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be Vincentio of Pisa,

      And make assurance here in Padua

      Of greater sums than I have promised.

      So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,

      And marry sweet Bianca with consent.

       Luc.

      Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster

      Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,

      ’Twere good methinks to steal our marriage,

      Which once perform’d, let all the world say no,

      I’ll keep mine own, despite of all the world.

       Tra.

      That by degrees we mean to look into,

      And watch our vantage in this business.

      We’ll overreach the greybeard, Gremio,

      The narrow-prying father, Minola,

      The quaint musician, amorous Litio,

      All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.

       Enter Gremio.

      Signior Gremio, came you from the church?

       Gre.

      As willingly as e’er I came from school.

       Tra.

      And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?

       Gre.

      A bridegroom, say you? ’tis a groom indeed,

      A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.

       Tra.

      Curster than she? why, ’tis impossible.

       Gre.

      Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.

       Tra.

      Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.

       Gre.

      Tut, she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool to him!

      I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest

      Should ask if Katherine should be his wife,

      “Ay, by gogs-wouns,” quoth he, and swore so loud,

      That all amaz’d the priest let fall the book,

      And as he stoop’d again to take it up,

      This mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff

      That down fell priest and book, and book and priest.

      “Now take them up,” quoth he, “if any list.”

       Tra.

      What said the wench when he rose again?

       Gre.

      Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp’d and swore

      As if the vicar meant to cozen him.

      But after many ceremonies done,

      He calls for wine. “A health!” quoth he, as if

      He had been aboard, carousing to his mates

      After a storm, quaff’d off the muscadel,

      And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face,

      Having no other reason

      But that his beard grew thin and hungerly,

      And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking.

      This done, he took the bride about the neck,

      And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack

      That at the parting all the church did echo.

      And I seeing this, came thence for very shame,

      And after me I know the rout is coming.

      Such a mad marriage never was before.

      Hark, hark, I hear the minstrels play.

       Music plays.

       Enter Petruchio, Kate, Bianca, Hortensio [as Litio], Baptista, [Grumio, and Train].

       Pet.

      Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains.

      I know you think to dine with me to-day,

      And have prepared great store of wedding cheer,

      But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,

      And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

       Bap.

      Is’t possible you will away to-night?

       Pet.

      I must away to-day, before night come.

      Make it no wonder; if you knew my business,

      You would entreat me rather go than stay.

      And, honest company, I thank you all

      That have beheld me give away myself

      To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.

      Dine with my father, drink a health to me,

      For I must hence, and farewell to you all.

       Tra.

      Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.

       Pet.

      It may not be.

       Gre.

      Let me entreat you.

       Pet.

      It cannot be.

       Kath.

      Let me entreat you.

       Pet.

      I am content.

       Kath.

      Are you content to stay?

       Pet.

      I am content you shall entreat me stay,

      But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

       Kath.

      Now if you love me stay.

       Pet.

      Grumio, my horse.

      Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready; the oats have eaten the horses.

       Kath.

      Nay then,

      Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day,

      No, nor to-morrow—not till I please myself.

      The door is open, sir, there lies your way;

      You may be jogging whiles your boots are green.

      For me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself.

      ’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom,

      That take it on you at the first so roundly.

       Pet.

      O

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