Catharine and Petruchio: A comedy, in three acts. As it is perform'd at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. Alter'd from Shakespear's Taming of the shrew.

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [titlepage]

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- PROLOGUE TO THE WINTER's TALE. AND CATHARINE and PETRUCHIO. (Both from SHAKESPEAR.)

- Dramatis Personae.

- ACT I.

- ACT. II.

- ACT. III.

Catharine and Petruchio.

FINIS.

Catharine and Petruchio.

A COMEDY.

[Price One Shilling.]

Catharine and Petruchio.

A COMEDY, IN THREE ACTS. As it is perform'd at the THEATRE-ROYAL In DRURY-LANE. Alter'd from SHAKESPEAR's Taming of the Shrew.

LONDON: Printed for J. and R. TONSON, and S. DRAPER, in the Strand, 1756.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following PROLOGUE was Spoken to the Dramatic Pastoral, called the Winter's Tale, and this Comedy; both of which are altered from Shakespear, and were perform'd the same Night.

Some of the Lines of the PROLOGUE are only relative to the Winter's Tale, yet as the Publication of that Pastoral is defer'd for some Time, and as the PROLOGUE has been particularly desir'd, it is hop'd that it will not be disagreeable to the Reader to see it prefix'd to this Comedy.

PROLOGUE TO THE WINTER's TALE. AND CATHARINE and PETRUCHIO. (Both from SHAKESPEAR.)

Written and Spoken by Mr. GARRICK.

TO various Things the Stage has been compar'd,

As apt Ideas strike each humorous Bard:

This Night, for want of better Simile,

Let this our Theatre a Tavern be:

The Poets Vintners, and the Waiters we.

So as the Cant, and Custom of the Trade is,

You're welcome Gem'min, kindly welcome Ladies.

To draw in Customers, our Bills are spread,

You cannot miss the Sign, 'tis Shakespear's Head.

From this same Head, this Fountain-head divine,

For different Palates springs a different Wine!

In which no Tricks, to strengthen, or to thin 'em—

Neat as imported—no French Brandy in em'—

Hence for the choicest Spirits flow Champaign;

Whose sparkling Atoms shoot thro' every Vein,

Then mount in Magic Vapours to th' enraptur'd Brain!

Hence flow for martial Minds Potations strong;

And sweet Love Potions, for the Fair and Young.

For you my Hearts of Oak, for your Regale, [To the Upper Gallery

There's good old English Stingo, mild and stale.

For high, luxurious Sculs with luscious Smack,

There's Sir John Falstaff, is a Butt of Sack:

And if the stronger Liquors more invite ye;

Bardolph is Gin, and Pistol Aqua Vitae.

But shou'd you call for Falstaff, where to find him,

He's gone—nor left one Cup of Sack behind him.

Sunk in his Elbow-Chair, no more he'll roam;

No more, with merry Wags, to Eastcheap come;

He's gone,—to jest, and laugh, and give his Sack at Home.

As for the learned Critics, grave and deep,

Who catch at Words, and catching fall asleep;

Who in the Storms of Passion—hum,—and haw!

For such, our Master will no Liquor draw—

So blindly thoughtful, and so darkly read,

They take Tom Durffy's, for the Shakespear's Head.

A Vintner once acquir'd both Praise and Gain,

And sold much Perry for the best Champaign.

Some Rakes, this precious Stuff did so allure;

They drank whole Nights—what's that—when Wine is pure?

" Come fill a Bumper, Jack—, I will my Lord—

" Here's Cream!—Damn'd fine!—immense!—upon my Word!"

Sir William, what say you?—The best, believe me—

In this—Eh Jack!—the Devil can't deceive me.

Thus the wise Critic too, mistakes his Wine,

Cries out with lifted Hands, 'tis great!—Divine!

Then jogs his Neighbour, as the Wonders strike him;

This Shakespear! Shakespear!—oh there's nothing like him!

In this Night's various, and enchanted Cup,

Some little Perry's mixt for filling up.

The Five long Acts, from which our Three are taken,

Stretch'd out to [*] sixteen Years, lay by, forsaken.

Lest then this precious Liquor run to waste,

'Tis now consin'd and bottled for your Taste.

'Tis my chief Wish, my Joy, my only Plan,

To lose no Drop of that immortal Man!

Notes

*
The Action of the Winter's Tale, as written by Shakespear, comprehends Sixteen Years.
↵

Dramatis Personae.

Petruchio

Mr. WOODWARD.

Baptista

Mr. BURTON.

Hortensio

Mr. MOZEEN.

Grumio

Mr. YATES.

Music-Master

Mr. JEFFERSON.

Biondello

Mr. BLAKES.

Pedro

Mr. CLOUGH.

Taylor

Mr. H. VAUGHAN.

Nathaniel

Mr. W. VAUGHAN.

Peter

Mr. ACKMAN.

Nicholas

Mr. ATKINS.

Philip

Mr. MARR.

Joseph

Mr. LEWIS.

Catharine

Mrs. CLIVE.

Bianca

Mrs. BENNET.

Curtis

Mrs. BRADSHAW.

SCENE, PADUA.

ACT I.

SCENE, BAPTISTA'S House.

Enter BAPTISTA, PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.

BAPTISTA.

THUS have I, 'gainst my own Self-Interest,

Repeated all the worst you are t'expect

From my shrewd Daughter, Cath'rine; if you'll venture,

Maugre my plain and honest Declaration,

You have my free Consent, win her, and wed her.

PETRUCHIO.

Signior Baptista, thus it stands with me.

Anthonio, my Father, is deceased:

You knew him well, and knowing him, know me,

Left solely Heir to all his Lands and Goods,

Which I have better'd, rather than decreas'd.

And I have thrust myself into the World,

Haply to wive and thrive as best I may:

My Business asketh Haste, old Signior,

And ev'ry Day I cannot come to wooe.

Let Specialties be therefore drawn between us,

That Cov'nants may be kept on either Hand.

BAPTISTA.

Yes, when the special Thing is well obtain'd,

My Daughter's Love, for that is all in all.

PETRUCHIO.

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.

Tho' 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 wooe not like a Babe.

GRUMIO.

Nay, look you, Sir, he tells you flatly what his Mind is: Why give him Gold enough and marry him to a Puppet, or an old Trot with ne'er a Tooth in her Head. Tho' she have as many Diseases as two and fifty Horses; why nothing comes amiss, so Money comes withal.

BAPTISTA.

As I have shew'd you, Sir, the coarser Side,

Now let me tell you she is young and beauteous,

Brought up as best becomes a Gentlewoman;

Her only Fault (and that is Fault enough)

•s that she is intolerably froward;

•f that you can away with, she is yours.

GRUMIO.

I pray you, Sir, let him see her while the Humour lasts. O'my Word an' she knew him as well as I do, she would think Scolding would do little Good upon him. She may perhaps call him half a Score Knaves, or so; why, that's nothing; an' he begin once, she'll find her Match. I'll tell you what, Sir, an' she stand him but a little, he will throw a Figure in her Face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall have no more Eyes to see withal than a Cat—You know him not, Sir.

BAPTISTA.

And will you woo her, Sir?

PETRUCHIO.

Why came I hither but to that Intent?

Think you a little Din can daunt my Ears?

Have I not, in my Time, heard Lions roar?

Have I not heard the Sea puff'd up with Winds?

Have I not heard great Ord'nance in the Field?

And Heav'n's Artillery thunder in the Skies?

Have I not in a pitched Battle heard

Loud 'Larums, neighing Steeds, and Trumpets clangue?

And do you tell me of a Woman's Tongue;

That gives not half so great a Blow to hear,

As will a Chesnut in a Farmer's Fire;

Tush, tush! scare Boys with Bugs.

BAPTISTA.

Then thou'rt the Man,

The Man for Cath'rine, and her Father too:

That shall she know, and know my Mind at once.

I'll portion her above her gentler Sister,

New-married to Hortensio:

And if with scurril Taunt, and squeamish Pride,

She make a Mouth, and will not taste her Fortune,

I'll turn her sorth to seek it in the World;

Nor henceforth shall she know her Father's Doors.

PETRUCHIO.

Say'st thou me so? Then as your Daughter, Signior,

Is rich enough to be Petruchio's Wife;

Be she as curst as Socrates' Zantippe,

She moves me not a Whit—Were she as rough,

As are the swelling Adriatick Seas,

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;

If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

BAPTISTA.

Well may'st thou wooe, and happy be thy Speed;

But be thou arm'd for some unhappy Words.

PETRUCHIO.

Aye, to the Proof, as Mountains are for Winds,

That shake not, tho' they blow perpetually.

Catharine and the Music-master make a Noise within.

MUSIC-MASTER, Within.

Help! help!

CATHARINE, within.

Out of the House, you scraping Fool.

PETRUCHIO.

What Noise is that?

BAPTISTA.

Oh, nothing; this is nothing—

My Daughter Catharine, and her Music-master;

This is the third I've had within this Month:

She is an Enemy to Harmony.

Enter MUSICK-MASTER.

How now, Friend, why dost look so pale?

MUSICK-MASTER.

For Fear, I promise you, if I do look pale.

BAPTISTA.

What, will my Daughter prove a good Musician?

MUSIC-MASTER.

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?

MUSIC-MASTER.

Why, no; for she hath broke the Lute to me.

I did but tell her she mistook her Frets,

And bow'd her Hand, to teach her fingering,

When with a most impatient devilish Spirit,

Frets call you them? quoth she, I'll fret your Fool's Cap:

And with that Word, she struck me on the Head,

And through the Instrument my Pate made way,

And there I stood amazed for awhile,

As on a Pillory, looking thro' the Lute:

While she did call me Rascal-fidler,

And twangling Jack, with twenty such vile Terms,

As she had studied to misuse me so.

PETRUCHIO.

Now by the World, it is a lusty Wench,

I love her ten times more than e'er I did;

Oh how I long to have a Grapple with her!

MUSIC-MASTER.

I wou'd not make another Trial with her,

To purchase Padua; for what is past,

I'm paid sufficiently: If at your Leisure,

You think my broken Fortunes, Head and Lute

Deserve some Reparation, you know where

T'enquire for me; and so good Gentlemen,

I am your much disorder'd humble Servant.

[Exit.

BAPTISTA.

Not yet mov'd, Petruchio! do you flinch?

PETRUCHIO.

I am more and more impatient, Sir; and long

To be a Part'ner in these favourite Pleasures.

BAPTISTA.

O, by all Means, Sir,—Will you go with me,

Or shall I send my Daughter Kate to you?

PETRUCHIO.

I pray you do, I will attend her here.

[Exit Bap.

Grumio, retire, and wait my Call within.

[Exit Grum.

Since that her Father is so resolute,

I'll wooe 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 wash'd 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 tho' she bid me stay by her a Week;

If she deny to wed, I'll crave the Day

When I shall ask the Banes, and when be married:

But here she comes, and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter CATHARINE.

CATHARINE.

How! turn'd adrift, nor know my Father's House!

Reduc'd to this, or none, the Maid's last Prayer;

Sent to be woo'd like Bear unto the Stake?

Trim wooing like to be!—and he the Bear,

For I shall bait him—yet the Man's a Man.

PETRUCHIO.

Kate in a Calm!—Maids must not be Wooers.

Good Morrow, Kate, for that's your Name I hear.

CATHARINE.

Well have you heard, but impudently said,

They call me Catharine, that do talk of me.

PETRUCHIO.

You lie in Faith, for you are call'd plain Kate,

And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst,

But Kate—The prettiest Kate in Christendom.

Take this of me, Kate of my Consolation!

Hearing thy Mildness prais'd in ev'ry Town,

Thy Virtues spoke of, and thy Beauty sounded,

Thy Affability, and bashful Modesty,

(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)

Myself am mov'd to wooe thee for my Wife.

CATHARINE.

Mov'd! in good Time; let him that mov'd you hither,

Remove you hence! I knew you at the first,

You were a Moveable.

PETRUCHIO.

A Moveable? Why, what's that?

CATHARINE.

A Joint-Stool.

PETRUCHIO.

Thou hast hit it; come, sit on me.

CATHARINE.

Asses are made to bear, and so are you.

PETRUCHIO.

Women are made to bear, and so are you.

Alass good Kate, I will not burthen thee,

For knowing thee to be but young and light.—

CATHARINE.

Too light for such a Swain as you to catch;

[Going.

PETRUCHIO.

Come, come you Wasp; i'faith you are too angry.

CATHARINE.

If I be waspish, 'best beware my Sting.

PETRUCHIO.

My Remedy, then is to pluck it out.

CATHARINE.

Ay, if the Fool cou'd find it where it lies.

PETRUCHIO.

The Fool knows where the Honey is, sweet Kate.

[Offers to kiss her.

CATHARINE.

'Tis not for Drones to taste.

PETRUCHIO.

That will I try.

[She strikes him.

I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.—

Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sower.

CATHARINE.

How can I help it, when I see that Face;

But I'll be shock'd no longer with the Sight.

[Going.

PETRUCHIO.

Nay, hear you, Kate; in sooth you 'scape not so.

CATHARINE.

I chafe you, if I tarry, let me go.

PETRUCHIO.

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 spring-time Flowers;

Thou can'st not frown, thou can'st not look ascance,

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 Conf'rence, soft and affable.

CATHARINE.

