All language subtitles for The.Taming.of.the.Shrew.2016.1080p.WEBRip.x264.AAC5.1-[YTS.MX]

Let me hear it...

Yeah. Huh?

- Yeah.

Ladies and gentlemen,
my name is Tom Rooney.

I've been a member

of the Stratford Festival
acting company

for the past eight years,

and in that time
I have performed in 14 plays

by William Shakespeare.

However, this is my first time
wearing pumpkin pants.

Thank you. Thank you very much.
Thank you.

And I just want to say,

gentlemen, please,
do yourself a favor,

get out there,
get yourself a pair.

- They feel amazing.

They really do.
There is just so much room.

It's like -- These are
the Cadillac of pants.

Let me tell you.

Costumes and disguises.

They're very important
to actors, of course.

A costume creates a perception
of my character

before I've even said
any of my lines.

And in this play,
perception is central,

especially in this play
that is so preoccupied with,

you know, gender and identity,
and love, of course.

And performance.

For example,
a wedding dress is a --

It's a kind of costume
worn by a woman

at the end of a courtship.

And courtship itself,
when you think about it,

is a kind of performance.

And now I have to go.
Good night.

I'm going to sing a song called
"The Virgin's Meditation."

It was written in the late-17th
century by Thomas D'Urfey,

and it's sung from
the perspective of a young woman

who's preparing to leave
her father's house

and is contemplating
the mystery of married life

that lies before her.

♪ A virgin's life ♪
who would be leaving ♪

♪ Free from care ♪
and fond desire ♪

♪ Ne'er deceived ♪
or e'er deceiving ♪

♪ Loving none, ♪
yet all inspire ♪

♪ We sit at home ♪
and knot the live-long day ♪

♪ A thousand harmless ♪
things we say ♪

♪ But not one word ♪
of wedlock's frightful noose ♪

♪ For fear we chance to think ♪
what we must lose ♪

♪ A virgin's life ♪
who would be leaving ♪

♪ Free from care ♪
and fond desire ♪

♪ Ne'er deceived ♪
or e'er deceiving ♪

♪ Loving none, ♪
yet all inspire ♪

♪ We sit at home ♪
and knot the live-long day ♪

♪ A thousand harmless ♪
things we say ♪

♪ But not one word ♪
of wedlock's frightful noose ♪

♪ For fear we chance to think ♪
what we must lose ♪

PATRON:
I know where the exits are.

You don't have to tell me
where the exits are.

I'm not --
Oh, I'm disrupting the play?

The play is disrupting me!

There's no song at the beginning
of "Taming of the Shrew."

- Bona, should we stop?
- PATRON: What's the song about?

Women's issues.
It's really hard being a woman.

You know,
don't objectify women.

But you've got
five good-looking girls

up there singing the song,
haven't you?

That's a little contradictory,
isn't it?

I'm sorry, but how many...

Thank you,
ladies and gentleman.

I ask that you please
remain in your seats

while we deal
with this disturbance,

and we'll resume the performance
as soon as possible.

And he told us
what the play was about.

Now we don't have to
watch the play.

- Thanks very much.
- USHER: Yeah, point made.

Did you see the last thing
this guy did?

"My Big Gay
Shakespearean Wedding"?

- Sir!
- I mean, what was that?

I've got a point here.

It's not what it used to be,
is it?

It -- You know,
it used to be authentic.

It was about the text.
It was reverent.

It was...

Well, actually, it was more
British, really, wasn't it?

Listen, I'm not saying anything
bad about Canadians.

You know, some of my --

Some of my best friends
are Canadians, and all that.

Look, I can't even go
to the Shaw Festival anymore.

It's all Irish plays now.

I'm sorry, but what's this?

You didn't even --
You gave me the wrong program.

This is "The Sound of Music."
You know?

You can't just treat the public
like we don't matter.

I matter!
I actually do matter!

As a matter of fact, I happen to
write for a theater blog.

- USHER: Wow! Wow!
- Yeah.

- I'm a blogger.
- Stop yelling at me!

PATRON: That's right!
I'm a blogger!

So you're in big danger of
getting a bad review from me.

And don't put your hands
on me!

You're not allowed to...

- Um, not on the stage.
- That's against the rules!

Oh, my God, it's --
Look, it's Deborah Hay.

- MAN: He's on the dress!
- Oh!

Oh, no, no!

- MAN: Get off the dress!

- USHER: Calm down.
- WOMAN: This is crazy.

Yeah, but why --
Why is the stage red?

Is this a...

- Bona?
- Is this a concept of some kind?

- HAY: Sir.
- Oh, no. Wait, listen.

Listen, I know you're taping.
I don't care.

You were marvelous
in "Much Ado About Nothing"

when you fell down the stairs
on your bum.

That was really good.

Your -- Your husband's rubbish.
Give me a hug.

MAN:
Can we get some help, please?!

He grabbed my bum!

PATRON: I just want her
to give me a hug.

- You don't touch the actors!
- All right, I won't touch them.

I don't see
what the difference is.

They're all sluts anyway.

USHER:
If he does that again...

- Oh!
- Oh!

WOMAN: Oh, my God.

Luke!
What the...

You can't assault a patron!

That's it! You're terminated,
effective immediately.

And I'll need your flashlight.
Thank you.

Yeah, and your name tag.

I don't need the tie, Luke.

Sirs, we will practice
on this drunken man.

What think you,
if in sweet jest,

we wrapp'd him in sweet clothes,
rings on his fingers,

a most delicious banquet
laid by him,

and brave attendants near him
when he wakes,

would not the asshole
then forget himself?

It would seem strange unto him
when he waked.

Persuade him
that he hath been lunatic;

and when he says he is,
say that he dreams,

for he is nothing
but a mighty lord.

Hey, George, have some music
ready for when he wakes.

HAY: This do and do it kindly,
gentle sirs.

It will be
pastime passing excellent,

if it be husbanded
with modesty.

Take him up gently,
ready with fresh apparel;

and each to his office
when he wakes.

Everyone grab something.

- Ready? Hup!

He's flatulent.

Do you think
this will fit, guys?

- Careful. Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Sirrah, dress you in all suits
like a lady.

- Oh, my God.

Bear yourself
in honorable action.

Such duty to the drunkard
you must do

With soft low voice
and lowly courtesy,

and say, "What is't
your honor will command,

wherein your lady
and most humble wife

may show her duty
and make known her love?"

And then with kind embracements,
tempting kisses,

and with declining head
upon your bosom,

you will shake tears,
as being overjoy'd

to see your noble lord
restored to health,

when after seven years
you did think yourself

no better than
a poor and loathsome beggar.

And if you have not
the woman's gift

to rain a shower
of commanded tears,

an onion will do well
for such a shift,

which in this napkin
being close convey'd

will in despite
enforce a watery eye.

Are all things ready?

Then sound the music
and awake him straight.

And each one to his office,
where he waits.

- Shh!

My lord?

My lord!

- He sleeps soundly.
- My lord!

Oh, for God's sake.

Give us another pint, please.

Here's wine, my lord!
The purest of the grape.

Wine?
F-For w-what lord?

For your honor, my lord.

Jesus, what am I wearing?

More richer fare
your honor has to wear.

And if it please you,
we will fetch them straight.

Will't please your honor
taste of these conserves?

What raiment will your honor
wear to-day?

PATRON:
Look, shut up.

My name is Chris Sly.

Don't call me
"honor" and "lordship."

And I never drank wine
in my life.

I don't touch the swill.

I'm more of
a schnapps man myself.

And I don't know what
conserves are, but that's fruit.

Are you trying to poison me?

Don't ask me what clothes
I'm gonna wear.

I don't have a wardrobe.

I don't have any more shirts
than backs,

don't have any more trousers
than legs,

no more shoes than feet.

Yeah, sometimes got more feet
than shoes.

Oh! Oh, that a mighty man
of such descent,

of such possessions
and so high esteem,

should be infused
with so foul a spirit!

Are you trying to drive me
around the bend?!

- No, my lord!
- Look, am I not Christopher Sly?

No, my lord.

Old Reggie Sly's son
of Greater Napanee.

What?

Look, you -- you ask
Marian Hacket,

the fat waitress
at the Foster's on Downie

if she doesn't know who I am.

Look, I'm -- I'm not crazy!
Here's -- Here's --

- Oh!
- Oh!

This is it
that makes your lady mourn!

Hence comes it that your kindred
shuns your house,

as beaten hence
by your strange lunacy.

Look how thy servants
do attend on thee.

- My lord.
- My lord.

Each in his office
ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have music?

Hark!

Apollo plays,

and twenty caged nightingales
do sing.

Say thou wilt walk;
we will bestrew the ground.

Or wilt thou ride?
Thy horses shall be trapp'd.

Dost thou love hawking?

Thou hast hawks that will soar

above the morning lark
or wilt thou hunt?

Thy hounds shall make
the welkin answer them

and fetch shrill echoes
from the hollow earth.

Do you like pictures?

Uh...

We will
fetch thee straight Adonis

painted by a running brook.

We'll show thee Io
as she was a maid.

Or Daphne roaming through
a thorny wood.

Thou art a lord,
and nothing but a lord.

Thou hast a lady
far more beautiful

than any woman
in this waning age.

- Am I a lord?
- Aye, my lord.

And have I such a lady?
Or do I dream?

No.

Or have I dream'd till now?

- Yes!
- Yes!

My lord.
No, no, no. No, no, no.

No, I do not sleep:
I see, I hear, I speak;

I smell sweet savors
and -- and I-I feel soft things:

Upon my life,
I am a lord indeed!

- Yes!
- Yes!

And -- And not a blogger.

- No!
- No!

Well, call our lady hither
to our sight;

oh, and once again,
a pot of the smallest ale.

SERVANT:
Yes, my lord.

How fares my noble lord?

Marry, I fare well
for here is cheer enough.

Where is my wife?

Here, noble lord;
what is thy will with her?

Are -- Are you my wife
and will not call me husband?

My men should call me "lord."
I am your goodman.

My husband and my lord,
my lord and husband;

I am your wife
in all obedience.

Servants,
leave me and her alone.

Mistress, undress you now
and come now to bed.

Thrice noble lord,
let me entreat of you

to pardon me yet
for a night or two,

or, if not so,
until the sun be set.

SLY: Why?

For your physicians
have expressly charged,

in peril
to incur your former malady,

that I should yet absent me
from your bed.

I hope this reason
stands for my excuse.

Ay, it stands so
that I may hardly tarry so long.

Come on.

Hello.

Your honor's players,
hearing your amendment,

are come to play
a pleasant comedy;

for so your doctors hold it
very meet,

seeing that too much sadness
hath congeal'd your blood,

and melancholy
is the nurse of frenzy.

'Tis the nurse of frenzy!

Therefore they thought it good
you hear a play

and frame your mind
to mirth and merriment,

which bars a thousand harms
and lengthens life.

A play?
What, household stuff?

It is a kind of history.

Is there not a fool
in the play?

Aye, my lord.

Well, we'll see it.

Come, mistress wife,
you sit by my side and --

- Oh, you've got big hands.
- Oh!

And let the world slip, eh?

We shall ne'er be younger.

Your lordship's box awaits.

My lordship's box.

The night improves!
Ahh!

You come here.
Wait for me!

These heels are very hard
to run in, my lord.

Tranio, since for
the great desire I had

to see fair Padua,
nursery of arts,

I am arrived
for fruitful Lombardy,

the pleasant garden
of great Italy;

and by my father's
love and leave am arm'd

with his good will
and thy good company,

my trusty servant,
well approved in all,

here let us breathe
and haply institute

a course of learning
and ingenious studies.

And therefore, Tranio,
for the time I study,

virtue and that part
of philosophy

will I apply
that treats of happiness

by virtue
specially to be achieved.

Tell me thy mind;
for I have Pisa left

and am to Padua come,
as he that leaves

a shallow plash
to plunge him in the deep

and with satiety
seeks to quench his thirst.

Mi perdonato,
gentle master mine,

I am in all affected
as yourself;

glad that you thus continue
your resolve

to suck the sweets
of sweet philosophy.

Only, good master,
while we do admire

this virtue
and this moral discipline...

...let's be no stoics
nor no stocks, I pray.

Balk logic with acquaintance
that you have.

Mm!

And practice rhetoric
in your common talk;

music and poesy use
to quicken you;

the mathematics
and the metaphysics,

fall to them as you find
your stomach serves you;

no profit grows
where is no pleasure ta'en;

in brief, sir,
study what you most affect.

