LITMIR.BIZ

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[Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, and HORTENSIO.]

       And woo her with some spirit when she comes.

       Say that she rail; why, then I’ll tell her plain

       She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:

       Say that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear

       As morning roses newly wash’d with dew:

       Say she be mute, and will not speak a word;

       Then I’ll commend her volubility,

       And say she uttereth piercing eloquence:

       If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks,

       As though she bid me stay by her a week:

       If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day

       When I shall ask the banns, and when be married.

       But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

       [Enter KATHERINA.]

       Good morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.

       KATHERINA.

       Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing:

       They call me Katherine that do talk of me.

       PETRUCHIO.

       You lie, in faith, for you are call’d plain Kate,

       And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;

       But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,

       Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,

       For dainties are all cates: and therefore, Kate,

       Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;

       Hearing thy mildness prais’d in every town,

       Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,—

       Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,—

       Myself am mov’d to woo thee for my wife.

       KATHERINA.

       Mov’d! in good time: let him that mov’d you hither

       Remove you hence. I knew you at the first,

       You were a moveable.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Why, what’s a moveable?

       KATHERINA.

       A joint-stool.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.

       KATHERINA.

       Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Women are made to bear, and so are you.

       KATHERINA.

       No such jade as bear you, if me you mean.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee;

       For, knowing thee to be but young and light,—

       KATHERINA.

       Too light for such a swain as you to catch;

       And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Should be! should buz!

       KATHERINA. Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.

       PETRUCHIO.

       O, slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?

       KATHERINA.

       Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.

       KATHERINA.

       If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

       PETRUCHIO.

       My remedy is, then, to pluck it out.

       KATHERINA.

       Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?

       In his tail.

       KATHERINA.

       In his tongue.

       PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue?

       KATHERINA.

       Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell.

       PETRUCHIO.

       What! with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,

       Good Kate; I am a gentleman.

       KATHERINA.

       That I’ll try.

       [Striking him.]

       PETRUCHIO.

       I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.

       KATHERINA.

       So may you lose your arms:

       If you strike me, you are no gentleman;

       And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

       PETRUCHIO.

       A herald, Kate? O! put me in thy books.

       KATHERINA.

       What is your crest? a coxcomb?

       PETRUCHIO.

       A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

       KATHERINA.

       No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.

       KATHERINA.

       It is my fashion when I see a crab.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.

       KATHERINA.

       There is, there is.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Then show it me.

       KATHERINA.

       Had I a glass I would.

       PETRUCHIO.

       What, you mean my face?

       KATHERINA.

       Well aim’d of such a young one.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

       KATHERINA.

       Yet you are wither’d.

       PETRUCHIO.

       ‘Tis with cares.

       KATHERINA.

       I care not.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you ‘scape not so.

       KATHERINA.

       I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.

       PETRUCHIO.

       No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.

       ‘Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,

       And now I find report a very liar;

       For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,

       But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.

       Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,

       Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,

       Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;

       But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers;

       With gentle conference, soft and affable.

       Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?

      

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