GREMIO.
No, say’st me so, friend? What countryman?
PETRUCHIO.
Born in Verona, old Antonio’s son.
My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
And I do hope good days and long to see.
GREMIO.
O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange!
But if you have a stomach, to’t a God’s name;
You shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you woo this wild-cat?
PETRUCHIO.
Will I live?
GRUMIO.
Will he woo her? Ay, or I’ll hang her.
PETRUCHIO.
Why came I hither but to that intent?
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea, puff’d up with winds,
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven’s artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud ’larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets’ clang?
And do you tell me of a woman’s tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear
As will a chestnut in a farmer’s fire?
Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs.
GRUMIO.
[Aside] For he fears none.
GREMIO.
Hortensio, hark:
This gentleman is happily arriv’d,
My mind presumes, for his own good and yours.
HORTENSIO.
I promis’d we would be contributors,
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe’er.
GREMIO.
And so we will, provided that he win her.