Part 4

BIONDELLO. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turned; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: 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 and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before, and with a half-checked 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 pack-thread.

BAPTISTA. Who comes with him?

BIONDELLO. 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 humour of forty fancies prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.

TRANIO. ’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell’d.

BAPTISTA. I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.

BIONDELLO. Why, sir, he comes not.

BAPTISTA. Didst thou not say he comes?

BIONDELLO. Who? that Petruchio came?

BAPTISTA. Ay, that Petruchio came.

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

BAPTISTA. Why, that’s all one.

BIONDELLO. Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many.

Enter Petruchio and Grumio.

PETRUCHIO. Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home?

BAPTISTA. You are welcome, sir.

PETRUCHIO. And yet I come not well.

BAPTISTA. And yet you halt not.

TRANIO. Not so well apparell’d as I wish you were.

PETRUCHIO. 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?

BAPTISTA. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival.

TRANIO. And tell us what occasion of import Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

PETRUCHIO. 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 well be satisfied withal. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her; The morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.

TRANIO. See not your bride in these unreverent robes; Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.

PETRUCHIO. Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.

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

PETRUCHIO. Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ 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!

[_Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio and Biondello._]

TRANIO. He hath 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.

[_Exeunt Baptista, Gremio and Attendants._]

TRANIO. But, sir, to 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.

LUCENTIO. 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 despite of all the world.

TRANIO. That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business. We’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio; All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.

Re-enter Gremio.

Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

GREMIO. As willingly as e’er I came from school.

TRANIO. And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

GREMIO. A bridegroom, say you? ’Tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

TRANIO. Curster than she? Why, ’tis impossible.

GREMIO. Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

TRANIO. Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.

GREMIO. Tut! she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool, to him. I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask if Katherine should be his wife, ’Ay, by gogs-wouns’ quoth he, and swore so loud That, all amaz’d, the priest let fall the book; And as he stoop’d again to take it up, The 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.’

TRANIO. What said the wench, when he rose again?

GREMIO. 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 abroad, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel, And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face, Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck, And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo. And I, seeing this, came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before. Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.

[_Music plays._]

Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Bianca, Baptista, Hortensio, Grumio and Train.

PETRUCHIO. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: I know you think to dine with me today, And have prepar’d great store of wedding cheer But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

BAPTISTA. Is’t possible you will away tonight?

PETRUCHIO. I must away today 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.

TRANIO. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

PETRUCHIO. It may not be.

GREMIO. Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO. It cannot be.

KATHERINA. Let me entreat you.

PETRUCHIO. I am content.

KATHERINA. Are you content to stay?

PETRUCHIO. I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

KATHERINA. Now, if you love me, stay.

PETRUCHIO. Grumio, my horse!

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

KATHERINA. Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go today; No, nor tomorrow, 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.

PETRUCHIO. O Kate! content thee: prithee be not angry.

KATHERINA. I will be angry: what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.

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

KATHERINA. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.

PETRUCHIO. 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 anything; 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 thee, Kate; I’ll buckler thee against a million.

[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Grumio._]

BAPTISTA. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.

GREMIO. Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.

TRANIO. Of all mad matches, never was the like.

LUCENTIO. Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?

BIANCA. That, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.

GREMIO. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.

BAPTISTA. Neighbours 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 shall supply the bridegroom’s place; And let Bianca take her sister’s room.

TRANIO. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?

BAPTISTA. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.

[_Exeunt._]

## ACT IV

## SCENE I. A hall in Petruchio’s country house.

Enter Grumio.

GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray’d? Was ever man so weary? I am 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. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis!

Enter Curtis.

CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly?

GRUMIO. 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. A fire, good Curtis.

CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?

GRUMIO. O, ay! Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water.

CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she’s reported?

GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou knowest winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.

CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.

GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand,—she being now at hand,— thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office?

CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death.

CURTIS. There’s fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news.

GRUMIO. Why, ‘Jack boy! ho, boy!’ and as much news as wilt thou.

CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching.

GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where’s the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept, the servingmen in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, and carpets laid, and everything in order?

