Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
PETRUCHIO.
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.
KATHERINA.
I’ll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
PETRUCHIO.
When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.
HORTENSIO.
[Aside] That will not be in haste.
KATHERINA.
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.
PETRUCHIO.
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.
KATHERINA.
Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
And it I will have, or I will have none.
[Exit HABERDASHER.]
PETRUCHIO.
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 appletart?
Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber’s shop.
Why, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?
HORTENSIO.
[Aside] I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.
TAILOR.
You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion and the time.
PETRUCHIO.
Marry, and did; but if you be remember’d,
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.
KATHERINA.
I never saw a better fashion’d gown,
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
PETRUCHIO.
Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.
TAILOR.
She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.
PETRUCHIO.
O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread,
Thou thimble,
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail!
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!
Brav’d in mine own house with a skein of thread!
Away! thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant,
Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard
As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv’st!
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr’d her gown.
TAILOR.
Your worship is deceiv’d: the gown is made
Just as my master had direction.
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
GRUMIO.
I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.
TAILOR.
But how did you desire it should be made?
GRUMIO.
Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
TAILOR.
But did you not request to have it cut?
GRUMIO.
Thou hast faced many things.
TAILOR. I have.
GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast braved many men; brave not me: I will neither be fac’d nor brav’d. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest.
TAILOR.
Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
PETRUCHIO.
Read it.
GRUMIO.
The note lies in ‘s throat, if he say I said so.
TAILOR.
‘Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown.’
GRUMIO.
Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the
skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread;
I said, a gown.
PETRUCHIO.
Proceed.
TAILOR.
‘With a small compassed cape.’
GRUMIO.
I confess the cape.
TAILOR.
‘With a trunk sleeve.’
GRUMIO.
I confess two sleeves.
TAILOR.
‘The sleeves curiously cut.’
PETRUCHIO.
Ay, there’s the villainy.
GRUMIO. Error i’ the bill, sir; error i’ the bill. I commanded the sleeves should be cut out, and sew’d up again; and that I’ll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble.
TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where thou shouldst know it.
GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me.
HORTENSIO.
God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.
PETRUCHIO.
Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
GRUMIO.
You are i’ the right, sir; ‘tis for my mistress.
PETRUCHIO.
Go, take it up unto thy master’s use.
GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress’ gown for thy master’s use!
PETRUCHIO.
Why, sir, what’s your conceit in that?
GRUMIO.