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Pet.

A good swift simile, but something currish.

Tra.

’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself;

’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.

Bap.

O, O, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.

Luc.

I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.

Hor.

Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here?

Pet.

’A has a little gall’d me, I confess;

And as the jest did glance away from me,

’Tis ten to one it maim’d you [two] outright.

Bap.

Now in good sadness, son Petruchio,

I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.

Pet.

Well, I say no; and therefore [for] assurance

Let’s each one send unto his wife,

And he whose wife is most obedient,

To come at first when he doth send for her,

Shall win the wager which we will propose.

Hor.

Content. What’s the wager?

Luc.

Twenty crowns.

Pet.

Twenty crowns!

I’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound,

But twenty times so much upon my wife.

Luc.

A hundred then.

Hor.

Content.

Pet.

A match! ’tis done.

Hor.

Who shall begin?

Luc.

That will I.

Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.