A room in PETRUCHIO'S house.Enter KATHARINA and GRUMIO GRUMIO No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.KATHARINA The more my wrong, the more his spite appears:
What, did he marry me to famish me?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty have a present aims;If not, elsewhere they meet with charity:
But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, With oath kept waking and with brawling fed:
And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love;As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
I prithee go and get me some repast;
I care not what, so it be wholesome food.GRUMIO What say you to a neat's foot? KATHARINA 'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it.GRUMIO I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? KATHARINA I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me.GRUMIO I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? KATHARINA A dish that I do love to feed upon.GRUMIO Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.KATHARINA Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest.GRUMIO Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio.KATHARINA Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.GRUMIO Why then, the mustard without the beef.KATHARINA Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, Beats him That feed'st me with the very name of meat:
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you, That triumph thus upon my misery!
Go, get thee gone, I say.
Enter PETRUCHIO and HORTENSIO with meat PETRUCHIO How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? HORTENSIO Mistress, what cheer? KATHARINA Faith, as cold as can be.PETRUCHIO Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me.
Here love; thou see'st 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 lovest it not;And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
Here, take away this dish.KATHARINA I pray you, let it stand.PETRUCHIO The poorest service is repaid with thanks;And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.KATHARINA I thank you, sir.HORTENSIO Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.PETRUCHIO [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
Kate, eat apace: 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 fardingales and things;With scarfs and fans and double change of bravery, With amber bracelets, beads and all this knavery.
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? Haberdasher 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.KATHARINA 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.KATHARINA Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;And speak I will; I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endured 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 likest it not.KATHARINA 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, 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:
