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My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,

Or else my heart concealing it will break,

And rather than it shall, I will be free,

Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.

Pet.

Why, thou say’st true, it is [a] paltry cap,

A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie.

I love thee well in that thou lik’st it not.

Kath.

Love me, or love me not, I like the cap,

And it I will have, or I will have none.

[Exit Haberdasher.]

Pet.

Thy gown? why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see’t.

O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is here?

What’s this? a sleeve? ’tis like [a] demi-cannon.

What, up and down carv’d like an apple-tart?

Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,

Like to a censer in a barber’s shop.

Why, what a’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?

Hor. [Aside.]

I see she’s like to have neither cap nor gown.

Tai.

You bid me make it orderly and well,

According to the fashion and the time.

Pet.

Marry, and did; but if you be rememb’red,

I did not bid you mar it to the time.

Go hop me over every kennel home,