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And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving Widow;
Pet. Nothing but fit and fit, and eat and eat!
Pet. (25) Now, for my life, Hortenfio fears his Wi
dow. Wid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you miss my
Wid. He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns round.
round I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.
Wid. Your Husband, being troubled with a Shrew, Measures my Husband's forrow by his woe; And now you know my meaning.
(25) Pet. Now, for my Life, Hortenfio fears his Widow.
Hor. Then never trust me if I be afeard.] This Line was first placed to Hortenfio by the second Folio Edition: Mr. Rowe follow'd that Regulation ; and Mr. Pope very judiciously has follow'd him. But the old Quarto's and first Folio Impression rightly place it to the Widow: and it is evident by Petruchio's immediate Reply, that it must belong to her. Petruchio says, Hortenfio fears his Widow. The Widow understanding This, as if Petruchio had meant, that Hortenfio affrighted her, put her into fears, denies, that She was afraid of him. Nay, says Petruchio, don't be too sensible, don't mistake my Meaning ; Hortensia, I say, is in Fear of You,
Cath. A very mean meaning.
[Drinks to Hortensio. Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? Gre. Believe me, "Sir, they butt heads together well.
Bian. Head and butt? an hafty-witted body
Vin. Ay, mistress Bride, hath that awaken'd you?
again. Pet. Nay, that thou shalt not, since you have be .
gun : Have at you for a better jest or two. Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my
bush: And then pursue me, as you draw your bow. You are welcome all.
[Exeunt Bianca, Catharine, and Widow. Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio, This bird you aim'd at, tho' you hit it not ; Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd.
Tra. Oh, Sir, Lucentio flip'd me like his gray-hound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
Pet. A good swift Simile, but something currish.
Tra. 'Tis well, Sir, that you hunted for your self : 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay.
Bap. Oh, oh, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.
Pet. He has a little galld me, I confess;
Bap. Now, in good sadness, Son Petruchio, I think, thou hast the veriest Shrew of all.
Pet. Well, I say, no; and therefore for assurance,
Hor. Content; what wager?
Pet. Twenty crowns !
Luc. A hundred then.
Luc. That will I.
[Exit. Bap. Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes. Luc. I'll have no halves: I'll bear it all my self.
Bion. I go.
How now, what news?
word That she is busie, and cannot come. Pet. How? she's busie and cannot come : is that an
answer? Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : Pray God, Sir, your wife fend you not a worse.
Pet. I hope better.
Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go and intreat my wife to come to me forthwith.
[Exit Biondello. Pet. Oh, ho! intreat her! nay, then the needs must
Hor. I am afraid, Sir, do you what you can,
Enter Biondello. Yours will not be intreated: now, where's my wife?
Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come : The bids you come to her.
Pet. Worse and worse, she will not come !
Hor. I know her answer.
Bap. Now, by my hollidam, here comes Catharine ! Cath. What is your will, Sir, that you send for me? Pet. Where is your Sister, and Hortensio's Wife? Cath. They fit conferring by the parlour fire.
Pet. Go fetch them hither; if they deny to come, Swinge me them foundly forth unto their husbands : Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
[Exit Catharina. Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. Hor. And so it is: I wonder, what it boads.
Pet. Marry, peace it boads, and love, and quiet life,
Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
Enter Catharina, Bianca and Widow. See, where she comes, and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion : Catharine, that Cap of yours becomes you not; Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. (She pulls off her cap, and throws it down.
Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to Tigh, 'Till I be brought to such a filly pafs.
Bian. Fie, what a foolish duty call you this ?
Luc. I would, your duty were as foolifh too!
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.
What duty they owe to their Lords and Husbands.
Cath. Fie! fie! unknit that threatning unkind brow,
; What is The but a foul contending Rebel, And graceless Traitor to her loving Lord?