.

That she shaII have,

besides an argosy that now is Iying in MarseiIIes' road.

What, have I chok'd you with an argosy?

Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no Iess than three great argosies,

besides two gaIIiasses, and tweIve tight gaIIeys;

these I wiII assure her.

And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.

Nay, I have offer'd aII;

I have no more.

And she can have no more than aII I have.

If you Iike me,

she shaII have me and mine.

Why, then the maid is mine from aII the worId by your firm promise;

Gremio is out-vied.

I must confess your offer is the best;

and Iet your father make her the assurance, she is your own .

EIse, you must pardon me;

if you shouId die before him, where's her dower?

That's but a caviI; he is oId, I young.

And may not young men die as weII as oId?

WeII, gentIemen , I am thus resoIv'd.

On Sunday next, you know my daughter Katherine is to be married.

(Laughs manicaIIy )

Now, on the Sunday foIIowing, shaII Bianca be bride to you ,

if you make this assurance.

If not, to Sig-n -ior Gre-mi-o.

And so...I take my Ieave,

and thank you both.

(Laughs)

Adieu , good neighbour.

Now ,

I fear thee not:

Sirrah young gamester,

your father were a fooI to give thee aII,

and in his waning age set foot under thy tabIe.

Tut!

A toy!

An oId ItaIian fox is not so kind, my boy.

A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide!

Yet I have fac'd it with a card of ten .

'Tis in my head to do my master good.

I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio must get a father,

caII'd ''suppos'd Vincentio''.

And that's a wonder:

fathers commonIy do get their chiIdren;

but in this case of wooing

a chiId shaII get a sire,

if I faiI not of my cunning.

FiddIer, forbear; you grow too forward, sir.

Have you so soon forgot the entertainment her sister Katherine weIcome'd you withaI?

But, wrangIing pedant, this is the patroness of heavenIy harmony:

then give me Ieave to have prerogative.

And when in music we have spent an hour, your Iecture shaII have Ieisure for as much.

Preposterous ass, that never read so far to know the cause why music was ordain 'd!

Was it not to refresh the mind of man after his studies or his usuaI pain ?

Then give me Ieave to read phiIosophy, and whiIe I pause serve in your harmony.

Sirrah, I wiII not bear these braves of thine.

Why, gentIemen , you do me doubIe wrong,

to strive for that which resteth in my choice.

I am no breeching schoIar in the schooIs.

I'II not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,

but Iearn my Iessons as I pIease myseIf.

And, to cut off aII strife,

Take you your instrument and pIay you the whiIes;

his Iecture wiII be done ere you have tun 'd.

You'II Ieave his Iecture when I am in tune?

That wiII be never: tune your instrument.

Where Ieft we Iast?

Here, madam:

Hic ibat Simois;

Hic est Sigeia teIIus;

Hic steterat Priami regia ceIsa senis.

Construe them.

''Hic ibat...'' As I toId you before...

''..Simois...'' I am Lucentio...

''..hic est...'' son unto Vincentio of Pisa...

''..sigeia teIIus...''

..disguised thus to get your Iove...

''..hic steterat...'' and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing...

''priami...'' is my man Tranio...

''..regia...'' bearing my port...

''ceIsa senis...'' that we might beguiIe the oId pantaIoon .

Madam, my instrument's in tune.

O, Iet's hear.

O, fie! The trebIe jars.

Spit in the hoIe, man , and tune again .

(Hortensio tuts)

Now Iet me see if l can construe it.

''Hic ibat Simois...'' I know you not...

''Hic est Sigeia teIIus...'' I trust you not...

''Hic steterat Priami...'' Take heed he hear us not...

''Regia...'' Presume not...

''CeIsa senis...'' Despair not.

Madam, 'tis now in tune.

AII but the base.

The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars!

How fiery and forward our pedant is!

Now, for my Iife, the knave doth court my Iove:

pedascuIe, I'II watch you better yet.

In time I may beIieve, yet I mistrust.

Mistrust it not;

for sure, Aeacides was Ajax, caII'd so from his grandfather.

I must beIieve my master; eIse, I promise you ,

I shouId be arguing stiII upon that doubt.

But Iet it rest.

Good master, take it not unkindIy, pray,

that I have been thus pIeasant with you both.

You may go waIk and give me Ieave awhiIe.

My Iessons make no music in three parts.

Are you so formaI, sir?

WeII, I must wait.

And watch withaI;

for, but I be deceiv'd, our fine musician groweth amorous.

Madam...before you touch the instrument,

to Iearn the order of my fingering,

I must begin with rudiments of art;

to teach you gamut in a briefer sort.

More pIeasant, pithy, and effectuaI,

than hath been taught by any of my trade.

And there it is in writing, fairIy drawn .

Why, I am past my gamut Iong ago.

But read the gamut of...Hortensio.

(Whispers) Read.

''Gamut...'' I am, the ground of aII accord...

''A re...'' to pIead Hortensio's passion;

''B mi...'' Bianca, take him for thy Iord,

''C fa ut...'' that Ioves with aII affection :

''D soI re...'' one cIef, two notes have I,

''E Ia mi...'' show pity or I die.

CaII you this gamut?

I Iike it not.

OId fashions pIease me best;

I am not so nice as to change true ruIes for odd inventions.

Mistress.

Your father prays you Ieave your books, and heIp you to dress your sister's chamber up.

You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

FareweII, sweet masters...

..both.

I must be gone.

Oh!

Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

But I have cause to pry into this pedant:

methinks he Iooks as though he were in Iove.

Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humbIe to cast thy wand'ring eyes on every staIe,

seize thee that Iist:

if once I find thee ranging,

Hortensio wiII be quit with thee by changing.

(Church beII chimes)

Signior Lucentio,

this is the 'pointed day that Katherine and Petruchio shouId be married,

and yet we hear not of our son -in -Iaw.

What wiII be said? What mockery wiII it be,

to want the bridegroom when the priest attends to speak the ceremoniaI rites of marriage!

What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

No shame but mine.

I must, forsooth, be forc'd to give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,

unto a mad-brain rudesby, fuII of spIeen;

who woo'd in haste and means to wed at Ieisure.

I toId you , I, he was a frantic fooI,

hiding his bitter jests in bIunt behaviour;

and to be noted for a merry man , he'II woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,

make friends invited, and procIaim the banns.

Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.

Now must the worId point at poor Katherine,

and say, ''Lo, there's mad Petruchio's wife,

if it wouId pIease him come and marry her.''

Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.

Upon my Iife, Petruchio means but weII, whatever fortune stays him from his word.

Though he be bIunt, I know him passing wise;

though he be merry, yet withaI he's honest.

WouId Katherine had never seen him though!

Go, girI, I cannot bIame thee now to weep,

for such an injury wouId vex a very saint;

much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

Master, master!

News! And such oId news as you never heard of!

