William Shakespeare : Complete Collection (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry...)
how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me; how he swore, how she pray’d that never pray’d before; how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was burst; how I lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return unexperienc’d to thy grave.
Curt. By this reck’ning he is more shrew than she.
Gru. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their heads be slickly comb’d, their blue coats brush’d, and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy with their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my master’s horse-tail till they kiss 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, she hath a face of her own.
Curt. Who knows not that?
Gru. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her.
Curt. I call them forth to credit her.
Enter four or five Servingmen.
Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
Nath. Welcome home, Grumio!
Phil. How now, Grumio?
Jos. 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 spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat?
Nath. All things is ready. How near is our master?
Gru. E’en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not—Cock’s passion, silence! I hear my master.
Enter Petruchio and Kate.
Pet.
Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse?
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
All Serv.
Here, here, sir, here, sir.
Pet.
Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
You loggerheaded and unpolish’d grooms!
What? no attendance? no regard? no duty?
Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
Gru.
Here, sir, as foolish as I was before.
Pet.
You peasant swain, you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
Gru.
Nathaniel’s coat, sir, was not fully made,
And Gabr’el’s pumps were all unpink’d i’ th’ heel;
There was no link to color Peter’s hat,
And Walter’s dagger was not come from sheathing;
There were none fine but Adam, Rafe, and Gregory;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly,
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
Pet.
Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in.
Exeunt Servants.
Sings.
“Where is the life that late I led?
Where are those”—
Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud!
Enter Servants with supper.
Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues! You villains, when?
Sings.
“It was the friar of orders grey,
As he forth walked on his way”—
Out, you rogue, you pluck my foot awry.
Take that, and mend the plucking [off] the other.
[Strikes him.]
Be merry, Kate. Some water here; what ho!
Enter one with water.
Where’s my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither;
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with.
Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
You whoreson villain, will you let it fall?
[Strikes him.]
Kath.
Patience, I pray you, ’twas a fault unwilling.
Pet.
A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave!
Come, Kate, sit down, I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?
What’s this? Mutton?
1. Serv.
Ay.
Pet.
Who brought it?
Peter.
I.
Pet.
’Tis burnt, and so is all the meat.
What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser
And serve it thus to me that love it not?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all.
[He throws down the table and meat and all, and beats them.]
You heedless joltheads and unmanner’d slaves!
What, do you grumble? I’ll be with you straight.
[Exeunt Servants.]
Kath.
I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet.
The meat was well, if you were so contented.
Pet.
I tell thee, Kate, ’twas burnt and dried away,
And I expressly am forbid to touch it;
For it engenders choler, planteth anger,
And