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Act 3, Scene 1


LUCENTIO: Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir:
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?

HORTENSIO: But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony:     [5]
Then give me leave to have prerogative;
And when in music we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.

LUCENTIO: Preposterous ass, that never read so far
To know the cause why music was ordain'd!     [10]
Was it not to refresh the mind of man
After his studies or his usual pain?
Then give me leave to read philosophy,
And while I pause, serve in your harmony.

HORTENSIO: Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.     [15]

BIANCA: Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong,
To strive for that which resteth in my choice:
I am no breeching scholar in the schools;
I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times,
But learn my lessons as I please myself.     [20]
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down:
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles;
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned.

HORTENSIO: You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune?

LUCENTIO: That will be never: tune your instrument.     [25]

BIANCA: Where left we last?

LUCENTIO: Here, madam:
'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus;
Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'

BIANCA: Construe them.     [30]

LUCENTIO: '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,'     [35]
bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might
beguile the old pantaloon.

HORTENSIO: Madam, my instrument's in tune.

BIANCA: Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.

LUCENTIO: Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.     [40]

BIANCA: Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat
Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I
trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed
he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,'
despair not.     [45]

HORTENSIO: Madam, 'tis now in tune.

LUCENTIO: All but the base.

HORTENSIO: The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.


How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:     [50]
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.

BIANCA: In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.

LUCENTIO: Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.

BIANCA: I must believe my master; else, I promise you,     [55]
I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you:
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.

HORTENSIO: You may go walk, and give me leave a while:     [60]
My lessons make no music in three parts.

LUCENTIO: Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,


And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.

HORTENSIO: Madam, before you touch the instrument,     [65]
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin with rudiments of art;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy and effectual,
Than hath been taught by any of my trade:     [70]
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.

BIANCA: Why, I am past my gamut long ago.

HORTENSIO: Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.

BIANCA: [Reads] ''Gamut' I am, the ground of all accord,
'A re,' to Plead Hortensio's passion;     [75]
'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord,
'C fa ut,' that loves with all affection:
'D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I:
'E la mi,' show pity, or I die.'
Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not:     [80]
Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice,
To change true rules for old inventions.

[Enter a Servant]

Servant: Mistress, your father prays you leave your books
And help to dress your sister's chamber up:
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day.     [85]

BIANCA: Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.

[Exeunt BIANCA and Servant]

LUCENTIO: Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.


HORTENSIO: But I have cause to pry into this pedant:
Methinks he looks as though he were in love:
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble     [90]
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale,
Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.


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