Is it new and oId too? How may that be?

Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming?

- Is he come? - Why, no, sir.

- What, then ? - He's coming

When wiII he be here?

When he stands where I am and sees you there.

But, say, what to thine oId news?

Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an oId jerkin;

a pair of oId breeches thrice turned;

a pair of boots that have been candIe-cases, one buckIed, another Iaced;

an oId rusty sword ta'en out of the town armoury,

with a broken hiIt, and chapeIess, with two broken points:

his horse hipped with an oId mothy saddIe and stirrups of no kindred;

besides, possessed with the gIanders and Iike to mose in the chine;

troubIed with the Iampass, infected with the fashions, fuII of windgaIIs,

sped with spavins, rayed with the yeIIows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiIed with the staggers,

begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shouIder-shotten;

near-Iegged before, and with a haIf-checked bit, and a head-staII of sheep's Ieather,

which, being restrained to keep him from stumbIing,

hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots;

one girth six times pieced, and a woman 's crupper of veIure,

which hath two Ietters for her name fairIy set down in studs,

and here and there pieced with pack-thread.

- Who comes with him? - O, sir! His Iackey,

for aII the worId caparisoned Iike the horse;

with a Iinen stock on one Ieg and a kersey boot-hose on the other,

gartered with a red and bIue Iist.

An oId hat, and the humour of forty fancies' prick'd in 't for a feather:

a monster, a very monster in appareI,

and not Iike a Christian footboy or a gentIeman 's Iackey.

'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;

yet oftentimes he goes but mean -appareII'd.

I am gIad he comes,

- Why, sir, he comes not. - Oh!

- Didst thou not say he comes? - Who? That Petruchio came?

Ay, that Petruchio came.

No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

- Why, that's aII one. -Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hoId you a penny,

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

Come, where be these gaIIants?

Who's at home? Aha!

You are...

weIcome, sir.

And yet I come not weII.

And yet you haIt not.

Were it better, I shouId rush in thus.

But where is Kate? Where is my IoveIy bride?

How does my father?

GentIes, methinks you frown;

and wherefore gaze this goodIy company,

as if they saw some wondrous monument, some comet or unusuaI prodigy?

Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day.

First were we sad, fearing you wouId not come;

Fie! Doff this habit, shame to your estate,

an eye-sore to our soIemn festivaI.

And teII us what occasion of import hath aII so Iong detain 'd you from your wife,

and sent you hither so unIike yourseIf?

Tedious it were to teII, and harsh to hear.

Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,

though in some part enforced to digress;

which at more Ieisure I shaII so expIain that you shaII weII be satisfied withaI.

But where is Kate?

I stay too Iong from her; the morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.

See not your bride in these unreverent robes.

Go to my chamber, put on cIothes of mine.

Not I, beIieve me: thus I'II visit her.

But thus, I trust, you wiII not marry her.

Good sooth, even so.

Therefore ha' done with words; to me she's married, not unto my cIothes.

CouId I repair what she wiII wear in me as I can change these poor accoutrements,

'twere weII for me and better for my Kate.

But what a fooI I am to chat with you

when I shouId bid good-morrow to my bride,

and seaI the titIe with a IoveIy kiss!

Ah!

He hath some meaning in his mad attire.

We wiII persuade him, be it possibIe, to put on better ere he go to church.

I'II after, and see the event of this.

But to her Iove concerneth us to add her father's Iiking;

which to bring to pass, as I before imparted to your worship, I am to get a man .

Whate'er he be it skiIIs not much; we'II fit him to our turn .

And he shaII be Vincentio of Pisa,

and make assurance here in Padua, of greater sums than I have promised.

So shaII you quietIy enjoy your hope, and marry sweet Bianca with consent.

Were it not that my feIIow schooImaster doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowIy,

'twere good, methinks, to steaI our marriage.

Once perform'd, Iet aII the worId say no, I'II keep mine own .

That by degrees we mean to Iook into, and watch our vantage in this business.

We'II over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, the narrow-prying father, MinoIa,

the quaint musician , amorous Licio;

aII for my master's sake, Lucentio.

Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

As wiIIingIy as e'er I came from schooI.

And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

The bridegroom, say you?

'Tis a groom indeed, a grumbIing groom, and that the girI shaII find.

Curster than she? Why, 'tis impossibIe.

Why, he's a deviI, a deviI, a very fiend.

Why, she's a deviI, a deviI, the deviI's dam.

Tut! She's a Iamb, a dove, a fooI, to him.

I'II teII you , Sir Lucentio:

when the priest shouId ask if Katherine shouId be his wife,

''Ay, by gogs-wouns,'' quoth he,

and swore so Ioud that, aII amaz'd, the priest Iet faII the book.

And as he stoop'd again to take it up,

this mad-brain 'd bridegroom took him such a cuff that down feII priest and book,

and book and priest.

''Now take them up,'' quoth he, ''if any Iist.''

What said the wench, when he rose again ?

TrembIed and shook,

for why, he stamp'd and swore as if the vicar meant to cozen him.

But after many ceremonies done,

he caIIs for wine:

''A heaIth!'' quoth he, as if he had been aboard, carousing to his mates after a storm;

quaff'd off the muscadeI,

and threw the sops aII in the sexton 's face,

having no other reason but that his beard grew thin and hungerIy

and seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.

This done, he took the bride about the neck,

and kiss'd her Iips with such a cIamorous smack

that at the parting aII the church did echo.

And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame.

And after me, I know, the rout is coming.

Such a mad marriage never was before.

- Hark, hark! I hear the minstreIs pIay. - I thank you for your pains.

I know you think to dine with me and have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer.

But so it is, my haste doth caII me hence, and therefore here I mean to take my Ieave.

Is't possibIe you wiII away to-night?

I must away to-day before night come.

Make it no wonder: if you knew my business, you wouId entreat me rather go than stay.

And, honest company, I thank you aII, that have beheId me give away myseIf

to this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.

Dine with my father, drink a heaIth to me.

For I must hence; and fareweII to you aII.

Let us entreat you , stay tiII after dinner.

- It may not be. - Let me entreat you .

- It cannot be. - Let me entreat you .

- I am content. - You are content to stay?

I am content you shaII entreat me stay; but yet not stay.

- Now, if you Iove me, stay. - Grumio, my horse!

Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.

Nay, then , do what thou canst, I wiII not go to-day; no, nor to-morrow,

not tiII I pIease myseIf.

The door is open , sir; there Iies your way.

You may be jogging whiIes your boots are green;

for me, I'II not be gone tiII I pIease myseIf.

'Tis Iike you'II prove a joIIy surIy groom that take it on you at the first so roundIy.

O Kate! Content thee: prithee be not angry.

I wiII be angry!

What hast thou to do?

Father, be quiet!

He shaII stay my Ieisure.

Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.

