Part 5

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.

[_Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca._]

Enter a Pedant.

PEDANT. God save you, sir!

TRANIO. And you, sir! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?

PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two; But then up farther, and as far as Rome; And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.

TRANIO. What countryman, I pray?

PEDANT. Of Mantua.

TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid, And come to Padua, careless of your life!

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

TRANIO. ’Tis death for anyone in Mantua To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? 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.

PEDANT. Alas, sir! it is worse for me than so; For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence, and must here deliver them.

TRANIO. 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?

PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio?

PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him, A merchant of incomparable wealth.

TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

BIONDELLO. [_Aside._] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.

TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity, This favour 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 lodg’d; 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.

PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever The patron of my life and liberty.

TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good. This, by the way, I 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.

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE III. A room in Petruchio’s house.

Enter Katherina and Grumio.

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

KATHERINA. 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 meet with charity; But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starv’d 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.

GRUMIO. What say you to a neat’s foot?

KATHERINA. ’Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.

GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat. How say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?

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

GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear ’tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon.

GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

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

GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.

GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef.

KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

[_Beats him._]

That feed’st me with the very name of meat. Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you That triumph thus upon my misery! Go, get thee gone, I say.

Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat; and Hortensio.

PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer?

KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be.

PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me. Here, love; thou seest how diligent I am, To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:

[_Sets the dish on a table._]

I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not, And all my pains is sorted to no proof. Here, take away this dish.

KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand.

PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.

KATHERINA. I thank you, sir.

HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.

PETRUCHIO. [_Aside._] 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 farthingales and things; With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery, With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. What! hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure, To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.

Enter Tailor.

Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments; Lay forth the gown.—

Enter Haberdasher.

What news with you, sir?

HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.

PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded 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.

KATHERINA. I’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.

PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then.

HORTENSIO. [_Aside_] That will not be in haste.

KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will. I am no child, no babe. Your betters have endur’d me say 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.

PETRUCHIO. 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 lik’st it not.

KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none.

[_Exit Haberdasher._]

PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay: come, tailor, let us see’t. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? What’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon. What, up and down, carv’d like an apple tart? Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, Like to a censer in a barber’s shop. Why, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?

HORTENSIO. [_Aside_] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.

TAILOR. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion and the time.

PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be remember’d, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you shall hop without my custom, sir. I’ll none of it: hence! make your best of it.

KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion’d gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable; Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.

PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.

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

PETRUCHIO. 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! Brav’d 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 liv’st! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.

TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv’d: 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.

TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made?

GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.

TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut?

GRUMIO. Thou hast faced many things.

TAILOR. I have.

GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be fac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.

TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.

PETRUCHIO. Read it.

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

TAILOR. ’Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’

GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said 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.

PETRUCHIO. Proceed.

TAILOR. ‘With a small compassed cape.’

GRUMIO. I confess the cape.

TAILOR. ‘With a trunk sleeve.’

GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves.

TAILOR. ‘The sleeves curiously cut.’

PETRUCHIO. Ay, there’s the villainy.

GRUMIO. Error i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.

TAILOR. This is true that I say; and I had thee in place where thou shouldst know it.

GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.

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

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

GRUMIO. You are i’ the right, sir; ’tis for my mistress.

PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master’s use.

GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s use!

PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what’s your conceit in that?

GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for. Take up my mistress’ gown to his master’s use! O fie, fie, fie!

PETRUCHIO. [_Aside_] Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid. [_To Tailor._] Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.

HORTENSIO. [_Aside to Tailor._] Tailor, I’ll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow; Take no unkindness of his hasty words. Away, I say! commend me to thy master.

[_Exit Tailor._]

PETRUCHIO. 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 honour 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; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. Let’s see; I think ’tis now some seven o’clock, And well we may come there by dinner-time.

KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, ’tis almost two, And ’twill be supper-time ere you come there.

PETRUCHIO. 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 ’t alone: I will not go today; and ere I do, It shall be what o’clock I say it is.

HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun.

[_Exeunt._]

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

Enter Tranio and the Pedant dressed like Vincentio

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

PEDANT. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, Signior Baptista may remember me, Near twenty years ago in Genoa, Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.

TRANIO. ’Tis well; and hold your own, in any case, With such austerity as ’longeth to a father.

PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; ’Twere good he were school’d.

Enter Biondello.

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.

TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?

BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look’d for him this day in Padua.

TRANIO. Th’art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink. Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.

Enter Baptista and Lucentio.

Signior Baptista, you are happily met. [_To the Pedant_] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of; I pray you stand good father to me now; Give me Bianca for my patrimony.

PEDANT. Soft, son! Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son 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.

BAPTISTA. 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.

TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best We be affied, and such assurance ta’en As shall with either part’s agreement stand?

BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants; Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still, And happily we might be interrupted.

TRANIO. Then at my lodging, and 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. The worst is this, that at so slender warning You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.

BAPTISTA. 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 arriv’d in Padua, And how she’s like to be Lucentio’s wife.

LUCENTIO. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart!

TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer; Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.

BAPTISTA. I follow you.

[_Exeunt Tranio, Pedant and Baptista._]

BIONDELLO. Cambio!

LUCENTIO. What say’st thou, Biondello?

BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?

LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that?

BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.

LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them.

BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son.

LUCENTIO. And what of him?

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

LUCENTIO. And then?

BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke’s church is at your command at all hours.

LUCENTIO. And what of all this?

BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, _cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum_; to the church! take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses. If this be not that you look for, I have more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.

[_Going._]

LUCENTIO. Hear’st thou, Biondello?

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.

[_Exit._]

LUCENTIO. I may, and will, if she be so contented. She will be pleas’d; then wherefore should I doubt? Hap what hap may, I’ll roundly go about her; It shall go hard if Cambio go without her:

[_Exit._]

## SCENE V. A public road.

Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Hortensio and Servants.

PETRUCHIO. Come on, i’ God’s name; once more toward our father’s. Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

KATHERINA. The moon! The sun; it is not moonlight now.

PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO. 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!

HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go.

KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please; 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.

KATHERINA. I know it is the moon.

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

KATHERINA. 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 nam’d, even that it is, And so it shall be so for Katherine.

HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias. But, soft! Company is coming here.

Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.

[_To Vincentio_] 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.

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

KATHERINA. 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 favourable stars Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow.

PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither’d, And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.

KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun That everything I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known Which way thou travellest: if along with us, We shall be joyful of thy company.

VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, That with your strange encounter much amaz’d me, My name is called Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa; And bound I am to Padua, there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen.

PETRUCHIO. What is his name?

VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir.

PETRUCHIO. 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. Wonder not, Nor be not griev’d: she is of good esteem, Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio; And wander we to see thy honest son, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

VINCENTIO. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake?

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

PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.

[_Exeunt all but Hortensio._]

HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. Have to my widow! and if she be froward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

[_Exit._]

## ACT V

## SCENE I. Padua. Before Lucentio’s house.

Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio and Bianca; Gremio walking on other side.

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

LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore leave us.

BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I’ll see the church o’ your back; and then come back to my master’s as soon as I can.

[_Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca and Biondello._]

GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

Enter Petruchio, Katherina, Vincentio and Attendants.

PETRUCHIO. Sir, here’s the door; this is Lucentio’s house: My father’s bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go. I think I shall command your welcome here, And by all likelihood some cheer is toward.

[_Knocks._]

GREMIO. They’re busy within; you were best knock louder.

Enter Pedant above, at a window.

PEDANT. What’s he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?

VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?

PEDANT. He’s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.

VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal?

PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none so long as I live.

PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.

PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here looking out at the window.

VINCENTIO. Art thou his father?

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