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More pleasant, pithy, and effectual,

Than hath been taught by any of my trade;

And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

Bian.

Why, I am past my gamouth long ago.

Hor.

Yet read the gamouth of Hortensio.

Bian. [Reads.]

“Gamouth I am, the ground of all accord:

A re, to plead Hortensio’s passion;

B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,

C fa ut, that loves with all affection.

D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I,

E la mi, show pity, or I die.”

Call you this gamouth? Tut, I like it not.

Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice

To [change] true rules for [odd] inventions.

Enter a Messenger.

[Mess.]

Mistress, your father prays you leave your books,

And help to dress your sister’s chamber up.

You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.

Bian.

Farewell, sweet masters both, I must be gone.

[Exeunt Bianca and Messenger.]

Luc.

Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.

[Exit.]

Hor.

But I have cause to pry into this pedant.

Methinks he looks as though he were in love;

Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble