Here, Sim, eat fome of these things. Sim. I do, my lord. Sly. Here, Sim, I drink to thee. ACT IV. SCENE I. Petruchio's Country House. Enter Grumio. Gru. Fye, fye, on all tired jades! on all mad masters! and all foul ways! Was ever man fo beaten? was ever man foray'd? was ever man fo weary? I am fent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot, and foon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I fhould come by a fire to thaw me:-But, I, with blowing the fire, fhall warm myfelf; for, confidering the weather, a' taller man than I will take cold. Holla, hoa! Curtis ! Enter Curtis. Curt. Who is that, calls fo coldly? Gru. A piece of ice: If thou doubt it, thou may'st slide from my fhoulder to my heel, with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good Curtis. Curt. Is my mafter and his wife coming, Grumio? Gru. Oh, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; on no water. * ray'd]-befpatter'd. Y taller]-ftouter. fire, fire; caft on no water.]-alluding to the old catch of "Fire, fire;-Fire, fire; Caft on fome more water." caft Curt. Curt. Is the fo hot a fhrew as she's reported? Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this froft: but thou know'ft, winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old mafter, and my new miftrefs, and thyself, fellow Curtis. b a Curt. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and fo long am I, at the leaft. But wilt thou make a fire, or fhall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand (The being now at hand) thou fhalt foon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being flow in thy hot office. Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How goes the world? Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and, therefore, fire: Do thy duty, and have thy duty; for master and mistress are almost frozen to death. my Curt. There's fire ready; And therefore, good Grumio, the news? Gru. Why, Jack boy! bo boy! and as much news as thou wilt. с Curt. Come, you are fo full of conycatching : f Gru. Why therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where's the cook? is fupper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes ftrew'd, cobwebs fwept; the ferving-men in their new fuftain, their white ftockings, and every officer his wedding garment on? be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and every thing in order? Curt. All ready; And therefore, I pray thee, news? Gru. First, know, my horfe is tired; my master and miftrefs fallen out. and myself. с с f bthree-inch fool!]-with a fkull so thick. thy born-which I planted on thy forehead. Jack boy! bo boy!]-The beginning of an old fong. conycatching:]-roguery, fun. the jacks fair within, the jills fair without,]-leathern and metal drinking veffels. Curt. Curt. How? Gru. Out of their faddles into the dirt; And thereby hangs a tale. Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. Gru. Lend thine ear. Curt. Here. Gru. There. [Strikes him. Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. Gru. And therefore 'tis call'd, a fenfible tale: and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and befeech liftning. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress :— Curt. Both on one horse? Gru. What's that to thee? Curt. Why, a horse. Gru. Tell thou the tale :-But hadft thou not crofs'd me, thou fhould'st have heard how the horse fell, and she under her horfe; thou fhould't have heard, in how miry a place how fhe was bemoil'd; how he left her with the horse upon her; how he beat me because her horfe ftumbled; how the waded through the dirt to pluck him off me; how he fwore; how fhe pray'd-that never pray'd before; how I cry'd; how the horses ran away; how her bridle was burft; how I loft my crupper :-with many things of worthy memory; which now fhall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc'd to thy grave. Curt. By this reckoning, he is more fhrew than fhe. Gru. Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all fhall find, when he comes home. But what talk I of this? -call forth Nathaniel, Jofeph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarfop, and the reft: let their heads be fleekly comb'd, & bemoil'd ;]-draggled, befmear'd. their blue coats brush'd, and their garters of an indif- . ferent knit let them curtfy with their left legs; and not presume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, 'till they kifs their hands. Are they all ready? Curt. They are. Gru. Call them forth. Curt. Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master, to countenance my mistress. Gru. Why, fhe hath a face of her own. Curt. Who knows not that? Gru. Thou, it seems; that call'ft for company to countenance her. Curt. I call them forth to credit her. Enter four or five ferving men. Gru. Why, fhe comes to borrow nothing of them. Phil. How now, Grumio? fof. What, Grumio! Nich. Fellow Grumio! Nath. How now, old lad? Gru. Welcome, you ;-how now, you;-what, you; -fellow, you;-and thus much for greeting. Now, my fpruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? Nath. All things are ready: How near is our master? Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not,-Cock's paffion, filence!—I hear my master. Enter Petruchio, and Katharine. Pet. Where be thefe knaves? What, no man at the door, To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horfe! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? All Serv. Here, here, fir; here, fir. Pet. Here, fir! here, fir! here, fir! here, fir! of an indifferent knit :]-fellows, not different, decent-indifferent knot-tied with a tolerable air. You You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! Gru. Here, fir; as foolish as I was before. Pet. You peafant fwain! you whorefon malt-horfe drudge! Did not I bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along thefe rafcal knaves with thee? Gru. Nathaniel's coat, fir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from fheathing: There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The reft were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. [Exeunt Servants. [Singing. [Humming the former tune. Where are thofe, -Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Where is the life that late I led Soud, foud, foud, foud! Re-enter Servants, with fupper. Why, when, I fay?-Nay, good fweet Kate, be merry. It was the friar of orders grey, foot awry: Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my [Sings. [Strikes him. Be merry, Kate :-Some water, here; what ho! i link to colour]-with it's fmoke; no lamp black. * Where is the life that late I led]-a fragment of an old ballad. Enter |
