The Taming of the Shrew. Уильям Шекспир

this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,

          Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.

          And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale

          Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?

        PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world

          To seek their fortunes farther than at home,

          Where small experience grows. But in a few,

          Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:

          Antonio, my father, is deceas'd,

          And I have thrust myself into this maze,

          Haply to wive and thrive as best I may;

          Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,

          And so am come abroad to see the world.

        HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee

          And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?

          Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel,

          And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich,

          And very rich; but th'art too much my friend,

          And I'll not wish thee to her.

        PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we

          Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know

          One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,

          As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,

          Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,

          As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd

          As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse-

          She moves me not, or not removes, at least,

          Affection's edge in me, were she as rough

          As are the swelling Adriatic seas.

          I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;

          If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

        GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind

      is.

          Why, give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an

          aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head,

      though

          she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why,

      nothing

          comes amiss, so money comes withal.

        HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in,

          I will continue that I broach'd in jest.

          I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife

          With wealth enough, and young and beauteous;

          Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman;

          Her only fault, and that is faults enough,

          Is- that she is intolerable curst,

          And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure

          That, were my state far worser than it is,

          I would not wed her for a mine of gold.

        PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect.

          Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough;

          For I will board her though she chide as loud

          As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.

        HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola,

          An affable and courteous gentleman;

          Her name is Katherina Minola,

          Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.

        PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her;

          And he knew my deceased father well.

          I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;

          And therefore let me be thus bold with you

          To give you over at this first encounter,

          Unless you will accompany me thither.

        GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O'

      my

          word, and she knew him as well as I do, she would think

      scolding

          would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half

      a

          score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once,

      he'll

          rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she

      stand

          him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so

          disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see

          withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.

        HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,

          For in Baptista's keep my treasure is.

          He hath the jewel of my life in hold,

          His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca;

          And her withholds from me, and other more,