"fhall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd "to thy grave." Curt. By this reckoning he is more fhrew than fhe. Gru. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all fhall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this? call forth Nathaniel, Jofeph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarfop, and the reft: let their heads be fleekly comb'd, their blue coats brufh'd, and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curt'fie with their left legs, and not prefume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, 'till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? Curt. They are. Gru. Call them forth. you hear, ho? Curt. Do you to countenance my mistress. you must meet my mafter Gru. Why, the hath a face of her own. Gurt. Who knows not that? Gru. Thou, it feems, that call'ft for company to countenance her. Curt. I call them forth to credit her. Enter four or five Serving-men. Gru. Why, fhe comes to borrow nothing of them. Phil. How now, Grumio? Jof. What, Grumio! Nich. Fellow Grumio! Nath. How now, old lad. Gru. "Welcome, you; how now, you; what, you; fellow, you; and thus much for greeting." Now my fpruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? Nat. All things are ready; how near is our mafter? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not cock's paffion, filence! hear my master. .I SCENE Pet. Where be these knaves? what, no man at door to hold my stirrup, nor to take my horfe? where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? All Serv. Here, here, Sir; here, Sir. Pet. Here, Sir, here, Sir, here, Sir, here, Sir? You loggerheaded and unpolifh'd grooms: What? no attendance? no regard? no duty? Where is the foolish knave I fent before? Gru. Here, Sir, as foolish as I was before. Pet. You peasant swain, you whoreson, malt-horse drudge, Did not I bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, Sir, was not fully made: And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel: There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from fheathing: Yet as they are, here are they come to meet you. Where is the life that late I led? Where are thofe [Exeunt Servants. fit down, Kate, And welcome. Soud, foud, foud, foud! Enter Servants with Supper. [Singing. Why, when, I say? nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. It was the Friar of Orders grey, Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry. [Sings. Take Take that, and mind the plucking off the other. [Strikes bim. Be merry, Kate: fome water, here; what, hoa! Enter one with water. Where's my spaniel Troilus? firrah, get you hence, One, Kate, that you must kifs, and be acquainted with. Cath. Patience, I pray you, 'twas a fault unwilling. Pet. A whorefon, beatle-headed, flap-ear'd knave: Come, Kate, fit down; I know, you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, fweet Kate, or else fhall I? What's this, mutton? I Ser. Yes. Pet. Who brought it? Pet. 'Tis burnt, and fo is all the meat: [Throws the meat, &c. about the Stage. Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. [Exe. G g Enter Enter Servants feverally. Nath. Peter, didft ever fee the like? Enter Curtis, a Servant. Curt. In her chamber, making a fermon of continency to her, And rails and fwears, and rates; that fhe, poor foul, Knows not which way to ftand, to look, to speak, And fits as one new-rifen from a dream. Away, away, for he is coming hither. S CE N E III. Enter Petruchio. [Exeunt. Pet. Thus have I politickly begun my reign, To make her come, and know her keeper's Call: And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, ; This is a way to kill a wife with kindness S CENE Before Baptifta's Houfe. Enter Tranio and Hortenfio. TRANIO. IV. [Exit. S't poffible, friend Licio, that Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, Sir, fhe bears me fair in hand. Hor. To fatisfy you, Sir, in what I said, Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching.. [They stand by. Enter Bianca and Lucentio. Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? Luc. I read That I profefs, the art of Love. heart. Hor. Quick proceeders! marry! now, tell me, I pray, you that durft fwear that your miftrefs Bianca lov'd none in the world fo well as Lucentio. Tra. Defpightful love, unconftant womankind! Hor. Miftake no more, I am not Licio, |