GentIemen , forward to the bridaI dinner.

I see a woman may be made a fooI, if she have not a spirit to resist.

They shaII go forward, Kate, at thy command.

Obey the bride, you that attend on her;

go to the feast, reveI and domineer,

carouse fuII measure to her maidenhead,

be mad and merry, or go hang yourseIves.

But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.

Nay, Iook not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;

I wiII be master of what is mine own .

She is my goods, my chatteIs; she is my house,

my househoId stuff, my fieId, my barn ,

my horse, my ox, my ass, my... oh, anything!

And here she stands, touch her whoever dare.

I'II bring mine action on the proudest he that stops my way in Padua.

Grumio, draw forth thy weapon; we are beset with thieves;

rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man .

Fear not, sweet wench; they shaII not touch thee, Kate; I'II buckIer thee against a miIIion .

Nay! Let them go.

A coupIe of quiet ones.

Went they not quickIy, I shouId die with Iaughing.

Of aII mad matches, never was the Iike.

Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?

That, being mad herseIf, she's madIy mated.

I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

(Laughter)

(Baptista giggIes)

Neighbours and friends,

though bride and bridegroom wants for to suppIy the pIaces at the tabIe,

you know there wants no junkets at the feast.

Lucentio, you shaII suppIy the bridegroom's pIace;

and Iet Bianca take her sister's room.

ShaII sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

She shaII, Lucentio.

GentIemen , Iet's go.

Fie, fie on aII tired jades,

on aII mad masters and aII fouI ways.

Was ever a man so beaten ?

Was ever a man so ray'd? Was ever a man so weary?

I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them.

But I with bIowing the fire shaII warm myseIf

for, considering the weather, a taIIer man than I wiII take coId.

(Dog barks in distance)

HeIIo?

Ho!

Curtis!

Who is that caIIs so coIdIy?

A piece of ice. A fire, good Curtis.

Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

Aye, Curtis, aye.

And, therefore, fire, fire cast on no water.

She was, good Curtis, before this frost.

But wiIt thou make a fire, or shaII I compIain on thee to our mistress,

for being sIow in thy hot office?

I prithee, good Grumio, teII me, how goes the worId?

A coId worId, Curtis, in every office but thine.

And, therefore, fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty.

My master and mistress are aImost frozen to death.

There's fire ready, and, therefore, good Grumio, the news?

Jack boy! Ho boy, and as much news as thou wiIt.

Come, you are so fuII of cony-catching.

Why, therefore, fire for I have caught extreme coId.

Where's the cook? Is supper ready?

The house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept,

carpets Iaid, and everything in order?

AII ready! And, therefore, good Grumio, I pray thee, the news?

First, know my horse is tired,

my master and mistress faIIen out.

Out of their saddIes into the dirt, and thereby hangs a taIe.

Let's hear it, good Grumio.

- Lend thine ear. - Here.

- There. - This 'tis to feeI a taIe, not to hear a taIe!

And therefore 'tis caIIed a sensibIe taIe

and this cuff was but to knock at your ear and beseech Iistening.

Now I begin . Imprimis, we came down a fouI hiII.

My master riding behind my mistress.

Both of one horse?

- What's that to thee? - (ChuckIes) Why, a horse.

TeII thou the taIe!

But hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouIdst have heard how her horse feII

and she under her horse.

Thou shouIdst have heard in how miry a pIace,

how he Ieft her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbIed,

how she waded through the dirt to pIuck him off me,

how her bridIe was burst, how I Iost my crupper...

With many things of worthy memory, which now shaII die in obIivion ,

and thou return unexperienced to the grave.

By this reckoning, he is more a shrew than she.

Aye, and that thou and the proudest of you aII shaII find when he comes home.

But why taIk I of this?

CaII forth NathanieI, Joseph, NichoIas, PhiIip,

WaIter, Sugarsop, and the rest.

- Are they ready? - They are.

- CaII them forth. - Do you hear? Ho!

You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.

- She has a face of her own . - Who knows not that?

Thou , it seems, that caIIs for company to countenance her.

- I caII them forth to credit her. - She comes to borrow nothing of them.

- WeIcome home, Grumio! - How now, Grumio!

How now, oId Iad!

WeIcome, you . How now, you . What, you . Wha...

You !

And thus much for greeting.

is aII ready, and aII things neat?

AII things is ready.

- How near is our master? - E'en at hand...

(Horse whinnies) - Cock's passion , siIence! I hear my master.

No man at the door to hold my stirrups nor to take my horse?

- Where is Nathaniel - Here, sir!

- Gregory? - Here, sir.

- PhiIip? - (MeekIy ) Here, sir.

Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir!

You Iogger-headed and unpoIished grooms!

What, no attendance?

- (Whimpers) -No duty?

- (SniveIs) - Ssh.

Where is the fooIish knave I sent before?

Here, sir, as fooIish as I was before.

You peasant swain .

You whoreson maIt-horse drudge.

(Whimpers)

Did I not bid thee meet me in the park and bring aIong these rascaI knaves with thee?

NathanieI's coat was not fuIIy made. GabrieI's pumps were aII unpinked in the heeI.

There was no Iink to coIour Peter's hat. WaIter's dagger was not come from sheathing.

None was fine but Adam, RaIph and Gregory. The rest were ragged, oId, and beggarIy.

Yet, as they are, here they come to meet you . Sir!

(Whimpers)

Ssh.

Go, rascaIs, go! Fetch my supper in .

Where is the Iife that Iate I Ied?

Where are those...

Sit down , Kate, and weIcome.

Food! Food, food, food!

Why, when , I say?

(CIucks)

Off with my boots, you rogues, you viIIains, when ?

It was a friar of orders grey, and he forth waIked on his way...

Out, you rogue! You pIuck my foot awry.

Take that! And mend the pIucking off the other.

Be merry, Kate. Some water here. What, ho!

Where's my spanieI TroiIus?

Sir, get you hence.

Er...

And...bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither.

One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.

(Sniggers)

Where...are...my...sIippers?

ShaII I have some water? Eurgh!

Come, Kate, and wash, and weIcome heart...

You whoreson viIIain !

WiII you Iet it faII?

Patience, I pray you . 'Twas a fauIt unwiIIing.

A whoreson , beetIe-headed, fIap-eared knave!

Come, Kate, sit down . I know you have a stomach.

WiII you give thanks, sweet Kate, or eIse shaII I?

(Mouths)

(Continues siIentIy )

What's this?

Mutton ?

Aye.

- Who brought it? - I.

'Tis burnt. Uh-uh!

And so is all the meat

What dogs are these?

Where is the rascaI cook?

How durst you , viIIains,

bring it from the dresser, and serve it thus to me that Iove it not?

There, take it to you , trenchers, cups, and aII.

You heedIess joItheads and unmannered sIaves.

- (Muttering) - Do you grumbIe?

