The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. William Shakespeare
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Accept of him, or else you do me wrong:
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
BAPTISTA.
You’re welcome, sir, and he for your good sake;
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
PETRUCHIO.
I see you do not mean to part with her;
Or else you like not of my company.
BAPTISTA.
Mistake me not; I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?
PETRUCHIO.
Petruchio is my name, Antonio’s son;
A man well known throughout all Italy.
BAPTISTA.
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.
GREMIO.
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too.
Backare! you are marvellous forward.
PETRUCHIO.
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.
GREMIO. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar, [Presenting LUCENTIO.]
that has been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics. His name is Cambio; pray accept his service.
BAPTISTA.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio; welcome, good Cambio.—
[To TRANIO.]
But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger: may
I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?
TRANIO.
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request,
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome ‘mongst the rest that woo,
And free access and favour as the rest:
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books:
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
BAPTISTA.
Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?
TRANIO.
Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
BAPTISTA.
A mighty man of Pisa: by report
I know him well: you are very welcome, sir.
[To HORTENSIO.] Take you the lute,
[To LUCENTIO.] and you the set of books;
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!
[Enter a SERVANT.]
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my two daughters, and tell them both
These are their tutors: bid them use them well.
[Exit SERVANT, with HORTENSIO, LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO.]
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
PETRUCHIO.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d:
Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
BAPTISTA.
After my death, the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
PETRUCHIO.
And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialities be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
BAPTISTA.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury:
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all;
So I to her, and so she yields to me;
For I am rough and woo not like a babe.
BAPTISTA.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.
PETRUCHIO.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shake not though they blow perpetually.
[Re-enter HORTENSIO, with his head broke.]
BAPTISTA.
How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?
HORTENSIO.
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
BAPTISTA.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
HORTENSIO.
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier:
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
BAPTISTA.
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
HORTENSIO.
Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
And bow’d her hand to teach her fingering;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,
‘Frets, call you these?’ quoth she ‘I’ll fume with them’;
And with that word she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute;
While she did call me rascal fiddler,