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For knowing thee to be but young and light.

Kath.

Too light for such a swain as you to catch,

And yet as heavy as my weight should be.

Pet.

Should be! should—buzz!

Kath.

Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.

Pet.

O slow-wing’d turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?

Kath.

Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.

Pet.

Come, come, you wasp, i’ faith you are too angry.

Kath.

If I be waspish, best beware my sting.

Pet.

My remedy is then to pluck it out.

Kath.

Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

Pet.

Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?

In his tail.

Kath.

In his tongue.

Pet.

Whose tongue?

Kath.

Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.

Pet.

What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again,

Good Kate; I am a gentleman—

Kath.

That I’ll try.

She strikes him.

Pet.

I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.

Kath.

So may you lose your arms.

If you strike me, you are no gentleman,

And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

Pet.

A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!