Original
Modern English
Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; That I disdain: but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders.
Please, sister, don’t hurt me or yourself, By turning me into a servant and slave; I won’t stand for that. But for these other things, Untie my hands, I’ll take them off myself, Yes, even my clothes, down to my petticoat; Or anything you ask, I’ll do it, Because I know my duty to my elders.
Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble not.
Out of all your suitors, tell me here, Which one you love the most: don’t lie.
Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other.
Believe me, sister, out of all the men alive, I’ve never seen one that I liked more than the others.
Minion, thou liest. Is’t not Hortensio?
You little liar. Isn’t it Hortensio?
If you affect him, sister, here I swear I’ll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.
If you want him, sister, I swear right here, I’ll beg for you myself, but you’ll get him.
O then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
Oh, so you must prefer wealth: You want Gremio to keep you looking good.
Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while: I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
Are you jealous of me because of him? Then you’re just joking, and now I see You’ve been joking with me all this time: Please, sister Kate, untie my hands.
If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
If that was a joke, then everything else was too.
Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps. Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. For shame, thou helding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne’er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word?
What’s going on here, madam? Where’s this disrespect coming from? Bianca, step aside. Poor girl! She’s crying. Go back to your sewing; don’t get involved with her. For shame, you with that wicked temper, Why are you hurting her when she’s never hurt you? When has she ever said anything bad to you?
Her silence flouts me, and I’ll be revenged.
Her silence insults me, and I’ll get my revenge.
What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in.
What, in front of me? Bianca, go inside.
What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day And for your love to her lead apes in hell. Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep Till I can find occasion of revenge.
What, you won’t let me stay? Now I understand. She’s your prized possession, she must have a husband; I’ll have to dance barefoot on her wedding day And for your love to her, lead monkeys to hell. Don’t talk to me: I’ll go sit and cry Until I find a chance for revenge.
Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I? But who comes here?
Has any man ever been so upset as I am? But who is this?
Good morrow, neighbour Baptista.
Good morning, neighbor Baptista.
Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen!
Good morning, neighbor Gremio. God bless you, gentlemen!
And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call’d Katharina, fair and virtuous?
And to you, good sir! Please, do you have a daughter Named Katharina, fair and virtuous?
I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina.
I have a daughter, sir, named Katharina.
You are too blunt: go to it orderly.
You’re being too blunt: try to be more polite.
You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine,
You misunderstand me, Signor Gremio: allow me to explain. I am a gentleman from Verona, sir, Who, hearing about her beauty and intelligence, Her charm and shy modesty, Her amazing qualities and gentle behavior, Have the courage to present myself as an eager guest In your home, to see for myself If the stories I’ve heard about her are true. And, as an introduction to my visit, I present to you one of my men,
Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant: Accept of him, or else you do me wrong: His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
Skilled in music and mathematics, To teach her thoroughly in these subjects, Which I know she is not unfamiliar with: Accept him, or else you do me a disservice: His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
You’re welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake. But for my daughter Katharina, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
You’re welcome, sir; and he, for your sake. But as for my daughter Katharina, this is what I know, She’s not suited for your interests, much to my sorrow.
I see you do not mean to part with her, Or else you like not of my company.
I see you don’t plan to give her up, Or perhaps you don’t like my company.
Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name?
Don’t misunderstand me; I only speak what I feel. Where are you from, sir? What should I call you?
Petruchio is my name; Antonio’s son, A man well known throughout all Italy.
Petruchio is my name; I’m Antonio’s son, A man well-known all over Italy.
I know him well: you are welcome for his sake.
I know him well; you’re welcome because of him.
Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward.
Excuse me, Petruchio, but before you speak, Let us, who are poor petitioners, have our turn: Good heavens! you’re quite forward.
O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing.
Oh, sorry, Signior Gremio; I just wanted to be helpful.
I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar,
I’m sure you are, sir; but you’ll regret your courting. Neighbor, this gift is very much appreciated, I’m certain of it. To show the same kindness, I, who have been kinder to you than anyone, am happy to give you this young scholar,
that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray, accept his service.
Who has been studying for a long time at Rheims; as skilled in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other is in music and math: his name is Cambio; please, accept his service.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio.
A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio.
But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger: may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming?
But, gentle sir, you seem like a stranger: may I be bold enough to ask why you’ve come?
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request, That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome ’mongst the rest that woo And free access and favour as the rest: And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine alone, That, being a stranger in this city, I make myself a suitor to your daughter, To Bianca, fair and virtuous. And I know that you’re firm in your decision to favor the eldest sister. This is all I ask, That, once you know my background, I might be welcomed among the other suitors and given the same freedom and favor: And, to help in the education of your daughters, I offer this simple instrument, And this small bundle of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then they’re of great value.
Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray?
Lucentio is your name; where are you from, may I ask?
Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio.
I’m from Pisa, sir; I’m the son of Vincentio.
A mighty man of Pisa; by report I know him well: you are very welcome, sir, Take you the lute, and you the set of books; You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within!
A powerful man from Pisa; I know him well by reputation: you are very welcome, sir, Take the lute, and here are the books; You shall go see your pupils shortly. Hey, inside!
Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my daughters; and tell them both, These are their tutors: bid them use them well.
Sirrah, take these gentlemen To my daughters; and tell them both, These are their teachers: tell them to treat them well.
We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
We’ll go for a short walk in the orchard, And then have dinner. You’re very welcome, And I hope you all feel at home.
Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better’d rather than decreased: Then tell me, if I get your daughter’s love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
Signior Baptista, my business requires haste, And I can’t come to court her every day. You knew my father well, and I’m his only child, Sole heir to all his lands and wealth, Which I’ve increased, not reduced: So tell me, if I win your daughter’s love, What dowry will she bring as my wife?
After my death the one half of my lands, And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
After my death, half of my lands, And 20,000 crowns in cash.
And, for that dowry, I’ll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever: Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand.
And in return for that dowry, I’ll guarantee That if she survives me, she’ll inherit All my lands and leases: Let us draw up a formal agreement, So that both sides will keep their promises.
Ay, when the special thing is well obtain’d, That is, her love; for that is all in all.
Yes, when the main thing is secured, That is, her love; because that’s the most important.
Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her and so she yields to me; For I am rough and woo not like a babe.
Well, that’s not enough: because I tell you, father, I’m as determined as she is proud; And when two raging fires come together, They consume everything that feeds their rage: Though a small fire can grow with just a little wind, Extreme gusts can blow out fire completely: So I to her, and so she submits to me; Because I’m rough and I don’t woo like a soft boy.
Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm’d for some unhappy words.
You may be successful, and I hope you are! But be prepared for some unpleasant words.
Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually.
Yes, I’m ready for that; like mountains are to winds, They don’t shake, even though the wind blows constantly.
How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale?
What’s happened, my friend? Why do you look so pale?
For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
I’m afraid, I swear to you, that’s why I look pale.
What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
What, will my daughter be a good musician?
I think she’ll sooner prove a soldier Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
I think she’ll be a soldier before a musician. Iron can hold her attention, but not a lute.
Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
So, you can’t teach her to play the lute?
Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow’d her hand to teach her fingering; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, ’Frets, call you these?’ quoth she; ’I’ll fume with them:’ And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute; While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so.
No, because she broke the lute over my head. I just told her she was tuning it wrong, And tried to show her how to play it; When, with an incredibly angry attitude, She snapped, "Frets, you call these?" and said, "I’ll smash them!" And with that, she hit me on the head, And the lute broke on my skull; I stood there, stunned for a moment, As if I were in a stocks, staring through the lute; While she called me a lousy fiddler And a clumsy player, with twenty other insults, As if she had been planning to treat me this way.
Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e’er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
By the heavens, she’s a fiery girl; I love her ten times more than I did before: Oh, how I can’t wait to talk to her!
Well, go with me and be not so discomfited: Proceed in practise with my younger daughter; She’s apt to learn and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you?
Well, come with me and don’t be so upset: Keep working with my younger daughter; She’s eager to learn and grateful for help. Signior Petruchio, would you like to come with us, Or should I send my daughter Kate to you?
I pray you do.
Please, go ahead.
I will attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why then I’ll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: Say that she frown, I’ll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash’d with dew: Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I’ll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I’ll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to wed, I’ll crave the day When I shall ask the banns and when be married. But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak.
I’ll wait for her here, And try to win her over with some charm when she arrives. If she yells at me, I’ll just tell her straight out That she sings as sweetly as a nightingale: If she frowns, I’ll say she looks as fresh As roses in the morning, just washed by dew: If she’s silent and won’t say a word, I’ll praise her eloquence, And say she’s speaking with amazing clarity: If she tells me to leave, I’ll thank her, As if she invited me to stay for a week: If she refuses to marry, I’ll set the date When I can ask for the banns and get married. But here she comes; now, Petruchio, speak.
Good morrow, Kate; for that’s your name, I hear.
Good morning, Kate; that’s your name, right?
Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katharina that do talk of me.
Well, that’s what they call me, but it’s hard to hear: They call me Katharina when they talk about me.
You lie, in faith; for you are call’d plain Kate, And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife.
You’re wrong, in truth; you’re called plain Kate, And pretty Kate, and sometimes Kate the shrew; But Kate, the sweetest Kate in the world, Kate of Kate Hall, my perfect Kate, For all Kates are perfect, so, Kate, Take this from me, Kate, who I cherish; Hearing about your kindness in every town, Your virtues talked about, and your beauty praised, But not as deeply as you deserve, I’m moved to ask you to marry me.
Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither Remove you hence: I knew you at the first You were a moveable.
Moved! Just in time: let the one who brought you here Take you away: I knew from the start You were just like a moving stool.
Why, what’s a moveable?
What’s a moving stool?
A join’d-stool.
A folding stool.
Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me.
You’re right: come, sit on my lap.
Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Donkeys are made to carry things, and so are you.
Women are made to bear, and so are you.
Women are made to endure, and so are you.
No such jade as you, if me you mean.
Not like a worthless animal as you, if you’re talking about me.
Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee; For, knowing thee to be but young and light--
Oh no! Good Kate, I won’t trouble you; Because I know you’re still young and carefree--
Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Too carefree for someone like you to catch; But still as heavy as I should be.
Should be! should--buzz!
Should be! should--buzz!
Well ta’en, and like a buzzard.
Well said, and just like a buzzard.
O slow-wing’d turtle! shall a buzzard take thee?
Oh, slow-moving turtle! Do you think a buzzard will catch you?
Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard.
Yes, just like a turtle catches a buzzard.
Come, come, you wasp; i’ faith, you are too angry.
Come on, come on, you angry wasp; seriously, you’re too upset.
If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
If I’m being waspish, you’d better watch out for my sting.
My remedy is then, to pluck it out.
My solution is to just take it out.
Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies,
Sure, if the fool can find it where it is,
Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.
Who doesn’t know where a wasp keeps his sting? It’s in his tail.
In his tongue.
It’s in his tongue.
Whose tongue?
Whose tongue?
Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell.
Yours, if you’re talking about tails; and goodbye.
What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman.
What, with my tongue in your tail? No, come back, Good Kate; I’m a gentleman.
That I’ll try.
I’ll give it a try.
I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.
I swear I’ll slap you if you hit me again.
So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms.
Then I hope you lose your arms: If you hit me, you’re not a gentleman; And if you’re not a gentleman, then you have no arms.
A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books!
A herald, Kate? Oh, put me in your book of records!
What is your crest? a coxcomb?
What’s your family symbol? A fool’s cap?
A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
A cock without a comb, so Kate will be my hen.
No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven.
Not my cock; you crow like a coward.
Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour.
Come on, Kate, come on; stop looking so angry.
It is my fashion, when I see a crab.
It’s my way when I see a crab.
Why, here’s no crab; and therefore look not sour.
There’s no crab here; so don’t look so angry.
There is, there is.
Yes, there is, yes, there is.
Then show it me.
Then show it to me.
Had I a glass, I would.
If I had a mirror, I would.
What, you mean my face?
What, you mean my face?
Well aim’d of such a young one.
You’re clever for such a young one.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you.
Yet you are wither’d.
But you look old and worn out.
’Tis with cares.
It’s from all the worries I have.
I care not.
I don’t care.
Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so.
No, listen to me, Kate: you won’t escape this so easily.
I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go.
If I stay, I’ll get upset: let me go.
No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle. ’Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers: Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk, But thou with mildness entertain’st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender and as brown in hue As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
No, not at all: I find you very gentle. I was told you were rough, shy, and moody, But now I see those reports were lies; You’re fun, playful, polite, and kind, But slow to speak, yet as sweet as flowers in spring: You can’t frown, you can’t give a side glance, You don’t bite your lip like angry girls do, And you don’t enjoy being difficult in conversation, Instead, you treat your suitors with kindness, In a soft and friendly way. Why does everyone say Kate limps? What a slanderous thing to say! Kate, like a slender hazel branch, Is straight and slim, and as brown as hazelnuts, And sweeter than the kernels inside. Oh, let me see you walk: you don’t limp at all.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep’st command.