This is beyond all Patience; don't provoke me:

PETRUCHIO.

Why doth the World report that Kate doth limp?

Oh sland'rous World! Kate like the Hazle Twig,

Is strait, and slender, and as brown in Hue

As Hazle Nuts, and sweeter than the Kernels.

O let me see thee walk, thou do'st not halt.

CATHARINE.

Go, Fool, and whom thou keep'st command.

PETRUCHIO.

Did ever Dian' so become a Grove,

As Kate this Chamber, with her princely Gaite?

Oh be thou Dian', and let her be Kate,

And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian' sportful.

CATHARINE.

Where did you Study all this goodly Speech?

PETRUCHIO.

It is extempore, from my Mother Wit.

CATHARINE.

A witty Mother, witless else her Son.

PETRUCHIO.

Am I not wise?

CATHARINE.

Yes, in your own Conceit,

Keep yourself warm with that, or else you'll freeze.

PETRUCHIO.

Or rather warm me in thy Arms, my Kate!

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.

CATHARINE.

Whether I will or no!—O Fortune's Spite!

PETRUCHIO.

Nay, 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.

CATHARINE.

That will admit Dispute, my saucy Groom.

PETRUCHIO.

Here comes your Father; never make Denial,

I must and will have Catharine to my Wife.

Enter BAPTISTA.

BAPTISTA.

Now, Signior, now, how speed you with my Daughter?

PETRUCHIO.

How shou'd I speed but well, Sir? how but well?

It were impossible I should speed amiss.

BAPTISTA.

Why, how now, Daughter Catharine, in your Dumps?

CATHARINE.

Call you me Daughter? Now I promise you,

You've shew'd a tender Fatherly Regard,

To wish me wed to one half lunatick;

A Mad-cap Ruffian, and a swearing Jack,

That thinks with Oaths to face the Matter out.

BAPTISTA.

Better this Jack than starve, and that's your Portion—

PETRUCHIO.

Father, 'tis thus; yourself and all the World

That talk'd of her, have talk'd 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've 'greed so well together,

We have fix'd to-morrow for the Wedding-day.

CATHARINE.

I'll see thee hang'd To-morrow, first—To-morrow!

BAPTISTA.

Petruchio, hark; she says she'll see thee hang'd first:

Is this your Speeding?

PETRUCHIO.

Oh! be patient, Sir,

If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you;

'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us Twain, being alone,

That she shall still be curs'd in Company.

CATHARINE.

A Plague upon his Impudence! I'm vex'd—

I'll marry my Revenge, but I will tame him.

[Aside.

PETRUCHIO.

I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe

How much she loves me; Oh! the kindest Kate!

She hung about my Neck, and Kiss on Kiss,

She vy'd so fast, protesting Oath on Oath,

That in a Twink she won me to her Love.

Oh! you are Novices; 'tis a World to see

How tame, when Men and Women are alone—

Give me thy Hand, Kate, I will now away

To buy Apparel for my gentle Bride:

Father, provide the Feast, and bid the Guests.

BAPTISTA.

What dost thou say, my Catharine? Give thy Hand.

CATHARINE.

Never to Man shall Cath'rine give her Hand:

Here 'tis, and let him take it, an' he dare.

PETRUCHIO.

Were it the Fore-foot of an angry Bear,

I'd shake it off; but as it is Kate's, I kiss it.

CATHARINE.

You'll kiss it closer, e'er our Moon be wain'd.

BAPTISTA.

Heav'n send you Joy, Petruchio—'tis a Match.

PETRUCHIO.

Father, and Wife, adieu. I must away,

Unto my Country-house, and stir my Grooms,

Scower their Country-rust, and make 'em fine,

For the Reception of my Catharine.

We will have Rings, and Things, and fine Array,

To-morrow, Kate, shall be our Wedding-day.

[Exit. Petruchio.

BAPTISTA.

Well, Daughter, tho' the Man be somewhat wild,

And thereto frantic, yet his Means are great;

Thou hast done well to seize the first kind Offer,

For by thy Mother's Soul 'twill be the last.

CATHARINE.

My Duty, Sir, hath followed your Command.

BAPTISTA.

Art thou in Earnest? Hast no Trick behind?

I'll take thee at thy Word, and send t'invite

My Son-in-law, Hortensio, and thy Sister.

And all our Friends to grace thy Nuptials, Kate.

[Exit. Baptista.

CATHARINE.

Why yes; Sister Bianca now shall see

The poor abandon'd Cath'rine, as she calls me,

Can hold her Head as high, and be as proud,

And make her Husband stoop unto her Lure,

As she, or e'er a Wife in Padua.

As double as my Portion be my Scorn;

Look to your Seat, Petruchio, or I throw you.

Cath'rine shall tame this Haggard;—or if she fails,

Shall tye her Tongue up, and pare down her Nails.

[Exit. Catharine.

ACT. II.

Enter BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO, CATHARINE, BIANCA and Attendants.

BAPTISTA.

SIGNIOR Hortensio, this is the 'pointed Day,

That Cath'rine 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 Hortensio to this Shame of ours?

CATHARINE.

No Shame but mine; I must, forsooth, be forc'd

To give my Hand oppos'd against my Heart,

Unto a mad-brain Rudesby, full of Spleen,

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 wooe a Thousand, 'point the Day of Marriage,

Make Friends, invite; yea, and proclaim the Banes,

Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.

Now must the World point at poor Catharine,

And say, lo! there is mad Petruchio's Wife,

If it would please him come and marry her.

BIANCA.

Such hasty Matches seldom end in Good.

HORTENSIO.

Patience, good Cath'rine, and Bianca too;

Upon my Life, Petruchio means but well,

Whatever Fortune stays him from his Word;

Tho' he be blunt, I know him passing wife;

Tho' he be merry, yet withal he's honest.

CATHARINE.

Wou'd I had never seen his Honesty.—

Oh! I could tear my Flesh for very Madness.

[Exit. Catharine.

BAPTISTA.

Follow your Sister, Girl, and comfort her.

[Exit. Bianca.

I cannot blame thee now to weep and rage,

For such an Injury would vex a Saint;

Much more a Shrew of thy impatient Humour.

HORTENSIO.

Was ever Match clapt up so suddenly!

BAPTISTA.

Hortensio; faith I play a Merchant's Part,

And venture madly on a desp'rate Mart.

HORTENSIO.

'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.

HORTENSIO.

No doubt Petruchio's got a quiet Catch.

Enter BIONDELLO.

BIONDELLO.

Master, Master, News; and such News as you never heard of.

BAPTISTA.

Is Petruchio come?

BIONDELLO.

Why no, Sir.

BAPTISTA.

What then?

BIONDELLO.

