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Gru.

My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,

And then I know after who comes by the worst.

Pet.

Will it not be?

Faith, sirrah, and 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.

Gru. Help, [masters], help, my master is mad.

Pet. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

Enter Hortensio.

Hor. How now, what’s the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?

Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? Con tutto [il] core, ben trovato, may I say.

Hor. Alla nostra casa ben venuto, molto honorato signor mio Petrucio.

Rise, Grumio, rise, we will compound this quarrel.

Gru. Nay, ’tis no matter, sir, what he ’leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service, look you, sir. He bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so, being perhaps (for aught I see) two and thirty, a peep out?

Whom would to God I had well knock’d at first,