Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew.

And so it is: I wonder what it bodes.

She will not.

I know her answer.

I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Re-enter BIONDELLO
Now, where's my wife?

Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.

Who shall begin?

Content.

Content. What is the wager?

Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?

That's my office.

To her, widow!

My widow says, thus she conceives her tale.

For both our sakes, I would that word were true.

Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
Have to my widow! and if she be froward,
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.

I do assure thee, father, so it is.

A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.

Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won.

Say as he says, or we shall never go.

Aside Why, so this gallant will command the sun.

Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow:
Take no unkindness of his hasty words:
Away! I say; commend me to thy master.

God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds.

Aside I see she's like to have neither cap nor gown.

Aside That will not be in haste.

Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.

Mistress, what cheer?

Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow,
Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me
As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard.
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
Kindness ...

See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her,
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.

Mistake no more: I am not Licio,
Nor a musician, as I seem to be;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman,
And makes a god of such a cullion:
Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.

Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray,
You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio.

Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.

But I have cause to pry into this pedant:
Methinks he looks as though he were in love:
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale,
Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee ...

Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade:
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

You may go walk, and give me leave a while:
My lessons make no music in three parts.

The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
Aside
How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

Madam, 'tis now in tune.

Madam, my instrument's in tune.

You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.

But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony:
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in music we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

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 these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume
with them:'
And, with that word ...

I think she'll sooner prove a soldier
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.

The motion's good indeed and be it so,
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.

Sir, you say well and well you do conceive;
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholding.

Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?

That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

Sir, a word ere you go;
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

I promised we would be contributors
And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er.