I may entitle thee my loving father; Vin. But is this true? or is it else your pleasure, Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous." [Exeunt Petrucio, Katharina, and Vincentio. Hor. Well, Petrucio, this hath put me in heart. Have to my widow; and if she be froward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I.-Padua. Before Lucentio's House. Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and Bianca: Gremio walking on the other side. Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready; Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee at home, therefore leave us. Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back, and then come back to my master as soon as I can. [Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. Enter Petrucio, Katharina, Vincentio, and Attendants. Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house, My father's bears more toward the market place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go; I think I shall command your welcome here, And by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. [Knocks. Gre. They 're busy within, you were best knock louder. Enter Pedant above at a window. Ped. What's he that knocks as he would beat down Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? [the gate? Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to make merry withal? Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need none, so long as I live. Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.-Do you hear, sir?-to leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Ped. Thou liest; his father is come from Pisa, and is here looking out at the window. Vin. Art thou his father? [her. Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe Pet. Why, how now, gentleman? [To Vincen.] why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another man's name. Ped. Lay hands on the villain. I believe 'a means to cozen somebody in this city under my counte nance. Re-enter Biondello. Bion. I have seen them in the church together: God send 'em good shipping!-But who is here? mine old master, Vincentio? Now, we are undone, and brought to nothing. Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondello. Bion. I hope I may choose, sir. [forgot me? Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. Vin. Is 't so, indeed? [Beats Biondello. Bion. Help, help, help! here 's a madman will murder me, [Exit. Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? Vin. What am I, sir? nay, what are you, sir?-O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! -O, I am undone, I am undone! While I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. Tra. How now? what 's the matter? Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. Vin. Thy father? O villain! he is a sail-maker in Bergamo. Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Pray, what do you think is his name? Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name: I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. Ped. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, signior Vincentio. Vin. Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name: O, my son, my son !-tell me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio. Officer.] Carry this mad knave to the gaol :-Father Bap, Talk not, signior Gremio. I say he shall go to prison. Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be coney-catched in this business. I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. Ped. Swear, if thou darest. Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. [Lucentio. Tra. Then thou wert best say that I am not Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. Bap. Away with the dotard: to the gaol with him. Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus’d. O monstrous villain! Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio and Bianca. Bion. O, we are spoiled, and-Yonder he is; deny him, forswear him, or else we are are all undone. Luc. Pardon, sweet father. Vin. [all! [Kneeling. Lives my sweet son? [Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant run out. Bion. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. Bap. How hast thou offended? Where is Lucentio? Luc. Here's Lucentio, Right son unto the right Vincentio ; That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. Gre. Here 's packing with a witness, to deceive us Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so? Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arrived at last Unto the wished haven of my bliss: What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the gaol. Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.] Have you married my daughter without asking my goodwill? [go to: Vin. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you: But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy. [Exit. Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. [Exit. Kath. Husband, let 's follow, to see the end of this Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. [ado. Kath. What, in the midst of the street? Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me? Kath. No, sir; God forbid :-but ashamed to kiss. Pet. Why, then, let 's home again:-Come, sirrah, let's away. [love, stay. Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, Pet. Is not this well?-Come, my sweet Kate; Better once than never, for never too late. [Exeunt. SCENE II.A Room in Lucentio's House. A banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petrucio, Katharina, Hortensio, and Widow. Biondello, Grumio, and others, attending. Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree; And time it is, when raging war is done, To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine; Brother Petrucio,-sister Katharina,And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,Feast with the best, and welcome to my house. My banquet is to close our stomachs up, After our great good cheer: Pray you, sit down; For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. widow. Tranio, [They sit at talle. Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 'T is thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. Luc. Twenty crowns. Pet. Twenty crowns! I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound, But twenty times so much upon my wife. Luc. A hundred then. Hor. Content. Pet. A match; 't is done. Luc. That will I. Hor. Who shall begin? [Exit. How now! what news? Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go, and entreat my wife O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. I am afraid, sir, Now where 's my wife? 1 Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in hand; She will not come; she bids you come to her. Pet. Worse and worse; she will not come ! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endur'd! Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; Say I command her come to me. Hor. I know her answer. Hor. [Exit Grumio. Pet. What? She will not. Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Enter Katharina. Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina! Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow. Lue. I would, your duty were as foolish too : What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Wid. Come, come, you 're mocking; we will have no telling. Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Pet. I say, she shall;-and first begin with her. Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow; And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, What is she, but a foul contending rebel, My hand is ready, may it do him ease! [me, Kate. Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froPet. Come, Kate, we 'll to bed: [ward. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'T was I won the wager, though you hit the white; [To Lucentio. And, being a winner, God give you good night! [Exeunt Petrucio and Kath. Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst shrew. Luc. "T is a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so. [Exeunt. ACT I. VIOLENTA, MARIANA, neighbours friends to the Widow. and Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Soldiers, &c., French and Florentine. SCENE.- Partly in FRANCE and partly in TUSCANY. far, would have made nature immortal, and death SCENE I.-Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the Palace. Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning. Count. In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. [dam? king's sake, he were living! I think it would be the death of the king's disease. Laf. How called you the man you speak of, maCount. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be so: Gerard de Narbon. Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king Ber. And I, ingoing, madam, weep o'er my father's very lately spoke of him admiringly and mourningdeath anew: but I must attend his majesty's com- ly: he was skilful enough to have lived still, if knowmand, to whom I am now in ward, everinore in sub-ledge could be set up against mortality. jection. Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam; -you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you; whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such abundance. Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend ment? Laf. He hath abandoned his physician, madam; under whose practices he hath persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process but only the losing of hope by time. Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, (O, that had how sad a passage 't is !) whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretched so [of? Ber, What is it, my good lord, the king languishes Laf. A fistula, my lord? Ber. I heard not of it before. Laf. I would it were not notorious.-Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon? Count. His sole child, my lord; and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good that her education promises: her dispositions she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, their commendations go with pity,-they are virtues and traitors too: in her they are the better for their simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. [tears. Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her Count. T is the best brine a maiden can season | crease; and there was never virgin got till virginity her praise in. The remembrance of her father never was first lost. That you were made of is metal to approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of be ten times found; by being ever kept, it is ever this, Helena-go to, no more; lest it be rather lost: 't is too cold a companion; away with it. thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though therefore I die a virgin. Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the enemy to the living. Hel. If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. Laf. How understand we that? [father Count. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell.-My lord, 'T is an unseason'd courtier; good my lord, Advise him. Laf. He cannot want the best That shall attend his love. Count. Heaven bless him!-Farewell, Bertram. [Exit. Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts [to Helena] be servants to you! Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her. Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the credit of your father. [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. Must die for love. 'T was pretty, though a plague, Enter Parolles. One that goes with him: I love him for his sake; That they take place, when virtue's steely bones Hel. And you, monarch. Hel. And no. Par. No. Par. Are you meditating on virginity? Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question: Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? Par. Keep him out. Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant in the defence, yet is weak: unfold to us some warlike resistance. Par. There is none: man, sitting down before you, will undermine you, and blow you up. Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers up!-Is there no military policy how virgins might blow up men? Par. There's little can be said in 't; 't is against the rule of nature. To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin virginity murders itself; and should be buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by 't: Out with 't: within ten year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase; and the principal itself not much the worse: Away with 't. Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? Par. Let me see: Marry, ill, to like him that ne'er it likes. 'T is a commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept the less worth off with 't, while 't is vendible: answer the time of request. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: just like the brooch and the toothpick, which wear not now: Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek: And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 't is a withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 't is a withered pear: Will you anything with it? Hel. Not my virginity yet. There, shall your master have a thousand loves, Hel. That I wish well.-'T is pity- Hel. That wishing well had not a body in 't, Enter a Page. Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. [Exit. Par. Little Helen, farewell: If I can remember Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you Hel. You go so much backward when you fight. Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: But the composition that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and I like the wear well. Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will quick- Par. I am so full of businesses I cannot answer lier be blown up: marry, in blowing him down again, thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the with the breach yourselves made, you lose your city. which, my instruction shall serve to naturalise thee. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and preserve virginity. Loss of virginity is rational in-understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, ignorance makes thee away: farewell. When thou To grow there, and to bear,)Let me not live,'-hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, Thus his good melancholy oft began, remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. When it was out,- Let me not live,' quoth he, Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 'After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull All but new things disdain; whose judgments are Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies What power is it which mounts my love so high; Expire before their fashions:-This he wish'd: That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? I, after him, do after him wish too, The mightiest space in fortune nature brings To join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those That weigh their pains in sense; and do suppose What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove To show her merit that did miss her love? The king's disease-my project may deceive me, But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me. [Ex. SCENE II.-Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. I Lord. His love and wisdom, He hath arm'd our answer, It well may serve What's he comes here! King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face; Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man His good remembrance, sir, [say, King. Would I were with him! He would always (Methinks I hear him now: his plausive words Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, You 're lov'd, sir: SCENE III.-Rousillon. A Room in the Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my past endeavours: for then we wound our modesty, and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we publish them. Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah: The complaints I have heard of you I do not all believe; 't is my slowness that I do not: for I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. Clo. T is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. Count. Well, sir. Clo. No, madam, 't is not so well that I am poor; though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may have your ladyship's good-will to go to the world, Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar? Clo. I do beg your good-will in this case. Count. In what case? Clo. In Isbel's case and mine own. Service is no heritage: and I think I shall never have the blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, they say, barnes are blessings. Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go that the devil drives. Count. Is this all your worship's reason? Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. Count. May the world know them? Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood are; and, indeed, I do marry that I may repent. Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. Clo. I am out o' friends, madam; and I hope to have friends for my wife's sake. Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. Clo. You 're shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am aweary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and gives me leave to in the crop: If I be his cuckold, he 's my drudge: He that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, howsome'er their hearts are severed in religion, their heads are both one,-they may jowl horns together, like any deer i' the herd. |