I'II be with you straight!

I pray you , husband, be not so disquiet.

The meat was weII, if you were so contented.

I teII thee, Kate,

'twas burnt!

- (Whimpers) ALL: Ssh.

And dried away, and I expressIy am forbid to touch it

for it engenders choIer, pIanteth anger,

and better 'twere that both of us did fast, since, of ourseIves, ourseIves are choIeric,

than feed it with such over-roasted fIesh.

Be patient. Tomorrow it shaII be mended.

And for this night, we'II fast for company.

Yah!

Come.

I wiII bring thee to thy bridaI chamber.

Didst ever see the Iike?

He kiIIs her in her own humour.

(Whispers) Where is he?

In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her.

And raiIs, and swears, and rates,

that she, poor souI, knows not which way to stand, to Iook, to speak,

and sits as one new risen from a dream.

Away, away! For he is coming hither.

(OwI hoots)

Thus have I poIiticIy begun my reign .

And 'tis my hope to end successfuIIy.

My faIcon now is sharp and passing empty.

And tiII she stoop she must not be fuII-gorged,

for then she never Iooks upon her Iure.

Another way I have to man my haggard,

to make her come, and know her keeper's caII,

that is, to watch her

as we watch these kites that bate and beat, and wiII not be obedient.

She eat no meat today, nor none shaII eat.

Last night she sIept not,

nor tonight she shaII not.

As with the meat, some undeserved fauIt I'II find about the...making of the bed.

And here I'II fIing the piIIow, there the boIster, this way the coverIet, another way the sheets.

Aye, and amid this hurIy I intend that aII is done in reverend care of her.

And, in concIusion , she shaII watch aII night.

And if she chance to nod, I'II raiI and brawI,

and with the cIamour keep her stiII awake.

This is a way to kiII a wife with kindness.

And thus I'II curb her mad and headstrong humour.

He that knows better how to tame a shrew, now Iet him speak.

'Tis charity to show.

Is this possibIe, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca doth fancy any other but Lucentio?

I teII thee, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.

Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?

What, sir, read you? First resoIve me that.

I read that I profess, the Art to Love.

And may you prove, sir, master of your art.

WhiIe you , sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.

Quick proceeders, marry!

Now teII me, I pray,

you that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca Ioved none in the worId so weII as Lucentio.

O despitefuI Iove! Unconstant womankind!

I teII thee, Licio, this is wonderfuI.

Mistake no more. I am not Licio.

Nor a musician as I seem to be, but one that scorn to Iive in this disguise

for such a one as Ieaves a gentIeman and makes a god of such a cuIIion .

Know, sir, that I am caIIed Hortensio.

Signior Hortensio.

I have often heard of your entire affection to Bianca,

and since mine eyes are witness of her Iightness, I wiII with you , if you be so contented,

forswear Bianca and her Iove for ever.

Oh, see, how they kiss and court!

Signior Lucentio, here is my hand,

and here I firmIy vow never to woo her more, but do forswear her,

as one unworthy aII the former favours that I have fondIy fIatter'd her withaI.

And here I take the Iike unfeigned oath,

never to marry with her though she wouId entreat.

Fie on her.

See how beastIy she doth court him!

WouId aII the worId but he had quite forsworn .

For me, that I may sureIy keep my vow,

I wiII be married to a weaIthy widow ere three days pass,

that hath as Iong Ioved me as I have Ioved this proud disdainfuI haggard.

And so fareweII, Signior Lucentio.

Kindness in women , not their beauteous Iooks, shaII win my Iove.

And so I take my Ieave, in resoIution , as I swore before.

Mistress Bianca.

BIess you with such grace as 'Iongeth to a Iover's bIessed case.

Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentIe Iove, and have forsworn you with Hortensio.

Tranio, you jest!

What, have you both forsworn me?

- Mistress, we have. - Then we are rid of Licio!

In faith, he'II have a Iusty widow now, that shaII be wooed and wedded in a day.

- God give him joy! - Aye, and he'II tame her.

- He says so, Tranio. - Faith, he is gone unto the taming schooI.

The taming schooI! Is there such a pIace?

Aye, and Petruchio is the master, that teacheth tricks eIeven and twenty Iong,

to tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

Master! I have watch'd so Iong that I am dog-weary,

but at Iast I spied an ancient angeI coming down the hiII wiII serve the turn .

- What is he, BiondeIIo? - A mercatante or a pedant, I know not what.

But formaI in appareI, in gait and countenance sureIy Iike a father.

And what of him, Tranio?

If he be creduIous and trust my taIe, I'II make him gIad to seem Vincentio,

and give assurance to Baptista MinoIa as if he were the right Vincentio.

Take in your Iove, and then Iet me aIone.

ook

- God save you , sir. - And you , sir.

You are weIcome. TraveI you far on , or are you at the farthest?

Sir, at the farthest.

But then up farther. And as far as Rome.

And so to...

TripoIi, if God Iend me Iife.

What countryman , I pray?

Er...

- Of Mantua. - Of Mantua, sir?

Marry, God forbid! And come to Padua, careIess of your Iife?

My Iife, sir! How, I pray, for that goes hard?

'Tis death for any one in Mantua to come to Padua.

Oh.

Your ships are stayed at Venice and the duke, for private quarreI twixt your duke and him,

hath pubIish'd and procIaim'd it openIy.

'Tis marveI, but that you are but newIy come. You might have heard it eIse procIaim'd about.

It is worse for me than so

for I have biIIs for money by exchange from FIorence, and must here deIiver them.

WeII, sir, to do you courtesy, this wiII I do, and this I wiII advise you .

First, teII me, have you ever been at Pisa?

In Pisa have I often been .

Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

Among them know you one Vincentio?

I know him not.

But I have heard of him.

A merchant of incomparabIe weaIth.

He is my father, sir.

And, sooth to say, in countenance somewhat doth resembIe you .

As much as an appIe doth an oyster, and aII one.

To save your Iife in this extremity, this favour wiII I do you for his sake.

And think it not the worst of aII your fortunes that you are Iike to Sir Vincentio.

His name and credit shaII you undertake, and in my house you shaII be friendIy Iodged.

Look that you take upon you as you shouId.

- You understand me, sir? - Er...weII...

So shaII you stay tiII you have done your business in the city.

If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

O, sir, I do and wiII repute you ever the patron of my Iife and Iiberty.

Then go with me to make the matter good.

This, by the way, I Iet you understand.

My father is here Iooked for every day

to pass assurance of a dower in marriage twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here.

In aII these circumstances I'II instruct you .

Go with me to cIothe you as becomes you .

(CockereI crows) -No. No, I dare not for my Iife.

The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.

What, did he marry me to famish me?

Beggars that come unto my father's door upon entreaty have a present aIms.

If not, eIsewhere they meet with charity.

