ACT 1
Scene 2

...sit and mark.
Enter Petruchio and his man Grumio.
Verona, for a while I take my leave
To see my friends in Padua, but of all
My best belovèd and approvèd friend,
Hortensio. And I trow this is his house.
Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.

...rebused your Worship?
Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.

...you here, sir?
Villain, I say, knock me at this gate
And rap me well, or I’ll knock your knave’s pate.

...by the worst.
Will it not be?
Faith, sirrah, an you’ll not knock, I’ll ring it.
I’ll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.
He wrings him by the ears. Grumio falls.

...master is mad.
Now knock when I bid you, sirrah
villain.

...all at Verona?
Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
Con tutto il cuore ben trovato, may I say.

...by the worst.
A senseless villain, good Hortensio.
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate
And could not get him for my heart to do it.

...at the gate”?
Sirrah, begone, or talk not, I advise you.

...from old Verona?
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 deceased,
And I have thrust myself into this maze,
Happily 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.

...thee to her.
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.

...mine of gold.
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.

...her scolding tongue.
I know her father, though I know not her,
And he knew my deceasèd 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.

...stand by awhile.
Petruchio, Hortensio, and Grumio stand aside.

...ass it is!
aside
Peace, sirrah.

...good for either.
Presenting Petruchio.

...all her faults?
I know she is an irksome, brawling scold.
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.

...friend? What countryman?
Born in Verona, old Antonio’s son.
My father dead, my fortune lives for me,
And I do hope good days and long to see.

...woo this wildcat?
Will I live?

...I’ll hang her.
Why came I hither but to that intent?
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puffed up with winds,
Rage like an angry boar chafèd with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field
And heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitchèd battle heard
Loud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?
And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear
As will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?
Tush, tush, fear boys with bugs!

...you to do?
Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

...prove a jade.
Hortensio, to what end are all these words?

...for beauteous modesty.
Sir, sir, the first’s for me; let her go by.

...than Alcides’ twelve.
to Tranio
Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth:
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her father keeps from all access of suitors
And will not promise her to any man
Until the elder sister first be wed.
The younger then is free, and not before.

...your ben venuto.
They exit.

ACT 2
Scene 1

...who comes here?
Enter Gremio; Lucentio disguised as Cambio in the habit of a mean man; Petruchio with Hortensio disguised as Litio; and Tranio disguised as Lucentio, with his boy, Biondello bearing a lute and books.

...save you, gentlemen.
And you, good sir. Pray, have you not a daughter
Called Katherina, fair and virtuous?

...to it orderly.
You wrong me, Signior Gremio. Give me leave.—
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir,
That hearing of her beauty and her wit,
Her affability and bashful modesty,
Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior,
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have heard,
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine, Presenting Hortensio, disguised as Litio
Cunning in music and the mathematics,
To instruct her fully in those sciences,
Whereof I know she is not ignorant.
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong.
His name is Litio, born in Mantua.

...more my grief.
I see you do not mean to part with her,
Or else you like not of my company.

...call your name?
Petruchio is my name, Antonio’s son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.

...are marvelous forward.
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio, I would fain be doing.

...to think yourselves.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well, and in him me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered rather than decreased.
Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

...twenty thousand crowns.
And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me,
In all my lands and leases whatsoever.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

...all in all.
Why, that is nothing. For I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all.
So I to her and so she yields to me,
For I am rough and woo not like a babe.

...some unhappy words.
Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shakes not, though they blow perpetually.

...misuse me so.
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench.
I love her ten times more than ere I did.
O, how I long to have some chat with her!

...Kate to you?
I pray you do. I’ll attend her here—
And woo her with some spirit when she comes!
Say that she rail, why then I’ll tell her plain
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.
Say that she frown, I’ll say she looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew.
Say she be mute and will not speak a word,
Then I’ll commend her volubility
And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks
As though she bid me stay by her a week.
If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be marrièd.
But here she comes—and now, Petruchio, speak.

Enter Katherine.
Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name, I hear.

...talk of me.
You lie, in faith, for you are called plain Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst.
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate
(For dainties are all Kates)—and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation:
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs),
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.

...were a movable.
Why, what’s a movable?

...A joint stool.
Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me.

...so are you.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.

...me you mean.
Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee,
For knowing thee to be but young and light—

...weight should be.
“Should be”—should buzz!

