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Bap. Who comes with him?

Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparison’d like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gart’red with a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humor of forty fancies prick’d in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.

Tra.

’Tis some odd humor pricks him to this fashion;

Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell’d.

Bap.

I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.

Bion.

Why, sir, he comes not.

Bap.

Didst thou not say he comes?

Bion.

Who? that Petruchio came?

Bap.

Ay, that Petruchio came.

Bion.

No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back.

Bap.

Why, that’s all one.

Bion.

Nay, by Saint Jamy,

I hold you a penny,

A horse and a man

Is more than one,

And yet not many.

Enter Petruchio and Grumio.

Pet.

Come, where be these gallants? Who’s at home?

Bap.

You are welcome, sir.

Pet.

And yet I come not well.

Bap.

And yet you halt not.