 | Catharine and Petruchio |  |
41
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?
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'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.
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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 Scarsfs, 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.
44
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.
45
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.
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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?
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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, sew
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.
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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.
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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.
50
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.
51
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;
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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.
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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.
54
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;
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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, bereft 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—
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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 soul 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.
FINIS.
| Catharine and Petruchio | |