For how I firmly am resolved you know That is, not to bestow my youngest daughterBefore I have a husband for the elder.
Signior Hortensio, ’twixt such friends as weFew words suffice. And therefore, if thou knowOne rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,As wealth is burden of my wooing dance
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing.They call me Katherine that do talk of me.
Good morrow, Kate—for that’s your name, I hear.
Hic ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your love, Hic steterat, and that “Lucentio” that comes a-wooing, Priami is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priestShould ask if Katherine should be his wife,“Ay, by gogs wouns!” quoth he, and swore so loudThat, all amazed, the priest let fall the book,And as he stooped again to take it up,The mad-brained bridegroom took him such a cuffThat down fell priest and book, and book and priest.“Now take them up,” quoth he, “if any list.”
Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,And be it moon, or sun, or what you please.An if you please to call it a rush candle,Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me