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She will not come: she bids you come to her.
PETRUCHIO:
Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
Intolerable, not to be endured!
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
Say, I command her to come to me.
HORTENSIO:
I know her answer.
PETRUCHIO:
What?
HORTENSIO:
She will not.
PETRUCHIO:
The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
BAPTISTA:
Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina!
KATHARINA:
What is your will, sir, that you send for me?
PETRUCHIO:
Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?
KATHARINA:
They sit conferring by the parlor fire.
PETRUCHIO:
Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come.
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands:
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
LUCENTIO:
Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
HORTENSIO:
And so it is: I wonder what it bodes.
PETRUCHIO:
Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life,
And awful rule and right supremacy;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy?
BAPTISTA:
Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio!
The wager thou hast won; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is changed, as she had never been.
PETRUCHIO:
Nay, I will win my wager better yet
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
See where she comes and brings your froward wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not:
Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot.
Widow:
Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh,
Till I be brought to such a silly pass!
BIANCA:
Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?
LUCENTIO:
I would your duty were as foolish too:
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.
BIANCA:
The more fool you, for laying on my duty.
PETRUCHIO:
Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.
Widow:
Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling.
PETRUCHIO:
Come on, I say; and first begin with her.
Widow:
She shall not.
PETRUCHIO:
I say she shall: and first begin with her.
KATHARINA:
Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor:
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,