BAPTISTA.
Why, that’s all one.
BIONDELLO.
Nay, by Saint Jamy,
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.
Enter Petruchio and Grumio.
PETRUCHIO.
Come, where be these gallants? Who is at home?
BAPTISTA.
You are welcome, sir.
PETRUCHIO.
And yet I come not well.
BAPTISTA.
And yet you halt not.
TRANIO.
Not so well apparell’d as I wish you were.
PETRUCHIO.
Were it better, I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate? Where is my lovely bride?
How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown;
And wherefore gaze this goodly company,
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet or unusual prodigy?
BAPTISTA.
Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:
First were we sad, fearing you would not come;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fie! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival.