here bestow a simple instrument,
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Bap.
Lucentio is your name, of whence, I pray?
Tra.
Of Pisa, sir, son to Vincentio.
Bap.
A mighty man of Pisa; by report
I know him well. You are very welcome, sir.
Take you the lute, and you the set of books.
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within!
Enter a Servant.
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen
To my daughters, and tell them both,
These are their tutors. Bid them use them well.
[Exit Servant with Lucentio and Hortensio, Biondello following.]
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome,
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
Pet.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left soly heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered rather than decreas’d.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
Bap.
After my death, the one half of my lands,
And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
Pet.
And for that dowry, I’ll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
Bap.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d,
That is, her love; for that is all in all.
Pet.
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.
Though 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 woo not like a babe.
Bap.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed!
But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.
Pet.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That [shake] not, though they blow perpetually.
Enter Hortensio [as Litio] with his head broke.
Bap.
How now, my friend, why dost thou look so pale?
Hor.
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
Bap.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
Hor.
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier,
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Bap.
Why then thou canst not break her to the lute?
Hor.
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 she strook me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way,
And there I stood amazed for a while,
As on a pillory, looking through the lute,
While she did call me rascal fiddler
And twangling Jack, with twenty such vild terms,
As had she studied to misuse me so.
Pet.
Now by the world, it is a lusty wench!
I love her ten times more than e’er I did.
O, how I long to have some chat with her!
Bap.
Well, go with me and be not so discomfited.
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter;
She’s
