LITMIR.BIZ

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       To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?

       Your ships are stay’d at Venice; and the duke,—

       For private quarrel ‘twixt your duke and him,—

       Hath publish’d and proclaim’d it openly.

       ‘Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come

       You might have heard it else proclaim’d about.

       PEDANT.

       Alas, sir! it is worse for me than so;

       For I have bills for money by exchange

       From Florence, and must here deliver them.

       TRANIO.

       Well, sir, to do you courtesy,

       This will I do, and this I will advise you:

       First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?

       PEDANT.

       Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,

       Pisa renowned for grave citizens.

       TRANIO.

       Among them know you one Vincentio?

       PEDANT.

       I know him not, but I have heard of him,

       A merchant of incomparable wealth.

       TRANIO.

       He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,

       In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

       BIONDELLO.

       [Aside.] As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all one.

       TRANIO.

       To save your life in this extremity,

       This favour will I do you for his sake;

       And think it not the worst of all your fortunes

       That you are like to Sir Vincentio.

       His name and credit shall you undertake,

       And in my house you shall be friendly lodg’d;

       Look that you take upon you as you should!

       You understand me, sir; so shall you stay

       Till you have done your business in the city.

       If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.

       PEDANT.

       O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever

       The patron of my life and liberty.

       TRANIO.

       Then go with me to make the matter good.

       This, by the way, I let you understand:

       My father is here look’d for every day

       To pass assurance of a dower in marriage

       ‘Twixt me and one Baptista’s daughter here:

       In all these circumstances I’ll instruct you.

       Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE III. A room in PETRUCHIO’S house.

       [Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO.]

       GRUMIO.

       No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.

       KATHERINA.

       The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.

       What, did he marry me to famish me?

       Beggars that come unto my father’s door

       Upon entreaty have a present alms;

       If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;

       But I, who never knew how to entreat,

       Nor never needed that I should entreat,

       Am starv’d for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;

       With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed.

       And that which spites me more than all these wants,

       He does it under name of perfect love;

       As who should say, if I should sleep or eat

       ‘Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.

       I prithee go and get me some repast;

       I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

       GRUMIO.

       What say you to a neat’s foot?

       KATHERINA.

       ‘Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.

       GRUMIO.

       I fear it is too choleric a meat.

       How say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?

       KATHERINA.

       I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.

       GRUMIO.

       I cannot tell; I fear ‘tis choleric.

       What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

       KATHERINA.

       A dish that I do love to feed upon.

       GRUMIO.

       Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

       KATHERINA.

       Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.

       GRUMIO.

       Nay, then I will not: you shall have the mustard,

       Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

       KATHERINA.

       Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.

       GRUMIO.

       Why then the mustard without the beef.

       KATHERINA.

       Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

       [Beats him.]

       That feed’st me with the very name of meat.

       Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you

       That triumph thus upon my misery!

       Go, get thee gone, I say.

       [Enter PETRUCHIO with a dish of meat; and HORTENSIO.]

       PETRUCHIO.

       How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

       HORTENSIO.

       Mistress, what cheer?

       KATHERINA.

       Faith, as cold as can be.

       PETRUCHIO.

       Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.

       Here, love; thou seest how diligent I am,

       To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee:

       [Sets the dish on a table.]

       I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.

       What! not a word? Nay, then thou lov’st it not,

       And all my pains is sorted to no proof.

       Here, take away this dish.

       KATHERINA.

       I pray you, let it stand.

       PETRUCHIO.

       The poorest service is repaid with thanks;

       And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.

       KATHERINA.

       I thank you, sir.

       HORTENSIO.

       Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.

       Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.

       PETRUCHIO.

       [Aside.] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.

       Much good do it unto thy gentle

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