diligent I am
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov’st it not;
And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here, take away this dish.
Kath.
I pray you let it stand.
Pet.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks,
And so shall mine before you touch the meat.
Kath.
I thank you, sir.
Hor.
Signior Petruchio, fie, you are to blame.
Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.
Pet. [Aside.]
Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.—
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love,
Will we 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 fardingales, and things,
With scarfs and fans, and double change of brav’ry,
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav’ry.
What, hast thou din’d? The tailor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.
Enter Tailor.
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
Lay forth the gown.
Enter Haberdasher.
What news with you, sir?
[Hab.]
Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
Pet.
Why, this was moulded on a porringer—
A velvet dish. Fie, fie, ’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.
Kath.
I’ll have no bigger, this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
Pet.
When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.
Hor. [Aside.]
That will not be in haste.
Kath.
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,
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
Pet.
Why, thou say’st true, it is [a] paltry cap,
A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie.
I love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.
Kath.
Love me, or love me not, I like the cap,
And it I will have, or I will have none.
[Exit Haberdasher.]
Pet.
Thy gown? why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see’t.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is here?
What’s this? a sleeve? ’tis like [a] demi-cannon.
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 a’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?
Hor. [Aside.]
I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.
Tai.
You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
Pet.
Marry, and did; but if you be rememb’red,
I did not bid you mar 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.
Kath.
I never saw a better fashion’d gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable.
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
