BAPTISTA.
Who comes with him?
BIONDELLO. O, sir! his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat, and the ‘humour of forty fancies’ prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.
TRANIO.
‘Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes lie goes but mean-apparell’d.
BAPTISTA.
I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.
BIONDELLO.
Why, sir, he comes not.
BAPTISTA.
Didst thou not say he comes?
BIONDELLO.
Who? that Petruchio came?
BAPTISTA.
Ay, that Petruchio came.
BIONDELLO.
No, sir; I say his horse comes, with him on his back.
BAPTISTA.
Why, that’s all one.
BIONDELLO.
Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.
[Enter PETRUCHIO and GRUMIO.]
PETRUCHIO.
Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home?
BAPTISTA.
You are welcome, sir.
PETRUCHIO.
And yet I come not well.
BAPTISTA.
And yet you halt not.
TRANIO.
Not so well apparell’d
As I wish you were.
PETRUCHIO.
Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet or unusual prodigy?
BAPTISTA.
Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:
First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival.
TRANIO.
And tell us what occasion of import
Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife,
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
PETRUCHIO.
Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear;
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforced to digress;
Which at more leisure I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her;
The morning wears, ‘tis time we were at church.
TRANIO.
See not your bride in these unreverent robes;
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
PETRUCHIO.
Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.
BAPTISTA.
But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
PETRUCHIO.
Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words;
To me she’s married, not unto my clothes.
Could I repair what she will wear in me
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
‘Twere well for Kate and better for myself.
But what a fool am I to chat with you
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride,
And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO, GRUMIO, and BIODELLO.]
TRANIO.
He hath some meaning in his mad attire.
We will persuade him, be it possible,
To put on better ere he go to church.
BAPTISTA.
I’ll after him and see the event of this.
[Exeunt BAPTISTA, GREMIO and ATTENDENTS.]
TRANIO.
But to her love concerneth us to add
Her father’s liking; which to bring to pass,
As I before imparted to your worship,
I am to get a man,—whate’er he be
It skills not much; we’ll fit him to our turn,—
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa,
And make assurance here in Padua,
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
LUCENTIO.
Were it not that my fellow schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly,
‘Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform’d, let all the world say no,
I’ll keep mine own despite of all the world.
TRANIO.
That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage in this business.
We’ll overreach the greybeard, Gremio,
The narrow-prying father, Minola,
The quaint musician, amorous Licio;
All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.
[Re-enter GREMIO.]
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
GREMIO.
As willingly as e’er I came from school.
TRANIO.
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
GREMIO.
A bridegroom, say you? ‘Tis a groom indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
TRANIO.
Curster than she? Why, ‘tis impossible.
GREMIO.
Why, he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.