BIANCA.
Now let me see if I can construe it: Hic 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.
HORTENSIO.
Madam, ’tis now in tune.
LUCENTIO.
All but the base.
HORTENSIO.
The base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.
[Aside] How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.
BIANCA.
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
LUCENTIO.
Mistrust it not; for sure, Æacides
Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.
BIANCA.
I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt;
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you.
Good master, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
HORTENSIO.
[To Lucentio] You may go walk and give me leave a while;
My lessons make no music in three parts.
LUCENTIO.
Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
[Aside] And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv’d,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
HORTENSIO.
Madam, before you touch the instrument,
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
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.