Hor. Signior Petruchio, fie, you are to blame : Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. Pet. Eat it up all, Hortenfio, if thou loveft me; Much good do it unto thy gentle heart; [Afide. With filken coats, and caps, and golden rings, With ruffs, and cuffs, and fardingals, and things: With scarfs, and fans, and double change of brav'ry, With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry, What, haft thou din'd? the taylor ftays thy leifure, To deck thy body with his ruftling treasure. Come, taylor, let us see these ornaments. Enter Haberdasher. Lay forth the gown. What news with you, Sir? Hab. Here is the cap your worship did befpeak. Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer, A velvet dish; fie, fie, 'tis lewd and filthy: Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap. Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. Cath. I'll have no bigger, this doth fit the time; And gentlewomen wear fuch caps as these. Pet. When you are gentle, you fhall have one too, And not 'till then. Hor. That will not be in haste. 6 Cath. Why, Sir, I truft, I may have leave to speak, And 6 Why, Sir, I trust. I may have leave to speak, &c.] ShakeSpear has here copied nature with great skill. Petruchio, by frightening, ftarving and overwatching his wife, had tamed her into And speak I will. I am no child, no babe; Pet. Why, thou fay't true, it is a paltry cap, Cath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; Pet. Thy gown? why, ay; come, taylor, let us O mercy, heav'n, what masking stuff is here? Why, what a devil's name, taylor, call'st thou this? [Afide. Tay, You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion of the time. Pet. Marry, and did: but if you be remembred, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you fhall hop without my cuftom, Sir: Cath. I never faw a better fashion'd gown, Pet. Why, true, he means to make a puppet of thee, into gentleness and fubmiffion. And the audience expects to hear no more of the Shrew: When on her being croffed, in the article of fashion and finery, the most inveterate folly of the fex, The flies out again, though for the last time, into all the intemperate rage of her nature, Toy. Tay. She fays, your Worship means to make a puppet of her. Pet. O moft monftrous arrogance! Thou lyeft, thou thread, thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, Tay. Your Worship is deceiv'd, the gown is made Juft as my mafter had direction. Grumio gave order how it fhould be done. Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. Tay. I have. Gru. Face not me: thou haft brav'd many men, brave not me; I will neither be fac'd, nor brav'd. I fay unto thee, I bid thy mafter cut out the gown, but I did not bid him cut it to pieces. Ergo, thou lieft. Tay. Why, here is the note of the fashion to teftify. Pet. Read it. Gru. The note lies in's throat, if he fay I faid fo. Gru. "Mafter, if ever I faid loofe-bodied gown, "fow me up in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: I faid a gown. Pet. Proceed. Tay. With a small compaft cape. Tay. With a trunk-sleeve. Tay. The fleeves curiously cut. Pet. Pet. Ay, there's the villany. Gru. Error i' th' bill, Sir, error i' th' bill: I commanded, the fleeves fhould be cut out, and fow'd up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, tho' thy little finger be armed in a thimble." Tay. This is true, that I fay; an I had thee in place where, thou fhou'dft know it. Gru. I am for thee ftraight: take thou the bill, give me thy meet-yard, and spare not me. Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio, then he shall have no odds. Pet. Well, Sir, in brief the gown is not for me. Gru. You are i' th' right, Sir, 'tis for my mistress. Pet. Go take it up unto thy master's use. Gru. Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress's gown for thy mafter's ufe! Pet. Why, Sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. Oh, Sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for; Take up my miftrefs's gown unto his master's ufe! Oh, fie, fie, fie! Pet. Hortenfio, fay, thou wilt fee the taylor paid. [Afide. Go take it hence, be gone, and say no more. Our purfes fhall be proud, our garments poor: For For this poor furniture, and mean array, It fhall be what o'clock I fay it is. Hor. Why, fo: this Gallant will command the Sun. [Exeunt Pet. Cath. and Hor. [The Prefenters, above, speak here.] Lord. Who's within there? Enter Servants. [Sly fleeps. Afleep again! go take him eafily up, and put him in his own apparel again. But fee, you wake him not in any cafe. Serv. It fhall be done, my Lord; come help to bear bim bence. [They bear off Sly. Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dreft like Vincentio. SIR, TRANIO. IR, this is the house; please it you, that I call? Ped. Ay, what else! and (but I be deceived,) Signior Baptifta may remember me Near |