Padua. A Room in BAPTISTA’S House. | |
| |
Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA. | |
| Luc. Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: | |
| Have you so soon forgot the entertainment | 4 |
| Her sister Katharine welcom’d you withal? | |
| Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is | |
| The patroness of heavenly harmony: | |
| Then give me leave to have prerogative; | 8 |
| And when in music we have spent an hour, | |
| Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. | |
| Luc. Preposterous ass, that never read so far | |
| To know the cause why music was ordain’d! | 12 |
| Was it not to refresh the mind of man | |
| After his studies or his usual pain? | |
| Then give me leave to read philosophy, | |
| And while I pause, serve in your harmony. | 16 |
| Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. | |
| Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, | |
| To strive for that which resteth in my choice. | |
| I am no breeching scholar in the schools; | 20 |
| I’ll not be tied to hours nor ’pointed times, | |
| But learn my lessons as I please myself. | |
| And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down: | |
| Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; | 24 |
| His lecture will be done ere you have tun’d. | |
| Hor. You’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune? [Retires. | |
| Luc. That will be never: tune your instrument. | |
| Bian. Where left we last? | 28 |
| Luc. Here, madam:— | |
| Hac ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; | |
| Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis. | |
| Bian. Construe them. | 32 |
| Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love; Hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, Priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon. | |
| Hor. [Returning.] Madam, my instrument’s in tune. | |
| Bian. Let’s hear.— [HORTENSIO plays. | |
| O fie! the treble jars. | 36 |
| Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. | |
| Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it: Hac ibat Simois, I know you not; hic est Sigeia tellus, I trust you not; Hic steterat Priami, take heed he hear us not, regia, presume not; celsa senis, despair not. | |
| Hor. Madam, ’tis now in tune. | |
| Luc. All but the base. | 40 |
| Hor. The base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars. | |
| How fiery and forward our pedant is! | |
| [Aside.] Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: | |
| Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet. | 44 |
| Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. | |
| Luc. Mistrust it not; for, sure, Æacides | |
| Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather. | |
| Bian. I must believe my master; else, I promise you, | 48 |
| I should be arguing still upon that doubt: | |
| But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you. | |
| Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, | |
| That I have been thus pleasant with you both. | 52 |
| Hor. [To LUCENTIO.] You may go walk, and give me leave a while: | |
| My lessons make no music in three parts. | |
| Luc. Are you so formal, sir? [Aside.] Well, I must wait, | |
| And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d, | 56 |
| Our fine musician groweth amorous. | |
| Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, | |
| To learn the order of my fingering, | |
| I must begin with rudiments of art; | 60 |
| To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, | |
| More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, | |
| Than hath been taught by any of my trade: | |
| And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. | 64 |
| Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. | |
| Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. | |
| Bian. ‘Gamut’ I am, the ground of all accord, | |
| ‘A re,’ to plead Hortensio’s passion; | 68 |
| ‘B mi,’ Bianca, take him for thy lord, | |
| ‘C fa ut,’ that loves with all affection: | |
| ‘D sol re,’ one clef, two notes have I: | |
| ‘E la mi,’ show pity, or I die. | 72 |
| Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not: | |
| Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, | |
| To change true rules for odd inventions. | |
| |
Enter a Servant. | 76 |
| Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, | |
| And help to dress your sister’s chamber up: | |
| You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. | |
| Bian. Farewell, sweet masters both: I must be gone. [Exeunt BIANCA and Servant. | 80 |
| Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. [Exit. | |
| Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant: | |
| Methinks he looks as though he were in love. | |
| Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble | 84 |
| To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, | |
| Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, | |
| Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. [Exit. | |
