Say that he rail, why then I’ll tell him plain He sings as sweetly as a nightingale:
Say that he frown, I’ll say he looks as clear
As morning roses newly washed with dew: Say he be mute and will not speak a word,
Then I’ll commend his volubility, And say he uttereth piercing eloquence: If he do bid
me pack, I’ll give him thanks, As though he bid me stay by him a week:
If he deny to wed, I’ll crave the day When I shall ask the banns and when be married.
But here he comes.
[piano music]
[audience laughs]
Now, Petruchia, speak.
Good morrow, Kate, for that’s your name, I hear.
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
You lie, in faith, for you are called plain Kate, And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst,
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation,
Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woo thee for my husband.
Moved?
In good time!
Let her that moved you hither Remove you hence.
I knew you at the first You were a moveable.
Why, what’s a moveable?
A joint stool.
Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Men are made to bear, and so are you.
No such jade as you, if me you mean.
Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee, For knowing thee to be but young and light —
Too light for such a swain as you to catch, And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Should be?
Should — buzz!
Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.
O slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?
Ay, for a turtle, as it takes a buzzard.
Come, come, you wasp, i’faith, you are too angry.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
My remedy is then to pluck it out.
Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting?
In his tail.
In his tongue.
Whose tongue?
Yours, if you talk of tails, and so farewell.
What, with my tongue in your tail?
Nay, come again.
Good Kate, I am a gentlewoman.
That I’ll try.
I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.
So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentlewoman,
And if no gentlewoman, why then no arms.
A herald, Kate?
O, put me in thy books!
What is your crest, a coxcomb?
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
No cock of mine, you crow too like a craven.
Nay, come, Kate, come, you must not look so sour.
It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
Why, here’s no crab, and therefore look not sour.
There is, there is.
Then show it me.
Had I a glass, I would.
What, you mean my face?
Well aimed of such a young one.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
Yet you are withered. ’Tis with cares.
I care not.
Nay, hear you, Kate.
In sooth you scape not so.
I chafe you, if I tarry. Let me go.
No, not a whit.
I find you passing gentle.
’Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar,
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry fellows will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk.
But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O sland’rous world!
Kate like the hazel twig Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
As hazelnuts and sweeter than the kernels.
Come, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.
Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with his princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate, And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful!
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
A witty mother, witless else her daughter.
Am I not wise?
Yes, keep you warm.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.
And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your mother hath consented
That you shall be my husband; your dowry ’greed on, And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a wife for your turn, For by this light, whereby I see thy beauty,
Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no woman but me,
For I am she am born to tame you, Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate
Conformable as other household Kates.
Here comes your mother.
Never make denial, I must and will have Katherine to my husband.
Now, Signora Petruchia, how speed you with my son?
How but well, mother?
How but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
Why, how now, son Katherine?
In your dumps?
Call you me ‘son’?
Now, I promise you You have showed a tender motherly regard,
To wish me wed to one half-lunatic, A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jill
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
Mother, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world That talked of him, have talked amiss
of him: If he be curst, it is for policy, For he’s not froward, but modest as the dove,
He is not hot, but temperate as the morn,
For patience he will prove a second Job, And Greek Narcissus for his chastity.
And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together That upon Sunday is the wedding day.
I’ll see thee hanged on Sunday first.
Hark, Petruchia, he says he’ll see thee hanged first.
Is this your speeding?
Nay then, goodnight our part!
Be patient, ladies, I choose him for myself.
If he and I be pleased, what’s that to you?
’Tis bargained ’twixt us twain, being alone, That he shall still be curst in company.
I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe How much he loves me: O, the kindest Kate!
He hung about my neck, and kiss on kiss He vied so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink he won me to his love.
O, you are novices!
’Tis a world to see How tame, when women and men are alone,
A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew.
Give me thy hand, Kate.
I will unto Venice To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding day; Provide the feast, mother,
and bid the guests.
I will be sure my Katherine shall be fine.
I know not what to say, but give me your hands.
God send you joy, Petruchia!
’Tis a match.
Amen, I say, I will be a witness.
I will be the witness.
I'll be the witness. I will be the witness.