He is coming; but how? Why in a new Hat, and an old Jerkin; a Pair of old Breeches, thrice turned; a Pair of Boots that have been Candle Cases, on buckled, another lac'd; an old rusty Sword, ta'en out of the Town Armory, with a broken Hilt, and chapeless, with two broken Points; his Horse hip'd with an old mothy Saddle, the Stirrups of no Kindred; besides possess'd with the Glanders, and like to mose in the Chine, troubled with the Lampasse, insected with the Farcy, full of Windgalls, sped with Spavins, raied with the Yellows, past Cure of the Fives, stark spoiled with the Staggers, be-gnawn with the Bots, waid in the Back, and Shoulder shotten, near legg'd before, and with a half check'd Bit; and a Head-stall of Sheep-leather, which being restrained, to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with Knots, one girt six Times piec'd, and a Woman's Crupper of Velure, which hath two Letters for her Name, fairly set down in Studs, and here and there piec'd with Pack-thread.

BAPTISTA.

Who comes with him?

BIONDELLO.

O Sir, his Laquey, for all the World caparison'd like the Horse, with a Linnen Stock on one Leg, and a Kersey Boot Hose on the other, gartered with a Red and Blue List, an old Hat, and the Humour of forty Fancies prick'd upon it for a Feather; a Monster! a very Monster in Apparel, and not like a Christian Foot-Boy, or a Gentleman's Lacquey.

BAPTISTA

I am glad he's come, howsoever he comes.

Enter PETRUCHIO, and GRUMIO, fantastically habited.

PETRUCHIO.

Come, where be these Gallants? Who is at Home?

BAPTISTA.

You're welcome, Sir.

PETRUCHIO.

Well am I come then, Sir.

BAPTISTA.

Not so well 'parell'd as I wish you were.

PETRUCHIO.

Why were it better, I should rush in thus:

But where is Kate? where is my lovely Bride?

How does my Father? Gentles, methinks you frown:

And wherefore gaze this goodly Company?

As if they saw some wond'rous Monument,

Some Comet, or unusual Prodigy?

BAPTISTA.

Why, Sir, you know this is your Wedding-Day,

First, we were sad, fearing you would not come,

Now sader, that you come so unprovided,

Fye! doff this Habit, Shame to your Estate;

An Eye-sore to our solemn Festival.

HORTENSIO.

And tell us what Occasion of Import

Hath all so long detained you from your Wife.

And sent you hither so unlike yourself?

PETRUCHIO.

Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear:

Let it suffice, I'm come to keep my Word;

But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;

The Morning wears; 'tis Time we were at Church.

HORTENSIO.

See not your Bride in these unreverent Robes;

Go to my Chamber, put on Cloaths of mine.

PETRUCHIO.

Not I, believe me, thus I'll visit her.

BAPTISTA.

But thus I trust you will not marry her.

PETRUCHIO.

Goodsooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with Words;

To me she's married, not unto my Cloaths:

Could I repair what she will wear in me,

As I could change these poor Accoutrements,

'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.

But what a Fool am I to chat with you,

When I should bid Good-morrow to my Bride,

And seal the Title with a lovely Kiss?

What ho! my Kate! my Kate!

[Exit. Pet.

HORTENSIO.

He hath some Meaning in this mad Attire:

We will persuade him, be it possible,

To put on better e're he go to Church.

BAPTISTA.

I'll after him, and see the Event of this.

[Exeunt all but Grumio.

GRUMIO.

He's gone swearing to Church with her. I wou'd sooner have led her to the Gallows. If he can but hold it, 'tis well—And if I know any Thing of myself and Master, no two Men were ever born with such Qualities to tame Women.—When Madam goes home, we must look for another-guise Master than we have had. We shall see old Coil between 'em.—If I can spy into Futurity a little, there will be much Clatter among the Moveables, and some Practice for the Surgeons. By this the Parson has given 'em his Licence to fall together by the Ears.

Enter PEDRO.

PEDRO.

Grumio, your Master bid me find you out, and speed you to his Country House, to prepare for his Reception, and if he finds not Things as he expects 'em, according to the Directions that he gave you, you know, he says, what follows: This Message he delivered before his Bride, ev'n in her Way to Church, and shook his Whip in Token of his Love.

GRUMIO.

I understand it, Sir, and will convey the same Token to my Horse immediately, that he may take to his Heels, in order to save my Bones, and his own Ribs.

[Exit. Grumio.

PEDRO.

So odd a Master, and so fit a Man,

Were never seen in Padua before.

Enter BIONDELLO.

Now, Biondello, came you from the Church?

BIONDELLO.

As willingly as e'er I came from School.

PEDRO.

And is the Bride, and Bridegroom coming home?

BIONDELLO.

A Bridegroom say you? 'tis a Groom indeed;

A grumbling Groom, and that the Girl shall find.

PEDRO.

Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible.

BIONDELLO.

Why, he's a Devil; a Devil! a very Fiend!

PEDRO.

Why she's a Devil; a Devil! the Devil's Dam.

BIONDELLO.

Tut! she's a Lamb, a Dove, a Fool to him:

I'll tell you, Brother Pedro, when the Priest

Should ask if Catharine should be his Wife?

Aye, by Gogs-Wounds, quoth he, and swore so loud,

That all amaz'd the Priest let fall his Book;

And as he stoop'd again to take it up,

This mad-brain'd Bridegroom took him such a Cuff,

That down fell Priest and Book, and Book and Priest.

Now take them up, quoth he, if any list.

PEDRO.

What said the Wench, when he rose up again?

BIONDELLO.

Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore,

As if the Vicar went to cozen him.

But after many Ceremonies done,

He calls for Wine; a Health, quoth he, as if

H'ad been aboard carousing to his Mates

After a Storm; quafft of the Muscadel,

And threw the Sops all in the Sexton's Face;

Having no other Cause, but that his Beard

Grew thin and hungerly, and seem'd to ask

His Sops, as he was drinking. This done, he took

The Bride about the Neck, and kiss'd her Lips

With such a clamorous Smack, that at the Parting

All the Church echo'd; and I seeing this,

Came thence for very Shame; and after me

I know the Rout is coming:

Such a mad Marriage never was before—

[Musick.

Hark, hark, I hear the Minstrels play.

Enter PETRUCHIO (singing) CATHARINE, BIANCA, HORTENSIO, and BAPTISTA.

PETRUCHIO.

Gentlemen and Friends, I thank you for your Pains;

I know you think to dine with me to-day,

And have prepar'd great Store of Wedding-Cheer;

Put so it is, my Haste doth call me hence;

And therefore, here I mean to take my Leave.

BAPTISTA.

Is't possible you will away To-night?

PETRUCHIO.

I must away To-day, before Night come.

Make it no wonder, if you knew my Business,

You would intreat me rather go than stay;

And honest Company, I thank you all,

That have beheld me give away myself

To this most patient, sweet and virtuous Wife:

Dine with my Father, drink a Health to me,

For I must hence, and farewell to you all.

HORTENSIO.

Let me intreat you, stay till after Dinner.

PETRUCHIO.

It may not be.

BIONDELLO.

Let me intreat you, that my Sister stay;

I come on Purpose to attend the Wedding;

And pass this Day in Mirth and Festival.

PETRUCIO.

It cannot be.

CATHARINE.

Let me intreat you.

PETRUCHIO.

I am content.—

CATHARINE.

Are you content to stay?

PETRUCHIO.

I am content, you shall intreat my Stay;

But yet not stay, intreat me how you can.

CATHARINE.

Now if you love me stay.

PETRUCHIO.

My Horses, there; what ho, my Horses, there—

CATHARINE.

Nay then,

Do what thou can'st, I will not go To-day;

No, nor To-morrow, nor 'till I please myself:

The Door is open, Sir, there lies your Way;

You may be jogging, while your Boots are green.

For me, I'll not go, 'till I please myself;

'Tis like you'll prove a Jolly surly Groom,

To take it on you at the first so roundly.

BAPTISTA.

O Kate content thee; pr'ythee be not angry.

CATHARINE.

I will be angry; what hast thou to do;

Father be quiet, he shall stay my Leisure.

HORTENSIO.

Ay, marry, Sir, Now it begins to work:

CATHARINE.

Gentlemen, forward to the bridal Dinner.

I see a Woman may be made a Fool,

If she had not a Spirit to resist.

PETRUCHIO.

They shall go forward, Kate, at thy Command.

Obey the Bride, you that attend on her:

Go to the Feast, revel and domineer;

Carouse full Measure to her Maidenhead;

Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves;

But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.

Nay look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret,

I will be Master of what is mine own;

She is my Goods, my Chattles; she is my House,

My Houshold-stuff, my Field, my Barn,

My Horse, my Ox, my Ass, my any-thing;

And here she stands, touch her whoever dare;

I'll bring my Action on the proudest he,

That stops my Way in Padua; Petruchio,

Draw forth thy Weapon, thou'art beset with Thieves;

Rescue thy Wife then, if thou be a Man;

Fear not sweet Wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate;

I'll buckler thee against a Million, Kate.

[Exuent Pet. and Cath.

BAPTISTA.

Nay, let them go, a Couple of quiet Ones.

HORTENSIO.

Of all mad Matches never was the like.

What's your Opinion of your gentle Sister?

BIANCA.

That being mad herself, she's madly matched.

BAPTISTA.

Neighbours and Friends, tho' Bride and Bridegroom want

For to supply the Places at the Table;

You know there wants no Junkets at the Feast:

Hortensio, you, supply the Bridegroom's Place,

And let Bianca take her Sster's Room.

BIANCA.

My Sister's Room! were I in her's indeed,

This Swaggerer shou'd repent his Insolence.

[Exeunt On•.

Enter GRUMIO.

GRUMIO.

Fie, fie on all Jades, and all mad Masters, and all foul Ways! Was ever Man so beaten? Was ever Man so raide! was ever Man so weary? I am sent before to make a Fire, and they are coming after to warm them: Now were I not a little Pot, and soon hot, my very Lips might freeze to my Teeth, my Tongue to the Roof of my Mouth, my Heart in my Belly, e're I should come by a Fire, to thaw me, but I with blowing the Fire shall warm myself, for considering the Weather, a taller Man than I will take Cold: Holla, hoa, Curtis!

Enter CURTIS.

CURTIS.

Who is it that calls so coldly?

GRUMIO.

A piece of Ice. If thou doubt it, thou may'st slide from my Shoulder to my Heel, with no greater a Run but my Head and my Neck. A Fire, good Curtis.

CURTIS.

Is my Master and his Wife coming, Grumio?

GRUMIO.

Oh, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore, Fire, Fire, cast on no Water.

CURTIS.

Is she so hot a Shrew as she's reported?

GRUMIO.

She was, good Curtis, before the Frost; but thou know'st Winter tames Man, Woman, and Beast, for it hath tam'd my old Master, and my new Mistress, and my self, Fellow Curtis.

CURTIS.

Away, you thick-pated Fool, I am no Beast.

GRUMIO.

Where's the Cook? Is Supper ready, the House trim'd, Rushes strew'd, Cobwebs swept, the Serving-men in their new Fustian, their white Stockings, and every Officer his Wedding-garments on? Be the Jack's fair within, the Jill's fair without, Carpets laid, and every Thing in Order?

CURTIS.

All ready: and therefore, I pray thee, what News?

GRUMIO.

First know my Horse is tired, my Master and Mistress fall'n out.

CURTIS.

How?

GRUMIO.

Out of their Saddles into the Dirt; and thereby hangs a Tale.

CURTIS.

Let's ha't good Grumio.

GRUMIO.

Lend thine Ear.

CURTIS.

Here.

GRUMIO.

There.

(Strikes him.

CURTIS.

This is to feel a Tale, not to hear a Tale.

GRUMIO.

And therefore is call'd a sensible Tale: And this Cuff was but to knock at your Ear, and beseech listning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul Hill, my Master riding behind my Mistress.—

CURTIS.

Both on one Horse?

GRUMIO.

What's that to thee? tell thou the Tale. But had'st thou not crost me, thou should'st have heard how her Horse fell, and she under her Horse, thou should'st have heard in how miry a Place, how she was bemoild, how he left her with the Horse upon her, how he beat me because her Horse stumbled, how she waded through the Dirt to pluck him off me; how he swore, how she pray'd, that never pray'd before! how I cry'd, how the Horses ran away, how her Bridle was burst, how I lost my Crupper; how my Mistress lost her Slippers, tore and bemir'd her Garments, limp'd to the Farm-house, put on Rebecca's old Shoes and Petticoat; with many Things worthy of Memory, which now shall die in Oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to thy Grave.

CURTIS.

By this Reckoning he is more Shrew than she.

GRUMIO.

Ay, for the Nonce—and that, thou and the proudest of you all shall find, when he come home. But what talk I of this? call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest: let their Heads be sleek-comb'd, their blue Coats brush'd, and their Garters of an indifferent Knit; let them curt'sy with their left Legs, and not presume to touch a Hair of my Master's Horse Tail, till they kiss their Hands. Are they all ready?

CURTIS.

They are.

GRUMIO.

Call them forth.

CURTIS.

Do you hear, ho! Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, &c. Where are you?

Enter NATHANIEL, PHILIP, &c.

NATHANIEL.

Welcome home, Grumio.

PHILIP.

How now, Grumio?

PETER.

What, Grumio!

NICHOLAS.

Fellow Grumio!