Gramercies, Tranio,
well dost thou advise.

If, Biondello,
thou wert come ashore,

we could at once
put us in readiness,

and take a lodging
fit to entertain

such friends as time in Padua
shall beget.

But stay a while;
what company is this?

Master, some show
to welcome us to town.

BAPTISTA: Hortensio.
Signior Gremio.

MAN:
This is outrageous!

Gentlemen,
importune me no farther!

For how I firmly am resolved
you know;

that is, not to bestow
my youngest daughter

before I have a husband
for the elder.

If either of you
both love Katharina,

because I know you well
and love you well,

leave shall you have
to court her at your pleasure.

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

There, there, Hortensio,
will you any wife?

I pray you, sir,
is it your will

to make a stale of me
amongst these mates?

Mates, maid!
How mean you that?

No mates for you,

unless you were
of gentler, milder mold.

I'faith, sir, you shall
never need to fear;

iwis it is not halfway
to her heart;

but if it were,
doubt not her care should be

to comb your noddle
with a three-legg'd stool

and paint your face
and use you like a fool!

HORTENSIO: From all such devils,
the good Lord deliver us!

And me too, good Lord!

Master,
here's some good pastime toward;

that wench is stark mad
or wonderful froward.

But in the other's silence
do I see

maid's mild behavior
and sobriety.

Gentlemen, that I may soon
make good

what I have said,
Bianca, get you in;

and let it not displease thee,
good Bianca,

for I will love thee
ne'er the less, my girl.

A pretty peat!

It is best

put finger in the eye,
an she knew why.

Sister, content you
in my discontent.

Sir, to your pleasure
humbly I subscribe;

my books and instruments
shall be my company,

on them to look
and practice by myself.

Hark, Tranio!
Thou may'st hear Minerva speak.

Signior Baptista,
will you be so strange?

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

Why will you mew her up,
Signior Baptista,

for this fiend of hell,

and make her bear the penance
of her tongue?

Gentlemen, content ye;
I am resolved.

Go in, Bianca.

And for I know
she taketh most delight

in music, instruments
and poetry,

schoolmasters will I keep
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 will be very kind,
and liberal

to mine own children in good
bringing up; and so farewell.

Katharina, you may stay.

For I have more
to commune with Bianca.

Why?

And I trust I may go too,
may I not?

What?!

Am I to be appointed hours;
as though, belike,

I knew not what to take
and what to leave?

Ha?!

You may go to the devil's dam;

your gifts are so good,
here's none will hold you.

Aah! Aah!

There!

Love is not so great,
Hortensio,

but we may
blow our nails together,

and fast it fairly out;

our cake's dough
on both sides.

Farewell; yet for the love
I bear my sweet Bianca,

if I can by any means
light on a fit man

to teach her
that wherein she delights,

I will wish him to her father.

And so will I, Signior Gremio;
but a word, I pray you.

Though the nature of our quarrel
yet never brooked parle,

know now, upon advice,
it toucheth us both,

that we may yet again have
access to our fair mistress

and be happy rivals
in Bianca's love,

to labor and effect
one thing specially.

What's that, I pray?

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

A husband!
A devil.

HORTENSIO:
I say, a husband.

GREMIO:
I say, a devil.

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

any man is so very a fool
to be married to hell?

Tush, Gremio, though it pass
your patience and mine

to endure her loud alarums,

why, man, there be good fellows
in the world,

an a man could light on them,

would take her with all faults,
and money enough.

I cannot tell; but I had as lief
take her dowry

with this condition,

to be whipped at the high cross
every morning.

Faith, as you say, there's
small choice in rotten apples.

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

it shall be so far forth
friendly maintained

till by helping Baptista's
eldest daughter to a husband

we set his youngest free
for a husband,

and then have to't a fresh.

Sweet Bianca!
Happy man be his dole!

He that runs fastest
gets the ring.

How say you, Signior Gremio?

- I am agreed.
- Aha!

And would I had given him
the best horse in Padua

to begin his wooing
that would thoroughly woo her,

wed her and bed her
and rid the house of her!

Come on.

I pray, sir, tell me,
is it possible

that love should of a sudden
take such hold?

O Tranio,
till I found it to be true,

I never thought it possible
or likely;

but see, while idly I stood
looking on,

I found the effect
of love in idleness;

and now in plainness
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 girl.

Counsel me, Tranio,
for I know thou canst;

assist me, Tranio,
for I know thou wilt.

Master, you look'd so longly
on the maid,

perhaps you mark'd not
what's the pith of all.

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

such as the daughter
of Agenor had,

that made great Jove
to humble 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 scold
and raise up such a storm

that mortal ears
might hardly endure the din?

Tranio, I saw
her coral lips to move

and with her breath
she did perfume the air;

sacred and sweet
was all I saw in her.

Nay, then, 'tis time
to wake him from his trance!

I pray, awake, sir!

If you love the maid,

bend thoughts and wits
to achieve her.

Thus it stands:

Her eldest sister
is so curst and shrewd

that till the father
rid his hands of her, Master,

your love
must live a maid at home;

and therefore
has he closely mew'd her up,

because he will not be
annoy'd with suitors.

Ah, Tranio,
what a cruel father's he!

But art thou not advised,
he took some care

to get her cunning schoolmasters
to instruct her?

Marry, am I, sir;
and now 'tis plotted.

- I have it, Tranio.
- Master, for my hand,

both our inventions
meet and jump in one!

Tell me thine first!

You will be schoolmaster

and undertake the teaching of
the maid: That's your device.

It is.
May it be done?

- Not possible!
- Ah!

For who will bear your part,

and be in Padua here
Vincentio's son,

keep house and ply his book,
welcome his friends,

visit his countrymen
and banquet them?

Basta; content thee,
for I have it full.

We have not yet been seen
in any house,

nor can we be distinguish'd
by our faces

for man or master;
then it follows thus;

thou shalt be master, Tranio,
in my stead,

keep house and port and servants
as I should;

I will some other be,
some Florentine,

some Neapolitan,
or meaner man of Pisa.

'Tis hatch'd and shall be so.

Tranio, at once

uncase thee;
take my color'd hat.

- Hup! Hup! Hup-ho!
- Hey-o!

And cloak.

- Hup! Ho!
- Ohhhh!

- Oh!
- Oh! Hup!

Hey! Hup! Hup.

When Biondello comes,
he waits on thee;

but I will charm him first
to keep his tongue.

- Hup!
- Hey-o!

No!

Ha ha ha ha!

So had you need.

- Ohhhhh!
- Heeeey!

- Oh!
- Oh!

In brief, sir,
sith it your pleasure...

...sith it your pleasure is,

and I am tied to be obedient;

for so your father charged me
at our parting,

"Be serviceable to my son,"
quoth he,

although I think
'twas in another sense;

I am content to be Lucentio,

because so well
I love Lucentio.

Tranio, be so,
because Lucentio loves;

and let me be a slave,
to achieve that maid

whose sudden sight
hath thrall'd my wounded eye.

BIONDELLO:

Oh, oh, oh!

Here comes the rogue.

- Sirrah, where have you been?
- Sirrah, where have you been?

Where have I been?
Nay, how now!

Where are you?!

Master, has my fellow Tranio
stolen your clothes?

Oh!

Or you stolen his?

- -Ha ha ha!

Or both?
Pray, what's the news?

Sirrah, come hither.

Aah!

'Tis no time to jest,

and therefore frame your manners
to the time.

Your fellow Tranio here,
to save my life,

puts my apparel
and my countenance on,

while I for my escape
have put on his;

for in a quarrel
since I came ashore

I kill'd a man
and fear I was descried.

Wait you on him, I charge you,
as becomes,

while I make way from hence to
save my life.

- 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;
would I were so too!

So could I, faith, boy,
to have the next wish after,

that Lucentio indeed had
Baptista's youngest daughter.

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

you use your manners discreetly
in all kind of company.

When I am alone,
why, then I am Tranio;

but in all places else
your master Lucentio!

Tranio, let's go!

- Hup!
- Hey!

Hey!

- Ho!
- Ho!

- Hey!
- Hey!

- Hey!
- Hey!

- Hey!
- Hey!

- Hup!
- Hey!

Whoa, oh, oh, oh!

One thing more rests,
that thyself execute,

to make one among these wooers.

If thou ask me why,

sufficeth, my reasons
are both good and weighty.

- Let's go!
- Hup!

Ho-oh!

Verona,
for a while I take my leave,

to see my friends in Padua,
but of all

my best beloved
and approved friend, Hortensio;

and I trow this is his house.

Here, sirrah Grumio;
knock, I say.

Knock, sir!
Whom should I knock?

Is there any man
has rebused your worship?

Villain, I say,
knock me here soundly.

Knock you here, sir!

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

Villain, I say, knock me
at this gate.

Rap me well, or I'll knock
your knave's pate.

My master is grown quarrelsome.

I should knock you first,

Then I know after
who comes by the worst.

Will it not be?

Faith, sirrah, an you'll
not knock, I'll ring it.

- Oh!
- Oh, yes!

I'll try how you can
sol, fa, and sing it.

Help, masters, help!

My master is mad!

You knock when I bid you,
sirrah villain!

HORTENSIO: How now!
What's the matter?

My old friend Grumio!

And my good friend Petruchio!

How do you all at Verona?

Signior Hortensio,
come you to part the fray?

"Con tutto il cuore,
ben trovato," may I say.

Alla nostra casa ben venuto,

molto honorato
signor mio Petruchio.

- Ahh!
- Ahh!

Ha ha!

Rise, Grumio, rise;
we will compound this quarrel.

Nay, 'tis no matter
what he 'leges in Latin.

If this be not lawful cause
for me to leave his service --

look you, sir, he bid me knock
him and rap him soundly.

Well, was this fit for a servant
to use his master so,

he being perhaps,
for aught I see,

two and thirty, a pip out?

A senseless villain!

Good Hortensio, I bade
the rascal knock upon your gate

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

Knock at the gate?!

O heavens!

Spake you not these words plain,

"Sirrah, knock me here,
rap me here,

knock me well,
and knock me soundly"?

And come you now with
"knocking at the gate"?

Sirrah, be gone, or talk not,
I advise you.

Petruchio, patience;
I am Grumio's pledge;

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

Your ancient, trusty,
pleasant servant Grumio.

Ha ha ha!

And tell me now, sweet friend,
what happy gale

blows you to Padua here
from old Verona?

Such wind as scatters young men
through the world.

"Young men."

To seek their fortunes
farther than at home

where small experience grows.

But in a few, Signior Hortensio,
thus it stands with me:

Antonio, my father, is deceased;

and I have thrust myself
into this maze,

haply 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 world.

Petruchio, shall I then
come roundly to thee

and wish thee
to a shrewd ill-favor'd wife?

Thou'ldst thank me
but a little for my counsel,

and yet I'll promise
she shall be rich

and very rich; but thou'rt
too much my friend,

and I'll not wish thee to her.

Signior Hortensio,
'twixt such friends as we

few words suffice;
and therefore, if thou know

one rich enough
to be Petruchio's wife,

as wealth is burden
of my wooing dance,

be she as foul
as was Florentius' love,

as old as Sibyl
and as curst and shrewd

as Socrates' Xanthippe,

or a worse...

...she moves me not,
or not removes, at least,

affection's edge in me,
were she as rough

as are the swelling
Adriatic seas.

I come to wive it wealthily
in Padua;

If wealthily,
then happily in Padua.

Nay, look you, sir, he tells you
flatly what his mind is.

Why give him gold enough
and marry him to a puppet

or an aglet-baby;

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

though she have as many diseases
as two and fifty horses.

Why, nothing comes amiss,
so money comes withal.

Petruchio, since we are
stepp'd thus far in,

I will continue
that I broach'd in jest.

I can, Petruchio,
help thee to a wife

with wealth enough
and young and beauteous,

brought up as best becomes
a gentlewoman.

Her only fault...

...and that is fault enough,

Is that
she is intolerable curst

and shrewd and froward,

so beyond all measure

that, were my state
far worser than it is,

I would not wed her
for a mine of gold.

Hortensio, peace!

Thou know'st not gold's effect.

You tell me her father's name
and 'tis enough;

for I will board her,
though she chide as loud

as thunder
when the clouds in autumn crack.