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

GRUMIO. First, know my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out.

CURTIS. How?

GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale.

CURTIS. Let’s ha’t, good Grumio.

GRUMIO. Lend thine ear.

CURTIS. Here.

GRUMIO. [_Striking him._] There.

CURTIS. This ’tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

GRUMIO. 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,—

CURTIS. Both of one horse?

GRUMIO. What’s that to thee?

CURTIS. Why, a horse.

GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale: 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; with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave.

CURTIS. By this reckoning he is more shrew than she.

GRUMIO. Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brush’d and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?

CURTIS. They are.

GRUMIO. Call them forth.

CURTIS. Do you hear? ho! You must meet my master to countenance my mistress.

GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.

CURTIS. Who knows not that?

GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.

CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her.

GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

Enter four or five Servants.

NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio!

PHILIP. How now, Grumio!

JOSEPH. What, Grumio!

NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio!

NATHANIEL. How now, old lad!

GRUMIO. Welcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master?

GRUMIO. E’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,— Cock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.

Enter Petruchio and Katherina.

PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What! no man at door To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse? Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?—

ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir.

PETRUCHIO. 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?

GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.

PETRUCHIO. 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?

GRUMIO. Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ the heel; There was no link to colour Peter’s hat, And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing; There was none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.

PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.

[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]

Where is the life that late I led? Where are those—? Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Food, food, food, food!

Re-enter Servants with supper.

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 grey, As he forth walked on his way: Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry:

[_Strikes him._]

Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho! Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:

[_Exit Servant._]

One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with. Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—

[_Servant lets the ewer fall. Petruchio strikes him._]

You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?

KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; ’twas a fault unwilling.

PETRUCHIO. 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?

FIRST SERVANT. Ay.

PETRUCHIO. Who brought it?

PETER. I.

PETRUCHIO. ’Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me that love it not?

[_Throws the meat, etc., at them._]

There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all. You heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves! What! do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.

KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet; The meat was well, if you were so contented.

PETRUCHIO. 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; tomorrow ’t shall be mended. And for this night we’ll fast for company: Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.

[_Exeunt Petruchio, Katherina and Curtis._]

NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like?

PETER. He kills her in her own humour.

Re-enter Curtis.

GRUMIO. Where is he?

CURTIS. In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her; And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, And sits as one new risen from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither.

[_Exeunt._]

Re-enter Petruchio.

PETRUCHIO. 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-gorg’d, 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. She eat no meat today, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor tonight she 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, she shall watch all night: And if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl, And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak; ’tis charity to show.

[_Exit._]

## SCENE II. Padua. Before Baptista’s house.

Enter Tranio and Hortensio.

TRANIO. Is ’t possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.

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

[_They stand aside._]

Enter Bianca and Lucentio.

LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?

BIANCA. What, master, read you? First resolve me that.

LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, _The Art to Love_.

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

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

[_They retire._]

HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray, You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca Lov’d none in the world so well as Lucentio.

TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.

HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio. Nor a musician as I seem to be; But one that scorn to live in this disguise For such a one as leaves a gentleman And makes a god of such a cullion: Know, sir, that I am call’d Hortensio.

TRANIO. 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.

HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, As one unworthy all the former favours That I have fondly flatter’d her withal.

TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, Never to marry with her though she would entreat; Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!

HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov’d me As I have lov’d 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.

[_Exit Hortensio. Lucentio and Bianca advance._]

TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As ’longeth to a lover’s blessed case! Nay, I have ta’en you napping, gentle love, And have forsworn you with Hortensio.

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

TRANIO. Mistress, we have.

LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio.

TRANIO. I’ faith, he’ll have a lusty widow now, That shall be woo’d and wedded in a day.

BIANCA. God give him joy!

TRANIO. Ay, and he’ll tame her.

BIANCA. He says so, Tranio.

TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.

BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place?

TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master, That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

Enter Biondello, running.

BIONDELLO. O master, master! I have watch’d so long That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill Will serve the turn.

TRANIO. What is he, Biondello?

BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant, I know not what; but formal in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father.

LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio?