Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca
Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?
But, wrangling pedant, this is 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.
Preposterous ass, that never read so far 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.
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, 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.
Here, madam: 'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.'
'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 a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,' bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might beguile the old pantaloon.
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,' despair not.
The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
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.
Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, Our fine musician groweth amorous.
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, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.
'Gamut' I am, the ground of all accord, 'A re,' to Plead Hortensio's passion; '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: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, To change true rules for old inventions.
Enter a 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.
Exeunt Bianca and Servant
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 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.