Her father is Baptista Minola,

an affable
and courteous gentleman;

her name is Katharina Minola,

renown'd in Padua
for her scolding tongue.

I know her father,
though I know not her;

and he knew
my deceased father well.

I will not sleep, Hortensio,
till I see her;

I pray you, sir, let him go
while the humor lasts.

On my word, and she knew him
as well as I do,

she would think scolding
would do little good upon him.

She may perhaps call him
half a score knaves or so.

Why, that's nothing;
and he begin once,

he'll rail in his rope-tricks.

I'll tell you what.

And she stand him but a little,

he will throw a figure
in her face

and so disfigure her with it

that she will have no more eyes
to see withal than a cat.

You -- You know him not, sir.

Tarry, Petruchio,
for I must go with thee,

for in Baptista's keep
my treasure is.

He hath the jewel of my life
in hold,

his youngest daughter,
beautiful Bianca,

and her withholds from me
and others more,

suitors to her
and rivals in my love,

supposing it
a thing impossible,

that ever Katharina
will be woo'd;

therefore this order
hath Baptista ta'en,

that none shall have access
unto Bianca

till Katharine the curst
have got a husband.

Katharine the curst!

A title for a maid
of all titles the worst.

Now shall my friend Petruchio
do me grace,

and offer me
disguised in sober robes

to old Baptista
as a schoolmaster

well seen in music,
to instruct Bianca --

ha ha! -- that so I may,
by this device, at least

have leave and leisure
to make love to her

and unsuspected court her
by myself.

Why, here's no knavery! See, to
beguile the old folks,

how the young folks
lay their heads together!

Master, master, look about you.
Who goes there, ha?

Peace, Grumio!
It is the rival of my love.

Petruchio, stand by a while.

O, very well;
I have perused the note.

Hark you, sir; I...

I'll have them
very fairly bound --

all books of love,
see that at any hand;

and see you read
no other lectures to her.

You understand me?

Take your paper too.

And let me have them
very well perfumed

for she is
sweeter than perfume itself

to whom they go to.

What will you read to her?

Whate'er I read to her,
I'll plead for you

as for my patron,
stand you so assured,

as firmly as yourself
were still in place;

yea, and perhaps
with more successful words

than you,
unless you were a scholar, sir.

O this learning,
what a thing it is!

O this woodcock,
what an ass it is!

- Peace, sirrah!
- Grumio, mum!

God save you, Signior Gremio.

And you are well met,
Signior Hortensio.

Trow you whither I am going?
To Baptista Minola.

I promised to inquire carefully

about a schoolmaster
for the fair Bianca;

and by good fortune
I have lighted well

on this young man,
in learning and behavior

fit for her turn,
well read in poetry

and other books,
good ones, I warrant ye.

Ah, 'tis well;
and I have met a gentleman

hath promised
to help me to another,

a fine musician
to instruct our fair mistress;

thus shall I no whit
be behind in duty

to beautiful Bianca,
so beloved of me.

So beloved of me;
and that my deeds shall prove.

And that his bags shall prove.

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

Listen to me,
and if you speak me fair,

I'll tell you news
indifferent good for either.

Here is a gentleman
whom by chance I met,

upon agreement from us
to his liking,

will undertake to woo
curst Katharine,

yea, and to marry her,
if her dowry please.

So said, so done, is well.

Hortensio, have you told him
all her faults?

I know she is
an irksome brawling scold;

if that be all, masters,
I hear no harm.

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

Born in Verona,
old Antonio's son.

My father dead,
my fortune lives for me;

and I do hope good days
and long to see.

O sir, such a life,
with such a wife, were strange!

But if you have a stomach,
to't i' God's name;

you shall have me assisting you
in all.

But will you woo this wild-cat?

Will I live?

Will he woo her?
Ay, or I'll hang her.

Why came I hither
but to that intent?

Think you a little din
can daunt mine ears?

Have I not in my time
heard lions roar?

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

rage like an angry boar
chafed with sweat?

Have I not heard great ordnance
in the field,

and heaven's artillery
thunder in the skies?

Have I not
in a pitched battle heard

loud 'larums, neighing steeds,
and trumpets' clang?

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

that gives not half so great
a blow to hear

as will a chestnut
in a farmer's fire?

Tush, tush!
Fear boys with bugs.

For he fears none.

Hortensio, hark: This gentleman
is happily arrived,

My mind presumes,
for his own good and yours.

I promised
we would be contributors

and bear his charge of wooing,
whatsoe'er.

And so we will,
provided that he win her.

I would I were as sure
of a good dinner.

Gentlemen, God save you.

If I may be bold,

tell me, I beseech you,
which is the readiest way

to the house
of Signior Baptista Minola?

He that has the two fair
daughters; is't he you mean?

Even he, Biondello.

Hark you, sir;
you mean not her to woo, do you?

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

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

I love no chiders.

- Biondello, let's away.
- Well begun, Tranio.

Sir, a word ere you go;

are you a suitor to the maid
you speak of, yea or no?

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

No; if without more words
you will get you hence.

Why, sir, I pray,
are not the streets as free

for me as for you?

But so is not she.

For what reason,
I beseech you?

For this reason,
if you'll know,

she's the choice love
of Signior Gremio.

And she's the chosen
of Signior Hortensio.

Softly, my masters!

If you be gentlemen,

do me this right;
hear me with patience.

Baptista is a noble gentleman,

to whom my father
is not all 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 well one more
may fair Bianca have;

and so she shall;
Lucentio shall make one,

though Paris came in hope
to speed alone.

This gentleman
will out-talk us all.

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

Hortensio, to what end
are all these words?

Sir, let me be so bold
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 scolding tongue

as is the other
for beauteous modesty.

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

Yea, leave that labor
to great Hercules.

Sir, understand you
this of me in sooth:

The youngest daughter
whom you hearken for

her father keeps
from all access of suitors,

and will not promise her
to any man

until the elder sister
first be wed.

The younger
then is free and not before.

And since you do profess
to be a suitor,

you must, as we do,
gratify this gentleman,

to whom we all rest
generally beholding.

Sir, I shall not be slack;
in sign whereof,

please ye we may contrive
this afternoon,

and quaff carouses
to our mistress' health,

and do as adversaries do
in law,

strive mightily,
but eat and drink as friends.

- O excellent motion!
- Fellows, let's be gone.

HORTENSIO:
The motion's good and be it so,

Petruchio, I shall be
your ben venuto.

BIANCA:

No!

Good sister, wrong me not,
nor wrong yourself,

to make a bondmaid
and a fool of me;

that I disdain;
but for these other gawds,

unbind my hands,
I'll pull them off myself,

yea, all my raiment,
to my petticoat;

or what you will command me
will I do,

so well I know my duty
to my elders.

- Ha!
- Aah!

Of all thy suitors,
here I charge thee tell

whom thou lovest best.

See thou dissemble not.

Believe me, sister,
of all the men alive

I never yet beheld
that special face

which I could fancy
more than any other.

Minion, thou liest!

Is't not Hortensio?

If you affect him, sister,

here I swear I'll plead for you
myself, but you shall have him.

Aaaah!

O then, belike,
you fancy riches more:

You will have Gremio
to keep you fair!

Is it for him
you do envy me so?

Ha ha ha!

Nay then you jest,
and now I well perceive

you have but jested with me
all this while.

I prithee, sister Kate,
untie my hands.

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

Aah!

Ha ha ha ha.

Why, how now, dame!

Whence grows this insolence?

Daddy!

- Help me.
- Bianca, stand aside.

Poor girl!
She weeps.

Go ply thy needle;
meddle not with her.

For shame, thou hilding
of a devilish spirit,

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

When did she cross thee
with a bitter word?

Her silence flouts me,
and I'll be revenged!

What, in my sight?

Bianca, get thee in.

Aah!

What?!

Will you not suffer me?

Nay, now I see

she is your treasure,
she must have a husband;

I must dance bare-foot
on her wedding day

and for your love to her
lead apes in hell.

Talk not to me:
I will go sit and weep

till I can find
occasion of revenge!

Was ever gentleman thus grieved
as I?

But who comes here?

Good morrow,
neighbor Baptista.

Good morrow,
neighbor Gremio.

God save you, gentlemen!

And you, good sir!

Pray, have you not a daughter
Call'd Katharina,

fair and virtuous?

I have a daughter, sir,
called Katharina.

You are too blunt;
go to it orderly.

You wrong me, Signior Gremio;
give me leave.

I am
a gentleman of Verona, sir,

that, hearing of her beauty
and her wit,

her affability
and bashful modesty,

her wondrous qualities
and mild behavior,

Am bold to show myself
a forward guest

within your house,
to make mine eye the witness

of that report
which I so oft have heard.

HORTENSIO:

And, for an entrance
to mine entertainment,

I do present you
with a man of mine,

cunning in music
and the mathematics,

to instruct her fully
in those sciences,

whereof I know
she is not ignorant.

Accept of him,
or else you do me wrong.

- His name is...
- Licio.

- ...Licio born in...
- Mantua.

...Mantua.

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

But for my daughter Katharine,
this I know,

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

I see you do not mean
to part with her,

or else you like not
of my company.

O mistake me not;
I speak but as I find.

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

Petruchio is my name;
Antonio's son,

a man well known
throughout all Italy.

I knew him well;
you are welcome for his sake.

Saving your tale, Petruchio,
pray,

let us, that are poor
petitioners, speak too.

Baccare!
You are marvelous forward.

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

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

Neighbor, this is a gift
very grateful, I am sure of it.

To express the like kindness,
myself,

that have been more kindly
beholding to you than any,

freely give unto you
this young scholar,

that hath long been studying
at Rheims;

as cunning in Greek...

Yiassas.

- ...Latin...
- Salve.

...and other languages...

Konnichiwa.

...as the other
in music and mathematics;

his name is Cambio;
pray, accept his service.

A thousand thanks,
Signior Gremio.

Welcome, good Cambio.

♪ La ♪

♪ La la la la la-la ♪

♪ La la la la la-la ♪

♪ La la la la la-la ♪

But, gentle sir, methinks you
walk like a stranger.

May I be so bold to know
the cause of your coming?

Pardon me, sir,
the boldness is mine own,

that, being a stranger
in this city here,

do make myself a suitor
unto your daughter,

unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.

Nor is your firm resolve
unknown to me,

in the preferment
of the elder sister.

This liberty
is all that I request,

that, upon knowledge
of my parentage,

I may have welcome 'mongst
the "west" that woo

and free access
and favor as the rest.

And toward the education
of your daughters,

I here bestow
a simple instrument.

And this small packet...

...of Greek and Latin books.

If you accept them,
then their worth is great.

- Lucen--

- Lucentio --

- Lucentio --

Lucentio is your name;
of whence, I pray?

Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio!

♪ La la la la-la, la ♪
la la la-la, la la la la-la ♪

A mighty man of Pisa.

By report I know him well.
you are very welcome, sir.

Take you the lute,
and you the set of books;

you shall go see
your pupils presently.

Holla, within!

Sirrah, lead these gentlemen

to my daughters;
and tell them both,

these are their tutors;
bid them use them well.

We will go walk a little
in the, uh...

We will go walk a little
in the orchard,

and then to dinner.

You are passing welcome,

and so I pray you all
to think yourselves.

Signior Baptista,
my business asketh haste,

and every day
I cannot come to woo.

You knew my father well,
and in him me,

left solely heir
to all his lands and goods,

which I have better'd
rather than decreased.

Then tell me, if I get
your daughter's love,

what dowry shall I have with her
to wife?

After my death
the one half of my lands,

and in possession
20,000 crowns.

20,000 crowns!

And, for that dowry,
I'll assure her of

her widowhood,

be it that she survive me,

in all
my lands and leases whatsoever.

Let specialties
be therefore drawn between us,

that covenants
may be kept on either hand.

Ay, when the special thing
is well obtain'd,

that is, her love;
for that is all in all.

That is nothing.

For I tell you, father, I am as
peremptory as she proud-minded;

and when two raging fires
meet together

they do consume the thing
that feeds their fury.

Though little fire grow great
with little wind,

yet extreme gusts
will blow out fire and all.

So I to her
and so she yields to me;

for I am rough
and woo not like a babe.

Well 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 shakes not,
though they blow perpetually.

How now, my friend!

Why dost thou look so pale?

For fear, I promise you,
if I look pale.

What, will my daughter prove
a good musician?

I think she'll sooner
prove a soldier.

Iron may hold with her,
but never lutes.

