One rich enough to be Petruchio's Wife:
As Wealth is burthen of my wooing Dance;
Be the as Foul as was Florentius Love,
As Old as Sybel, as Curft and Shrew'd
As Socrates's Zantippe, or a worse,
She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
Affections edge in time. Were the as rough
As are the fwelling Adriatick Seas.
I come to Wive it wealthily in Padua :
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
Gru. Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his Mind is: Why give him Gold enough, and marry him to a Puppet, or an Aglet Baby, or an old Trot with ne'er a Tooth in her Head, tho' fhe have as many Diseases as two and fifty Horfes; why nothing comes amifs, fo Mony comes withal.
Hor. Petruchio, fince we are ftept thus far in, I will continue that I broach'd in Jeft,
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a Wife
With Wealth enough, and Young and Beauteous,
Brought up as beft becomes a Gentlewoman.
Her only fault, and that is fault enough,
Is, that fhe is intolerable Curs'd,
And fhrew'd, and froward, fo beyond all measure,
That were my State far worfer than it is,
I would not wed her for a Mine of Gold.
Pet. Hortenfio, peace; thou know'ft not Gold's Effect; Tell me her Father's Name, and 'tis enough:
For I will board her, tho' fhe chide as loud
As Thunder, when the Clouds in Autumn crack.
Hor. Her Father is Baptifta Minola,
An affable and courteous Gentleman,
Her Name is Katherina Minola,
Renown'd in Padua for her fcolding Tongue.
Pet. I know her Father, tho' I know her not,
And he knew my deceased Father well:
I will not fleep, Hortenfio, 'till I fee her,
And therefore let me be thus bold with you,
To give you over at this firft Encounter,
Unless you will accompany me thither.
Gru. I pray you, Sir, let him go while the Humour lafts A my word, and the knew him as well as I do, fhe would think Scolding would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a fcore Knaves, or fo: Why that's nothing; and he begin once, he'll rail in his rope Tricks. I'll tell you what, Sir, and fhe ftand but a little, he will throw a Figure in her Face, and fo disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more Eyes to fee withal than a Cat : You know him not, Sir.
Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
For in Baptifta's House my Treasure is:
He hath the Jewel of my Life in hold,
His youngest Daughter, beautiful Bianca,
And her with-holds he from me.
Sutors to her, and Rivals in my Love:
Suppofing it a thing impoffible,
For those Defects I have before rehears'd,
That ever Katharine will be woo'd;
Therefore this order hath Baptifta ta'en,
That none fhall have accefs unto Bianca,
'Till Katherine the Curs'd have got a Husband.
Gru. Katherine the Curs'd,
A Title for a Maid, of all Titles the worst.
Hor. Now fhall my Friend Petruchio do me grace,
And offer me difguis'd in fober Robes,
To old Baptifta as a School-master.
Well feen in Mufick to inftru&t Bianca,
That fo I may by this Device, at least,
Have leave and leifure to make Love to her,
And unfufpected Court her by her felf.
Enter Gremio and Lucentio difguifed.
Gru. Here's no Knavery! See, to beguile the old Folks, Mafter,
How the young Folks lay their Heads together.
Mafter, look about you: Who comes there? ha.
Hor. Peace, Grumio, it is the Rival of my Love.
Petruchio, ftand by a while.
Gra. A proper Stripling, and an amorous.
Gre. O very well, I have perus'd the Note.
Hark you, Sir, I'll have them very fairly bound,
All Books of Love, fee that at any hand,
And fee you read no other Lectures to her :
You understand me, over and befide
Signior Baptifta's Liberality,
I'll mend it with a Largefs. Take your Paper too,
And let me have them very well perfum'd,
For fhe is fweeter than Perfume it felf.
To whom they go: What will you read to her?
Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you,
As for my Patron, ftand you so affured;
As firmly as your felf were ftill in place,
Yea and perhaps with more fuccefsful words
Than you, unless
you were a Scholar, Sir.
Gre. Oh this Learning, what a thing it is.
Gru. Oh this Woodcock, what an Afs it is.
Pet. Peace, Sirra.
Hor. Grumio, mum! God fave you, Signior Gremio.
Gre. And you are well met, Signior Hortenfio.
Trow you whither I am going? To Baptifta Minola;
I promis'd to enquire carefully
About a School-mafter for the fair Bianca,
And by good Fortune I have lighted well
On this young Man: For Learning and Behaviour
Fit for her turn, well read in Poetry,
And other Books, good ones, I warrant ye.