Go away, fool, and control whoever you keep around.
Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful!
Did the goddess Diana ever look as good in a forest As Kate looks in this room with her royal walk? Oh, be Diana, and let her be Kate; And let Kate be pure, and Diana playful!
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Where did you learn all this fancy talk?
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
It’s off the top of my head, from my natural cleverness.
A witty mother! witless else her son.
A clever mother! Her son would be stupid otherwise.
Am I not wise?
Am I not smart?
Yes; keep you warm.
Yes, just stay warm.
Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed: And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry ’greed on; And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates. Here comes your father: never make denial; I must and will have Katharina to my wife.
Well, I do mean to, sweet Katharina, in your bed: And now, putting all this talk aside, Let me be clear: your father has agreed That you’ll be my wife; your dowry has been set; And, whether you want it or not, I’ll marry you. Now, Kate, I’m the husband you need; Because, by this light, in which I see your beauty, Your beauty, which makes me like you so much, You must marry no one but me; Because I’m the one born to tame you, Kate, And turn you from a wild Kate into a Kate Like all the other good wives. Here comes your father: don’t deny it; I must and will have Katharina as my wife.
Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter?
So, Signior Petruchio, how are things going with my daughter?
How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss.
How could they be anything but good, sir? How could they be anything but good? It would be impossible for me to fail.
Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps?
What’s this, daughter Katharina? Are you upset?
Call you me daughter? now, I promise you You have show’d a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out.
You call me daughter? I promise you You’ve shown such a caring fatherly concern, To want me to marry someone who’s half mad; A crazy, rude man and a swearing fool, Who thinks he can get through everything with oaths.
Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world, That talk’d of her, have talk’d amiss of her: If she be curst, it is for policy, For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
Father, here’s the thing: you and everyone else Who’s talked about her, has talked about her wrongly: If she’s tough, it’s just an act, She’s not stubborn, she’s as gentle as a dove; She’s not fiery, she’s as calm as the morning; For patience, she’ll be a second Griselda, And as pure as Roman Lucretia: And to top it off, we’ve agreed so well, That Sunday is the wedding day.
I’ll see thee hang’d on Sunday first.
I’ll see you hanged on Sunday first.
Hark, Petruchio; she says she’ll see thee hang’d first.
Listen, Petruchio; she says she’ll see you hanged first.
Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part!
Is this how you’re doing things? Well then, good night from our side!
Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself: If she and I be pleased, what’s that to you? ’Tis bargain’d ’twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, ’tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices! ’tis a world to see, How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure my Katharina shall be fine.
Be patient, gentlemen; I’ve chosen her for myself: If she and I are happy, what’s that to you? It’s settled between us two, alone, That she’ll always be tough in public. I tell you, it’s hard to believe How much she loves me: oh, the sweetest Kate! She threw herself around my neck, kissing me again and again, Swearing oaths, until in the blink of an eye, She won me over with her love. Oh, you guys are amateurs! It’s amazing to see, How gentle a stubborn woman can become, When men and women are alone. Give me your hand, Kate: I’m off to Venice, To buy clothes for the wedding day. Father, arrange the feast and invite the guests; I’ll make sure my Katharina looks beautiful.
I know not what to say: but give me your hands; God send you joy, Petruchio! ’tis a match.
I don’t know what to say, but give me your hands; God bless you, Petruchio! It’s a match.
Amen, say we: we will be witnesses.
Amen, we say: we’ll be the witnesses.
Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: We will have rings and things and fine array; And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’Sunday.
Father, wife, and gentlemen, goodbye; I’m off to Venice; Sunday is coming fast: We’ll have rings and fancy things and fine clothes; And kiss me, Kate, we’ll be married on Sunday.
Was ever match clapp’d up so suddenly?
Has there ever been a match made so quickly?
Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant’s part, And venture madly on a desperate mart.
Well, gentlemen, now I’m playing the role of a merchant, Taking a wild risk on a desperate deal.
’Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: ’Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
It was something valuable that was just lying around with you: It will either make you money, or it will sink at sea.
The gain I seek is, quiet in the match.
What I want is peace and quiet in the marriage.
No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for: I am your neighbour, and was suitor first.
No doubt, he’s got a quiet catch. But now, Baptista, let’s talk about your younger daughter: Today is the day we’ve been waiting for: I am your neighbor, and I was the first to court her.
And I am one that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.
