SCENE VII. Enter Petruchio and Hortenfio, with meat. Pet. How fares my Kate? what, Sweeting, all à-mort? Hor. Mitrefs, what cheer? Cath. 'Faith, as cold as can be. Pet. Pluck up thy fpirits; look cheerfully upon me j Here, love, thou feeft how diligent I am, To drefs thy meat myfelf, and bring it thee: Cath. I pray you let it ftand. Pet. The pooreft service is repaid with thanks, Hor. Signior Petruchio, fy, you are to blame : Pet. Eat it up all, Hortenfio, if thou loveft me; Much good do it unto thy gentle heart; [Afide. With filken coats, and caps, and golden rings, ↑ And all my pains is forted to no proof.] And all my labour has ended in nothing, or proved nothing. We tried an experiment, but it forted not. BACON. -fardingals, and things:] Though things is a poor word, yet I have no better, and perhaps the author had not another that would rhyme. I once thought to tranfpofe the words rings and things, but it would make little improvement. SCENE Come, taylor, let us fee thefe ornaments. Enter Haberdafer. Lay forth the gown. What news with you, Sir? Cath. I'll have no bigger, this doth fit the time; And gentlewomen wear fuch caps as thefe. Fet. When you are gentle, you fhall have one too, And not 'till then. Her. That will not be in hafte. ४ Cath. * Why, Sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak. Pet. Why, thou fay'ft true, it is a paltry cap. Cath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; And I will have it, or I will have none. Pet. Thy gown? why, ay.--Come, taylor, let us fee't. s Why, Sir, I truft, I may lave have to speak, &c.] Shakefear has here copied nature with great fkill. Petruchio, by frightening, ftarving and overwatching his wife, had tamed her in to gentleness and fubmiffion, And the audience expects to hear no more of the Shrew: When on her being croffed, in the article of fashion and finery, the moft inveterate folly of the fex, fhe files out again, though for the last time, into all the intemperate rage of her nature. WARBURTON. O mercy, heav'n, what masking stuff is here? * Like to a cenfer in a barber's fhop: Why, what a devil's name, taylor, call'ft thou this? Hor. I fee, fhe's like to've neither cap nor gown. Tay. You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion of the time, [Afide. Pet. Marry, and did: but if you be remembred, I did not bid you mar it to the time, Go, hop me over every kennel home, Pet. Why, true, he means to make a puppet of thee. Tay. She fays, your Worship means to make a puppet of her. Pet. Oh most monftrous arrogance! Thou lyeft, thou thread, thou thimble +, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, Grumio gave order how it fhould be done. Cenfers, in barbers fhops, are now difufed, but they may eafily be imagined to have been veffels which, for the emiffion of the fmoke, were cut with great number and varieties of 4 interftices. The taylor's trade having an appearance of effeminacy, has always been, among the rugged English, liable to farcafms and contempt. Gru. Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. Tay. I have. Gru. Face not me: thou haft brav'd many men, brave not me; I will neither be fac'd, nor brav'd. I fay unto thee, I bid thy mafter cut out the gown, but I did not bid him cut it to pieces. Ergo, thou licft. Tay. Why, here is the note of the fashion to teftify. Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he fay I faid fo. Gru. Mafter, if ever I faid loofe-bodied gown, fow me up in the fkirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: I faid a gown. Pet. Proceed. Tay. With a small compaft cape. Tay. With a trunk-fleeve. Tay. The fleeves curiously cut. Gru. Error i' th' bill, Sir, error i' th' bill: I commanded, the fleeves fhould be cut out, and fow'd up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, tho' thy little finger be armed in a thimble. Tay. This is true, that I fay; an I had thee in place where, thou fhou'dft know it. Gru. I am for thee ftraight: take thou the bill, give me thy meet-yard, and fpare not me. Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio, then he fhall have no odds. Pet. Well, Sir, in brief the gown is not for me. Gru. Gru. Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress's gown for thy master's ufe! Pet. Why, Sir, what's your conceit in that? Gru. Oh, Sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for; Take up my miftrefs's gown unto his master's ufe; Oh, fy, fy, fy! Pet. Hortenfio, fay, thou wilt fee the taylor paid. [Afide Go take it hence, be gone, and fay no more. Hor. Taylor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-mor row, Take no unkindness of his hafty words: Away, I fay; commend me to thy mafter. [Exit Tay. Pet. Well, come, my Kate, we will unto your father's, Even in these honeft mean habiliments: Our purfes fhall be proud, our garments poor; Look, |