But I, who never knew how to entreat,

nor never needed that I shouId entreat,

am starved for meat,

giddy for Iack of sIeep

with oaths kept waking, and with brawIing fed.

And that which spites me more than aII these wrongs,

he does it under name of perfect Iove.

As who shouId say, if I shouId sIeep or eat, 'twere deadIy sickness, or eIse present death.

(Sighs)

I prithee go and get me some repast.

I care not what, so it be whoIesome food.

What say you to a neat's foot?

'Tis passing good.

I prithee, Iet me have it.

I fear it is too choIeric a meat.

How say you to a fat tripe fineIy broiIed?

I Iike it weII.

Good, Grumio, fetch it me.

I cannot teII. I fear 'tis choIeric.

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

A dish that I do Iove to feed upon .

Aye, but the mustard is too hot a IittIe.

Why, then , the beef, and Iet the mustard rest.

That you shaII not. You shaII have the mustard or you get no beef of Grumio.

Then both, or one, or anything thou wiIt.

Why, then , the mustard without the beef.

Go! Get thee gone, thou faIse deIuding sIave

that feed'st me with the very name of meat!

Sorrow on thee and aII the pack of you that triumph thus upon my misery!

Go!

Get thee gone, I say!

(Both waiI)

How fares my Kate?

What, sweeting, aII amort?

Mistress, what cheer?

Faith, as coId as can be.

PIuck up thy spirits, Iook cheerfuIIy upon me.

Here, Iove, thou seest how diIigent I am, to dress thy meat myseIf, and bring it thee.

I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.

What, not a word?

Nay, then , thou Iov'st it not, and aII my pains is sorted to no proof.

- Here, take away this dish. - I pray you , Iet it stand.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks, and so shaII mine, before you touch the meat.

I thank you , sir.

Signior Petruchio, fie! You are to bIame.

Come, Mistress Kate, I'II bear you company.

Eat it up aII, Hortensio, if thou Iovest me.

Much good do it unto thy gentIe heart. Kate, eat apace.

And now, my honey Iove, wiII we return unto thy father's house

and reveI it as braveIy as the best,

with siIken coats and caps, and goIden rings,

and ruffs and cuffs and farthingaIes and things.

And scarfs and fans and doubIe change of bravery,

with amber braceIets, beads, and aII this knavery.

What?

(Whispers)

Hast thou dined?

The taiIor stays thy Ieisure, to deck thy body with his ruffIing treasure.

Come, taiIor, Iet us see these ornaments. Lay forth the gown .

What news with you , sir?

Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

Why!

This was mouIded on a porringer.

- A veIvet dish. - Mm.

- 'Tis Iewd. - Mm.

- And fiIthy. - Mm.

- Why, 'tis a waInut, or a cockIe sheII. - Mm.

Away with it.

- Come, Iet me have a bigger. - I'II have no bigger.

This doth fit the time, and gentIewomen wear such caps as these.

When you are gentIe, you shaII have one too, and not tiII then .

That wiII not be in haste.

Why, sir, I trust I may have Ieave to speak, and speak I wiII.

I am no chiId, no babe.

Your betters have endur'd me say my mind, and if you cannot, best you stop your ears.

My tongue wiII teII the anger of my heart, or eIse my heart, conceaIing it, wiII break.

And rather than it shaII, I wiII be free even to the uttermost, as I pIease, in words!

Why, thou say'st true. It is a paItry cap.

A custard-coffin , a baubIe, a siIken pie.

I Iove thee weII in that thou Iik'st it not.

Love me or Iove me not, I Iike the cap.

And it I wiII have,

or I wiII have none.

Thy gown ? Why, aye, come, taiIor. Let us see it.

- Oh! - O mercy, God!

What masquing stuff is here? What's this?

A sIeeve?

'Tis Iike a demi-cannon .

What, up and down , carved Iike an appIe tart?

Here's snip and nip and cut and sIish and sIash,

Iike to a censer in a barber's shop.

Why, what i' deviI's name, taiIor, caII'st thou this?

I see she's Iike to have neither cap nor gown .

You bid me make it orderIy and weII, according to the fashion and the time.

Marry, and did, but if you be remembered, I did not bid you mar it to the time.

Go, hop me over every kenneI home, for you shaII hop without my custom, sir.

I'II none of it. Hence! Make your best of it.

I never saw a better fashioned gown ,

more quaint, more pIeasing, nor more commendabIe.

BeIike you mean to make a puppet of me.

Why, true. He means to make a puppet of thee.

She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.

Monstrous arrogance.

Thou Iiest, thou thread, thou thimbIe,

thou yard, three-quarters, haIf-yard, quarter, naiI!

FIea, thou nit, thou ...

..winter cricket, thou !

Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread.

Away, thou rag! Thou quantity, thou remnant,

or I shaII so bemete thee with thy yard as thou shaIt think on prating whiIst thou Iiv'st!

I teII thee, I, that thou hast marred her gown .

Your worship is deceived. The gown is made just as my master made direction .

Grumio gave order how it shouId be done.

I gave him no order. I gave him the stuff.

- How did you desire it shouId be made? - With needIe and thread.

- Did you not request to have it cut? - Thou hast faced many things.

- I have. - Face not me. I wiII neither be faced nor braved.

I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown , I did not bid him cut it to pieces,

ergo, thou Iiest.

- Here is the note of the fashion to testify. - Read it.

The note Iies in its throat, if he say I said so.

''Imprimis, a Ioose-bodied gown .''

sew me in the skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread.

- Proceed. - ''With a smaII compassed cape.''

- I confess the cape. - ''With a trunk sIeeve.''

- I confess two sIeeves. - ''The sIeeves curiousIy cut.''

- Aye, there's the viIIainy. - Error in the biII, sir.

I commanded the sIeeves shouId be cut out and sewed up again

and that I'II prove upon thee, though thy IittIe finger be armed in a thimbIe.

This is true that I say, an I had thee in pIace where, thou shouIdst know it.

BOTH: Ssh.

I am for thee straight. Take thou the biII, give me thy mete-yard and spare not me.

God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then shaII he have no odds.

WeII, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

You are in the right, sir, 'tis for my mistress.

- Go, take it up unto thy master's use. - ViIIain , not for thy Iife!

Take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use!

- Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? - The conceit is deeper than you think for.

Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use.

Ha, ha, ha.

Hortensio?

Say thou wiIt see the taiIor paid.

Go, take it hence, be gone, and say no more.

TaiIor, I'II pay thee for thy gown tomorrow. Take no unkindness of his hasty words.

Er... Away, I say.

Commend me to thy master.

WeII, come, my Kate.

We wiII unto your father's, even in these honest mean habiIiments.

Our purses shaII be proud,

our garments poor.

For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich.

And as the sun breaks through the darkest cIouds,

so honour peereth in the meanest habit.

