If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I pray?
Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.

Bap. A mighty man of Pisa; by report

I know him well: you are very welcome, sir.

Take you [To Hor.] the lute, and you [To Luc.] the set of books,

You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!

Enter a Servant.

Sirrah, lead

These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both,

These are their tutors; bid them use them well. [Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio, and Biondello.

We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner: You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.

Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well; and in him, me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd:
Then tell me,—if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands; And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.

Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her widowhood,-be it that she survive me,— In all my lands and leases whatsoever:

Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, This is, her love; for that is all in all.

Pet. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her, and so she yields to me;

For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed!

But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually.

Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken. Bap. How now, my friend? why dost thou look so pale?

Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

Hor. I think, she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?

Hor. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her, she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit,

Frets, call you these? quoth she: I'll fume with them:
And, with that word, she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way;
And there I stood amazed for a-while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute:
While she did call me, rascal fiddler,

And-twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As she had studied to misuse me so.

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench;

I love her ten times more than e'er I did:

O, how I long to have some chat with her! Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited:

Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns.--
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us;
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
Pet. I pray you do; I will attend her here,-

[Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, and Hortensio.
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say, that she rail; Why, then I'll tell her plain,
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale:

Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew:

Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word;
Then I'll commend her volubility,
And say-she uttereth piercing eloquence:
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day

When I shall ask the banns, and when be married:--But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter Katharina.

Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing;

They call me-Katharine, that do talk of me.
Pet. You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain
Kate,

And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates: and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation;-
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

Kath. Mov'd! in good time: let him that mov'd you hither,

Remove you hence: I knew you at the first,

You were a moveable.

Pet.

Why, what's a moveable?

Kath. A joint-stool.

Pet. Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are you. Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. Pet. Alas, good Kate! I will not burden thee: For, knowing thee to be but young and light,

Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet. Should be? should buz.

Kath.

Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.

Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take

thee?

Kath. Ay, for a turtle; as he takes a buzzard. Pet. Come, come, you wasp; i'faith, you are too angry.

Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Pet. My remedy is then, to pluck it out.
Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his
sting?

In his tail.

Kath.

Pet.

Whose tongue?

Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails; and so farewel. Pet. What, with my tongue in tail? nay, come again,

your

Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
Kath.

In his tongue.

That I'll try.

[Striking him. Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. Kath. So may you lose your arms:

If you strike me, you are no gentleman;
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms.

Pet. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books.
Kath. What is your crest? a coxcomb?
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a

craven.

Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look

so sour.

Kath. It is my fashion, when I see a crab.