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

No; for she hath
broke the lute to me.

I did but tell her
she mistook her frets,

and bow'd her hands
to teach her fingering;

when, with a most impatient
devilish spirit,

"Frets, call you these?"
quoth she.

And, with that word,
she struck me on the head,

and through the instrument
my pate made way;

well, there I stood amazed
for a while,

as on a pillory,
looking through the lute;

when she did call me
rascal fiddler,

twangling Jack; and twenty other
such vile terms,

as she had studied
to misuse me so.

Now, by the world,
it is a lusty wench.

I love her ten times more
than e'er I did.

O, how I long to have some chat
with her!

Well, go with me
and be not so discomfited;

proceed in practice
with my younger daughter;

she's apt to learn
and thankful for good turns.

Signior Petruchio,
will you go with us,

or shall I send my daughter Kate
to you?

I pray you do.

I'll attend her here,

and woo her with some spirit
when she comes.

Say that she rail;
why then I'll tell her plain

she sings as sweetly
as a nightingale.

Say that she frown,
I'll say she looks as clear

as morning roses
newly wash'd with dew.

Say she be mute and will
not speak a word;

then I'll commend
her volubility,

and say she uttereth
piercing eloquence.

If she do bid me pack,
I'll give her thanks,

as though she bid me
stay by her a week;

if she deny to wed,
I'll crave the day

when I shall ask the banns
and when be married.

Here she comes;
and now, Petruchio, speak.

Good morrow, Kate;

for that's your name, I hear.

Well have you heard,
but something hard of hearing:

They call me Katharine
that do talk of me.

You lie, in faith;
for you are call'd plain Kate,

and bonny Kate,
and sometimes Kate the curst;

but Kate, the prettiest Kate
in Christendom,

Kate of Kate Hall,
my super-dainty Kate,

for dainties are all Kates,
and therefore, Kate,

take this of me,
Kate of my consolation.

Hearing thy mildness praised
in every town,

thy virtues spoke of,
and thy beauty sounded,

yet not so deeply
as to thee belongs,

myself am moved
to woo thee for my wife.

Moved?

In good time.

Let him that moved you hither
remove you hence.

I knew you at the first
you were a moveable.

- Why, what's a moveable?
- A join'd-stool.

O 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.

No such jade as you,
if me you mean.

Alas, good Kate,
I will not burden thee.

For, knowing thee
to be but young and light --

Too light for such a swain
as you to catch;

and yet as heavy
as my weight should be.

Should be!
Should -- buzz!

Well ta'en,
and like a buzzard.

O slow-wing'd turtle!
Shall a buzzard take thee?

Ay, for a turtle,
as he takes a buzzard!

Come, come, you wasp;
i' faith, you are too angry.

If I be waspish,
best beware my sting.

My remedy is then
to pluck it out.

Ay, if the fool could find it
where it lies.

Who knows not where a wasp does
wear his sting? In his tail.

- In his tongue.
- Whose tongue?

Yours, if you talk of tails;
and so farewell.

What, with my tongue
in your tail?

Nay, come again, Good Kate.

Ah!

- I am a gentleman.
- That I'll try!

I swear I'll cuff you,
if you strike again.

- So may you lose your arms!
- Oh?

If you strike me,
you are no gentleman;

and if no gentleman,
why then no arms.

A herald, Kate?
O, put me in thy books!

What is your crest?
A coxcomb?

A combless cock,
so Kate will be my hen.

No cock of mine:
You crow too like a craven.

Nay, come, Kate, come;
you must not look so sour.

It is my fashion,
when I see a crab.

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

There is, there is.

- Then show it me.
- Had I a glass, I would.

O what, you mean my face?

Ho ho!
Well aim'd of such a young one.

Now, by Saint George,
I am too young for you.

Yet you are wither'd.

- 'Tis with cares.
- I care not.

Nay, hear you, Kate --
in sooth you scape not so.

I chafe you, if I tarry;
let me go.

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

'Twas told me you were
rough and coy and sullen,

But now I find report
a very liar.

- For thou are pleasant...
- Ohhhhh!

- ...gamesome...
- Ohhhhh!

...passing courteous,

But slow in speech, yet sweet
as springtime flowers.

Thou canst not frown,
thou canst not look askance,

nor bite the lip,
as angry wenches will!

Aah! Oh!

Nor hast thou pleasure
to be cross in talk,

but thou with mildness
entertain'st thy wooers,

with gentle conference,
soft and affable!

- Oh!

Ow! Ow!

- Aah!
- Aah!

- Whoo!
- Aah! Aah!

Why does the world report
that Kate doth limp?

O slanderous world!

Kate like the hazel-twig

is straight and slender
and as brown in hue

as hazel nuts
and sweeter than the kernels.

O, let me see thee walk.
Thou dost not halt.

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

Did ever Dian so become a grove

as Kate this chamber
with her princely gait?

O, be thou Dian,
and let her be Kate;

and then let Kate be chaste
and Dian sportful.

Where did you study
all this goodly speech?

It is extempore,
from my mother-wit.

A witty mother!
Witless else her son.

- Am I not wise?
- Yes, keep you warm.

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

And therefore,
setting all this chat aside,

thus in plain terms:
Your father hath consented

that you shall be my wife;
your dowry 'greed on;

and will you, nill you,
I will marry you.

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

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

thy beauty, that doth make me
like thee well,

thou must be married
to no man but me;

for I am he
am born to tame you, Kate,

and bring you from a wild Kate
to a Kate

conformable as other
household Kates.

Here comes your father.

Never make denial;

I must and will have Katharine
to my wife.

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

How but well, sir?
How but well?

It were impossible
I should speed amiss.

Why, how now,
daughter Katharine.

In your dumps?

Call you me daughter?!

Now, I promise you

you have show'd
a tender fatherly regard,

to wish me wed
to one half lunatic;

a mad-cap ruffian
and a swearing Jack,

that thinks with oaths
to face the matter out.

Father, 'tis thus:
Yourself and all the world

that talk'd of her
have talk'd amiss of her.

If she be curst,
it is for policy,

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

she is not hot,
but temperate as the morn;

for patience she will prove
a second Grissel,

and Roman Lucrece
for her chastity.

And to conclude, we have 'greed
so well together

that upon Sunday
is the wedding-day.

I'll see thee hang'd
on Sunday first!

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

Nay, is this your speeding?
Then, good night our part.

Be patient, gentlemen.

I choose her for myself;

if she and I be pleased,
what's that to you?

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

that she shall still be curst
in company.

Aah! Aah!

'Tis incredible to believe.

How much she loves me.

Oh! Ha ha ha!

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 love.

O, you are novices!

'Tis a world to see,

how tame -- whoa! --
when men and women are alone,

a meacock wretch
can make the curstest shrew!

Give me thy hand, Kate!

I will unto Venice,

to buy apparel
'gainst the wedding-day.

Provide the feast, father,
and bid the guests;

I will be sure my Katharine
shall be fine.

I know not what to say;
but give me your hands!

God send you joy, Petruchio!

'Tis a match!

- Amen, say we!
- We will be witnesses!

Father, and wife,
and gentlemen, adieu.

I will to Venice;
Sunday comes apace;

we will have rings and things
and fine array;

and kiss me, Kate.

- Oh!
- Ooh.

We will be married o' Sunday.

Was ever match clapp'd up
so suddenly?

Faith, gentlemen,
now I play a merchant's part,

and venture madly
on a desperate mart.

'Twas a commodity
lay fretting by you;

'twill bring you gain,
or perish on the seas.

The gain I seek is
quiet in the match.

I do not doubt but he hath got
a quiet catch.

But now, Baptista,
to your younger daughter:

Now is the day
we long have looked for;

I am your neighbor,
and was suitor first.

And I am one
that love Bianca more

than words can witness,
or your thoughts can guess!

Youngling, thou canst not love
so dear as I.

Graybeard,
thy love doth freeze.

But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back;
'tis age that nourisheth.

But youth in ladies' eyes
that flourisheth.

Content you, gentlemen;
I will compound this strife.

'Tis deeds must win the prize,
and he of both

that can assure my daughter
greatest dower

shall have my Bianca's love.

Say, Signior Gremio,

what

What can you assure her?

First, as you know,
my house within the city

is richly furnished
with plate and gold,

basins and ewers
to lave her dainty hands;

my hangings
all of Tyrian tapestry;

in ivory coffers
I have stuff'd my crowns;

in cypress chests
my arras counterpoints.

Costly apparel, tents,
and canopies,

fine linen, Turkey cushions
boss'd with pearl,

valance of Venice gold
in needlework,

pewter and brass and all things
that belongs

to house or housekeeping.

Then at my farm

I have a hundred milch-kine
to the pail,

six score fat oxen
standing in my stalls,

and all things answerable
to this portion.

Myself am struck in years,
I must confess.

Nooo!

And if I die to-morrow,
this is hers,

if whilst I live
she is only mine.

That "only" came well in.

Sir, list to me:

I am my father's heir
and only son;

if I may have your daughter
to my wife,

I'll leave her houses
three or four as good,

within rich Pisa walls,
as any one

old Signior Gremio has
in Padua;

besides 2,000 ducats
by the year

of fruitful land,
all which shall be her jointure.

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

2,000 ducats
by the year of land!

My land amounts
not to so much in all.

That she shall have;
and besides an argosy

now lying in Marseilles' road.

What, have I choked you
with an argosy?

Gremio, 'tis known
my father hath no less

than three great argosies;
besides two galliasses,

and twelve tight galleys.

This I will assure her,

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

Nay, I have offer'd all,
I have no more;

and she can have no more
than all I have;

if you like me,
she shall have me and mine.

Why, then the maid is mine
from all the world,

by your firm promise;
Gremio is out-vied!

I must confess
your offer is the best;

and let your father
make her the assurance,

she is your own.

Else, you must pardon me;

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

That's but a cavil;
he is old, I young.

And may not young men die,
as well as old?

Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolved:

on Sunday next you know

my daughter Katharine
is to be married;

now, on the Sunday following,
shall Bianca

be bride to you,
if you make this assurance;

if not, to Signior Gremio.

And so I take my leave.

And thank you both.

Adieu, good neighbor.

Now I fear thee not.

Sirrah young gamester,
your father were a fool

to give thee all,
and in his waning age

set foot under thy table.

Tut, a toy!

An old Italian fox
is not so kind, my boy.

A vengeance
on your crafty wither'd hide!

Yet I have faced it
with a card of ten.

'Tis in my head
to do my master good:

I see no reason
but supposed Lucentio

must get a father,
call'd "supposed Vincentio;"

and that's a wonder --
fathers commonly

do get their children;
but in this case of wooing,

a child shall get a sire,
if I fail not of my cunning.

Fiddler, forbear!

Ahh, you grow too forward, sir.

Have you so soon forgot
the entertainment

her sister Katharine
welcomed you withal?

But, wrangling pedant, this is

the patroness
of heavenly harmony.

Then give me leave
to have prerogative;

and when in music
we have spent an hour,

your lecture shall have leisure
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
and his usual pain?

Then give me leave
to read philosophy,

and while I pause,
serve in your harmony.

Sirrah, I will not bear
these braves of thine.

Why, gentlemen,
you do me double wrong,

to strive for that
which resteth in my choice.

I am no breeching scholar
in the schools;

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

But learn my lessons
as I please myself.

And to cut off all strife,
here sit we down.

Take you your instrument,
play you the while.

His lecture will be done
ere you have tuned.

You'll leave his lecture
when I am in tune?

That will be never --
tune your instrument.

Where left we last?

Here, madam:

"Hic ibat Simois,
hic est Sigeia tellus,

Hic steterat Priami
regia celsa senis."

Construe them.

"Hic ibat."

As I told you before,

"Simois,"

I am Lucentio,

"hic est,"

son unto Vincentio of Pisa,

"Sigeia tellus,"

disguised thus
to get your love;

"Hic steterat,"

and that Lucentio
that comes a-wooing,

"Priami,"
is my man Tranio,

"regia,"
bearing my port,

"celsa senis,"

that we might beguile
the old pantaloon.

Madam,
my instrument's in tune.

- Let's hear.

O fie!
The treble jars.

Spit in the hole, man,
and tune again.

Now let me see
if I can construe it:

"Hic ibat Simois,"

I know you not,

"hic est Sigeia tellus,"

I trust you not;

"Hic steterat Priami,"

take heed he hear us not,

"regia," presume not,

"celsa senis,"

despair not.

