The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 22
BAPTISTA
A mighty man of Pisa. By report
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.
(To Hortensio) Take you the lute, (to Lucentio) and you
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 Lucentio and Hortensio,
[Biondello following]
(To Petruccio) 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.
PETRUCCIO
Signor 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 bettered rather than decreased.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
BAPTISTA
After my death the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
PETRUCCIO
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.
BAPTISTA
Ay, when the special thing is well obtained—
That is her love, for that is all in all.
PETRUCCIO
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.
BAPTISTA
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed.
But be thou armed for some unhappy words.
PETRUCCIO
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shakes not though they blow perpetually.
Enter Hortensio with his head broke
BAPTISTA
How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale?
HORTENSIO
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
BAPTISTA
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
HORTENSIO
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier.
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
BAPTISTA
Why then, thou canst not break her to the lute?
HORTENSIO
Why no, for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her she mistook her frets,
And bowed 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 had she studied to misuse me so.
PETRUCCIO
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!
BAPTISTA (to Hortensio)
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.
Signor Petruccio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ?
PETRUCCIO
I pray you, do.
Exeunt all but Petruccio
I’ll attend her here,
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 washed 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, Petruccio, speak.
Enter Katherina
Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name, I hear.
KATHERINE
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing.
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
PETRUCCIO
You lie, in faith, for you are called 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 praised in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded—
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs—
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.
KATHERINE
Moved? In good time. Let him that moved you hither
Re-move you hence. I knew you at the first
You were a movable.
PETRUCCIO
Why, what’s a movable?
KATHERINE
A joint-stool.
PETRUCCIO
Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.
KATHERINE
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
PETRUCCIO
Women are made to bear, and so are you.
KATHERINE
No such jade as you, if me you mean.
PETRUCCIO
Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee,
For knowing thee to be but young and light.
KATHERINE
Too light for such a swain as you to catch,
And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 205
PETRUCCIO
Should be?—should buzz.
KATHERINE Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.
PETRUCCIO
O slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?
KATHERINE
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
PETRUCCIO
Come, come, you wasp, i’faith you are too angry.
KATHERINE
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
PETRUCCIO
My remedy is then to pluck it out.
KATHERINE
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
PETRUCCIO
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.
KATHERINE In his tongue.
PETRUCCIO Whose tongue?
KATHERINE
Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
PETRUCCIO
What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate, I am a gentleman.
KATHERINE That I’ll try.
She strikes him
PETRUCCIO
I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.
KATHERINE So may you lose your arms.
And if no gentleman, why then, no arms.
PETRUCCIO
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books.
KATHERINE What is your crest—a coxcomb?
PETRUCCIO
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
KATHERINE
No cock of mine. You crow too like a craven.
PETRUCCIO
Nay, come, Kate, come. You must not look so sour.
KATHERINE
It is my fashion when I see a crab.
PETRUCCIO
Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.
KATHERINE There is, there is.
PETRUCCIO Then show it me. 230
KATHERINE
Had I a glass I would.
PETRUCCIO
What, you mean my face?
KATHERINE
Well aimed, of such a young one.
PETRUCCIO
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
KATHERINE
Yet you are withered.
PETRUCCIO ‘Tis with cares.
KATHERINE
I care not.
PETRUCCIO
Nay, hear you, Kate. In sooth, you scape not so. 235
KATHERINE
I chafe you if I tarry. Let me go.
PETRUCCIO
No, not a whit. I find you passing gentle.
‘Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar,
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.
Thou canst not frown. Thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk,
But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft, and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O sland’rous world ! Kate like the hazel twig
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazelnuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O let me see thee walk. Thou dost not halt.
KATHERINE
Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.
PETRUCCIO
Did ever Dian so become a grove
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful.
KATHERINE
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
PETRUCCIO
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
KATHERINE
A witty mother, witless else her son.
PETRUCCIO
Am I not wise?
KATHERINE Yes, keep you warm.
PETRUCCIO
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.
And therefore setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife, your dowry ’greed on,
And will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn,
For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty—
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well—
Thou must be married to no man but me,
Enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio as Lucentio
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Here comes your father. Never make denial.
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
BAPTISTA Now, Signor Petruccio, how speed you with my daughter? 276
PETRUCCIO How but well, sir, how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
BAPTISTA
Why, how now, daughter Katherine—in your dumps?
KATHERINE
Call you me daughter? Now I promise you 280
You have showed a tender fatherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half-lunatic,
A madcap ruffian and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
PETRUCCIO
Father, ‘tis thus: yourself and all the world 285
That talked of her have talked amiss of her.
If she be curst, it is for policy,
For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove.
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn.
For patience she will prove a second Grissel, 290
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together
That upon Sunday is the wedding day.
KATHERINE
I’ll see thee hanged on Sunday first.
GREMIO Hark, Petruccio, she says she’ll see thee hanged first. 296
TRANIO
Is this your speeding ? Nay then, goodnight our part.
PETRUCCIO
Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself.
If she and I be pleased, what’s that to you?
Tis bargained ‘twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me. O, the kindest Kate I
She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O, you are novices. ‘Tis a world to see
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate. I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding day.
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests.
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.
BAPTISTA
I know not what to say, but give me your hands.
God send you joy, Petruccio! ’Tis a match.
GREMIO and TRANIO
Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.
PETRUCCIO
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.
I will to Venice. Sunday comes apace.
We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And kiss me, Kate. We will be married o’ Sunday.
Exeunt Petruccio and Katherine, severally
GREMIO
Was ever match clapped up so suddenly?
BAPTISTA
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
TRANIO
‘Twas a commodity lay fretting by you.
’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
BAPTISTA
The gain I seek is quiet in the match.
GREMIO
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter.
Now is the day we long have looked for.
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
TRANIO
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.
GREMIO
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
TRANIO
Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.
GREMIO But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back. ’Tis age that nourisheth.
TRANIO
But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.
BAPTISTA A
Content you, gentlemen. I will compound this strife.
’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have my Bianca’s love.
Say, Signor Gremio, what can you assure her?
GREMIO
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold,
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry.
In ivory coffers I have stuffed my crowns,
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,
Costly apparel, tents and canopies,
Fine linen, Turkey cushions bossed with pearl,
Valance of Venice gold in needlework, 350
Pewter, and brass, and all things that belongs
To house or housekeeping. Then at my farm
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls,
And all things answerable to this portion. 355
Myself am struck in years, I must confess,
And if I die tomorrow this is hers,
If whilst I live she will be only mine.
TRANIO
That ‘only’ came well in. Sir, list to me.
I am my father’s heir and only son.
If I may have your daughter to my wife
I’ll leave her houses three or four as good,
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old Signor Gremio has in Padua,
Besides two thousand ducats by the year
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure.
What, have I pinched you, Signor Gremio?
GREMIO
Two thousand ducats by the year of land—
My land amounts not to so much in all.
That she shall have; besides, an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles road.
What, have I choked you with an argosy?
TRANIO
Gremio, ‘tis known my father hath no less
Than three great argosies, besides two galliasses
And twelve tight galleys. These I will assure her,
And twice as much whate’er thou off’rest next.
GREMIO
Nay, I have offered all. I have no more,
And she can have no more than all I have.
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
TRANIO
Why then, the maid is mine from all the world.
By your firm promise Gremio is out-vied.
BAPTISTA
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?
TRANIO
That’s but a cavil. He is old, I young.
GREMIO
And may not young men die as well as old ?
BAPTISTA Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolved. On Sunday next, you know,
My daughter Katherine is to be married.
(To Tranio) Now, on the Sunday following shall
Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance;