 | Catharine and Petruchio |  |
1
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.
2
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.
3
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)
Is that she is intolerably froward;
If 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,
4
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 forth 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.
5
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.
6
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.
7
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.
8
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,
9
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.
10
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,
11
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?
12
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.
13
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—
14
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—Tomorrow!
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.
15
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.
16
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,
17
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.
| Catharine and Petruchio | |