LITMIR.BIZ

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{Returning.]

       Madam, my instrument’s in tune.

       BIANCA.

       Let’s hear.—

       [HORTENSIO plays.]

       O fie! the treble jars.

       LUCENTIO.

       Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.

       BIANCA. Now let me see if I can construe it: ‘Hic ibat Simois,’ I know you not; ‘hic est Sigeia tellus,’ I trust you not; ‘Hic steterat Priami,’ take heed he hear us not; ‘regia,’ presume not; ‘celsa senis,’ despair not.

       HORTENSIO.

       Madam, ‘tis now in tune.

       LUCENTIO.

       All but the base.

       HORTENSIO.

       The base is right; ‘tis the base knave that jars.

       How fiery and forward our pedant is!

       [Aside] Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:

       Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.

       BIANCA.

       In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

       LUCENTIO.

       Mistrust it not; for sure, AEacides

       Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.

       BIANCA.

       I must believe my master; else, I promise you,

       I should be arguing still upon that doubt;

       But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.

       Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,

       That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

       HORTENSIO.

       [To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave awhile;

       My lessons make no music in three parts.

       LUCENTIO.

       Are you so formal, sir?

       [Aside] Well, I must wait,

       And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,

       Our fine musician groweth amorous.

       HORTENSIO.

       Madam, before you touch the instrument,

       To learn the order of my fingering,

       I must begin with rudiments of art;

       To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,

       More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,

       Than hath been taught by any of my trade:

       And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

       BIANCA.

       Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

       HORTENSIO.

       Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

       BIANCA.

       ‘Gamut’ I am, the ground of all accord,

       ‘A re,’ to plead Hortensio’s passion;

       ‘B mi,’ Bianca, take him for thy lord,

       ‘C fa ut,’ that loves with all affection:

       ‘D sol re,’ one clef, two notes have I

       ‘E la mi,’ show pity or I die.

       Call you this gamut? Tut, I like it not:

       Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,

       To change true rules for odd inventions.

       [Enter a SERVANT.]

       SERVANT.

       Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,

       And help to dress your sister’s chamber up:

       You know tomorrow is the wedding-day.

       BIANCA.

       Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be gone.

       [Exeunt BIANCA and SERVANT.]

       LUCENTIO.

       Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

       [Exit.]

       HORTENSIO.

       But I have cause to pry into this pedant:

       Methinks he looks as though he were in love.

       Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble

       To cast thy wand’ring eyes on every stale,

       Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,

       Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.

       [Exit.]

      SCENE II. The same. Before BAPTISTA’S house.

       [Enter BAPTISTA, GREMIO, TRANIO, KATHERINA, BIANCA, LUCENTIO, and

       ATTENDANTS.]

       BAPTISTA. [To TRANIO.]

       Signior Lucentio, this is the ‘pointed day

       That Katherine and Petruchio should be married,

       And yet we hear not of our son-in-law.

       What will be said? What mockery will it be

       To want the bridegroom when the priest attends

       To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage!

       What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

       KATHERINA.

       No shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc’d

       To give my hand, oppos’d against my heart,

       Unto a madbrain rudesby, full of spleen;

       Who woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.

       I told you, I, he was a frantic fool,

       Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour;

       And to be noted for a merry man,

       He’ll woo a thousand, ‘point the day of marriage,

       Make friends invited, and proclaim the banns;

       Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d.

       Now must the world point at poor Katherine,

       And say ‘Lo! there is mad Petruchio’s wife,

       If it would please him come and marry her.’

       TRANIO.

       Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.

       Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,

       Whatever fortune stays him from his word:

       Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;

       Though he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.

       KATHERINA.

       Would Katherine had never seen him though!

       [Exit, weeping, followed by BIANCA and others.]

       BAPTISTA.

       Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,

       For such an injury would vex a very saint;

       Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.

       [Enter BIONDELLO.]

       Master, master! News! old news, and such news as you never heard of!

       BAPTISTA.

       Is it new and old too? How may that be?

       BIONDELLO.

       Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio’s coming?

       BAPTISTA.

       Is he come?

       BIONDELLO.

       Why, no, sir.

       BAPTISTA.

      

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