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Now must the world point at poor Katherine,

And say, “Lo, there is mad Petruchio’s wife,

If it would please him come and marry her!”

Tra.

Patience, good Katherine, and Baptista too.

Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,

Whatever fortune stays him from his word.

Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise;

Though he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.

Kath.

Would Katherine had never seen him though!

Exit weeping [followed by Bianca and others].

Bap.

Go, girl, I cannot blame thee now to weep,

For such an injury would vex a very saint,

Much more a shrew of [thy] impatient humor.

Enter Biondello.

Bion. Master, master, news, [old news,] and such news as you never heard of!

Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be?

Bion. Why, is it not news to [hear] of Petruchio’s coming?

Bap. Is he come?

Bion. Why, no, sir.

Bap. What then?

Bion. He is coming.

Bap. When will he be here?

Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there.

Tra. But say, what to thine old news?

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches thrice turn’d; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another lac’d; an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points; his horse hipp’d, with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possess’d with the glanders and like to mose in the chine, troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, ray’d with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoil’d with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, [sway’d] in the back, and shoulder-shotten, near-legg’d before, and with a half-cheek’d bit and a head-stall of sheep’s leather, which being restrain’d to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repair’d with knots; one girth six times piec’d, and a woman’s crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there piec’d with packthread.