And I am the one who loves Bianca more Than words can express, or your thoughts can imagine.
Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I.
Young man, you can’t love her as much as I do.
Graybeard, thy love doth freeze.
Old man, your love is cold.
But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back: ’tis age that nourisheth.
But yours is burning hot. Wait, young man, it’s age that nurtures love.
But youth in ladies’ eyes that flourisheth.
But youth is what makes love bloom in a woman’s eyes.
Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife: ’Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca’s love. Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her?
Enough, gentlemen: I will settle this argument: It’s actions that will win the prize; and whoever can promise my daughter the biggest dowry Shall win Bianca’s love. Now, Signior Gremio, what can you offer her?
First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold; Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff’d my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss’d with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needlework, Pewter and brass and all things that belong To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And if I die to-morrow, this is hers, If whilst I live she will be only mine.
First, as you know, my house in the city Is furnished with rich plates and gold; Wash basins and pitchers for her delicate hands; My tapestries are all of royal purple; I have filled ivory chests with treasures; My cypress chests are full of fine embroidery, Expensive clothes, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkish cushions decorated with pearls, Velvet from Venice in intricate needlework, Pewter and brass, and all the things needed To run a household: then, on my farm I have a hundred milk cows, Sixty fat oxen in my barns, And everything that matches this wealth. I admit I’m getting old, I must confess; But if I die tomorrow, all of this is hers, If she agrees to be mine while I’m still alive.
That ’only’ came well in. Sir, list to me: I am my father’s heir and only son: If I may have your daughter to my wife, I’ll leave her houses three or four as good, Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. What, have I pinch’d you, Signior Gremio?
That ’while I’m alive’ was a nice touch. Sir, listen to me: I am my father’s only heir and only son: If I can have your daughter as my wife, I will give her three or four houses in Pisa, As good as any house Signior Gremio owns in Padua; And two thousand ducats a year Of productive land, all of which will be her dowry. What, did I shock you, Signior Gremio?
Two thousand ducats by the year of land! My land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall have; besides an argosy That now is lying in Marseilles’ road. What, have I choked you with an argosy?
Two thousand ducats a year in land! My land doesn’t add up to that much in total: She can have that; and I have a trading ship That’s currently docked in Marseilles. What, have I stunned you with my ship?
Gremio, ’tis known my father hath no less Than three great argosies; besides two galliases, And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate’er thou offer’st next.
Gremio, it’s known that my father owns at least Three large trading ships, plus two big warships, And twelve fast galleys: these I will offer her, And twice as much, no matter what you offer next.
Nay, I have offer’d all, I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have: If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
No, I’ve offered everything I have, I’ve got nothing left; And she can’t get more than everything I have: If you like me, she’ll have me and everything that’s mine.
Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied.
Well then, the girl is mine, with your firm promise: Gremio, you’ve been outbid.
I must confess your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me, if you should die before him, where’s her dower?
I must admit your offer is the best; And if your father can secure her the dowry, She is yours; otherwise, you must forgive me, because if your father dies before you, where’s her dowry then?
That’s but a cavil: he is old, I young.
That’s just a silly excuse: he’s old, I’m young.
And may not young men die, as well as old?
And can’t young men die, just like old ones?
Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know My daughter Katharina is to be married: Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you this assurance; If not, Signior Gremio: And so, I take my leave, and thank you both.
Well, gentlemen, Here’s my decision: next Sunday, you know My daughter Katharina is getting married. Then, the Sunday after that, Bianca Will be your bride, if you have this guarantee; If not, Signior Gremio, And with that, I’ll take my leave, and thank you both.
Adieu, good neighbour.
Goodbye, good neighbor.
Now I fear thee not: Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table: tut, a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy.
Now I’m not afraid of you: You young trickster, your father was a fool To give you everything, and in his old age Let you take control of his life: nonsense! An old Italian fox wouldn’t be so generous, my boy.
A vengeance on your crafty wither’d hide! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. ’Tis in my head to do my master good: I see no reason but supposed Lucentio Must get a father, call’d ’supposed Vincentio;’ And that’s a wonder: fathers commonly Do get their children; but in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning.
Damn your clever old skin! But I’ve faced worse with just a ten-card hand. I’ve got it in my mind to do my master a favor: I see no reason why the supposed Lucentio Can’t have a father, called ‘supposed Vincentio;’ And that’s strange: usually fathers Have children; but in this case of courting, A child will get a father, if I’m clever enough.