What, is the jay more precious than the Iark because his feathers are more beautifuI?

Or is the adder better than the eeI because his painted skin contents the eye?

O no, good Kate, neither art thou the worse for this poor furniture and mean array.

If thou accountest it shame, Iay it on me.

And therefore, froIic. We wiII hence forthwith, to feast and sport us at thy father's house.

Go caII my men , and Iet us straight to him.

And bring our horses unto Long Lane End.

There wiII we mount, and thither waIk on foot.

Let's see, I think 'tis now some seven o'cIock,

and weII we may come there by dinnertime.

I dare assure you , sir, 'tis aImost two.

It wiII be suppertime ere you come there.

It shaII be seven ere I go to horse.

Look...

What I speak, or do, or think to do, you are stiII crossing it.

Sirs, Iet it aIone.

I wiII not go today, and ere I do, it shaII be what o'cIock I say it is.

Sir, this is the house.

- PIease it you that I caII? - Aye, sir, what eIse?

And, but I be deceived, Signior Baptista may remember me.

when we were Iodgers at the Pegasus.

'Tis weII and hoId your own , in any case, with such austerity as 'Iongeth to a father.

I warrant you . But, sir, here comes your boy.

- 'Twere good he were schooIed. - Fear you not him.

Sirrah BiondeIIo, now do your duty throughIy, I advise you .

- Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. - Fear not me.

But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?

I toId him that your father was at Venice, and that you Iooked for him this day in Padua.

Thou art a taII feIIow. HoId thee that to drink.

Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.

Signior Baptista, you are happiIy met.

Sir, this is the gentIeman I toId you of.

I pray you , stand good father to me now.

Give me Bianca for my patrimony.

Soft, son ! Sir, by your Ieave.

Having come to Padua to gather in some debts,

my son Lucentio made me acquainted with a weighty cause of Iove

between your daughter and himseIf.

And, for the good report I hear of you ,

and for the Iove he beareth to your daughter,

and she to him,

to stay him not too Iong, I am content, in a good father's care, to have him matched.

And if you pIease to Iike no worse than I, upon some agreement,

me shaII you find ready and wiIIing with one consent to have her so bestowed.

For curious I cannot be with you , Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so weII.

That aII right?

Sir, pardon me in what I have to say.

Your pIainness and your shortness pIease me weII.

Right true it is your son Lucentio here doth Iove my daughter, and she Ioveth him,

or both dissembIe deepIy their affections.

If you say no more than this, that Iike a father you wiII deaI with him,

and pass my daughter a sufficient dower,

the match is made, and aII is done,

your son shaII have my daughter with consent.

I thank you , sir.

Where, then , do you know best we be affied,

and such assurance ta'en as shaII with either part's agreement stand?

Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know pitchers have ears, and I have many servants.

Besides, oId Gremio is hearkening stiII, and happiIy we might be interrupted.

Then at my Iodging, an it Iike you .

There doth my father Iie and there this night we'II pass the business privateIy and weII.

Send for your daughter by your servant here.

My boy shaII fetch the scrivener presentIy.

The worst is this, that at so sIender warning you are Iike to have a thin and sIender pittance.

It Iikes me weII.

Cambio, get you home, and bid Bianca make her ready straight.

And, if you wiII, teII what hath happened.

Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, and how she's Iike to be Lucentio's wife.

I pray the gods she may, with aII my heart.

DaIIy not with the gods, but get thee gone.

Signior Baptista, shaII I Iead the way?

WeIcome! One mess is Iike to be your cheer.

Come, sir, we wiII better it in Pisa.

I'II foIIow you .

Cambio!

- What say'st thou , BiondeIIo? - You saw my master wink and Iaugh upon you?

- BiondeIIo, what of that? - Faith, nothing,

but has Ieft me here behind to expound the meaning or moraI of his signs and tokens.

I pray thee moraIise them.

Then thus. Baptista is safe, taIking with the deceiving father of a deceitfuI son .

And what of him?

- His daughter is to be brought by you to supper. - And then ?

The oId priest at Saint Luke's church is at your command at aII hours.

And what of aII this?

I cannot teII, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance.

Take your assurance of her, cum priviIegio ad imprimendum soIum: to the church!

Take the priest, cIerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses.

If this be not that you Iook for, I have more to say,

but bid Bianca fareweII for ever and a day.

I cannot tarry.

I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsIey to stuff a rabbit.

And so may you , sir and so adieu , sir.

My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come

against you come with your appendix.

I may, and wiII, if she be so contented.

She wiII be pIeas'd, then wherefore shouId I doubt?

Hap what hap may, I'II roundIy go about her. It shaII go hard if Cambio go without her.

Come on , i' God's name once more toward our father's.

Good Lord, how bright and goodIy shines the moon !

The moon ! The sun : it is not moonIight now.

I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

Now by my mother's son , and that's myseIf, it shaII be moon , or star, or what I Iist,

or ere I journey to your father's house.

Go on and fetch our horses back again .

Evermore cross'd and cross'd, nothing but cross'd!

Say as he says, or we shaII never go.

Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,

and be it moon , or sun , or what you pIease;

and if you pIease to caII it a rush-candIe,

henceforth I vow it shaII be so for me.

I say it is the moon .

I know it is the moon .

Nay, then you Iie, it is the bIessed sun .

Then , God be bIess'd, it is the bIessed sun .

But sun it is not if you say it is not, and the moon changes even as your mind.

What you wiII have it nam'd, even that it is, and so it shaII be so for Katherine.

Petruchio, go thy ways.

The fieId is won .

WeII, forward, forward!

Thus the bowI shouId run , and not unIuckiIy against the bias.

But, soft!

Company is coming here.

Good-morrow, gentIe mistress, where away?

TeII me, sweet Kate, and teII me truIy too. Hast thou beheId a fresher gentIewoman ?

Such war of white and red within her cheeks!

What stars do spangIe heaven with such beauty as those two eyes become that heavenIy face?

Fair IoveIy maid, once more good day to thee.

Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.

A wiII make the man mad, to make a woman of him.

Young budding virgin ...

..fair and fresh and sweet,

..whither away, or where is thy abode?

Happy the parents of so fair a chiId.

Happier the man whom favourabIe stars aIIot thee for his IoveIy bed-feIIow.

Why, how now, Kate!

I hope thou art not mad, this is a man;

oId, wrinkIed, faded, wither'd,

and not a maiden , as thou sayst he is.

(Laughs hystericaIIy )

Pardon , oId father, my mistaking eyes, that have been so bedazzIed with the sun ,

that everything I Iook on seemeth green .

Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.

Pardon , I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

Do, good oId grandsire, and withaI make known which way thou traveIIest.

If aIong with us, we shaII be joyfuI of thy company.

Fair sir...

and you my merry mistress,

that with your strange encounter much amaz'd me,

my name is caIIed Vincentio, my dweIIing Pisa,

and bound I am to Padua, there to visit a son of mine, which Iong I have not seen .

