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That triumph thus upon my misery!

Go get thee gone, I say.

Enter Petruchio and Hortensio with meat.

Pet.

How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?

Hor.

Mistress, what cheer?

Kath.

Faith, as cold as can be.

Pet.

Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.

Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am

To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.

I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.

What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov’st it not;

And all my pains is sorted to no proof.

Here, take away this dish.

Kath.

I pray you let it stand.

Pet.

The poorest service is repaid with thanks,

And so shall mine before you touch the meat.

Kath.

I thank you, sir.

Hor.

Signior Petruchio, fie, you are to blame.

Come, Mistress Kate, I’ll bear you company.

Pet. [Aside.]

Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest me.—

Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!

Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love,

Will we return unto thy father’s house,

And revel it as bravely as the best,

With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,