Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.
Enter Moroso and Petronius.
Mor. That I do love her, is without all question,
And most extremely, dearly, most exactly;
And that I would ev'n now, this present Monday,
Before all others, Maids, Wives, Women, Widows,
Of what degree or calling, Marry her,
As certain too; but to be made a Whim-wham,
A Jib-crack, and a Gentleman o'th first house
For all my kindness to her.
Petron. How you take it?
Thou get a Wench, thou [get a dozen] night-caps?
Wouldst have her come, and lick thee like a Calfe,
And blow thy nose, and buss thee?
Mor. Not so neither.
Petron. What wouldst thou have her do?
Mor. Do as she [sh]ould] do;
Put on a clean Smock, and to Church, and Marry,
And then to Bed a Gods name, this is fair play,
And keeps the Kings peace, let her leave her bobs,
I have had too many of them, and her quillets,
She is as nimble that way as an [Ee[le];
But in the way she ought to me especially,
A sow of Lead is swifter.
Petron. Quoat your griefs down.
Mor. Give fair quarter, I am old and crasie,
And subject to much fumbling, I confess it;
Yet something I would have that's warme, to hatch me:
But understand me I would have it so,
I buy not more repentance in the bargain
Than the ware's worth I have; if you allow me
Worthy your Son-in-Law, and your allowance,
Do it a way of credit; let me show so,
And not be troubled in my visitations,
With blows, and bitterness, and down-right railings,
As if we were to couple like two Cats,
With clawing, and loud clamour:
Petron. Thou fond Man.
Hast thou forgot the Ballad, crabbed age,
Can May and January match together,
And nev'r a storm between 'em? say she abuse thee,
Put case she doe.
Mor. Well.
Petron. Nay, believe she do's.
Mor. I do believe she do's.
Petron. And div'lishly:
Art thou a whit the worse?
Mor. That's not the matter,
I know, being old, tis fit I am abus'd;
I know 'tis hansome, and I know moreover
I am to love her for't.
Petron. Now you come to me.
Mor. Nay more than this; I find too, and find certain,
What Gold I have, Pearle, Bracelets, Rings, or Owches,
Or what she can desire, Gowns, Petticotes,
Wastcotes, Embroydered-stockings, Scarffs, Cals, Feathers,
Hats, five pound Garters, Muffs, Masks, Ruffs, and Ribands,
I am to give her for't.
Petron. 'Tis right, you are so.
Mor. But when I have done all this, and think it duty,
Is't requisit an other bore my nostrils?
Riddle me that.
Petron. Go get you gone, and dreame
She's thine within these two dayes, for she is so;
The Boy's beside the saddle: get warm broths,
And feed a pace; think not of worldly business,
It cools the blood; leave off your tricks, they are hateful,
And meere fore-runners of the ancient measures;
Contrive your beard o'th top cut like Verdugoes;
It shows you would be wise, and burn your night-cap,
It looks like half a winding-sheet, and urges
From a young Wench nothing but cold repentance:
You may eate Onyons, so you'l not be lavish.
Mor. I am glad of that.
Petron. They purge the blood, and quicken,
But after 'em, conceive me, sweep your mouth,
And where there wants a tooth, stick in a clove.
Mor. Shall I hope once again, say't.
Petra. You shall Sir:
And you shall have your hope.
Moro. Why there's a match then.
Enter Byancha and Tranio.
Byan. You shall not find me wanting, get you gone.
Here's the old Man, he'l think you are plotting else
Something against his new Son. [Exit Tranio.
Moro. Fare ye well Sir. [Exit Moroso.
Byan. And ev'ry Buck had his Doe,
And ev'ry Cuckold a Bell at his Toe:
Oh what sport should we have then, then Boyes then,
Oh what sport should we have then?
Petro. This is the spirit, that inspires 'em all.
By. Give you good ev'n.
Petro. A word with you Sweet Lady.
By. I am very hasty, Sir.
Petro. So you were ever.
By. Well, What's your will?
Petro. Was not your skilful hand
In this last stratagem? Were not your mischiefs
Eeking the matter on?
By. In's shutting up?
Is that it?
Petro. Yes.
By. I'll tell you.
Petro. Doe.
By. And truly.
Good old Man, I do grieve exceeding much,
I fear too much.
Petro. I am sorry for your heaviness.
Belike you can repent then?
By. There you are wide too.
Not that the thing was done (conceive me rightly)
Do's any way molest me.
Petro. What then Lady?
By. But that I was not in't, there's my sorrow, there
Now you understand me, for I'll tell you,
It was so sound a piece, and so well carried,
And if you mark the way, so hansomely,
Of such a heighth, and excellence, and art
I have not known a braver; for conceive me,
When the gross fool her Husband would be sick—
Petro. Pray stay.
By. Nay, good, your patience: and no sence for't,
Then stept your daughter in.
Petro. By your appointment.
By. I would it had, on that condition
I had but one half smock, I like it so well;
And like an excellent cunning Woman, cur'd me
One madness with another, which was rare,
And to our weak beliefs, a wonder.
Petro. Hang ye,
For surely, if your husband look not to ye,
I know what will.
By. I humbly thank your worship.
And so I take my leave.
Petro. You have a hand I hear too.
By. I have two Sir.
Petro. In my young daughters business.
By. You will find there
A fitter hand than mine, to reach her frets,
And play down diddle to her.
Petro. I shall watch ye.
By. Do.
Petro. And I shall have Justice.
By. Where?
Petro. That's all one;
I shall be with you at a turne hence forward.
By. Get you a Posset too; and so good ev'n Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Petruchio, Jaques, and Pedro.
Jaq. And as I told your worship, all the hangings,
Brass, Pewter, Plate, ev'n to the very looking-glasses.
Ped. And that that hung for our defence, the Armor,
And the March Beere was going too: Oh Jaques
What a sad sight was that!
Jaq. Even the two Rundlets,
The two that was our hope, of Muskadel,
(Better nev'r tongue tript over) [those] two Cannons,
To batter brawn withal at Christmass, Sir,
Ev'n those two lovely Twyns, the Enemy
Had almost cut off clean.
Petru. Goe trim the House up.
And put the things in order as they were. [Ex. Ped. and Jaq.
I shall find time for all this: could I find her
But constant any way, I had done my business;
Were she a Whore directly, or a Scold,
An unthrift, or a Woman made to hate me,
I had my wish, and knew which way to rayne her:
But while she shews all these, and all their losses,
A kind of linsey woolsey, mingled mischief
Not to be ghest at, and whether true, or borrowed,
Enter Maria.