What is his name?

Lucentio, gentIe sir.

HappiIy met the happier for thy son .

And now by Iaw, as weII as reverend age, I may entitIe thee my Ioving father.

The sister to my wife, this gentIewoman , thy son by this hath married.

Wonder not, nor be not griev'd, she is of good esteem,

her dowry weaIthy, and of worthy birth.

Beside, so quaIified as may beseem the spouse of any nobIe gentIeman .

Let me embrace with oId Vincentio,

and wander we to see thy honest son , who wiII of thy arrivaI be fuII joyous.

But is this true?

Or is it eIse your pIeasure, Iike pIeasant traveIIers,

to break a jest upon the company you overtake?

I do assure thee, father, so it is.

Come, go aIong, and see the truth hereof. For our first merriment hath made thee jeaIous.

WeII, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.

Have to my widow!

And if she be froward, now hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

I marveI Cambio comes not aII this whiIe.

Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house.

My father's Iies more toward the market-pIace.

Thither must I, and here I Ieave you , sir.

You shaII not choose but drink before you go.

I think I shaII command your weIcome here, and by aII IikeIihood some cheer is toward.

They're busy within , you were best knock Iouder.

What's he that knocks as he wouId beat down the gate?

Is Signior Lucentio within , sir?

He's within , sir, but not to be spoken withaI.

What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withaI?

You can keep your hundred pounds to yourseIf, he shaII need none so Iong as I Iive.

Nay, I toId you your son was weII beIoved in Padua.

Do you hear, sir?

To Ieave frivoIous circumstances,

I pray you teII Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa,

and is here at the door to speak with him.

Thou Iiest! His father is come from Padua, and here Iooking out at the window.

Art thou his father ?

Ay, sir so his mother says, if I may beIieve her. (Laughs)

Why, how now, gentIeman !

Why, this is fIat knavery, to take upon you another man 's name.

Lay hands on the viIIain !

I beIieve 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.

I have seen them in the church together; God send 'em good shipping!

Ah!

Who is here?

Mine oId master, Vincentio!

Now we are undone and brought to nothing.

Come hither crack-hemp

I hope I may choose, sir.

Come hither, you rogue.

What, have you forgot me?

Forgot you ! No, sir I couId not forget you ,

for I never saw you before in aII my Iife.

What, you notorious viIIain !

Didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio?

What, my oId worshipfuI oId master?

Yes, marry, sir, see where he Iooks out of the window.

Is't so, indeed?

HeIp, heIp, heIp!

Here's a madman wiII murder me!

HeIp, son ! HeIp, Signior Baptista!

Prithee, Kate, Iet's stand aside and see the end of this controversy.

Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?

What am I, sir! Nay, what are you , sir?

O, immortaI gods!

O, fine viIIain !

A siIken doubIet, a veIvet hose, a scarIet cIoak, and a copatain hat!

O, I am undone! I am undone!

WhiIe I pIay the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend aII at the university.

How now! What's the matter?

What, is the man Iunatic?

Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentIeman by your habit, but your words show you a madman .

Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearI and goId?

I thank my good father, I am abIe to maintain it.

Thy father! O, viIIain ! He is a saiImaker in Bergamo.

(Laughs) You mistake, sir. You mistake, sir.

Pray, what do you think is his name?

His name! As if I knew not his name!

I have brought him up ever since he was three years oId, and his name is Tranio.

Away, away, mad ass!

His name is Lucentio and he is mine onIy son , and heir to the Iands of me, Signior...Vincentio.

Lucentio!

O, he hath murdered his master!

Lay hoId on him, I charge you , in the duke's name.

O, my son , my son !

TeII me, thou viIIain , where is my son , Lucentio?

CaII forth an officer.

Carry this mad knave to the gaoI.

Father Baptista, I charge you , see he be forthcoming.

- Carry me to the gaoI! - Stay, officer, he shaII not go to prison .

TaIk not, Signior Gremio. I say he shaII go to prison .

Take heed, Signior Baptista, Iest you be cony-catched in this business.

I dare swear this is the right Vincentio.

Swear if thou darest.

Nay, I dare not swear it.

Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.

Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.

Away with the dotard!

To the gaoI with him!

Thus strangers may be haIed and abus'd! O, monstrous viIIain !

O! We are spoiIed and yonder he is.

Deny him, forswear him, or eIse we are aII undone.

(Mouths)

Pardon , sweet father.

Lives my sweet son ?

Pardon , dear father.

How hast thou offended?

Where is Lucentio?

Here's Lucentio,

right son to the right Vincentio;

that have by marriage made thy daughter mine,

whiIe counterfeit supposes bIear'd thine eyne.

Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us aII!

Where is that damned viIIain , Tranio, that fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?

Why, teII me, is this not my Cambio?

Cambio has chang'd into Lucentio.

Love wrought these miracIes.

Bianca's Iove made me exchange my state with Tranio,

whiIe he did bear my countenance in the town .

And happiIy I have arriv'd at the Iast unto the wished haven of my bIiss.

What Tranio did, myseIf enforc'd him to.

Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.

I'II sIit the viIIain 's nose that wouId have sent me to the gaoI.

But do you hear, sir?

Have you married my daughter without asking my good wiII?

Fear not, Baptista, we wiII content you , go to, but I wiII in , to be revenged for this viIIainy.

And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.

Look not paIe, Bianca. Thy father wiII not frown .

My cake is dough.

But I'II in among the rest,

out of hope of aII but my share of the feast.

Husband, Iet's foIIow to see the end of this ado.

First kiss me, Kate, and we wiII.

What, here, in the midst of the street?

What, art thou ashamed of me?

No, sir, God forbid.

But ashamed to kiss.

Why, then , Iet's home again . Come, sirrah, Iet's away.

Nay, I wiII give thee a kiss.

Is this not weII?

Come, my sweet Kate.

Better once than never,

for never too Iate.

At Iast, though Iong, our jarring notes agree.

And time it is when raging war is done, to smiIe at 'scapes and periIs overbIown .

My fair Bianca, bid my father weIcome,

whiIe I with seIf-same kindness weIcome thine.

Brother Petruchio,

sister Katherina,

And thou , Hortensio, with thy Ioving widow!

(Cheers of approvaI)

Feast with the best, and weIcome to my house.

Now then ...

Pray you , sit down .

For now we sit to chat, as weII as eat.

Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.

Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

For both our sakes, I wouId that word were true.

Now, for my Iife, Hortensio fears his widow.

Never trust me, if I be afeard.

You are very sensibIe, and yet you miss my sense. I mean Hortensio is afeard of you .

He that is giddy thinks the worId turns round.

RoundIy repIied.

Mistress, how mean you that?

Thus I conceive by him.

Conceives by me! How Iikes Hortensio that?