Madam, 'tis now in tune.

All but the bass.

The bass is right;
'tis the base knave that jars.

How fiery and forward
our pedant is!

Now, for my life,
he doth court my love.

Pedascule,
I'll watch you better yet.

In time I may believe,
yet I mistrust.

Mistrust it not --
for, sure, AEacides

was Ajax,
call'd so from his grandfather.

I must believe my master;
else, I promise you,

I should be arguing still upon
that doubt;

but let it rest.

- Now, Licio, to you.
- Oh.

Good master,
take it not unkindly, pray,

that I have been thus pleasant
with you both.

You may go walk,
and give me leave awhile;

my lessons make no music
in three parts.

Are you so formal, sir?

Well, I must wait,

and watch withal;
for, but I be deceived,

our fine musician
groweth amorous.

Madam, before you touch
the instrument...

To learn the order
of my fingering,

I must begin
with rudiments of art;

to teach you gamut
of a briefer sort,

more pleasant, pithy
and effectual,

than hath been taught
by any of my trade;

and here it is in writing,
fairly drawn.

Why, I am past my gamut
long ago.

Yet read the gamut
of Hortensio.

Oh!

"'Gamut' I am,
the ground of all accord."

"'A re,'
to plead Hortensio's passion;

'B mi,' Bianca,
take him for thy lord,

'C fa ut,'
that loves with all affection:

'D sol re,'
one clef, two notes have I:

'E la mi,'

show pity, or I die."

Call you this gamut?

Tut, I like it not!

Old fashions please me best;
I am not so nice,

to change true rules
for odd inventions.

Mistress, your father prays you
leave your books

and help to dress
your sister's chamber up.

You know to-morrow
is the wedding-day.

Farewell, sweet masters both;
I must be gone.

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

But I have cause
to pry into this pedant;

methinks he looks as though
he were in love.

Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca,
be so humble

to cast thy wandering eye
on every stale,

seize thee that list.

If once I find thee ranging,

Hortensio will be quit with thee
by changing.

Signior Lucentio,
this is the 'pointed day.

That Katharine and Petruchio
should be married,

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

What will be said?

What mockery will it be,

to want the bridegroom
when the priest attends

to speak the ceremonial rites
of marriage!

What says Lucentio
to this shame of ours?

Shame but mine!

I must, forsooth, be forced

to give my hand opposed
against my heart

unto a mad-brain rudesby
full of spleen,

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

I told you, I,
he was a frantic fool,

Hiding his bitter jests
in blunt behavior;

and to be noted
for a merry man,

he'll woo a thousand,
'point the day of marriage,

make feasts, invite friends,
and proclaim the banns;

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

Now must the world point
at poor Katharine,

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

if it would please him
come and marry her!"

Patience, good Katharine,
and Baptista too.

Upon my life,
Petruchio means but well,

whatever fortune stays him
from his word.

Though he be blunt,
yet I know him passing wise;

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

Would Katharine

had never
seen him though!

Go, girl, I cannot blame thee
now to weep,

for such an injury
would vex a very saint,

much more a shrew
of impatient humor.

BIONDELLO:
Master! Master!

News, old news, and such news
as you never heard of!

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

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

- Oh!
- Is he come?

- Why, no, sir.
- What then?

He's coming.

When will he be here?

When he stands where I am
and sees you there.

But say,
what to your old news?

Petruchio is coming in a new hat
and an old jerkin,

an old pair of breeches
thrice turned,

a pair of boots
that have been candle-cases,

one buckled, another laced,
with two broken points;

an old rusty sword
ta'en out of the town-armory,

with a broken hilt,
and chapeless!

- Oh!
- Oh!

His horse hipped
with an old mothy saddle

and stirrups of no kindred;

besides,
possessed with the glanders

and like to mose in the chine,

troubled with the lampass,

infected with the fashions,
full of windgalls,

sped with spavins,
rayed with the yellows,

past cure of the fives,

stark spoiled with the staggers,
begnawn with the bots,

swayed in the back,
shoulder-shotten;

near-legged before
and with a half-cheek'd bit

and a head-stall
of sheep's leather which,

being restrained
to keep him from stumbling,

hath been often burst
and now repaired with knots;

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

which hath two letters
for her name

fairly set down in studs,

and here and there
pieced with packthread!

Who comes with him?

O, sir, his lackey,

for all the world caparisoned
like the horse;

with a linen stock on one leg

and a kersey boot-hose
on the other,

gartered with
a red and blue list;

an old hat and the humor
of forty fancies

pricked in't for a feather;

a monster,
a very monster in apparel,

and not like a Christian footboy
or a gentleman's lackey.

'Tis some odd humor pricks him
to this fashion;

yet oftentimes he goes
but mean-apparell'd.

I am glad he's come,
howsoe'er he comes.

- Why, sir, he comes not.
- 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 all one.

Nay!

By Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,

a horse and a man
Is more than one,

and yet it's not many.

Come, where be these gallants?

Who's at home?

You are welcome, sir.

And yet I come not well.

Not so well apparell'd

As I wish you were.

Were it better,
I should rush in thus.

But where is Kate?
Where is my lovely bride?

How does my father?!

Gentles, methinks you frown;

and wherefore gaze
this goodly company,

as if they saw
some wondrous monument,

some comet or unusual prodigy?

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

PETRUCHIO: Ay.

First were we sad,
fearing you would not come;

now sadder,
that you come so unprovided.

Fie, doff this -- this --
this habit,

shame to your estate,

an eye-sore
to our solemn festival!

And tells us,
what occasion of import

hath so long detain'd you
from your wife,

and brought you hither
so unlike yourself?

Tedious it were to tell,
and harsh to hear;

sufficeth I am come
to keep my word,

though in some part
enforced to digress;

which, at more leisure,
I will so excuse

as you shall be
well satisfied withal.

But where is Kate?

I stay too long from her;

the morning wears,
'tis time we were at church.

Seek not your bride
in these unreverent robes;

go to my chamber
and put on clothes of mine.

Not I, believe me;
thus I'll visit her.

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

Good sooth, even thus;
therefore have done with words;

to me she's married,
not unto my clothes.

Could I repair
what she will wear in me,

as I can change
these poor accoutrements,

'twere well for Kate
and better for myself.

But what a fool am I
to chat with you,

when I should bid good morrow
to my bride,

and seal the title
with a lovely kiss!

He has some meaning
in his mad attire.

We will persuade him,
be it possible,

to put on better
ere he go to church.

BAPTISTA: I'll after him,
and see the event of this.

Were it not
that my fellow schoolmaster

doth watch Bianca's steps
so narrowly,

'twere good, methinks,
to steal our marriage;

which once perform'd,
let all the world say no,

I'll keep mine own,
in spite of all the world.

But, sir, to your love
concerneth us to add

her father's liking;
which to bring to pass,

as I before imparted
to your worship,

I am to get a man --
whate'er he be,

it skills not much.

We'll fit him to our turn --

and he shall be
Vincentio of Pisa;

and make assurance
here in Padua

of greater sums
than I have promised.

So shall you
quietly enjoy your hope,

and marry sweet Bianca
with consent.

We'll over-reach the graybeard,
Gremio,

the narrow-prying father,
Minola,

the quaint musician,
amorous Licio;

all for my master's sake,
Lucentio!

- Aah!
- Oh!

Signior Gremio,
came you from the church?

As willingly as e'er
I came from school.

And is the bride and bridegroom
coming home?

A bridegroom say you?

'Tis a groom indeed,

a grumbling groom,
and that the girl shall find.

Curster than she?
Why, 'tis impossible.

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

She's a devil, a devil,
the devil's dam.

Tut, she's a lamb, a dove,
a fool to him!

I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio:
When the priest

should ask if Katharine
should be his wife,

"Ay, by gogs-wouns" quoth he,
and swore so loud,

that, all-amazed,
the priest let fall the book;

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

this mad-brain'd bridegroom
took him such a cuff

that down fell priest and book
and book and priest.

"Now take them up," quoth he,
"if any list."

What said the wench
when he rose up again?

Trembled and shook;
for why, he stamp'd and swore,

as if the vicar
meant to cozen him.

But after many ceremonies done,

he calls for wine:
"A health!" quoth he, as if

he had been aboard,
carousing to his mates

after a storm;
quaff'd off the muscadel

And threw the sops
all in the sexton's face.

This done, he took the bride
about the neck,

kiss'd her lips
with such a clamorous smack

that at the parting
all the church did echo.

And I seeing this came hence
for very shame;

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

Such a mad marriage
never was before.

Hark, hark!
I hear the minstrels play.

Gentlemen and friends!

Gentlemen and friends!

Gentlemen and friends,
I thank you for your pains.

Now I know you think
to dine with me to-day,

And have prepared great store
of wedding cheer.

But so it is,
my haste doth call me hence,

and therefore here I mean
to take my leave.

Is't possible you will
away to-night?

No, I must away to-day,
before night come.

Make it no wonder;
if you knew my business,

you would entreat me
rather go than stay.

And, honest company,
I thank you all

that have beheld me
give away myself

to this most patient, sweet,
and virtuous wife.

Dine with my father,
drink a health to me;

for I must hence;
and farewell to you all.

Let us entreat you to stay
till after dinner.

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

It cannot be.

Let me entreat you!

I am content.

MAN: I am looking forward
to the meal.

Are you content to stay?

I am content
you shall entreat me stay;

but yet not stay,
entreat me how you can.

Now, if you love me, stay!

- Grumio, my horse.
- Ay, sir, they be ready.

Nay, then, do what thou canst,
I will not go to-day;

No! Nor to-morrow,
not till I please myself.

The door is open, sir;
there lies your way;

you may be jogging
whiles your boots are green;

for me, I'll not be gone
till I please myself.

'Tis like you'll prove
a jolly surly groom,

that take it on you
at the first so roundly.

O, Kate, content thee;
prithee be not angry.

I will be angry;
what hast thou to do?!

Father! Be quiet.

He shall stay my leisure.

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

Gentlemen,
forward to the bridal dinner.

I see a woman
may be made a fool,

if she had not
a spirit to resist.

They shall go forward, Kate,
at thy command.

Obey the bride,
you that attend on her;

go to the feast,
revel and domineer,

carouse full measure
to her maidenhead,

be mad and merry,
or go hang yourselves.

But for my bonny Kate,
she must with me!

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

I will be master
of what is mine own!

She is my goods, my chattels,
she is my house,

my household stuff,
my field, my barn,

my horse, my ox, my ass,
my any thing,

and here she stands,
touch her whoever dare;

I'll 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 shall not touch you, Kate.

Aah!

Aah!

I'll buckler thee
against a million!

KATHARINE:

Nay, let them go.

A couple of quiet ones.

Went they not quickly,
I should die with laughing.

Of all mad matches
never was the like.

Mistress, what's your opinion
of your sister?

That, being mad herself,
she's madly mated.

I warrant him,
Petruchio is Kated.

Neighbors and friends, though
bride and bridegroom wants

for to supply
the places at the table,

you know there wants no junkets
at the feast.

Lucentio, you sh--

You shall supply
the bridegroom's place;

and let Bianca
take her sister's room.

Shall sweet Bianca
practice how to bride it?

She shall, Lucentio.
Come, gentlemen, let's go!

- Fie!

- Fie!

Fie on all tired jades,
on all mad masters,

and all foul ways!

Was ever a man so beaten?

Was ever a man so rayed?
Was ever man so weary?

I'm sent before to make a fire,

and they are coming after
to warm them.

Now, were not I a little pot
and soon hot,

my very lips might freeze
to my teeth,

my tongue
to the roof of my mouth,

my heart in my belly,

ere I should come by a fire
to thaw me.

Holla, ho! Curtis.

Who is that
calls so coldly?

A piece of ice.

If thou doubt it,
thou mayst slide

from my shoulder to my heel

with no greater a run
but my head and my neck.

Fire, Curtis.

Is my master
and his wife coming, Grumio?

Ay, Curtis, ay;
therefore fire.

Is she so hot a shrew
as she's reported?

She was, good Curtis,
before this frost.

But I prithee
wilt thou make a fire?!

Or shall I complain on thee
to thy mistress,

whose hand,
she being near at hand,

thou shalt soon feel,
to thy cold comfort,

for being slow
in thy hot office?

I pray thee, good Grumio,
tell me, how goes the world?

A cold world, Curtis,

in every office but thine;
therefore fire.

