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He does it under name of perfect love;

As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,

’Twere deadly sickness, or else present death.

I prithee go, and get me some repast;

I care not what, so it be wholesome food.

Gru.

What say you to a neat’s foot?

Kath.

’Tis passing good, I prithee let me have it.

Gru.

I fear it is too choleric a meat.

How say you to a fat tripe finely broil’d?

Kath.

I like it well, good Grumio, fetch it me.

Gru.

I cannot tell, I fear ’tis choleric.

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

Kath.

A dish that I do love to feed upon.

Gru.

Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.

Kath.

Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.

Gru.

Nay then I will not, you shall have the mustard,

Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

Kath.

Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt.

Gru.

Why then the mustard without the beef.

Kath.

Go get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,

Beats him.

That feed’st me with the very name of meat.

Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you