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Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far
To know the cause why musick was ordain'd!
Was it not, to refresh the mind of man,
After his studies, or his usual pain?

Then give me leave to read philosophy,

And, while I pause, serve in your harmony.

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? [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, so nunto 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 39.

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune.

Bian. Let's hear:

O fie! the treble jars.

[Returning. [Hortensio plays.

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


How fiery and forward our pedant is!

Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:

Pedascule 40, I'll watch you better yet.

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, Æacides

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:

But let it rest.-Now, Licio, to you:

Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,

That I have been thus pleasant with you both. Hor. You may go walk, [To Lucentio,] and give me leave awhile;

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 ordering of my fingering,

I must begin with rudiments of art:
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of

my trade:

And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

Bian. [Reads.] Gamut I am, the ground of all accord,
A re, to plead Hortensio's passion;

B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C faut, that loves with all affection:
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I;
E la mi, show pity, or I die.

Call 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.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,

And help to dress your sister's chamber up;

You know to-morrow is the wedding day.

Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both: I must be


[Exeunt Bianca and Servant.

Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.


Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant: Methinks, he looks as though he were in love:Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, To cast thy wand'ring eyes on every stale, Sieze thee, that list: If once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit.


The same. Before Baptista's House.


Bap. Signior Lucentio, [To Tranio,] this is the 'pointed day

That Katharine and Petruchio should be married.
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law:

What will be said? what mockery will it be,

To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage?

What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?

Kath. No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be


To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart,

Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen1;

Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure.

I told you, I, he was a frantick fool,

Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour:
And, to be noted for a merry man,

He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,

Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katharine,
And say,-Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.

Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista too;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word:
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

Kath. 'Would, Katharine had never seen him though!

[Exit, weeping, followed by Bianca, and Others. Bap. Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For such an injury would vex a saint,

Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.


Bion. Master, master! news, old news, and such 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.

Bap. What then?

Bion. He is coming.

Bap. When will he be here?

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you


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