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Good sister, wrong me not nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me. That I disdain.
Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell Whom thou lovest best. See thou dissemble not.
Minion, thou liest. Is ’t not Hortensio?
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive. I never yet beheld that special face. Which I could fancy more than any other.
Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay, then you jest, and now I well perceive. You have but jested with me all this while. I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be revenged.
Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence! Poor girl, she weeps! For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit!
She is your treasure, she must have a husband, I must dance barefoot on her wedding day. And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. Talk not to me. I will go sit and weep Till I can find occasion of revenge.
What, in my sight?—Bianca, get thee in.
Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I? But who comes here?
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