NATHANIEL.

How now, old Lad!

GRUMIO.

Welcome you; how now, you; what you; Fellow you; and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce Companions, is all ready, and all things neat?

NATHANIEL.

All things are ready, how near is our Master?

GRUMIO.

E'en at Hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not—Cock's Passion! Silence, I hear my Master.

Enter PETRUCHIO and CATHARINE.

PETRUCHIO.

Where are these Knaves? What no Man at Door, to hold my Stirrup, nor to take my Horse? Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?

ALL-SERVANTS.

Here, here, Sir; here, Sir.

PETRUCHIO.

Here, Sir; here, Sir; here, Sir; here Sir?

You loggerheaded, and unpolish'd Grooms:

What no Attendance, no Regard, no Duty?

Where is the foolish Knave I sent before?

GRUMIO.

Here, Sir, as foolish as I was before.

PETRUCHIO.

You peasant Swain, you whoreson Malt-horse Drudge,

Did I not bid thee meet me in the Park,

And bring along these rascal Knaves with thee?

GRUMIO.

Nathaniel's Coat, Sir, was not fully made:

And Gabriel's Pumps were all unpink'd i'th' Heel:

There was no Link to colour Peter's Hat,

And Walter's Dagger was not come from Sheathing:

There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory,

The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly:

Yet as they are, here are they come to meet you.

PETRUCHIO.

Go, Rascals, go, and fetch my Supper in.

[Exeunt Servants. SINGS.

" Where is the Life that late I led?

" Where are those"—Sit down, Kate,

And welcome. " Soud, soud, soud, soud."

Enter Servants with Supper.

Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.

Off with my Boots you Rogue: you Villains, when!—

SINGS.

" It was a Fryar of Orders grey

" As he forth walked on his Way."

Out, out, you Rogue: you pluck my Foot awry.

Take that, and mind the plucking off the other.

[Strikes him.

Be merry, Kate; some Water here. What hoa!

Where's my Spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,

And bid my Cousin Ferdinand come hither:

One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.

Where are my Slippers?—Shall I have some Water?

Enter Servant with Water.

Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.

[Servant lets fall the Water.

You whoreson Villain, will you let it fall?

CATHARINE.

Patience, I pray you, 'twas a Fault unwilling.

PETRUCHIO.

A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd Knave!

Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a Stomach.

CATHARINE.

Indeed I have:

And never was Repast so welcome to me:

PETRUCHIO.

Will you give Thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?

What's this, Mutton?

SERVANT.

Yes.

PETRUCHIO.

Who brought it?

SERVANT.

I.

PETRUCHIO.

'Tis burnt, and so is all the Meat—

What Dogs are these! Where is the Rascal Cook?

How durst you, Villain, bring it from the Dresser,

And serve it thus to me, that love it not?

There; take it to you, Trenchers, Cups and all.

[Throws the Meat, &c. about.

You heedless jolt Heads, and unmanner'd Slaves.

What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.

[Exeunt all the Servants.

CATHARINE.

I pray you, Husband, be not so disquiet,

The Meat was well, and well I could have eat,

If you were so disposed; I'm sick with fasting.

PETRUCHIO.

I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dry'd away,

And I expresly am forbid to touch it:

For it engenders Choler, planteth Anger;

And better it were that both of us did fast,

Since of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,

Than feed it with such over-roasted Flesh—

Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended,

And for this Night, we'll fast for Company.

Come, I will bring thee to thy Bridal Chamber.

[Exeunt.

Enter NATHANIEL and PETER.

NATHANIEL.

Peter, didst thou ever see the like?

PETER.

He kills her in her own Humour. I did not think so good and kind a Master cou'd have put on so resolute a Bearing.

GRUMIO.

Where is he?

Enter CURTIS.

CURTIS.

In her Chamber, making a Sermon of Continency to her, and rails, and swears, and rates; and she, poor Soul, knows not which Way to stand, to look, to speak; and sits as one new risen from a Dream. Away, away, for he is coming hither.

[Exeunt.

Enter PETRUCHIO.

PETRUCHIO.

Thus have I, politickly, begun my Reign,

And 'tis my Hope to end successfully:

My Falcon now is sharp, and passing empty,

And 'till she stoop, she must not be full gorg'd,

For then she never looks upon her Lure.

Another Way I have to man my Haggard,

To make her come, and know her Keeper's Call:

That is, to watch her, as we watch these Kites,

That bit and beat, and will not be obedient.

She eat no Meat to-day, nor none shall eat:

Last Night she slept not, nor To-night shall not;

As with the Meat, some undeserved Fault

I'll find about the making of the Bed;

And here I'll fling the Pillow, there the Bolster,

This Way the Coverlet; that Way the Sheets;

Aye, and amid' this hurly, I'll pretend

That all is done in reverent Care of her;

And in Conclusion she shall watch all Night:

And if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl,

And with the Clamour keep her still awake.

This is a Way to kill a Wife with Kindness,

And thus I'll curb her mad and head-strong Humour—

He that knows better how to tame a Shrew,

Now let him speak, 'tis Charity to shew.

[Exit.

ACT. III.

Enter CATHARINE and GRUMIO.

GRUMIO.

NO, no, forsooth, I dare not for my Life.

CATHARINE,

The more my Wrong, the more his Spite appears:

What did he marry me to famish me?

Beggars that come unto my Father's Door,

Upon Intreaty have a present Alms;

If not, elsewhere they meet with Charity:

But I, who never knew how to intreat,

Nor ever needed that I should intreat,

Am starv'd for Meat, giddy for lack of Sleep;

With Oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed;

And that which spights me more than all these Wants,

He does it under Name of perfect Love:

As who would say, if I should sleep or eat,

'Twere deadly Sickness, or else present Death!—

I pr'ythee go and get me some Repast;

I care not what, so it be wholesome Food.

GRUMIO.

What say you to a Neat's Foot?

CATHARINE.

'Tis passing good; I pr'ythee let me have it.

GRUMIO.

I fear, it is too flegmatick a Meat:

How say you to a fat Tripe, finely boil'd?

CATHARINE.

I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.

GRUMIO.

I cannot tell,—I fear, its cholerick:

What say you to a Piece of Beef and Mustard?

CATHARINE.

A Dish that I do love to feed upon.

GRUMIO.

Aye, but the Mustard is too hot a little.

CATHARINE.

Why then the Beef, and let the Mustard rest.

GRUMIO.

Nay, that I will not, you shall have the Mustard,

Or else you get no Beef of Grumio.

CATHARINE.

Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.

GRUMIO.

Why then, the Mustard, Dame, without the Beef.

CATHARINE.

Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding Slave,

[Beats him.

That feed'st me only with the Name of Meat:

Sorrow on thee, and all the Pack of you,

That triumph thus upon my Misery.

