Do what thou canft, I will not go to-day;
No, nor to-morrow, nor 'till I please myself:
The door is open, Sir, there lies your way,
You may be jogging, while your
boots are green;
For me, I'll not go, 'till I please myfelf:
"Tis like, you'll prove a jolly furly groom,
That take it on you at the first fo roundly.

Pet. O, Kare, content thee; prythee, be not angry. Cath. I will be angry; what haft thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall ftay my leifure. Gre. Ay, marry, Sir; now it begins to work. Cath. Gentlemen forward to the bridal-dinner.

I fee a woman may be made a fool,

If fhe had not a spirit to refift.

Pet. They fhall go forward, Kate, at thy command, Obey the bride, you that attend on her: Go to the feast, revel and domineer; Caroufe full measure to her maiden-head; Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves; But for my bonny Kate, the muft with me. Nay, look not big, nor ftamp, nor ftare, nor fret, I will be mafter of what is mine own; She is my goods, my chattels, the is my house, My houfhold stuff, my field, my barn, My horfe, my ox, my afs, my any thing; And here she stands, touch her who ever dare. I'll bring my action on the proudest he, That ftops my way in Padua: Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon; we're beset with thieves;

Refcue thy mistress, if thou be a man:

Fear not, fweet wench, they fhall not touch thee, Kate;
I'll buckler thee against a million. [Exeunt Pet. and Cath
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
Gre. Went they not quickly, I fhould die with laughing.
Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like.
Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your fifter?
Bian. That, being mad herself, fhe's madly mated.
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is kated.

Bap. Neighbours and friends, tho' brideland bridegroom For to fupply the places at the table;

[want

You

You know, there wants no junkets at the feaft:
Lucentio, you fupply the bridegroom's place;
And let Bianca take her fifter's room.

Tra. Shall fweet Bianca practife how to bride it?
Bap. She fhall, Lucentio : "Gentlemen, let's go. [Exeunt.

ACT

IV.

SCENE, Petruchio's Country House,

Enter Grumio.

GRUM 1,0.

FY, fy on all tired jades, and all mad maters, and all

foul ways; was ever man fo beaten? was ever man fo raide? was ever man fo weary ?, I am fent before, to make a fire; and they are coming after, to warm them : Now were I not a little pot, and foon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere

fire to thaw me; but I with blowin fhould come by a

the fire fhall warm myfelf; for confidering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold: Holla, hoa, Curtis !

Enter Curtis.

Curt. Who is it that calls fo coldly?

Gru. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou may'st flide from my fhoulder to my heel, with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. Curt. Is my mafter and his wife coming, Grumio? Gru. Oh, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire, cast

on no water.

Curt. Is the fo hot a fhrew, as fhe's reported?

Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this froft; but thou know'ft, winter tames man, woman and beaft; for it hath tam'd my old mafter, and my new miftrefs, and myself, fellow Curtis.

Curt. Away, you three-inch'd fool; I am no beast. Gru. (18) Am I but three inches? why, my horn is a foot, and fo long am I at the leaft. But wilt thou make a fire, or fhall I complain on thee to our mistress, whofe hand, fhe being now at hand, thou shalt foon feel to thy cold comfort, for being flow in thy hot office.

Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world?

;

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

Curt. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio,

the news.

Gru. Why, Jack boy, họ boy, and as much news as thou wilt.

Curt. Come, you are fo full of conycatching.

Gru. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extream cold. Where's the cook? is fupper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes ftrew'd, cobwebs fwept, the fervingmen in their new fuftian, their white flockings, and every officer his wedding garment on ? be the Jacks fair within, the Jills fair without, carpets laid, and every thing in order?

Curt. All ready: And therefore, I pray thee, what news? Gru. First, know, my horfe is tired, my mafter and miftrefs fall'n out.

Curt. How?

Gru. Out of their faddles into the dirt, and thereby hangs a tale,

Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio.

Gru. Lend thine ear.

Curt. Here.

Gru. There.

[Strikes him.

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.

Gru. And therefore 'tis call'd a fenfible tale: And this

(18) Am I but three inches? why, thy born is a foot, and fo long am 1 at the leaf. This is faid by Grumio to Curtis. But, though all the copies agree in the reading, what florn had Curtis ? but Grumio rides poft before his mafter, and blows his Horn to give notice of his own coming home, and his master's approach.

cuff

cuff was but to knock at your ear, and befeech liftning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my mafter riding behind my mistress.

Curt. Both on one horse?

Gru. What's that to thee?

Curt. Why, a horse.

Gru. Tell thou the tale.But hadft thou not croft me, thou should't have heard how her horfe fel!, and fhe under her horfe: Thou should't have heard in how miry a place, how fhe was bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her horfe ftumbled, how fhe waded through the dirt to pluck him off me; how he fwore, how the pray'd that never pray'd before; how I cry'd, how the horses ran away; how her bridle was burst, how I loft my crupper; with many things of worthy memory, which now 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 brush'd, and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curt'fy with their left legs, and not prefume to touch a hair of my master's horfe tail, 'till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? Curt. They are.

Gru. Call them forth.

Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my mafter to countenance my mistress.

Gru. Why, he hath a face of her own.

Curt. Who knows not that?

Gru. Thou, it seems, that call'ft for company to countenance her.

Curt. I call them forth to credit her.

Enter four or five Serving-men.

Gru. Why, the comes to borrow nothing of them.

Nat, Welcome home, Grumio.

Phil. How now, Grumio?

Jof. What, Grumio!

Nich. Fellow Grumio!

Nath. How now, old lad.

Gra. 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 master? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be -cock's paffion, filence! I hear my master.

not

Enter Petruchio and Kate.

Pet. Where be these knaves? what, no man at door to hold my ftirrup, 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 loggerhead and unpolish'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 peafant fwain, you whorefon, malt-horse Did not I bid thee meet me in the park,

[drudge,

And bring along these rafcal 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 Reter's hat,

And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing:
There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory,
The reft were ragged, old, and beggarly,

Yet as they are, here are they come to meet you.

Pet. Go, rafcals, go, and fetch my fupper in.

[Exeunt Servants. [Singing.

fit down, Kate,

Where is the life that late I led?

And welcome. Soud, foud, foud, foud.

Enter Servants with Supper.

Why, when, I fay? nay, good fweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogue: you villains, when?