BIANCA.
Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I’ll sleep again.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun,
Have at you for a bitter jest or two.
BIANCA.
Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,
And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
You are welcome all.
[Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow.]
PETRUCHIO.
She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio;
This bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not:
Therefore a health to all that shot and miss’d.
TRANIO.
O, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound,
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
PETRUCHIO.
A good swift simile, but something currish.
TRANIO.
’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself:
’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
BAPTISTA.
O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
LUCENTIO.
I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.