Do thy duty,
and have thy duty,

for my master and mistress
are almost frozen to death!

Where's the cook?

Is supper ready, house trimmed,
cobwebs swept, carpets laid,

and everything in order?

All ready; and therefore,
I pray thee, news.

First, know, my horse is tired;

my master and mistress
fallen out.

How?

Out of their saddles
into the dirt;

and thereby hangs a tale.

Ooh!
Let's have it, good Grumio.

- Lend thine ear.
- Oh! Here.

There!

This is to feel a tale,
not to hear a tale!

Yeah, and therefore 'tis called
a sensible tale!

And this cuff
was but to knock at your ear

and beseech listening.

Now I begin: Imprimis,
we came down a foul hill,

my master riding
behind my mistress --

Both of one horse?

What's that to thee?

Why, a horse.

Tell thou the tale.

Ah, but hadst thou
not crossed me,

thou shouldst have heard
how her horse fell

and she under her horse;

thou shouldst have heard
in how miry a place,

how she was bemoiled,

how he left her
with the horse upon her,

how he beat me
because her horse stumbled,

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

how he swore, how she prayed,
that never prayed before,

how I cried,

how the horses ran away...

...how her bridle was burst,
how I lost my crupper,

and many things
of worthy memory,

which now shall die in oblivion

and thou return unexperienced
to thy grave.

By this reckoning
he is more shrew than she.

Ay, and that thou

and the proudest of you all
shall find when he comes home!

O, but what talk I of this?

Call forth Nathaniel,
Joseph, Nicholas, Philip,

Walter, Sugarsop and the rest.

Are they ready?

- T-They are.
- Call them forth!

Do you hear, ho?!

- Ho!
- Ho!

You must meet my master
to countenance my mistress!

- Oh!
- Oh!

- Welcome home, Grumio!
- How now, Grumio!

Welcome, you. How now, you.
What, you. And fellow, you.

Thus much for greeting.

Now, my spruce companions,

is all ready,
and all things neat?

All things is ready.
How near is our master?

E'en at hand, alighted by this;
and therefore be --

PETRUCHIO:
Where be these knaves?!

Cock's passion, silence!
I hear my master.

- Oh!
- Oh!

What?!

No man at door

to hold my stirrup
nor to take my horse!

Where is Nathaniel, Gregory,
Philip?

- Here, sir!
- Here, sir!

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

You logger-headed
and unpolish'd grooms!

What, no attendance?
No regard? No duty?

Where is the foolish knave
I sent before?

Here, sir;
as foolish as I was before.

You peasant swain!

You whoreson malt-horse drudge!

Did I not bid thee
meet me in the park,

and bring along these
rascal knaves with thee?

Nathaniel's coat
was not fully made,

Gabriel's pumps were
all unpink'd i' the heel;

there was no link
to color Peter's hat,

and Walter's dagger
was not come from sheathing;

there were none fine
but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;

the rest all ragged, old,
and beggarly;

yet, as they are, here they are
come to meet you.

- Welcome back, my lord, my lady.
- Welcome back, my lord.

Go, rascals.

Go!

Fetch my supper in.

- Welcome home, my lady.
- Supper!

MAN: Go, go, go!

♪ Where is the life ♪
that late I led? ♪

♪ Where are those... ♪

Sit down, Kate,
and welcome.

Food?

Food.

- Food!

Why, when, I say?

Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.

Off with my boots, you rogues!

You villains, when?

♪ It was the friar ♪
of orders gray ♪

♪ As he forth walked ♪
on his way ♪

Out, you rogue!

You plucked my foot awry;

take that,

and mend the plucking
off the other.

Mend the plucking
of the other.

PETRUCHIO:
Be merry, Kate.

Some water, here; what, ho!

Where's my spaniel Troilus?

My spaniel Troilus?!

- -Troilus!

Sirrah, sirrah, get you hence,

and bid my cousin Ferdinand
come hither:

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

Where are my slippers?!

MAN: Slippers!

Shall I have some water?

- Water!
- Water!

Come, Kate, and wash,
and welcome heartily.

- Oh!
- Aah! Aah!

Aah!

You whoreson villain!
Will you let it fall?

Patience, I pray you;
'twas a fault unwilling.

A whoreson beetle-headed,
flap-ear'd knave!

Come, Kate, sit down;

I know you have a stomach.

Will you give thanks,
sweet Kate; or else shall I?

What's this? Mutton?

Ay.

- Who brought it?
- I.

'Tis burnt!
So is all the meat!

What dogs are these?

Where is the rascal cook?

What are you doing?

How durst you, villains,
bring it from the dresser,

And serve it to me thus
that love it not?!

Here, take it to you.

- No!
- Yeah!

Trenchers, cups, and all.

No, no, no, no.
No, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no.

You heedless joltheads
and unmanner'd slaves!

What, do you grumble?!

- No!
- No!

I'll be with you straight!

I pray you, husband,
be not so disquiet;

the meat was well,
if you were so contented.

I tell thee, Kate,
'twas burnt and dried away,

and I expressly
am forbid to touch it,

for it engenders choler,
planteth anger;

and better 'twere
that both of us did fast,

since, of ourselves,
ourselves are choleric,

than feed it with such
over-roasted flesh.

Be patient.

To-morrow it shall be mended,

and for this night
we'll fast for company.

Come.

I will bring thee...

...to thy bridal chamber.

Peter,
didst ever see the like?

He kills her in her own humor.

- GRUMIO: Where is he?
- In her chamber!

- Ooh!
- Ooh!

Making a sermon of continency
to her.

And rails, and swears,
and -- ooh! -- rates...

...that she, poor soul,

Knows not which way to stand,
to look, to speak,

and sits as one
new-risen from a dream.

Oh! Away, away!

For he is coming hither.

Thus have I politicly
begun my reign,

and 'tis my hope
to end successfully.

My falcon now is sharp
and passing empty.

And till she stoop
she must not be full-gorged,

for then she never looks upon
her lure.

Another way I have
to man my haggard,

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

that is, to watch her,
as we watch these kites

that bate and beat
and will not be obedient.

We ate no meat to-day,
nor none shall eat;

last night we slept not,
nor to-night we shall not;

as with the meat,

some undeserved fault I'll find
about the making of the bed;

and here I'll fling the pillow,
there the bolster,

this way the coverlet,
another way the sheets;

ay, and amid this hurly I intend

that all is done
in reverend care of her;

and in conclusion
we shall watch all night;

and if she chance to nod
I'll rail and brawl

and with the clamor
keep her still awake.

This is a way to kill a wife
with kindness...

And thus I'll curb
her mad and headstrong humor.

He that knows better
how to tame a shrew,

now let him speak.

'Tis charity to show.

Whoop!

Is't possible, friend Licio,
that Mistress Bianca

doth fancy any other
than Lucentio?

I tell you, 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, master, read you?
First resolve me that.

I read that I profess,
"The Art to Love."

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

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

Quick proceeders, marry!

Now, tell me, I pray you,

you that durst swear
your mistress Bianca

loved none in the world
so well as Lucentio.

O despiteful love!

Unloving womankind!

I tell thee, Licio,
this is wonderful.

Mistake no more;
I am not Licio,

nor a musician,
as I seem to be;

but one that scorns
to live in this disguise.

Know, sir,
that I am call'd Hortensio.

Oh. Hortensio.

Signior Hortensio,
I have often heard

of your entire affection
to Bianca;

and since mine eyes are witness
of her lightness,

I will with you,
if you be so contented,

forswear Bianca
and her love for ever.

See, how they kiss and court!

Signior Lucentio,

here is my hand,
and here I do firmly vow

never to woo her more,
but do forswear her,

as one unworthy
of all the former favors

I have fondly
flatter'd her withal.

And here I take
the like unfeigned oath,

Never to marry with her
though she would entreat.

Oh! Fie on her!

See, how beastly
she doth court him!

For my part,
that I may surely keep my oath,

I will be married
to a wealthy widow,

ere three days pass,
which hath as long loved me

as I have loved
this proud disdainful haggard.

And so farewell,
Signior Lucentio.

Kindness in women,
not their beauteous looks,

shall win my love;
and so I take my leave,

in resolution
as I swore before.

Mistress Bianca,
bless you with such grace

as 'longeth
to a lover's blessed case!

Nay, I had ta'en you napping,
gentle love,

and have forsworn you
with Hortensio.

Tranio, you jest;
but have you both forsworn me?

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

I' faith,
he'll have a lusty widow now,

that will be woo'd and wedded
in a day.

God give him joy!

Ay, and he'll tame her.

Oh, he says so, Tranio.

Faith, he is gone
unto the taming-school.

The taming-school.

What, is there such a place?

Ay, mistress,
and Petruchio is the master;

that teacheth tricks
eleven and twenty long,

to tame a shrew and charm
her chattering tongue.

O master, master,

I have watch'd so long

that I am dog-weary.

- -Oh!

But at last I spied

an ancient angel
coming up the hill,

will serve the turn.

What is he, Biondello?

Master, a mercatante

or a pedant,

I know not what;
but formal in apparel,

in gait and countenance
surely like a father.

And what of him, Tranio?

If he be credulous
and trust my tale,

I'll make him glad
to seem Vincentio,

and give assurance
to Baptista Minola,

as if he were
the right Vincentio.

Take in your love,
and then let me alone.

- Fettuccine!
- Fettuccine Alfredo!

- Linguine!
- Pasta primavera!

- Bocconcini!
- Mozzarella!

- Spaghetti!
- Meatballs!

- Gnocchi, gnocchi!
- Who's there?

God save you, sirs!

And you, sir!
You're welcome.

Travel you far on,
or are you at the farthest?

Oh, I -- Sir, at the farthest
for a week or two;

and then up farther,
and as far as Rome;

and so to Tripoli,
if God lend me life.

- What countryman, I pray?
- Of Mantua.

Marry, God forbid!

And come to Padua,
careless of your life?

My life, sir! How, I pray?
For that goes hard.

'Tis death
for any one in Mantua

to come to Padua.

Aah!

- Know you not the cause?
- No.

Your ships are stay'd at Venice,
and the duke,

for private quarrel
'twixt your duke and him,

hath publish'd
and proclaim'd it openly.

'Tis, marvel, but that you are
but newly come,

you might have heard it
else proclaim'd about.

Alas, sir, it is worse for me
than so;

for I have bills for money
by exchange

from Florence
and must here deliver them.

Well, sir, to do you courtesy,

this will I do,
and this I will advise you --

first, tell me,
have you ever been at Pisa?

Ay, sir,
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 incomparable wealth.

He is my father, sir;
and, sooth to say,

in countenance
somewhat doth resemble you.

As much as an apple
doth an oyster.

And all one!

To save your life
in this extremity,

this favor will I do you
for his sake;

and think it not the worst
of all your fortunes

that you are like
to Sir Vincentio.

His name and credit
shall you undertake,

and in my house
you shall be friendly lodged;

look that you take upon you
as you should.

You understand me, sir.

So shall you stay

till you have done your business
in the city.

If this be courtesy, sir,
accept of it.

O sir, I do;
and will repute you ever

the patron of my life
and liberty.

Then go with me
to make the matter good.

This, by the way,
I will let you understand;

my father is here look'd for
every day,

to pass assurance
of a dower in marriage

'twixt me and one
Baptista's daughter here.

In all these circumstances
I'll instruct you.

Go with me to clothe you
as becomes you.

No, no, forsooth;
I dare not for my life.

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 alms;

If not, elsewhere they're met
with charity;

but I...

...who never knew
how to entreat,

nor never needed
that I should entreat,

am starved for meat,

giddy for lack of sleep,

with oaths kept waking
and with brawling fed;

and that which spites me more
than all these wants,

he does it under name
of perfect love;

as who should say,
if I should sleep or eat,

'twere deadly sickness
or else present death.

I prithee
go and get me some repast;

I care not what,
so it be wholesome food.

What say you to a neat's foot?

'Tis passing good;

I prithee let me have it!

I fear it is
too choleric a meat.

Oh!

How say you to a fat tripe
finely broil'd?

I like it well;
good Grumio, fetch it me.

I cannot tell;
I fear 'tis choleric.

Oh!

What say you to a piece of beef
with mustard?

A dish that I do love
to feed upon.

Ay, but the mustard
is too hot a little.

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

Nay, I will not;

you shall have the mustard,

or else you get no beef
of Grumio.

Then both, or one,
or anything thou wilt.

