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Hor.

Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,

And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favor’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.

Pet.

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 burthen of my wooing dance),

Be she as foul as was Florentius’ love,

As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrowd

As Socrates’ Xantippe, or a worse,

She moves me not, or not removes at least

Affection’s edge in me. [Whe’er] she is as rough

As are the swelling Adriatic seas,

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;

If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

Gru. 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 have as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.