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PETRUCHIO: How! she is busy and she cannot come! Is that an answer?

GREMIO: Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.

PETRUCHIO: I hope better.

HORTENSIO: Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith.

PETRUCHIO: O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come.

HORTENSIO: I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Now, where's my wife?

BIONDELLO: She says you have some goodly jest in hand: 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, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, When they are bound to serve, love and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haply more, To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, And place your hands below your husband's foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready; may it do him ease.

PETRUCHIO: Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.

LUCENTIO: Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't.

VINCENTIO: 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.

LUCENTIO: But a harsh hearing when women are froward.

PETRUCHIO: Come, Kate, we'll to bed. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; And, being a winner, God give you good night!

HORTENSIO: Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew.

LUCENTIO: 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so.

Master: Boatswain!

Boatswain: Here, master: what cheer?

Master: Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.

Boatswain: Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!

ALONSO: Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men.

Boatswain: I pray now, keep below.

ANTONIO: Where is the master, boatswain?

Boatswain: Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm.

GONZALO: Nay, good, be patient.

Boatswain: When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not.

GONZALO: Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

Boatswain: None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out of our way, I say.

GONZALO: I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable.

Boatswain: Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

SEBASTIAN: A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!

Boatswain: Work you then.

ANTONIO: Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

GONZALO: I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an unstanched wench.

Boatswain: Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to sea again; lay her off.

Mariners: All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost!

Boatswain: What, must our mouths be cold?

GONZALO: The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, For our case is as theirs.

SEBASTIAN: I'm out of patience.

ANTONIO: We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards: This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides!

GONZALO: He'll be hang'd yet, Though every drop of water swear against it And gape at widest to glut him.

ANTONIO: Let's all sink with the king.

SEBASTIAN: Let's take leave of him.

GONZALO: Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.

MIRANDA: If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her.

PROSPERO: Be collected: No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done.

MIRANDA: O, woe the day!

PROSPERO: No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father.

MIRANDA: More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts.

PROSPERO: 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So: Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul-- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther.

MIRANDA: You have often Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'

PROSPERO: The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old.

MIRANDA: Certainly, sir, I can.

PROSPERO: By what? by any other house or person? Of any thing the image tell me that Hath kept with thy remembrance.

MIRANDA: 'Tis far off And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me?

PROSPERO: Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, How thou camest here thou mayst.

MIRANDA: But that I do not.

PROSPERO: Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan and A prince of power.

MIRANDA: Sir, are not you my father?

PROSPERO: Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir And princess no worse issued.

MIRANDA: O the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did?

PROSPERO: Both, both, my girl: By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, But blessedly holp hither.

MIRANDA: O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther.

PROSPERO: My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio-- I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved and to him put The manage of my state; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-- Dost thou attend me?

MIRANDA: Sir, most heedfully.

PROSPERO: Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who to advance and who To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not.

MIRANDA: O, good sir, I do.

PROSPERO: I pray thee, mark me. I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature; and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing-- Dost thou hear?

MIRANDA: Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

PROSPERO: To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates-- So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown and bend The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!-- To most ignoble stooping.

MIRANDA: O the heavens!

PROSPERO: Mark his condition and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother.

MIRANDA: I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons.

PROSPERO: Now the condition. The King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises Of homage and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan With all the honours on my brother: whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to the purpose did Antonio open The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self.

MIRANDA: Alack, for pity! I, not remembering how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't.

PROSPERO: Hear a little further And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's; without the which this story Were most impertinent.

MIRANDA: Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us?