...a buzzard.
O slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?

...takes a buzzard.
Come, come, you wasp! I’ faith, you are too angry.

...beware my sting.
My remedy is then to pluck it out.

...where it lies.
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
In his tail.

...In his tongue.
Whose tongue?

...and so farewell.
What, with my tongue in your tail?
Nay, come again, good Kate. I am a gentleman—

...That I’ll try.
She strikes him.
I swear I’ll cuff you if you strike again.

...then no arms.
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books.

...crest? A coxcomb?
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.

...like a craven.
Nay, come, Kate, come. You must not look so sour.

...see a crab.
Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.

...is, there is.
Then show it me.

...glass, I would.
What, you mean my face?

...a young one.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.

...you are withered.
’Tis with cares.

...I care not.
Nay, hear you, Kate—in sooth, you ’scape not so.

...Let me go.
No, not a whit. I find you passing gentle.
’Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar.
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk.
But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft, and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel twig
Is straight, and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazelnuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk! Thou dost not halt.

...thou keep’st command.
Did ever Dian so become a grove
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful.

...this goodly speech?
It is extempore, from my mother wit.

...else her son.
Am I not wise?

...keep you warm.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.
And therefore, setting all this chat aside,
Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented
That you shall be my wife, your dowry ’greed on,
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn,
For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,
Thou must be married to no man but me.
For I am he am born to tame you, Kate,
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.

Enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio as Lucentio.
Here comes your father. Never make denial.
I must and will have Katherine to my wife.

...my daughter?
How but well, sir? How but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.

...the matter out.
Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world
That talked of her have talked amiss of her.
If she be curst, it is for policy,
For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove;
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn.
For patience she will prove a second Grissel,
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity.
And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together
That upon Sunday is the wedding day.

...goodnight our part.
Be patient, gentlemen. I choose her for myself.
If she and I be pleased, what’s that to you?
’Tis bargained ’twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me. O, the kindest Kate!
She hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
O, you are novices! ’Tis a world to see
How tame, when men and women are alone,
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.—
Give me thy hand, Kate. I will unto Venice
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding day.—
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests.
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.

...will be witnesses.
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu.
I will to Venice. Sunday comes apace.
We will have rings, and things, and fine array,
And kiss me, Kate. We will be married o’ Sunday.
Petruchio and Katherine exit through different doors.

ACT 3
Scene 2

...yet not many.
Enter Petruchio and Grumio.
Come, where be these gallants? Who’s at home?

...are welcome, sir.
And yet I come not well.

...wish you were.
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?

...so unlike yourself.
Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear.
Sufficeth I am come to keep my word,
Though in some part enforcèd to digress,
Which at more leisure I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied with all.
But where is Kate? I stay too long from her.
The morning wears. ’Tis time we were at church.

...clothes of mine.
Not I, believe me. Thus I’ll visit her.

...not marry her.
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!
Petruchio exits, with Grumio.

...the minstrels play.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Bianca, Hortensio, Baptista, Grumio, and Attendants.
Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains.
I know you think to dine with me today
And have prepared great store of wedding cheer,
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence,
And therefore here I mean to take my leave.

...will away tonight?
I must away today, before night come.
Make it no wonder. If you knew my business,
You would entreat me rather go than stay.
And, honest company, I thank you all,
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife.
Dine with my father, drink a health to me,
For I must hence, and farewell to you all.

...till after dinner.
It may not be.

...me entreat you.
It cannot be.

...me entreat you.
I am content.

...content to stay?
I am content you shall entreat me stay,
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.

...love me, stay.
Grumio, my horse.

...first so roundly.
O Kate, content thee. Prithee, be not angry.

...spirit to resist.
They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command.—
Obey the bride, you that attend on her.
Go to the feast, revel and domineer,
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead,
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves.
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret;
I will be master of what is mine own.
She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything.
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare.
I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua.—Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon. We are beset with thieves.
Rescue thy mistress if thou be a man!—
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate.
I’ll buckler thee against a million.
Petruchio and Katherine exit, with Grumio.

ACT 4
Scene 1

...hear my master.
Enter Petruchio and Katherine.
Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse?
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Phillip?

...sir, here, sir!
“Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir! Here, sir!”
You loggerheaded and unpolished grooms.
What? No attendance? No regard? No duty?
Where is the foolish knave I sent before?