Go, get thee gone, I say.

Enter PETRUCHIO.

PETRUCHIO.

How fares my Kate?

What, Sweeting, all amort? Mistress, what Cheer?

CATHARINE.

'Faith as cold as can be.

PETRUCHIO.

Pluck up thy Spirits, look chearfully upon me.

For now my Honey-love we are refresh'd—

CATHARINE.

Refresh'd, with what?

PETRUCHIO.

We will return unto thy Father's House,

And revel it as bravely as the best,

With silken Coats, and Caps, and golden Rings,

With Ruffs, and Cuffs, and Fardingals, and Things:

With Scarffs, and Fans, and double Change of Brav'ry,

Now thou hast eat, the Taylor stays thy Leisure,

To deck thy Body with his rustling Treasure

Enter Taylor.

Come, Taylor, let us see these Ornaments.

Enter Haberdasher.

Lay forth the Gown—What News with you, Sir?

HABERDASHER.

Here is the Cap your Worship did bespeak.

PETRUCHIO.

Why this was moulded on a Porringer;

A velvet Dish: Fye, fye, '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.

CATHARINE.

I'll have no bigger, this doth fit the Time,

And Gentlewomen wear such Caps as these.

PETRUCHIO.

When you are gentle, you shall have one too,

And not till then.

CATHARINE.

Why, Sir; I trust I may have Leave to speak,

And speak I will; I am no Child, no Babe;

Your Betters have endur'd me say my Mind;

And if you cannot, best you stop your Ears;

My Tongue will tell the Anger of my Heart,

Or else my Heart concealing it, will break:

And rather than it shall, I will be free,

Ev'n to the utmost as I please in Words.

PETRUCHIO.

Thou say'st true, Kate, it is a paultry Cap,

A Custard Coffin, Bauble, silken Pie,

I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not.

CATHARINE.

Love me, or love me not, I like the Cap,

And I will have it, or I will have none.

PETRUCHIO.

Thy Gown? why aye; come, Taylor, let me see't.

O Mercy Heav'n! what masking Stuff is here?

What's this, a Sleeve? 'Tis like a Demi-canon;

What up and down, carv'd like an Apple-tart!

Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash,

Like to a Censer in a Barber's Shop.

Why, what the Devil's Name, Taylor, call'st thou this?

GRUMIO.

I see she's like to've neither Cap nor Gown.

TAYLOR.

You bid me make it orderly and well,

According to the Fashion of the Time.

PETRUCHIO.

Marry and did: but if you be remember'd,

I did not bid you marr it to the Time.

Go, hop me over every Kennel home;

For you shall hop without my Custom, Sir:

I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it.

CATHARINE.

I never saw a better fashion'd Gown,

More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable:

Belike you mean to make a Puppet of me.

PETRUCHIO.

Why, true; he means to make a Puppet of thee.

TAYLOR.

She says your Worship means to make a Puppet of her.

PETRUCHIO.

Oh! most monstrous Arrogance!

Thou lyest, thou Thread, thou Thimble,

Thou Yard, Three-quarters, Half-yard, Quarter, Nail.

Thou Flea, thou Nit, thou Winter-cricket, thou!

Brav'd in mine own House, with a Skein of Thread!

Away thou Rag! thou Quantity, thou Remnant,

Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy Yard,

As thou shall think on prating whilst thou liv'st:

I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd the Gown.

TAYLOR.

Your Worship is deceiv'd, the Gown is made just as my Master had Direction; Grumio gave Order how it should be done.

GRUMIO.

I gave him no Order, I gave him the Stuff.

TAYLOR.

But how did you desire it should be made?

GRUMIO.

Marry, Sir, with a Needle and Thread.

TAYLOR.

But did you not request to have it cut?

GRUMIO.

Tho' thou hast fac'd many Things, face not me: I say unto thee, I bid thy Master cut the Gown, but I did not bid him cut it to Pieces. Ergo, thou liest.

TAYLOR.

Why, here is the Note of the Fashion to testify.

PETRUCHIO.

Read it.

TAYLOR.

Imprimis, a loose-bodied Gown.

GRUMIO.

Master, if ever I said a loose-bodied Gown, few me up in the Skirts of it, and beat me to death with a Bottom of brown Thread: I said a Gown.

PETRUCHIO.

Proceed.

TAYLOR.

With a small compass Cape.

GRUMIO.

I confess the Cape.

TAYLOR.

With a Trunk Sleeve.

GRUMIO.

I confess two Sleeves.

TAYLOR.

The Sleeves curiously cut.

PETRUCHIO.

Ay, there's the Villany.

GRUMIO.

Error i'th' Bill, Sir; Error i'th' Bill; I commanded the Sleeves should be cut out, and sow'd upon again, and that I'll prove upon thee, tho' thy little Finger be arm'd in a Thimble.

TAYLOR.

This is true that I say; an' I had thee in a Place thou shoud'dst know it.

GRUMIO.

I am for thee, straight: come on you Parchment Shred!

[They fight.

PETRUCHIO.

What, Chickens sparr in Presence of the Kite!

I'll swoop upon you both; Out, out, ye Vermin—

[Beats 'em off.

CATHARINE.

For Heav'n's Sake, Sir, have Patience! how you fright me!

[Crying.

PETRUCHIO.

Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your Father's,

Even in these honest, mean Habiliments:

Our Purses shall be proud, our Garments poor;

For 'tis the Mind that makes the Body rich;

And as the Sun breaks through the darkest Cloud,

So Honour peereth in the meanest Habit.

What, is the Jay more precious than the Lark,

Because his Feathers are more beautiful?

Or is the Adder better than the Eel,

Because his painted Skin contents the Eye?

Oh no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse

For this poor Furniture, and mean Array.

If thou accounts't it Shame, lay it on me;

And therefore frolick; we will hence, forthwith.

To feast and sport us at thy Father's House:

Go call my Men, and bring our Horses out.

CATHARINE.

O happy Hearing! Let us strait be gone;

I cannot tarry here another Day.

PETRUCHIO.

Cannot, my Kate! O fie! indeed you can—

Besides, on second Thoughts, 'tis now too late,

For, look, how bright and goodly shines the Moon.

CATHARINE.

The Moon! the Sun; it is not Moon-light now.

PETRUCHIO.

I say it is the Moon that shines so bright.

CATHARINE.

I say it is the Sun that shines so bright.

PETRUCHIO.

Now, by my Mother's Son, and that's myself;

It shall be Moon, or Star; or what I list,

Or e're I Journey to your Father's House:

Go on, and fetch our Horses back again;

Evermore crost, and crost; nothing but crost!

GRUMIO.

Say as he says, or we shall never go.

CATHARINE.

