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:
Good mafters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

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,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.

Hor. Madam, before you touch the inftrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you Gamut in a briefer fort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade;
And there it is in writing fairly drawn.

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,
Cfaut, that loves with all affection;

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)
To change true rules for odd inventions.

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;
You know, to morrow is the wedding-day.

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,
Methinks, he looks as tho' he were in love :
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be fo humble,
To caft thy wandring eyes on every Stale;
Seize thee, who lift; if once I find thee ranging,
Hortenfio will be quit with thee by changing.

[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,
To want the Bridegroom, when the Priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?
What fays Lucentio to this fhame of ours?

Cath. No fhame, but mine; I muft, forfooth, be forc'd

To give my hand oppos'd against my heart,
Unto a mad-brain Rudesby, full of spleen;
Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leisure.
I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,
Hiding his bitter jefts in blunt behaviour:
And to be noted for a merry man,

He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banes ;
Yet never means to wed, where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Catharine,
And fay, lo! there is mad Petruchio's wife,

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.
Tra. Patience, good Catharine, and Baptifta too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well;
What ever fortune stays him from his word.
Tho' he be blunt, I know him paffing wife:
Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honeft.
Cath. Would Catharine had never feen him tho' !

[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.
Enter Biondello.

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.
Bap. What then?

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.
Bion. Why, Sir, he comes not.

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:
And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
As if they faw fome wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unufual prodigy?

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
Hath all fo long detain'd you from your wife,
And fent you hither fo unlike your felf?

Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harfh to hear:
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,
Tho' in fome part enforced to digress,
Which at more leisure I will fo excuse,
As you fhall well be fatisfied withal.

But, where is Kate? I ftay too long from her;
The morning wears; 'tis time, we were at church.
Tra. See not your Bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on cloaths of mine.

Pet. Not I; believe me, thus I'll vifit her.
Bap. But thus, I truft, you will not marry her.
Pet. Good footh, even thus; therefore ha' done with
words;

To me fhe's married, not unto my cloaths:
Could I repair what she will wear in me,
As I could change these poor accoutrements,
"Twere well for Kate, and better for my self.
But what a fool am I to chat with you,
When I fhould bid good-morrow to my Bride,
And feal the title with a lovely kifs ?

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 he shall be Vincentio of Pifa,

And make affurance here in Padua
Of greater fums than I have promised :