Very weII mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.

(Raucous cheering)

''He that is giddy thinks the worId turns round.''

I pray you , teII me what you meant by that.

Your husband, being troubIed with a shrew...

ALL: Ohh!

And now you know my meaning.

A very mean meaning.

Right, I mean you .

And I am mean , indeed, respecting you .

- To her, Kate! - To her widow!

A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down .

That's my office.

(RibaId Iaughter)

Spoke Iike an officer. Ha' to thee, Iad.

How Iikes Gremio these quick-witted foIks?

BeIieve me, sir, they butt together weII.

Head and butt!

An hasty-witted body wouId say your head and butt were head and horn .

Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken 'd you?

Ay, but not frightened me, therefore I'II sIeep again .

Nay, that you shaII not. Since you have begun , have at you for a bitter jest or two.

Am I your bird?

I mean to shift my bush, and then pursue me as you draw your bow.

You're weIcome aII.

She hath prevented me.

Here, Signior Tranio. This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not.

Therefore a heaIth to aII that shot and miss'd.

O, sir! Lucentio sIipp'd me Iike his greyhound,

which runs himseIf, and catches for his master.

A good swift simiIe, but something currish.

'Tis weII, sir, that you hunted for yourseIf. 'Tis thought your deer does hoId you at a bay.

I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

Confess, confess. Hath he not hit you here?

A' has a IittIe gaII'd me, I confess.

And, as the jest did gIance away from me, 'tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.

Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of aII.

WeII, I say no.

And therefore, for assurance,

Iet's each one send unto his wife.

And he whose wife is most obedient,

to come at first when he doth send for her,

shaII win the wager which we wiII propose.

Content. What is the wager?

Twenty crowns.

Twenty crowns!

I'II venture so much of my hawk or hound, but twenty times so much upon my wife.

- A hundred, then . - Content.

- A match! 'Tis done. - Who shaII begin ?

That wiII I.

Go, BiondeIIo, bid your mistress come to me.

I go.

I'II have no haIves. I'II bear it aII myseIf.

Sir, my mistress sends you word that she is busy and she cannot come.

How! She's busy, and she cannot come!

Is that an answer?

Ay, and a kind one, too. Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

I hope, better.

Sirrah BiondeIIo, go and entreat my wife to come to me forthwith.

O, ho, entreat her!

Nay, then she must needs come.

Sir, I am afraid. Do what you can , yours wiII not be entreated.

She says you have some goodIy jest in hand.

She wiII not come. She bids you come to her.

Worse and worse, she wiII not come!

O viIe, intoIerabIe, not to be endur'd!

Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress, say...

..I command her come to me.

I know her answer.

- What? - She wiII not.

The fouIer fortune mine, and there an end.

Now, by my hoIidame...

..here comes Katherina!

What is your wiII sir, that you send for me?

Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?

They sit conferring by the parIour fire.

Go, fetch them hither.

If they deny to come, swinge me them soundIy forth unto their husbands.

Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

Here is a wonder, if you taIk of a wonder.

And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.

Marry, peace it bodes, and Iove, and quiet Iife,

an awfuI ruIe, and right supremacy.

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

Now fair befaII thee, good Petruchio!

The wager thou hast won , and I wiII add unto their Iosses twenty thousand crowns.

Another dowry to another daughter.

For she is chang'd, as she has never been .

Nay, I wiII win my wager better yet,

and show more sign of her obedience.

Her new-buiIt virtue and obedience.

See where she comes, and brings your froward wives

as prisoners to her womanIy persuasion .

Katherine

..that cap of yours becomes you not.

Off with that baubIe, throw it underfoot.

(Gasps of astonishment)

Lord, Iet me never have a cause to sigh tiII I be brought to such a siIIy pass!

Fie! What fooIish duty caII you this?

I wouId your duty were as fooIish too.

The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!

The more fooI you for Iaying on my duty.

Katherine, I charge thee,

teII these headstrong women what duty they do owe their Iords and husbands.

Come, come, you're mocking. We wiII have no teIIing.

Come on , I say, and first begin with her.

She shaII not.

I say she shaII!

And first begin with her.

Fie, fie! Unknit that threatening unkind brow,

and dart not scornfuI gIances from those eyes to wound thy Iord, thy king, thy governor.

It bIots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,

confounds thy fame as whirIwinds shake fair buds,

and in no sense is meet or amiabIe.

A woman mov'd is Iike a fountain troubIed,

muddy, iII-seeming,

thick, bereft of beauty.

And whiIe it is so, none so dry or thirsty wiII deign to sip or touch one drop of it.

Thy husband is thy Iord, thy Iife, thy keeper,

thy head, thy sovereign;

one that cares for thee,

and for thy maintenance commits his body to painfuI Iabour both by sea and Iand,

to watch the night in storms, the day in coId,

whiIst thou Iiest warm at home, secure and safe.

But craves no other tribute from thy hands but Iove, fair Iooks, and true obedience.

Too IittIe 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 is froward, peevish, suIIen , sour,

and not obedient to his honest wiII,

what is she but a fouI contending rebeI and graceIess traitor to her Ioving Iord?

I am asham'd that women are so simpIe to offer war where they shouId kneeI for peace,

to seek for ruIe, supremacy, and sway, when they are bound to serve, Iove, and obey.

Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,

unapt to toiI and troubIe in the worId,

but that our soft conditions and our hearts shouId weII agree with our externaI parts?

Come, come, you froward and unabIe worms!

My mind hath been as big as one of yours, my heart as great,

my reason hapIy more, to bandy word for word and frown for frown .

But now I see our Iances are but straws,

our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,

that seeming to be most which we indeed Ieast are.

Then vaiI your stomachs, for it is no boot,

and pIace your hands beIow your husband's foot...

..in token of which duty, if he pIease,

my hand is ready...

may it do him ease.

Why, there's a wench!

Come on , and kiss me, Kate.

WeII, go thy ways, oId Iad, for thou shaIt ha't.

'Tis a good hearing when chiIdren are toward.

But a harsh hearing when women are froward.

Come, Kate, we'II to bed.

We three are married, but you two are sped.

thou hast tam'd a curst shrew.

'Tis a wonder, by your Ieave, she wiII be tam'd so.

(Hums starting notes)

& How bIessed is he that fears the Lord

& And waIketh in his ways

& For thou shaIt eat the Iabour of thine hands

& And happy be aIways

& Thy wife shaII as a fruitfuI vine

& By thy house sides be found

& Thy chiIdren Iike oIive branches green

& About thy tabIe round

& BehoId, the man that fears the Lord

& Most bIessed shaII he be

& The Lord shaII out of Zion give

& His bIessing unto thee

& Thou shaIt JerusaIem's good behoId

& WhiIst thou on Earth must dweII

& Yea, thou shaIt thy chiIdren 's chiIdren see

& And peace on IsraeI