I see 'tis vain to struggle with my Bonds;

So be it Moon, or Sun, or what you please;

And if you please to call it a Rush Candle,

Henceforth I vow, it shall be so for me.

PETRUCHIO.

I say it is the Moon.

CATHARINE.

I know it is the Moon.

PETRUCHIO.

Nay, then you lye; it is the blessed Sun.

CATHARINE.

Just as you please, it is the blessed Sun;

But Sun it is not, when you say it is not;

And the Moon changes, even as your Mind;

What you will have it nam'd, even that it is,

And so it shall be for your Catharine.

PETRUCHIO.

Well, forward, forward, thus the Bowl shall run,

And not unluckily, against the Biass:

But soft, some Company is coming here,

And stops our Journey.

Enter BAPTISTA, HORTENSIO and BIANCA.

Good-morrow, gentle Mistress, where away?

Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,

Hast thou beheld a fresher Gentlewoman?

Such War of White and Red within her Cheeks!

What Stars do spangle Heav'n with such Beauty,

As those two Eyes become that heav'nly Face?

Fair lovely Maid, once more good Day to thee,

Sweet Kate, embrace her for her Beauty's Sake.

BAPTISTA.

What's all this?

CATHARINE.

Young budding Virgin, fair, and fresh, and sweet,

Whither away, or where is thy abode?

Happy the Parents of so fair a Child;

Happier the Man whom favourable Stars

Allot thee, for his lovely Bedfellow.

BIANCA.

What Mummery is this?

PETRUCHIO.

Why, how now, Kate; I hope thou art not mad!

This is Baptista, our old reverent Father;

And not a Maiden, as thou sayst he is.

CATHARINE.

Pardon, dear Father, my mistaken Eyes,

That have heen so bedazled with the Sun,

That every thing I look on seemeth Green;

Now I perceive thou art my reverent Father:

Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.

[Kneels.

BAPTISTA.

Rise, rise, my Child; what strange Vigary's this?

I came to see thee with my Son and Daughter.

How lik'st thou Wedlock? Ar't not alter'd Kate?

CATHARINE.

Indeed I am. I am transform'd to Stone.

PETRUCHIO.

Chang'd for the better much; ar't not my Kate?

CATHARINE.

So good a Master, cannot chuse but mend me.

HORTENSIO.

Here is a Wonder, if you talk of Wonders.

BAPTISTA.

And so it is; I wonder what it bodes?

PETRUCHIO.

Marry, Peace it bodes, and Love, and quiet Life,

And awful Rule, and right Supremacy;

And to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy.

BIANCA.

Was ever Woman's Spirit broke so soon!

What is the Matter, Kate? hold up thy Head,

Nor lose our Sex's best Prerogative,

To wish and have our Will.—

PETRUCHIO.

Peace, Brawler, Peace,

Or I will give the meek Hortensio,

Your Husband, there, my taming Recipe.

BIANCA.

Lord, never let me have a Cause to sigh,

'Till I be brought to such a silly Pass.

GRUMIO to BAPTISTA.

Did I not promise you, Sir, my Master's Dicipline wou'd work Miracles?

BAPTISTA.

I scarce believe my Eyes and Ears.

BIANCA.

His Eyes and Ears had felt these Fingers e're

He shou'd have moap'd me so.

CATHARINE.

Alas! my Sister—

PETRUCHIO.

Catharine, I charge thee tell this headstrong Woman,

What Duty 'tis she owes her Lord and Husband.

BIANCA.

Come, come, you're mocking, we will have no telling.

PETRUCHIO.

Come, on, I say.

BIANCA.

She shall not.

HORTENSIO.

Let us hear for both our Sakes, good Wife.

PETRUCHIO.

Catharine, begin.

CATHARINE.

Fie, fie, unknit that threatning, unkind Brow,

And dart not scornful Glances from those Eyes;

To wound thy Lord, thy King, thy Governor,

It blots thy Beauty, as Frosts bite the Meads,

Confounds thy Fame, as Whirlwinds shake fair Buds,

And in no Sense is meet or amiable.

PETRUCHIO.

Why, well said Kate.

CATHARINE.

A Woman mov'd is like a Fountain troubled,

Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, berest of Beauty;

And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty

Will dain to sip, or touch a Drop of it.

BIANCA.

Sister, be quiet—

PETRUCHIO.

Nay, learn you that Lesson—On, on, I say.

CATHARINE.

Thy Husband is thy Lord, thy Life, thy Keeper,

Thy Head, thy Sovereign; one that cares for thee,

And for thy Maintainance: Commits his Body

To painful Labour, both by Sea and Land,

To watch the Night in Storms, the Day in Cold,

While thou ly'st warm at home, secure and safe;

And craves no other Tribute at thy Hands,

But Love, fair Looks, and true Obedience;

Too little Payment for so great a Debt.

BAPTISTA.

Now fair befall thee, Son Petruchio,

The Battle's won, and thou can'st keep the Field.

PETRUCHIO.

Oh! fear me not—

BAPTISTA

Then, my now gentle Cath'rine,

Go home with me along, and I will add

Another Dowry to another Daughter,

For thou art changed as thou hadst never been.

PETRUCHIO.

My Fortune is sufficient. Here's my Wealth:

Kiss me, my Kate; and since thou art become

So prudent, kind, and dutiful a Wife,

Petruchio here shall doff the lordly Husband;

An honest Mask, which I throw off with Pleasure.

Far hence all Rudeness, Wilfulness, and Noise,

And be our future Lives one gentle Stream

Of mutual Love, Compliance and Regard.

CATHARINE.

Nay, then I'm all unworthy of thy Love,

And look with Blushes on my former self.

PETRUCHIO.

Good Kate, no more—this is beyond my Hopes—

[Goes forward with Catharine in his Hand.

Such Duty as the Subject owes the Prince,

Even such a Woman oweth to her Husband:

And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sower,

And not obedient to his honest Will;

What is she but a foul contending Rebel,

And graceless Traitor to her loving Lord?

How shameful 'tis when Women are so simple

To offer War where they should kneel for Peace;

Or seek for Rule, Supremacy and Sway,

Where bound to love, to honour and obey.

Information about this book

Title statement

Catharine and Petruchio: A comedy, in three acts. As it is perform'd at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. Alter'd from Shakespear's Taming of the shrew.

Garrick, David, 1717-1779.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3884

ID [isbn10]

1106008839

ID [isbn13]

9781106008831

ID [TCP]

K033495.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313694583

ID [ECLL]

0601001500

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Catharine and Petruchio: A comedy, in three acts. As it is perform'd at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. Alter'd from Shakespear's Taming of the shrew., Garrick, David, 1717-1779.. [8],56p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for J. and R. Tonson, and S. Draper,. 1756.. [Adapted by David Garrick.] [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT28894.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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