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That she shall have; besides an argosy,
Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less Than three great argosies; besides two galliasses, And twelve tight gallies: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have;like me, she shall have me and mine. Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the world,
By your firm promise; Gremio is out-vied.
Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me: If you should die before him, where's her dower? Tra. That's but a cavil; he is old, I young. Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old? Bap. Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolv'd:-On sunday next you know,
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;
And so I take my leave, and thank you both. [Exit. Gre. Adieu, good neighbour.-Now I fear thee not;
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and, in his waning age,
Set foot under thy table: Tut! a toy!
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit.
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide. Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.
'Tis in my head to do my master good:-
Do get their children; but, in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
ACT III. SCENE I.
A ROOM IN BAPTISTA'S HOUSE.
Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca.
Luc. Fidler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far
[To Bianca.-Hortensio retires.
Luc. That will be never;-tune your instrument. Bian. Where left we last?
Luc. Here, madam:
Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.
Bian. Construe them.
Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before,-Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa,— Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love;-Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing,— Priami, is my man Tranio,—regia, bearing my port, -celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune.
[Returning. [Hortensio plays.
Bian. Let's hear:
O fie! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not;-Hic steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not;-regia, presume not;-celsa senis, despair not.
Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
All but the base. Hor. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
Was Ajax,-call'd so from his grandfather.
Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise
I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
My lessons make no musick in three parts.
Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all ac
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion;
C faut, that loves with all affection:
you this-gamut? tut! I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, To change true rules for odd inventions.