| ACT IIISCENE I | Padua. BAPTISTA'S house. | |
| | Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA | |
| 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 | 5 |
| | The patroness of heavenly harmony: | |
| | 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 | 10 |
| | To know the cause why music was ordain'd! | |
| | 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. | 15 |
| HORTENSIO | Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. | |
| 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, | 20 |
| | But learn my lessons as I please myself. | |
| | 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? | 25 |
| LUCENTIO | That will be never: tune your instrument. | |
| BIANCA | Where left we last? | |
| LUCENTIO | Here, madam: | |
| | 'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; | |
| | Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' | 30 |
| BIANCA | Construe them. | |
| 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 | 35 |
| | a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,' | |
| | 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. | 40 |
| LUCENTIO | Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. | |
| 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,' | 45 |
| | despair not. | |
| HORTENSIO | Madam, 'tis now in tune. | |
| LUCENTIO | All but the base. | |
| HORTENSIO | The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. | |
| | Aside | |
| | How fiery and forward our pedant is! | 50 |
| | Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: | |
| | 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. | 55 |
| BIANCA | I must believe my master; else, I promise you, | |
| | 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. | 60 |
| HORTENSIO | You may go walk, and give me leave a while: | |
| | My lessons make no music in three parts. | |
| LUCENTIO | Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, | |
| | Aside | |
| | And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, | |
| | Our fine musician groweth amorous. | 65 |
| HORTENSIO | Madam, before you touch the instrument, | |
| | 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, | 70 |
| | Than hath been taught by any of my trade: | |
| | 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 | |
| | '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. | |
| | Exit | |
| 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. | |
| | Exit | |