...I was before.
You peasant swain, you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?

...to meet you.
Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in! Sings.
Where is the life that late I led?
Where are those—
Sit down, Kate, and welcome. They sit at a table.
Soud, soud, soud, soud!

Enter Servants with supper.
Why, when, I say?—Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.—
Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains! When? Sings.
It was the friar of orders gray,
As he forth walkèd on his way— Servant begins to remove Petruchio’s boots.
Out, you rogue! You pluck my foot awry.
Take that!He hits the Servant.
And mend the plucking of the other.—
Be merry, Kate.—Some water here! What ho!

Enter one with water.
Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither.
One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.—
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?—
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.—
You whoreson villain, will you let it fall?
He hits the Servant.

...a fault unwilling.
A whoreson beetle-headed flap-eared knave!—
Come, Kate, sit down. I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?—
What’s this? Mutton?

... Ay.
Who brought it?

... I.
’Tis burnt, and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all! He throws the food and dishes at them.
You heedless joltheads and unmannered slaves!
What, do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.

...were so contented.
I tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,
And I expressly am forbid to touch it,
For it engenders choler, planteth anger,
And better ’twere that both of us did fast
(Since of ourselves, ourselves are choleric)
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient. Tomorrow ’t shall be mended,
And for this night we’ll fast for company.
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.
They exit.

...is coming hither!
Enter Petruchio.
Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
And ’tis my hope to end successfully.
My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged,
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come and know her keeper’s call.
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate and beat and will not be obedient.
She ate no meat today, nor none shall eat.
Last night she slept not, nor tonight she shall not.
As with the meat, some undeservèd fault
I’ll find about the making of the bed,
And here I’ll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets.
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
That all is done in reverend care of her.
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night,
And, if she chance to nod, I’ll rail and brawl,
And with the clamor keep her still awake.
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness.
And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humor.
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak; ’tis charity to shew.
He exits.

Scene 3

...gone, I say.
Enter Petruchio and Hortensio with meat.
How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

...as can be.
Pluck up thy spirits. Look cheerfully upon me.
Here, love, thou seest how 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.

...let it stand.
The poorest service is repaid with thanks,
And so shall mine before you touch the meat.

...bear you company.
aside to Hortensio
Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.—
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart.
Kate, eat apace.

Katherine and Hortensio prepare to eat.
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 farthingales and things,
With scarves and fans and double change of brav’ry,
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav’ry.
What, hast thou dined? 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?

...Worship did bespeak.
Why, this was molded 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.

...caps as these.
When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
And not till then.

...please, in words.
Why, thou sayst 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.

...will have none.
Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see ’t.
O mercy God, what masking-stuff is here?
What’s this? A sleeve? ’Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down carved 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?

...and the time.
Marry, and did. But if you be remembered,
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.

...puppet of me.
Why, true, he means to make a puppet of thee.

...of her.
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!
Braved 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 marred her gown.

...shows a paper.
Read it.

...said “a gown.”
Proceed.

...sleeves curiously cut.”
Ay, there’s the villainy.

...have no odds.
Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.

...for my mistress.
Go, take it up unto thy master’s use.

...thy master’s use!
Why, sir, what’s your conceit in that?

...fie, fie, fie!
aside to Hortensio
Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid.
To Tailor.
Go, take it hence. Begone, and say no more.

...to thy master.
Well, come, my Kate, we will unto your father’s,
Even in these honest mean habiliments.
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor,
For ’tis the mind that makes the body rich,
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honor peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel
Because his painted skin contents the eye?
O no, good Kate. Neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.
If thou account’st it shame, lay it on me,
And therefore frolic! We will hence forthwith
To feast and sport us at thy father’s house.
To Grumio.
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him,
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end.
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
Let’s see, I think ’tis now some seven o’clock,
And well we may come there by dinner time.

...you come there.
It shall be seven ere I go to horse.
Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
You are still crossing it.—Sirs, let ’t alone.
I will not go today, and, ere I do,
It shall be what o’clock I say it is.

...command the sun!
They exit.

Scene 5

...go without her.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Hortensio, and Servants.
Come on, i’ God’s name, once more toward our father’s.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!

...not moonlight now.
I say it is the moon that shines so bright.

