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There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?

Kath. [To Baptista.]

I pray you, sir, is it your will

To make a stale of me amongst these mates?

Hor.

Mates, maid, how mean you that? No mates for you,

Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

Kath.

I’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear.

Iwis it is not half way to her heart;

But if it were, doubt not her care should be

To comb your noddle with a three-legg’d stool,

And paint your face, and use you like a fool.

Hor.

From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!

Gre.

And me too, good Lord!

Tra.

Husht, master, here’s some good pastime toward;

That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.

Luc.

But in the other’s silence do I see

Maid’s mild behavior and sobriety.

Peace, Tranio!

Tra.

Well said, master, mum, and gaze your fill.

Bap.

Gentlemen, that I may soon make good

What I have said, Bianca, get you in,

And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,

For I will love thee ne’er the less, my girl.

Kath.

A pretty peat! it is best