Why then,
the mustard without the beef.

Go, get thee gone,
thou false deluding slave,

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

Sorrow on you
and all the pack of you,

that triumph thus
upon my misery!

Go, get thee gone, I say.

PETRUCHIO:
How fares my Kate?

- What, sweeting, all amort?
- Mistress, what cheer?

Faith, as cold as can be.

Pluck up thy spirits;
look cheerfully upon me.

Here love; thou see'st
how diligent I am

to dress thy meat myself
and bring it thee.

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

What, not a word?

Nay, then thou lovest it not;

and all my pains
is sorted to no proof.

Here, take away this dish.

I prithee, let it stand.

The poorest service
is repaid with thanks;

and so shall mine,
before you touch the meat.

I thank you, sir.

Signior Petruchio, fie!

You are to blame!

Come, mistress Kate,
I'll bear you company.

Eat it up all, Hortensio,
if thou lovest me.

Much good do it
unto thy gentle heart!

- Kate...

Eat apace.

And now, my honey love,

will we return
unto thy father's house...

...and revel it
as bravely as the best.

♪ With silken coats ♪
and caps and golden rings ♪

♪ With ruffs and cuffs ♪
and fardingales and things ♪

♪ With scarfs and fans ♪

♪ And double change ♪
of bravery ♪

♪ With amber bracelets, beads, ♪
and all this knavery ♪

What, hast thou dined?

The tailor stays thy leisure,

to deck thy body
with his ruffling treasure.

Come, tailor,
let us see these ornaments.

Here is the cap
your worship did bespeak.

PETRUCHIO: Why, this was molded
on a porringer; a velvet dish.

Fie, fie!
'Tis lewd and filthy.

Why, 'tis a cockle
or a walnut-shell,

a knack, a toy, a trick,
a baby's cap.

Away with it!
Come, let me have a bigger.

I'll have no bigger!

This doth fit the time,

and gentlewomen wear such caps
as these

when you are gentle,
you shall have one too,

and not before.

Why, sir, I trust I may have
leave to speak;

and speak I will;

I am no child!

No babe!

Your betters have endured me
speak my mind,

and if you cannot,
best you stop your ears.

My tongue will tell the anger
of my heart!

Or else my heart concealing it
will break,

and rather than it shall,
I will be free

even to the uttermost,
as I please, in words.

Why, thou say'st true;
it is a paltry cap,

a custard-coffin, a bauble,
a silken pie;

I love thee well,
in that thou likest it not.

Love me or love me not,
I like the cap!

And it I will have,
or I will have none!

Thy gown? Why, ay.
Come, tailor, let us see't.

O mercy, God!

What masquing stuff is here?

What -- What's this?
A sleeve?

'Tis like a demi-cannon.

What, up and down,
carved like an apple-tart?

Here's snip and nip and cut
and slish and slash.

Why, what, i' devil's name,
tailor, call'st thou this?

You bid me
make it orderly and well,

according to the fashion
and the time.

Marry, and did;
but if you be remember'd,

I did not bid you
mar it to the time.

I'll none of it; hence!
Make your best of it.

I never saw
a better-fashion'd gown,

more quaint, more pleasing,
nor more commendable!

Belike you mean to make
a puppet of me.

'Tis true; he means to make
a puppet of thee.

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

O monstrous arrogance!

Thou liest,
thou thread, thou thimble,

thou yard, three-quarters,
half-yard, quarter, nail!

Thou flea, 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 shall so be-mete thee
with thy yard

as thou shalt think on prating
whilst thou livest!

I tell thee, I,
that thou hast marr'd her gown.

Your worship is deceived;
the gown is made

just as my master
had direction.

Grumio gave order
how it should be done.

Grumio?!

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

But how did you desire
it should be made?

Marry, sir,
with needle and thread.

But did you not request
to have it cut?

- Thou hast faced many things.
- I have.

Face not me.

Thou hast braved many men;
brave not me;

I will 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 liest.

Why, here is the note
of the fashion to testify!

PETRUCHIO: Read it.

The note lies in's throat,
if he say I said so.

"Imprimis,
a loose-bodied gown..."

GRUMIO: Master, if ever I said
a loose-bodied gown,

sew me in the skirts of it,
and beat me to death

with a bottom of brown thread;
I said a gown.

Proceed.

"...with a small
compassed cape..."

I confess the cape.

"...with a trunk sleeve..."

I confess two sleeves.

"...the sleeves curiously cut."

Ay, there's the villainy.

Give me thy mete-yard,
and spare not me.

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

You are i' the right, sir;
it is for my mistress.

Just go, take it up
unto thy master's use.

Hortensio, say thou see
the tailor paid.

Go take it hence;
be gone, and say no more!

Tailor, I'll pay thee
for thy gown tomorrow.

Take no unkindness
of his hasty words.

Away!
And commend me to thy master.

Well, come, my Kate;
we will unto your father's

even in these honest
mean habiliments.

Our purses shall be proud,
our garments poor;

for 'tis the mind
that makes the body rich;

and as the sun breaks through
the darkest clouds,

so honor peereth
in the meanest habit.

What, is the jay
more precious than the lark,

because his feathers
are more beautiful?

Or is the adder better
than the eel,

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 account'st it shame,
lay it on me;

and therefore frolic;
we will hence forthwith,

to feast and sport us
at thy father's house.

Go, call my men,
and let us straight to him.

Let's see.

I think 'tis now
some seven o'clock,

and well we may come there
by dinner-time.

I dare assure you, sir,
'tis nearly two;

and 'twill be supper-time
ere we come there.

It shall be seven
ere I go to horse.

Look, what I speak, or do,
or think to do,

you are still crossing it.

Sirs, let it alone!

I will not go to-day;
and ere I do,

it shall be what o'clock
I say it is!

Why, so this gallant
will command the sun.

TRANIO: Sir, this is the house;
please it you that I call?

PEDANT:
Ay, what else?

But I be deceived,

Signior Baptista
may remember me,

near twenty years ago, in Genoa,

where we were lodgers
at the Pegasus.

'Tis well; and hold your own,
in any case,

with such austerity
as 'longeth to a father.

I warrant you.

But, sir, here comes your boy;
'twere good he were school'd.

TRANIO: Fear you not him.

Sirrah Biondello,

now do your duty throughly,
I advise you.

Imagine 'twere
the right Vincentio.

BIONDELLO:
Tut, fear not me.

But hast thou done thy errand
to Baptista?

I told him that your father
was at Venice,

and that you look'd for him
this day in Padua.

Thou'rt a tall fellow;
here, hold thee that to drink.

Here comes Baptista;
set your countenance, sir.

Signior Baptista,
you are happily met.

Sir, this is the gentleman
I told you of.

I-I pray you stand good father
to me now,

and give me Bianca
for my patrimony.

Soft son!

Sir, by your leave;
having come to Padua

to gather in some debts,
my son, uh, Lucentio

made me acquainted
with a weighty cause

of love between your daughter
and himself;

and, for the good report
I hear of you

and for the love he beareth
to your daughter

and she to him,
to stay him not too long,

I am content,
in a good father's care,

to have him match'd;
and if you please to like

no worse than I,
upon some agreement

me shall you find ready
and willing

with one consent to have her
so bestow'd;

for curious
I cannot be with you,

Signior Baptista,
of whom I hear so well.

Sir, pardon me
in what I have to say.

Your plainness and your
shortness please me well.

Right true it is,
your son Lucentio here

doth love my daughter
and she loveth him,

or both dissemble deeply
their affections.

And therefore,
if you say no more than this,

that like a father
you will deal with him

and pass my daughter
a sufficient dower,

the match is made,
and all is done.

Your son shall have my daughter
with consent.

Then at my lodging,
an it like you.

There doth my father lie;
and there, this night,

we'll pass the business
privately and well.

Send for your daughter
by your servant here.

My boy shall fetch
the scrivener presently.

It likes me well.

Cambio, hie you home,

and bid Bianca
make her ready straight;

and, if you will,
tell what hath happened,

Lucentio's father
is arrived in Padua,

and how she's like to be
Lucentio's wife.

I pray the gods she may
with all my heart!

Dally not with the gods,
but get thee gone.

Signior Baptista,
shall I lead the way?

I follow you.

- BIONDELLO: Cambio!
- What sayest thou, Biondello?

You saw my master
wink and laugh upon you?

Biondello, what of that?

Faith, nothing;
but has left me here behind,

to expound the meaning or moral
of his signs and tokens.

- I pray thee, moralize them.
- Then thus.

Baptista is safe,

talking with the deceiving
father of a deceitful son.

And what of him?

His daughter is to be brought
by you to the supper.

And then?

The old priest
at Saint Luke's church

is at your command at all hours.

And what of all this?

I cannot tell;

except they are busied about
a counterfeit assurance;

take you assurance of her,

cum privilegio
ad imprimendum solum;

to the church;
take the priest, the clerk,

and some sufficient
honest witnesses.

If this be not that you look
for, I have no more to say,

but bid Bianca farewell
for ever and a day.

- Hearest thou, Biondello?
- I cannot tarry!

I knew a wench
married in an afternoon

as she went to the garden
for parsley 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 will,
if she be so contented.

She will be pleased;
then wherefore should I doubt?

Hap what hap may,
I'll roundly go about her.

It shall go hard
if Cambio go without her.

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

Good Lord, how bright and goodly
shines the moon.

The moon?

The sun.
It is not moonlight 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 myself,

it shall be moon, or star,
or what I list,

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 shall never go.

Forward!

I pray...

...since we have come
so far...

...and be it...

...moon, or sun,
or what you will;

and if you please to call it
a rush-candle...

...henceforth I vow

it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO:
I say it is the moon.

I know it is the moon.

Nay, then you lie;
it is the blessed sun.

Then, God be bless'd,
it is the blessed sun.

But sun it is not...

...when you say it is not.

And the moon changes
even as your mind.

What you will have it named,
even that it is;

and so it shall be so
for Katharine.

Petruchio, go thy ways;
the field is won.

Well...

Forward.

Forward.

Thus the bowl should run,

and not unluckily
against the bias.

But, soft!
What company is coming here?

Good morrow, gentle mistress.

Where away?

Tell me, sweet Kate,
and tell me truly too,

hast thou beheld
a fresher gentlewoman?

Such war of white and red
within her cheeks.

What stars do spangle heaven
with such beauty,

as those two eyes
become that heavenly face?

Fair lovely maid,
once more good day to thee.

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

Will 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 child;

happier the man,
whom favorable stars

allots thee
for his lovely bed-fellow!

How now, Kate,
I hope thou art not mad.

This is a man, old, wrinkled,
faded, wither'd,

and not a maiden,
as thou say'st he is.

Pardon, old father,
my mistaking eyes,

that have been so bedazzled
with the s-sun...

...that everything I look on
seemeth green.

Now I perceive thou art
a reverend father;

pardon, I pray thee,
for my mad mistaking.

Do, good old grandsire;
and withal make known

which way thou travellest;
if along with us,

we shall be joyful
of thy company.

Kind sir,
and you my merry maid...

PETRUCHIO:

...that with this strange
encounter much amazed me,

my name is call'd Vincentio,
my dwelling Pisa,

bound I am to Padua,
there to visit

a son of mine,
which long I have not seen.

- What is his name?
- Lucentio, gentle sir.

Happily met;
the happier for thy son.

And now by law,
as well as reverend age,

I may entitle thee
my loving father.

The sister to my wife,
this gentlewoman,

thy son by this hath married.

What? No!

Wonder not,

nor be not grieved;
she is of good esteem,

her dowry wealthy,
and of worthy birth.

Let me embrace
with old Vincentio,

and wander we to see
thy honest son,

who will of thy arrival
be full joyous.

But is this true?

Or is it yet your pleasure,

like pleasant travelers,
to break a jest

upon the company you o'ertake?

I do assure thee, noble father,
so it is.

Come, go along,
and see the truth hereof;

for our first merriment

hath made thee jealous.

Well, Petruchio,
thou has put me in heart.

Have to my widow!

And if she be froward,

thou hast taught Hortensio
to be untoward.

♪ Hey ♪

♪ Hey ♪

♪ Hey ♪

Softly and swiftly, sir;
for the priest is ready.

I fly, Biondello;

but they may chance to need thee
at home; therefore leave us.

Nay, faith, I'll see the church
o' your back;

and then come back
to my master's as soon as I can!

I marvel Cambio comes
not all this while.

