GREMIO.
Ay, and a kind one too:
Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
PETRUCHIO.
I hope better.
HORTENSIO.
Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith.
[Exit Biondello.]
PETRUCHIO.
O, ho! entreat her!
Nay, then she must needs come.
HORTENSIO.
I am afraid, sir,
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Re-enter Biondello.
Now, where’s my wife?
BIONDELLO.
She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
She will not come; she bids you come to her.
PETRUCHIO.
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endur’d!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress,
Say I command her come to me.