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Tra.

Greybeard, thy love doth freeze.

Gre.

But thine doth fry.

Skipper, stand back, ’tis age that nourisheth.

Tra.

But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.

Bap.

Content you, gentlemen, I will compound this strife.

’Tis deeds must win the prize, and he of both

That can assure my daughter greatest dower

Shall have my Bianca’s love.

Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her?

Gre.

First, as you know, my house within the city

Is richly furnished with plate and gold,

Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands;

My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry;

In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns;

In cypress chests my arras counterpoints,

Costly apparel, tents, and canopies,

Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl,

Valens of Venice gold in needle-work;

Pewter and brass, and all things that belongs

To house or house-keeping. Then at my farm

I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,

Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls,

And all things answerable to this portion.

Myself am strook in years, I must confess,