...shines so bright.
Now, by my mother’s son, and that’s myself,
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
Or e’er I journey to your father’s house.
To Servants.
Go on, and fetch our horses back again.—
Evermore crossed and crossed, nothing but crossed!

...so for me.
I say it is the moon.

...is the moon.
Nay, then you lie. It is the blessèd sun.

...field is won.
Well, forward, forward. Thus the bowl should run,
And not unluckily against the bias.
But soft! Company is coming here.

Enter Vincentio.
To Vincentio.
Good morrow, gentle mistress, where away?—
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly, too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
As those two eyes become that heavenly face?—
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.—
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.

...his lovely bedfellow.
Why, how now, Kate? I hope thou art not mad!
This is a man—old, wrinkled, faded, withered—
And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.

...my mad mistaking.
Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
Which way thou travelest. If along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.

...have not seen.
What is his name?

...Lucentio, gentle sir.
Happily met, the happier for thy son.
And now by law as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee my loving father.
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
Nor be not grieved. She is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio,
And wander we to see thy honest son,
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.

...so it is.
Come, go along and see the truth hereof,
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
All but Hortensio exit.

ACT 5
Scene 1

...all this while.
Enter Petruchio, Katherine, Vincentio, Grumio, with Attendants.
Sir, here’s the door. This is Lucentio’s house.
My father’s bears more toward the marketplace.
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.

...as I live.
to Vincentio
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.

...may believe her.
to Vincentio
Why, how now, gentleman!
Why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another
man’s name.

...Help, Signior Baptista!
Prithee, Kate, let’s stand aside and see the
end of this controversy.
They move aside.

...of this ado.
First kiss me, Kate, and we will.

...of the street?
What, art thou ashamed of me?

...ashamed to kiss.
Why, then, let’s home again. To Grumio.
Come, sirrah, let’s away.

...thee a kiss.
She kisses him.

...thee, love, stay.
Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate.
Better once than never, for never too late.
They exit.

Scene 2
Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the Merchant, Lucentio, and Bianca; Hortensio and the Widow, Petruchio and Katherine; Tranio, Biondello, and Grumio, with Servingmen bringing in a banquet.

...well as eat.
They sit.
Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!

...kindness, son Petruchio.
Padua affords nothing but what is kind.

...word were true.
Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow!

...I be afeard.
You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
I mean Hortensio is afeard of you.

...world turns round.
Roundly replied.

...conceive by him.
Conceives by me? How likes Hortensio that?

...conceives her tale.
Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.

...indeed, respecting you.
To her, Kate!

...To her, widow!
A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.

...That’s my office.
Spoke like an officer! Ha’ to thee, lad.
He drinks to Hortensio.

...I’ll sleep again.
Nay, that you shall not. Since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two.

...are welcome all.
She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio,
This bird you aimed at, though you hit her not.—
Therefore a health to all that shot and missed.

...for his master.
A good swift simile, but something currish.

...hit you here?
He has a little galled me, I confess.
And as the jest did glance away from me,
’Tis ten to one it maimed you two outright.

...shrew of all.
Well, I say no. And therefore, for assurance,
Let’s each one send unto his wife,
And he whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her
Shall win the wager which we will propose.

... Twenty crowns.
Twenty crowns?
I’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.

...then. Content.
A match! ’Tis done.

...she cannot come.
How? “She’s busy, and she cannot come”?
Is that an answer?

...not a worse.
I hope better.

...to me forthwith.
O ho, entreat her!
Nay, then, she must needs come.

...come to her.
Worse and worse. She will not come!
O vile, intolerable, not to be endured!—
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,
Say I command her come to me.

...know her answer.
What?

...She will not.
The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

...send for me?
Where is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife?

...the parlor fire.
Go fetch them hither. If they deny to come,
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.

...what it bodes.
Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
An awful rule, and right supremacy,
And, to be short, what not that’s sweet and happy.

...had never been.
Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.

Enter Katherine, Bianca, and Widow.
See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.—
Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not.
Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.

...on my duty.
Katherine, I charge thee tell these headstrong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.

...no telling.
Come on, I say, and first begin with her.

...She shall not.
I say she shall.—And first begin with her.

...do him ease.
Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
They kiss.

...women are froward.
Come, Kate, we’ll to bed.
We three are married, but you two are sped.
To Lucentio.
’Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white,
And being a winner, God give you good night.
Petruchio and Katherine exit.