Bian. I must believe my mafter, elfe I promise you, I fhould be arguing ftill upon that doubt; But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you: Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while; My leffons make no mufick in three parts. Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? well, I must wait, Hor. Madam, before you touch the inftrument, Bian. Why, I am paft my Gamut long ago. Hor. Yet read the Gamut of Hortenfio. Bian. [reading.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, Are, to plead Hortenfio's paffion; B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, D fol re, one cliff, but two notes have I. Elami, fhow pity, or I die. Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not; Old fashions please me beft; I'm not fo nice (15) Enter a Servant. Serv. Miftrefs, your father prays you leave your books, (15) Old fashions please me beft: I'm not so nice To change true Rules for new Inventions.] And This is Senfe and the Meaning of the Paffage; but the Reading of the Second Verse, for all that, is sophisticated. The genuine Copies all concur in Reading, To change true Rules for old Inventions. R 3 This And help to drefs your fifter's chamber up; Bian. Farewel, fweet masters, both; I must be gone. [Exit. Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant, [Exit. [Exit. Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lucentio, Bianca, and attendants. Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day That Cathrine and Petruchio fhould be married And yet we hear not of our fon-in-law. ; What will be faid? what mockery will it be, Cath. No fhame, but mine; I muft, forfooth, be forc'd To give my hand oppos'd against my heart, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, This, indeed, is contrary to the very Thing it fhould ex prefs: But the eafy Alteration, which I have made, reftores the Sense, and adds a Contraft in the Terms perfectly just. True Rules are oppos'd to odd Inventions; i. e. Whimsies. If it would please him come and marry her. [Exit weeping. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For fuch an injury would vex a Saint, Much more a Shrew of thy impatient humour. Bion. Mafter, Mafter; old news, and fuch news as you never heard of. Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? Bap. Is he come ? Bion. Why, no, Sir. Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here? Bion. When he stands where I am, and fees you there. Tra. But, fay, what to thine old news? Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rufty fword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelefs, with two broken points; his horfe hip'd with an old mothy faddle, the ftirrups of no kindred; befides, poffeft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, fped with fpavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the fives, ftark spoiled with the ftaggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and fhoulderfhotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-check't bit, and a headsftall of sheep's leather, which being reftrain'd, to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burft, and now repair'd with knots; one girt fix times piec'd, and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two let ters for her name, fairly fet down in ftuds, and here and there piec'd with packthread. Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh, Sir, his lackey, for all the world caparifon'd like the horse, with a linnen ftock on one leg, and a kerfey boot-hofe on the other, garter'd with a red and blue lift, an old hat, and the humour of forty fancies prickt up in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a chriftian footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. Tra. 'Tis fome odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. Bap. I am glad he's come, howfoever he comes. Bap. Didft thou not fay, he comes? Bien. Who? that Petruchio came not? Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. Bion. No, Sir; I fay, his horfe comes with him on his back. Bap. Why, that's all one. Bion. Nay, by St. Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horfe and a man is more than one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and Grumio fantaftically habited. Pet. Come, where be thefe gallants? who is at home? Bap. You're welcome, Sir. Pet. And yet I come not well. Bap. And yet you halt not. Tra. Not fo well 'parell'd, as I wish you were. Pet. Were it better, I fhould rufh in thus. But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? How does my Father? Gentles, methinks, you frown: Bap. Bap. Why, Sir, you know, this is your wedding-day: First, were we fad, fearing you would not come; Now, fadder, that you come fo unprovided. Fie, doff this habit, fhame to your estate, An eye-fore to our folemn festival. Tra. And tell us what occafion of import Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harfh to hear: But, where is Kate? I ftay too long from her; Pet. Not I; believe me, thus I'll vifit her. To me fhe's married, not unto my cloaths: Tra. He hath fome meaning in his mad attire: We will perfuade him, be it poffible, To put on better ere he go to church. [Exit Bap. I'll after him, and fee the event of this. [Exit. Tra. But, Sir, our love concerneth us to add Her Father's liking; which to bring to pafs, 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 make affurance here in Padua |