You have but jested with me all this while:
I prithee, sister Kate, [untie] my hands.
Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. [Strikes her.
Enter Baptista.
Bap. Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence?
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps.
Go ply [thy] needle; meddle not with her.
For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word?