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And thou, Hortenfio, with thy loving Widow;
Feast with the beft, and welcome to my house,
My banquet is to close our ftomachs up
After our great good cheer: pray you, fit down;
For now we fit to chat, as well as eat.

Pet. Nothing but fit and fit, and eat and eat!
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, Son Petruchio.
Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.
Hor. For both our fakes, I would that word were

true.

Pet. (25) Now, for my life, Hortenfio fears his Widow.

Wid. Then never trust me, if I be afeard.

Pet. You are very fenfible, and yet you miss my sense:

I mean, Hortenfio is afeard of you.

Wid. He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns round. Pet. Roundly replied.

Cath. Miftrefs, how mean you that?

Wid. Thus I conceive by him.

Pet. Conceives by me, how likes Hortenfio that? Hor. My widow fays, thus fhe conceives her tale. Pet. Very well mended; kifs him for that, good Widow.

Cath. He, that is giddy, thinks, the world turns 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 fecond Folio Edition: Mr. Rowe follow'd that Regulation; and Mr. Pope very judiciously has follow'd him. But the old Quarto's and firft Folio Impreffion rightly place it to the Widow: and it is evident by Petruchio's immediate Reply, that it muft belong to her. Petruchio fays, Hortenfio fears his Widow. The Widow underflanding This, as if Petruchio had meant, that Hortenfio affrighted her, put her into fears, denies, that She was afraid of him. Nay, fays Petruchio, don't be too fenfible, don't mistake my Meaning; Hortenfia, I fay, is in Fear of You,

Cath.

Cath. A very mean meaning.

Wid. Right, I mean you.

Cath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.

Pet. To her, Kate.

Hor. To her, Widow.

Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. Hor. That's my office.

Pet. Spoke like an Officer; ha', to thee, lad. [Drinks to Hortenfio. Bap. How likes Gremio thefe quick-witted folks? Gre. Believe me, Sir, they butt heads together well. Bian. Head and butt? an hafty-witted body Would fay, your head and butt were head and horn. Vin. Ay, miftrefs Bride, hath that awaken'd you? Bian. Ay, but not frighted me, therefore I'll fleep again.

Pet. Nay, that thou shalt not, fince you have be

gun:

Have at you for a better jeft or two.

Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to fhift my bush:
And then purfue 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 fhot and mifs'd.

Tra. Oh, Sir, Lucentio flip'd me like his gray-hound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master. Pet. A good fwift Simile, but fomething currifh. Tra. 'Tis well, Sir, that you hunted for your felf: 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. Bap. Oh, oh, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. Hor. Confefs, confess, hath he not hit Pet. He has a little gall'd me, I confefs; And as the jeft did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. Bap. Now, in good fadnefs, Son Petruchio, I think, thou haft the veriest Shrew of all.

you

there?

Pet.

Pet. Well, I fay, no; and therefore for affurance,
Let's each one fend unto his Wife, and he
Whose Wife is most obedient to come first,

When he doth fend for her, fhall win the wager.
Hor. Content; what wager?

;

Luc. Twenty crowns.

Pet. Twenty crowns!

I'll venture fo much on my hawk or hound,
But twenty times fo much upon my Wife.
Luc. A hundred then.

Hor. Content.

Pet. A match, 'tis done.

Hor. Who fhall begin?

Luc. That will I.

Go, Biondello, bid your Mistress come to me.
Bion. I go.

Bap. Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes.
Luc. I'll have no halves: I'll bear it all my

Re-enter Biondello.

How now, what news?

Bion. Sir, my Mistress fends you word

That she is bufie, and cannot come.

[Exit.

felf.

Pet. How? fhe's bufie 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 she needs must

come.

Hor. I am afraid, Sir, do you what you can,

Enter Biondello.

Yours will not be intreated: now, where's my wife? Bion. She fays, you have fome goodly jeft in hand;

She will not come: the bids you come to her.

Pet.

Pet. Worfe and worse, she will not come !
Oh vile, intolerable, not to be indur'd:
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your Mistress,
Say, I command her to come to me.
Hor. I know her answer.

Pet. What?

Hor. She will not.

[Exit Gru.

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there's an end.

Enter Catharina.

Bap. Now, by my hollidam, here comes Catharine! Cath. What is your will, Sir, that you fend for me? Pet. Where is your Sifter, and Hortenfio'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 fay, and bring them hither ftraight.

[Exit Catharina.
Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
Hor. And fo it is: I wonder, what it boads.
Pet. Marry, peace it boads, and love, and quiet life,
And awful rule, and right fupremacy :

And, to be fhort, what not, that's fweet and happy.
Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou haft won; and I will add
Unto their loffes twenty thousand crowns,
Another dowry to another Daughter;
For fhe is chang'd, as fhe had never been.
Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
And fhow more fign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.

Enter Catharina, Bianca and Widow.

See, where fhe comes, and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly perfuafion :

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 caufe to figh, 'Till I be brought to fuch a filly pass.

Bian. Fie, what a foolish duty call you this? Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too! The wifdom of your duty, fair Bianca,

Coft me an hundred crowns fince fupper-time.
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.
Pet. Catharine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong
Women,

What duty they owe to their Lords and Husbands. Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling.

Pet. Come on, I fay, and firft begin with her.
Wid. She fhall not.

Pet. I fay, the fhall; and firft begin with her.
Cath. Fie! fie! unknit that threatning unkind brow,
And dart not fcornful glances from thofe eyes,
To wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Governor.
It blots thy beauty, as frofts bite the meads;
Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds fhake fair buds
And in no fenfe is meet or amiable.

A Woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-feeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
And while it is fo, none fo dry or thirsty
Will dain to fip, or touch one drop of it.
Thy Husband is thy Lord, thy Life, thy Keeper,
Thy Head, thy Soveraign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance: commits his body
To painful labour, both by fea and land;
To watch the night in ftorms, the day in cold,
While thou ly'ft warm at home, fecure and safe,
And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience;
Too little payment for fo great a debt.
Such duty as the Subject owes the Prince,
Even fuch a woman oweth to her husband :
And when fhe's froward, peevish, fullen, fower,
And not obedient to his honeft will;

What is the but a foul contending Rebel,
And graceless Traitor to her loving Lord?
VOL. II,

A a

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