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Hor.

Madam, ’tis now in tune.

Luc.

All but the base.

Hor.

The base is right, ’tis the base knave that jars.

Aside.

How fiery and forward our pedant is!

Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:

Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.

[Bian.]

In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

[Luc.]

Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides

Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.

[Bian.]

I must believe my master, else, I promise you,

I should be arguing still upon that doubt.

But let it rest. Now, Litio, to you:

Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,

That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

Hor. [To Lucentio.]

You may go walk, and give me leave a while;

My lessons make no music in three parts.

Luc.

Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,

Aside.

And watch withal, for but I be deceiv’d,

Our fine musician groweth amorous.

Hor.

Madam, before you touch the instrument,

To learn the order of my fingering,

I must begin with rudiments of art,

To teach you gamouth in a briefer sort,