ACT III. SCENE, Baptifta's House. Enter Lucentio, Hortenfio, and Bianca. LUCENT10. Have you fo foon forgot the entertainment Her fifter Catharine welcom'd you withal ? Hor. [Sheisa Shrew, but,] Wrangling Pedant, this is (13) The patronefs of heavenly harmony; Then give me leave to have prerogative; Then give me leave to read philofophy, Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. (13) Wrangling Pedant, this The Patronefs of heavenly Harmony.] There can be no Reafon, why Hortenfio fhould begin with an Hemiftich; the Words, which I have added to fill the Verfe, being purely by Conjecture, and fupply'd by the Senfe that feems required, without any Traces of a corrupted Reading left, to authorize or found them upon; I have for that Reafon inclofed them within Crotchets, to be embraced or rejected, at every Reader's pleasure. I am no breeching fcholar in the schools; Hor. You'll leave his lecture, when I am in tune? Luc. Here, Madam: Hac ibat Simois, bic eft Sigeia tellus, Hic fleterat Priami regia celfa fenis. Bian. Conftrue them. Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, bic eft, fon unto Vincentio of Pifa, Sigeia tellus, difguifed thus to get your love, hic fteterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celfa fenis, that we might beguile the old Pantaloon. Hor. Madam, my inftrument's in tune. Bian. Let's hear. [Returning. O fie, the treble jars. Bian. Now let me fee, if I can conftrue it; Hac ibat Simois, I know you not, hic eft Sigeia tellus, I trust you not, hic fteterat Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, prefume not, celfa fenis, defpair not. Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. Luc. All but the base. Hor. The bafe is right, 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and how froward is our Pedant! Now, for my life, that knave doth court my love; Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. (14) (14) In time I may believe, yet I miftruft.] [This and the feven Verfes, that follow, have in all the Editions been ftupidly fhuffled and mifplaced to wrong Speakers; fo that every Word faid was giaringly out of Character. Bian. I muft believe my mafter, elfe I promise you, I fhould be arguing ftill upon that doubt; But let it reft. Now, Licio, to you: Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave a while; My leffons make no mufick in three parts. Luc. Are you fo formal, Sir? well, I muft wait, And watch withal; for but I be deceived, Our fine musician groweth amorous. Hor. Madam, before you touch the inftrument, Bian. Why, I am pait my Gamut long ago. Bian. [reading.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord, B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, D folre, one cliff, but two notes have I. E la mi, fhow pity, or I die. Call you this Gamut? tut, I like it not; Old fashions please me beft; I'm not so nice (15) Enter a Servant. Serv. Miftrefs, your father prays you leave your books, (15) Old fashions please me beft: I'm not so nice To change true Rules for new Inventions.] And This is Senfe and the Meaning of the Paffage; but the Reading of the Second Verfe, for all that, is fophifticated. Copies all concur in Reading, To change true Rules for old Inventions. The genuine This And help to dress your fifter's chamber up; Hor. But I have caufe to pry into this pedant, [Exit. [Exit. Enter Baptifta, Gremio, Tranio, Catharina, Lu- Bap. Signior Lucentio, this is the 'pointed day What fays Lucentio to this fhame of ours? Cath. No fhame, but mine; I muft, forfooth, be forc'd To give my hand oppos'd against my heart, Unto a mad brain Rudefby, full of spleen; Who woo'd in hafte, and means to wed at leifure. He'll woo a thoufand, 'point the day of marriage, This, indeed, is contrary to the very Thing it should exprefs: But the eafy Alteration, which I have made, reftores the Senfe, and adds a Contraft in the Terms perfectly just. True Rules are oppos'd to ed! Inventions; i, e. Whimfies. If If it would please him come and marry her. Cath. Would Catharine, had never feen him tho'! [Exit weeping. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For fuch an injury would vex a Saint, Much more a Shrew of thy impatient humour. Enter Biondello. Bion. Mafter, Mafter; old news, and fuch news as you never heard of. Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not news to hear of Petruchio's coming? Bap. Is he come ? Bion. Why, no, Sir, Bion. He is coming. Bap. When will he be here? Bion. When he ftands where I am, and es you there. Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn'd; a pair of boots that have been candle-cafes, one buckled, another lac'd; an old rufty fword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points; his horfe hipp'd with an old mothy faddle, the stirrups of no kindred; befides, poffeft with the glanders, and like to mofe in the chine, troubled with the lampaffe, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, fped with spavins, raied with the yellows, paft cure of the fives, ftark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, waid in the back and fhoulderfhotten, near-legg'd before, and with a half-check't bit, and a headstall of sheep's leather, which being restrain'd, |