Hor. 'Tis well; and I have met a Gentleman
Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
A fine Mufician to inftruct our Mistress,
So fhall I no whit be behind in Duty
To fair Bianca, fo belov'd of me.
Gre. Belov'd of me, and that my Deeds fhall prove.
Gru. And that his Bags fhall prove.
Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our Love.
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair,
I'll tell you News indifferent good for either,
Here is a Gentleman whom by chance I met
Upon agreement from us to his Liking,
Will undertake to woo curs'd Katharine,
Yea, and to Marry her, if her Dowry please.
Gre. So faid, fo done, is well;
Hortenfio, have you told him all her Faults?
VOL. II.
Pet. I know fhe is an irksome brawling Scold; If that be all, Masters, I hear no harm.
Gre. No, fayeft me fo, Friend? What Countryman ? Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's Son; My Father's dead, my Fortune lives for me,
And I do hope good Days, and long, to fee.
Gre. Oh Sir, fuch a Life with fuch a Wife were ftrange; But if you have a Stomach, to't a God's Name, You shall have me affifting you in all.
But will you woo this wild Cat?
Pet. Will I live?
Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.
Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent?
Think you a little Din can daunt mine Ears?
Have I not in my time heard Lions roar?
Have I not heard the Sea, puff'd up with Winds,
Rage like an angry Boar, chafed with Sweat?
Have I not heard great Ordnance in the Field?
And Heav'n's Artillery thunder in the Skies?
Have I not in a pitched Battel heard
Loud Larums, neighing Steeds, and Trumpets Clangue?
And do you tell me of a Woman's Tongue,
That gives not half fo great a blow to hear,
As will a Chefnut in a Farmer's Fire?
Tufh, tufh, fear Boys with Bugs.
Gru. For he fears none.
Gre. Hortenfio, hark:
This Gentleman is happily arriv'd,
My Mind prefumes for his own good, and yours.
Hor. I promis'd we would be Contributors,
And bear his Charge of wooing whatsoever.
Gre. And fo we will, provided that he win her.
Gru. I would I were as fure of a good Dinner.
Enter Tranio brave, and Biondello.
Tra. Gentlemen, God fave you. If I may be bold,
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
To the House of Signior Baptifta Minola?
Bion. He that has the two fair Daughters; is't he you
Tra. Even he, Biondello.
Gre. Hark you, Sir, you mean not her to
Tra. Perhaps him and her, what have you to do?
Pet. Not her that chides, Sir, at any hand, I pray.
Tra. I love no Chiders, Sir: Biondello, let's away.
Luc. Well begun, Tranio.
Hor. Sir, a word e'er you go:
Are you a Sutor to the Maid you talk of, yea or no?
Tra. And if I be, Sir, is it any Offence?
Gre. No; if without more words you will get you hence. Tra. Why, Sir, I pray, are not the Streets as free For me, as for you?
Gre. But fo is not fhe.
Tra. For what reafon, I beseech you.
Gre. For this reafon, if you'll know,
That she's the choice Love of Signior Gremio.
Hor. That he's the Chofen of Signior Hortenfio.
Tra. Softly, my Masters: If
you be Gentlemen,
Do me this Right; hear me with Patience.
Baptifta is a noble Gentleman,
To whom my Father is not all unknown,
And were his Daughter fairer than she is,
She may more Sutors have, and me for one.
Fair Lada's Daughter had a thousand Wooers,
Then well may one more fair, Bianca have,
And fo fhe fhall. Lucentio fhall make one,
Tho' Paris came, in hope to speed alone.
Gre. What, this Gentleman will out-talk us all.
Luc. Sir, give him head, I know he'll prove a Jade.
Pet. Hortenfio, to what end are all these words?
Hor. Sir, let me be fo bold as to ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptifta's Daughter?
Tra. No, Sir; but hear I do that he hath two:
The one as famous for a fcolding Tongue,
As is the other for beauteous Majefty.
Pet. Sir, Sir, the firft's for me, let her go by.
Gre. Yea, leave that Labour to great Hercules,
And let it be more than Alcides twelve.
Pet. Sir, underftand you this of me, infooth,
The youngest Daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her Father keeps from all accefs of Sutors,
And will not promife her to any Man,
Q 2
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