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Hor.
Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favor’d wife?
Thou’dst thank me but a little for my counsel;
And yet I’ll promise thee she shall be rich,
And very rich. But th’ art too much my friend,
And I’ll not wish thee to her.
Pet.
Signior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as we
Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know
One rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife
(As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance),
Be she as foul as was Florentius’ love,
As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrowd
As Socrates’ Xantippe, or a worse,
She moves me not, or not removes at least
Affection’s edge in me. [Whe’er] she is as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas,
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
Gru. 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 aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne’er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.
Hor.
Petruchio, since we are stepp’d thus far in,
I will continue that I broach’d in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young and beauteous,
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman.
Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
Is that she is intolerable curst
And shrowd and froward, so beyond all measure,
That were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
Pet.
Hortensio, peace! thou know’st not gold’s effect.
Tell me her father’s name, and ’tis enough;
For I will board her, though she chide as loud
As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.
Hor.
Her father is Baptista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman.
Her name is Katherina Minola,
Renown’d in Padua for her scolding tongue.
Pet.
I know her father, though I know not her,
And he knew my deceased father well.
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her,
And therefore let me be thus bold with you
To give you over at this first encounter,
Unless you will accompany me thither.
Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humor lasts. A’ my word, and 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; and he begin once, he’ll rail in his rope-tricks. I’ll tell you what, sir, and 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.
Hor.
Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
For in Baptista’s keep my treasure is.
He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca,
And her withholds from me [and] other more,
Suitors to her and rivals in my love;
Supposing it a thing impossible,
For those defects I have before rehears’d,
That ever Katherina will be woo’d.
Therefore this order hath Baptista ta’en,
That none shall have access unto Bianca
Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
Gru.
Katherine the curst!
A title for a maid of all titles the worst.
Hor.
Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
And offer me disguis’d in sober robes
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca,
That so I may by this device at least
Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
And unsuspected court her by herself.
Enter Gremio, and Lucentio disguised [as a schoolmaster].
Gru. Here’s no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about you! Who goes there? ha!
Hor. Peace, Grumio, it is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by a while.
Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous!
[They stand aside.]
Gre.
O, very well, I have perus’d the note.
Hark you, sir, I’ll have them very fairly bound—
All books of love, see that at any hand—
And see you read no other lectures to her.
You understand me. Over and beside
Signior Baptista’s liberality,
I’ll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
And let me have them very well perfum’d;
For she is sweeter than perfume itself
To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
Luc.
What e’er I read to her, I’ll plead for you
As for my patron, stand you so assur’d,
As firmly as yourself were still in place,
Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
Than you—unless you were a scholar, sir.
Gre.
O this learning, what a thing it is!
Gru.
O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
Pet.
Peace,