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

My father's bears
more toward the marketplace;

thither must I,
and here I leave you, sir.

You shall not choose but drink
before you go;

I think I may command
your welcome here,

and, in all likelihood,
some cheer is toward.

They're busy within;
you were best knock louder.

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

Is Signior Lucentio within,
sir?

He's within, sir, but he's not
to be spoke withal.

What if a man have
a hundred pound or two,

to make merry withal?

Keep your hundred pounds
to yourself;

he shall need none,
so long as I live.

Nay, I told you your son
was well beloved in Padua.

Do you hear, sir?
Sir?

To leave
frivolous circumstances,

I pray you,
tell Signior Lucentio

that his father
is come from Pisa,

and is here at the door
to speak with him.

Thou liest; his father
is come to Padua

and he's standing here
looking at youse!

Art thou his father?

Ay, sir; so his mother says,
if I may believe her.

Why, how now, gentleman!

Why, this is flat knavery,

to take upon you
another man's name.

Lay hands on the villain;

I believe he means to
cozen somebody in this city

under my countenance.

I have seen them
in the church together.

God send 'em good shipping!

But who is here?

Mine old master Vincentio!

Now we are undone

and brought
to nothing!

Come hither, crack-hemp.

Hope I may choose, sir.

Come hither, you rogue.
What, have you forgot me?

Forgot you?
No, sir.

I could not forget you,

for I never saw you before
in all my life.

You notorious villain,

did you never see
your master's father, Vincentio?

What, my old worshipful
old master?!

Yes, marry, sir;
see where he stands.

Is it so, indeed.

Help!
Help, son!

Help, Signior Baptista!

Help!
Madman will murder me!

Prithee, Kate,
let's stand aside

and see the end
of this controversy.

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

Aah!

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

O immortal gods!
O a fine villain!

A silken doublet!
A velvet hose!

A scarlet cloak!
And a copatain hat!

I am undone!
I am undone!

While I play the good husband
at home,

my son and my servant
spend all at the university.

How now!
What's the matter?

- Ah.
- What, is the man lunatic?

Sir, you seem
a sober ancient gentleman

by your habit, but your words
show you a madman.

Why, sir, what 'cerns it you
if I wear pearl or gold?

I-I thank my good father,
I am able to maintain it.

Thy father!
He's a sailmaker in Bergamo.

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 raised him
since he was three years old.

His name is Tranio.

Away, away, mad ass!

- His name is...
- Lucentio.

...Lucentio
and he is mine only son,

and heir to the lands of me...

- Signior Vincentio.
- Signior Vincentio!

Lucentio!

Why, he hath murdered
his master!

Lay hands on him, I charge you,
in the duke's name!

O, my son, my son!

O, thou villain,
where is my son Lucentio?!

Call forth an officer!

- Officer!
- Officer!

- Officer!
- Officer!

Squeeze!
And squeeze!

Carry this mad knave
to the jail.

Signior Baptista, I charge you
see that he be forthcoming.

Carry me to the jail?!

GREMIO: Stay, officer;
he shall not go to prison.

BAPTISTA:
Talk not, Signior Gremio:

I say he shall go to
p-- uh, prison.

Take heed, Signior Baptista,

lest 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 --

Away with the dotard!

To the jail with him!

Thus strangers
may be hailed and abused.

Notorious villain!

We are spoiled and --
yonder he is;

deny him, forswear him,
or else we are all undone.

Pardon, sweet father.

Lives my sweet son?

Pardon, dear father.

How hast thou offended?

Which is Lucentio?

Here's Lucentio,

fight son
to the right Vincentio;

that have by marriage
made thy daughter mine,

while counterfeit supposes
bleared thine eyne.

GREMIO: Here's plotting, with
a witness to deceive us all!

VINCENTIO:
Where is that villain Tranio,

that faced and braved me
in this matter so?

BAPTISTA: Why, tell me,
is not this my Cambio?

Cambio is changed
into Lucentio.

Love wrought these miracles.

Bianca's love

made me exchange my state
with Tranio,

while he did bear my countenance
in the town;

and happily
I'm arrived at the last

unto the wished haven
of my bliss.

What Tranio did,
myself enforced him to;

then pardon him, sweet father,
for my sake.

I'll slit the villain's nose,

that would have sent me
to the jail.

But do you hear, sir?

Have you married my daughter
without asking my good will?

Fear not, Baptista;
we will content you, go to;

but I will be revenged
for this villainy.

And I, to sound the depth
of this, uh, knavery.

Look not pale, Bianca;
thy father will not frown.

Raaah!

My cake is dough;
but I'll in among the rest,

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

Husband!

Let's follow,
and see the end of this ado.

First kiss me, Kate,
and we will.

What, in the midst
of the street?

What, art thou ashamed of me?

No, sir, God forbid.

But ashamed to kiss.

Why, then let's home again.

Come, sirrah, let's away.

Nay, I will give you a kiss.

Now pray thee, love, stay.

Is not this well?

Come, my sweet Kate.

Better once than never...

...for never too late.

- Hey, hey!
- Ho!

At last, though long,
our jarring notes agree.

And time it is,
when raging war is done,

to smile
at scapes and perils overblown.

My fair Bianca,
bid my father welcome,

while I with self-same kindness
welcome thine.

- Hey, hey, hey!

Ah, brother Petruchio,
sister Katharina.

And thou, Hortensio,
with thy loving widow.

Feast with the best,
and welcome to my house.

My banquet is to close
our stomachs up,

after our great good cheer.

Pray you, sit down;

for now we sit to chat
as well as eat.

Aw, chat?

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 would that word were true.

Now, for my life,
Hortensio fears his widow.

Then never trust me,
if I be afeard.

You are very sensible,
and yet you miss my sense:

I mean,
Hortensio is afeard of you.

He that is giddy
thinks the world turns round.

Roundly replied.

Mistress, how mean you that?

Thus I conceived by him.

Conceives by me!
How likes Hortensio that?

My widow says,
and thus she conceives her tale.

Very well mended.
Kiss him for that, good widow.

He that is giddy
thinks the world turns round.

I pray you, tell me
what you meant by that.

Your husband, being troubled
with a shrew,

measures my husband's sorrow
by his woe.

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.

Spoke like an officer;
have to thee, lad!

How likes Gremio
these quick-witted folks?

GREMIO: Believe me, sir,
they butt together well.

BIANCA: Head, and butt!

An hasty-witted body

would say your head and butt
were head and horn.

Ay, mistress bride,
hath that awaken'd you?

Ay, but not frighted me;
therefore I'll sleep again.

Nay, that you shall not;
since you have begun,

have at you
for a better jest or two!

Am I your bird?

I mean to shift my bush,

and then pursue me
as you draw your bow.

You are welcome all.

She hath prevented me.

Here, Signior Tranio.

This bird you aim'd at,
though you hit her not;

therefore a health to all
that shot and miss'd.

O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me
like his greyhound,

that runs himself
and catches for his master.

It's a good swift simile,
but something currish.

'Tis well, sir,
that you hunted for yourself;

'tis thought your deer
doth hold you at a bay.

BAPTISTA: Petruchio!
Tranio hits you now.

I thank thee for that gird,
good Tranio.

Confess, confess,
hath he not hit you here?

He has a little gall'd me,
I confess;

and, as the jest
did glance away from me,

'tis ten to one
it maim'd you two outright.

Now, in good sadness,
son Petruchio,

I think thou hast
the veriest shrew of all.

Well, I say no;

and therefore, sir, assurance...

...let's each one
send unto his wife;

and he whose wife
is most obedient

to come at first
when he doth send for her,

shall win the wager
which we will propose.

Content.
What's the wager?

- Twenty crowns.
- Twenty crowns?

I'll 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 shall begin?
- That will I.

Go, Biondello, bid thy mistress
come to me.

I go!

Son, I'll be your half,
Bianca comes.

I'll have no halves;
I'll bear it all myself.

How now!
What news?

Sir, my mistress
sends you word

she's busy
and she cannot come.

How!
She is busy and she cannot come.

Is this an answer?

Ay, and a kind one too.

Pray God, sir, your wife
send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO:
I hope better.

Sirrah Biondello,
go and entreat my wife

to come to me forthwith.

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

I am afraid, sir,

do what you can,
yours will not be entreated.

Where's my wife?!

She says you have
some goodly jest in hand.

She will not come;
she bids you come to her.

Worse and worse;
she will not come!

O vile,

intolerable,
not to be endured!

Sirrah Grumio.

Go to your mistress.

Say, I command her
come to me.

- I know her answer.
- What?

She will not.

Hup!

- Hup, hup, hup, hup, hup, hup!

Hup, hup, hup, hup, hup!

- Ohhh!
- Ohhh!

Ohh.

The fouler fortune mine,
and there an end.

Now, by my holidame,
here comes Katharina.

What is your will, sir,
that you send for me?

Where is your sister,
and Hortensio's wife?

They sit conferring
by the parlor fire.

Go fetch them hither;
if they deny to come.

Swinge me them soundly forth
unto their husbands.

Away, I say, and bring them
hither straight.

Now here is a wonder,
if you talk of a wonder.

Why, so it is.
I wonder what it bodes.

Marry, peace it bodes,

and love and quiet life.

An awful rule

and right...

...supremacy;

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

Now, fair befall thee,
good Petruchio.

The wager thou hast won;
and I will add

unto their losses
twenty thousand crowns;

another dowry
to another daughter,

for she is changed,
as she had never been.

Nay, I will win my wager
better yet

and show more sign
of her obedience,

her new-built virtue
and obedience.

See where she comes
and brings your froward wives

as prisoners
to her womanly persuasion.

Katharine, that cap of yours
becomes you not:

Off with that bauble,
throw it under-foot.

Lord, let me never
have a cause to sigh,

till I be brought
to such a silly pass!

Fie! What a foolish duty
call you this?

I would your duty
were as foolish too;

the wisdom of your duty,
my fair Bianca,

hath cost me five hundred crowns
since supper-time.

The more fool you,
for laying on my duty.

Katharine, I charge thee,
tell these headstrong women

what duty they do owe
their lords and husbands.

Come, come, you're mocking;
we will have no telling.

Come on, I say;
and first begin with her.

WIDOW:
She shall not.

I say she shall;
and first begin with her.

Fie!

Fie.

Unknit that
threatening unkind brow,

and dart not scornful glances
from those eyes,

to wound thy lord, thy king,
thy governor.

It blots thy beauty
as frosts do bite the meads,

confounds thy fame
as whirlwinds shake fair buds,

and in no sense
is meet or amiable.

A woman moved
is like a fountain troubled,

muddy, ill-seeming, thick,

bereft of beauty;

and while it is so,
none so dry or thirsty

will deign to sip

or touch one drop of it.

Thy husband is thy lord,

thy life, thy keeper,

thy head, thy sovereign;
one that cares for thee,

and for thy maintenance
commits his body

to painful labor
both by sea and land,

to watch the night in storms,
the day in cold,

whilst thou liest warm at home,
secure and safe;

and craves no other tribute
at thy hands

but love, fair looks

and true obedience;

too little payment
for so great a debt.

Such duty as the subject
owes the prince,

even such a woman oweth
to her husband;

and when she is froward,
peevish, sullen, sour,

and not obedient
to his honest will...

...what is she
but a foul contending rebel

and graceless traitor
to her loving lord?

I am ashamed
that women are so simple

to offer war when they should
kneel for peace;

or seek for rule,
supremacy and sway,

when they are bound to serve...

...love...

...and obey.

Why are our bodies soft

and weak and smooth,

unapt to toil and trouble
in the world,

but that our soft conditions
and our hearts

should well agree
with our external parts?

Come, come,
you froward and unable worms!

My mind hath been as big

as one of yours,

my heart as great,

my reason haply more,

to bandy word for word
and frown for frown.

Now I see our lances
are but straws,

our strength as weak,

our weakness past compare...

...that seeming to be most

which we indeed least are.

Then vail your stomachs,

for it is no boot,

and place your hand
below your husband's foot!

The token of which duty,
if he please...

...my hand is ready;

may it do him ease.

Why, there's a wench!

Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

Well, go thy ways, old lad;
for thou shalt ha't.

'Tis a good hearing
when children are toward.

And a harsh hearing
when women are froward.

Come, Kate, we'll to bed.

We three are married,
but you two are sped.

'Twas I won the wager,
though you hit the white;

and, being a winner...

...God give you good night!