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Bion.

I go.

Exit.

Bap.

Son, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes.

Luc.

I’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself.

Enter Biondello.

How now, what news?

Bion.

Sir, my mistress sends you word

That she is busy, and she cannot come.

Pet.

How? she is busy, and she cannot come!

Is that an answer?

Gre.

Ay, and a kind one too.

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

Pet.

I hope better.

Hor.

Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife

To come to me forthwith.

Exit Biondello.

Pet.

O ho, entreat her!

Nay then she must needs come.

Hor.

I am afraid, sir,

Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

Enter Biondello.

Now, where’s my wife?

Bion.

She says you have some goodly jest in hand.

She will not come; she bids you come to her.

Pet.

Worse and worse; she will not come! O vild,

Intolerable, not to be endur’d!

Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,

Say I command her come to me.

Exit [Grumio].

Hor.

I know her answer.

Pet.

What?

Hor.

She will not.

Pet.

The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.