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BIONDELLO:
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Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready.
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LUCENTIO:
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I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee
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at home; therefore leave us.
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BIONDELLO:
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Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and
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then come back to my master's as soon as I can.
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GREMIO:
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I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.
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PETRUCHIO:
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Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house:
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My father's bears more toward the market-place;
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Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
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VINCENTIO:
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You shall not choose but drink before you go:
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I think I shall command your welcome here,
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And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.
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GREMIO:
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They're busy within; you were best knock louder.
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Pedant:
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What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?
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VINCENTIO:
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Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
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Pedant:
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He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
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VINCENTIO:
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What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to
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make merry withal?
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Pedant:
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Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall
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need none, so long as I live.
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PETRUCHIO:
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Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.
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Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances,
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I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is
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come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him.
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Pedant:
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Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here
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looking out at the window.
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VINCENTIO:
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Art thou his father?
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Pedant:
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Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.
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PETRUCHIO:
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Pedant:
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Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to
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cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.
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BIONDELLO:
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I have seen them in the church together: God send
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'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old
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master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing.
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VINCENTIO:
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BIONDELLO:
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Hope I may choose, sir.
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VINCENTIO:
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Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?
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BIONDELLO:
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Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I
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never saw you before in all my life.
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VINCENTIO:
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What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
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thy master's father, Vincentio?
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BIONDELLO:
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What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir:
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see where he looks out of the window.
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VINCENTIO:
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Is't so, indeed.
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BIONDELLO:
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Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me.
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Pedant:
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Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!
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