[A room in Senior Baptista’s house. Enter Katherina and Bianca (with her hands tied)]
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself,
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me —
That I disdain. But for these, other goods,
Unbind my hands; I'll pull them off myself,
Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat;
Or what you will command me, will I do,
So well I know my duty to my elders.
Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell
Whom thou lovest best. See thou dissemble not.
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio?
If you affect him, sister, here I swear
I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.
O then, belike you fancy riches more.
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
Is it for him you do envy me so?
Nay, then you jest and now I well perceive
You have but jested with me all this while.
I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
[Striking her] If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
[To Katherina] Why, how now, dame. Whence grows this insolence?
[To Bianca] Bianca, stand aside — poor girl, she weeps —
Go ply thy needle. Meddle not with her.
[To Katherina] For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged.
[Katherina lunges at Bianca]
What, in my sight! Bianca, get thee in.
What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see,
She is your treasure, she must have a husband,
I must dance barefoot on her wedding day
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
Talk not to me. I will go sit and weep
Till I can find occasion of revenge.
Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?
But who comes here?
[Enter three pairs to pay a visit to Senor Baptista: 1) Petruchio with his friend Hortensio, who’s pretending to be Litio, a music teacher; 2) Gremio, the elderly suitor, with Lucentio, disguised as Cambio, a language teacher; 3) Tranio, Lucentio’s servant who’s pretending to be Lucentio, with Biondello (Lucentio’s other servant) who’s carrying a lute (a musical instrument) and language books. Hortensio is not recognized by the other two Paduans present, Baptista and Gremio, because he’s in disguise.]
Gremio (the elderly suitor)
Good morrow, neighbor Baptista.
Good morrow, neighbor Gremio. God save you, gentlemen.
And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter
Called Katherina, fair and virtuous?
I have a daughter, sir, called Katherina.
[To Petruchio] You are too blunt; go to it orderly.
You wrong me, Signor Gremio, give me leave.
[To Baptista] I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit,
Her affability and bashful modesty,
Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior,
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard.
[Presenting Litio (Hortensio in disguise)]
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine,
Cunning in music and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is not ignorant.
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong.
His name is Litio, born in Mantua.
You're welcome, sir, and he for your good sake.
But for my daughter Katherine, this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
I see you do not mean to part with her,
Or else you like not of my company.
Mistake me not. I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name?
Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
I know him well. You are welcome for his sake.
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, let us that are
poor petitioners speak too. Baccare, you are
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio, I would fain be doing.
I doubt it not, sir, but you will curse your wooing.
[To all] Neighbors, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it.
[Presenting to Baptista his gift of Cambio (in reality Lucentio)]
To express the like kindness myself, that have
been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely
give unto you this young scholar that hath been long
studying at Rheims, as cunning in Greek, Latin, and
other languages, as the other in music and mathematics.
His name is Cambio; pray, accept his service.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio.
[To Tranio] But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger.
May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?
Tranio (as his master Lucentio)
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own,
That, being a stranger in this city here,
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter,
Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me
In the preferment of the eldest sister.
This liberty is all that I request —
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo,
And free access and favor as the rest.
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray?
Of Pisa, sir, son to Vincentio.
A mighty man of Pisa, by report
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir,
[To Hortensio as the music teacher] Take you the lute,
[To Lucentio as the language teacher] and you the set of books;
You shall go see your pupils presently.
[Enter a Servant]
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both
These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
[Exeunt Servant, Hortensio and Lucentio]
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.
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?
After my death the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
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.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtained,
That is, her love — for that is all in all.
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.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou armed for some unhappy words.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shake not though they blow perpetually.
[Enter Hortensio, as a music teacher, shaking]
How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale?
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
I think she'll sooner prove a soldier.
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Why then, thou canst not break her to the lute?
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 amazèd 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.
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!
[To Hortensio (as music teacher)]
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 Petruchio, will you go with us,
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
I pray you do. I will attend her here,
[Exeunt all but Petruchio]
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 marrièd.
But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak —
Good morrow, Kate, for that's your name, I hear.
Well have you heard; but something hard of hearing.
They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
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 Kates, 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.
‘Moved,’ in good time! Let him that moved you hither
Remove you hence. I knew you at the first;
You were a moveable.
Why, what's a moveable?
A joined stool.
Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.
No such jade as you, if me you mean.
Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee,
For knowing thee to be but young and light —
Too light for such a swain as you to catch,
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
‘Should be’? Should buzz!
Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
O slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
Come, come, you wasp, i' faith, you are too angry.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
My remedy is then to pluck it out.
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting —
In his tail.
In his tongue.
Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
What, with my tongue in your tail! Nay, come again,
Good Kate, I am a gentleman.
That I'll try.
[She strikes him]
I swear I'll cuff you if you strike again.
So may you lose your arms,
If you strike me, you are no gentleman,
And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!
What is your crest, a coxcomb?
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
It is my fashion when I see a crab.
Why, here's no crab, and therefore look not sour.
There is, there is.
Then show it me.
Had I a glass, I would.
What, you mean my face?
Well aimed of such a young one.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
Yet you are withered.
'Tis with cares.
I care not.
Nay, hear you, Kate. In sooth, you scape not so.
I chafe you if I tarry. Let me go.
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 are 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 slanderous 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.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st, command.
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.
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
A witty mother, witless else her son.
Am I not wise?
Yes, keep you warm.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherina, 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.
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.
[Enter Baptista, Gremio and Tranio (as Lucentio)]
Here comes your father. Never make denial;
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.
Now, Signor Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?
How? But well, sir. How but well.
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
Why, how now, daughter Katherine! In your dumps?
Call you me ‘daughter’? Now, I promise you,
You have showed a tender fatherly regard
To wish me wed to one half-lunatic,
A madcup ruffian and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
Father, 'tis thus. Yourself and all the world
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,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity;
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
I'll see thee hanged on Sunday first.
Hark, Petruchio, she says she'll see thee hanged first.
Tranio (as Lucentio)
Is this your speeding? Nay, then, good-night our part.
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,
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.
I know not what to say, but give me your hands.
God send you joy. Petruchio, 'tis a match.
Gremio and Tranio
Amen, say we. We will be witnesses.
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 on Sunday.
[Exeunt Petruchio and Katherina separately]
Was ever match clapped up so suddenly?
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part,
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you;
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
The gain I seek is quiet in the match.
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 neighbor and was suitor first.
And I am one that love Bianca more
Than words can witness or your thoughts can guess.
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.
But thine doth fry.
Skipper, stand back, 'tis age that nourisheth.
But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.
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?
First, as you know, my house within the city
Is richly furnishèd with plate and gold;
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;
In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns;
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints;
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl,
Valance of Venice gold in needlework,
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
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.
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.
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?
Two thousand ducats by the year of land!
[Aside] My land amounts not to so much in all.
[Aloud] That she shall have, besides, an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles' road.
[To Tranio] What, have I choked you with an argosy?
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 offer'st next.
Nay, I have offered all, I have no more;
And she can have no more than all I have.
[To Baptista] If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world
By your firm promise. Gremio is out-vied.
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?
That's but a cavil. He is old, I young.
And may not young men die, as well as old?
I am thus resolved. On Sunday next you know
My daughter Katherine is to be married;
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you this assurance;
If not, to Signor Gremio.
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.
Adieu, good neighbor.
[To Tranio] 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.
A vengeance on your crafty withered hide!
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.
'Tis in my head to do my master good.
I see no reason but ‘supposed Lucentio’
Must get a father, called 'supposed Vincentio,'
And that's a wonder — fathers commonly
Do get their children, but in this case of wooing,
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.