Original
Modern English
Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal?
Fiddler, stop; you’re getting too bold, sir: Have you already forgotten how her sister Katharina welcomed you?
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.
But, arguing fool, this is The goddess of perfect music: So let me have the right to go first; And when we’ve spent an hour on music, Then you can have time for your lecture.
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.
Stupid fool, who never learned enough To understand why music was created! Wasn’t it to refresh the mind of a man After his studies or his usual struggles? So let me study philosophy, And while I take a break, you can play your music.
Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
You brat, I won’t tolerate this arrogance from you.
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.
Why, gentlemen, you’re both wronging me, By fighting for something that’s my choice: I’m no schoolboy stuck in the classroom; I won’t be tied to schedules or set times, But I’ll learn my lessons whenever I feel like it. And to end this argument, let’s sit down here: You play your instrument, and let him talk; He’ll finish his lecture before you even tune.
You’ll leave his lecture when I am in tune?
You’ll stop his lecture when I’m ready to play?
That will be never: tune your instrument.
That will never happen: tune your instrument.
Where left we last?
Where did we leave off?
Here, madam: ’Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.’
Right here, madam: ’Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.’
Construe them.
Translate them.
’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.
’Hic ibat,’ as I told you before, ’Simois,’ I am Lucentio, ’hic est,’ the son of Vincentio from Pisa, ’Sigeia tellus,’ disguised like this to win your love; ’Hic steterat,’ and that Lucentio who’s coming to woo you, ’Priami,’ is my servant Tranio, ’regia,’ carrying my appearance, ’celsa senis,’ so we could trick the old fool.
Madam, my instrument’s in tune.
Madam, my instrument’s in tune.
Let’s hear. O fie! the treble jars.
Let’s hear it. Oh no! the high notes are off.
Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
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.
Now let me see if I can interpret this: ’Here goes Simois,’ I don’t know you, ’this is the Sigeian land,’ I don’t trust you; ’Here stood Priam’s,’ be careful he doesn’t hear us, ’palace,’ don’t assume, ’high of old age,’ don’t lose hope.
Madam, ’tis now in tune.
Madam, it’s in tune now.
All but the base.
All except the bass.
The base is right; ’tis the base knave that jars.
The bass is fine; it’s the base fool who messes it up.
How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I’ll watch you better yet.
How fiery and forward our schoolmaster is! Now, for sure, the fool is courting my love: Pedant, I’ll keep a closer eye on you.
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
Maybe I’ll believe it in time, but I still don’t trust it.
Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides Was Ajax, call’d so from his grandfather.
Don’t mistrust it: for sure, Aeacides was Ajax, named after his grandfather.
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.
I must believe my master; otherwise, I swear to you, I’d still be arguing over that doubt: But let’s leave it. Now, Licio, to you: Good sirs, please don’t take it the wrong way, that I’ve been so playful with you both.
You may go walk, and give me leave a while: My lessons make no music in three parts.
You may go for a walk, and give me some time: My lessons don’t make music in three parts.
Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
Are you so formal, sir? Well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, Our fine musician groweth amorous.
And watch as well; because, unless I’m mistaken, our fine musician is getting romantic.
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.
Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn how I play, I must start with the basics of music; To teach you the musical scale more briefly, More pleasantly, clearly, and effectively, Than anyone else in my field has taught: And here it is, written down, clearly presented.
Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Well, I’ve passed the basics a long time ago.
Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
But look at Hortensio’s scale of notes.
[Reads] ’’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.
[Reads] "I am the ’Gamut,’ the foundation of all harmony, ’A re,’ to plead Hortensio’s love; ’B mi,’ Bianca, take him for your lord, ’C fa ut,’ that loves with all affection: ’D sol re,’ one key, two notes I have: ’E la mi,’ show pity, or I die.’ Is this the scale you’re talking about? Ugh, I don’t like it: I prefer old ways; I’m not so picky, To change true rules for new ideas.
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.
Mistress, your father asks you to leave your books And help prepare your sister’s room: You know tomorrow is the wedding day.
Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone.
Goodbye, sweet masters; I must leave.
Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay.
Well, mistress, if that’s the case, I have no reason to stay.
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.
But I have reason to keep an eye on this teacher: He looks like he might be in love: Yet if your thoughts, Bianca, are so low That you’re willing to flirt with every reject, Go ahead: if I find you chasing after every man, I’ll make sure to get even with you by switching my affection.