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Tra.

Even he, Biondello.

Gre.

Hark you, sir, you mean not her to—

Tra.

Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?

Pet.

Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.

Tra.

I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let’s away.

Luc. [Aside.]

Well begun, Tranio.

Hor.

Sir, a word ere you go.

Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?

Tra.

And if I be, sir, is it any offense?

Gre.

No; if without more words you will get you hence.

Tra.

Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free

For me as for you?

Gre.

But so is not she.

Tra.

For what reason, I beseech you?

Gre.

For this reason, if you’ll know,

That she’s the choice love of Signior Gremio.

Hor.

That she’s the chosen of Signior Hortensio.

Tra.

Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,

Do me this right: hear me with patience.

Baptista is a noble gentleman,

To whom my father is not all unknown,

And were his daughter fairer than she is,

She may more suitors have, and me for one.

Fair Leda’s daughter had a thousand wooers,