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[To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, this is the ’pointed day. That Katharina and Petruchio should be married, And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. What will be said? what mockery will it be, To want the bridegroom when the priest attends To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage! What says Lucentio to this shame of ours?
[To TRANIO] Signior Lucentio, today is the appointed day. Katharina and Petruchio should be getting married, And yet we haven’t heard anything from our son-in-law. What will people say? What a mockery it will be, If the groom is missing when the priest is ready To perform the marriage ceremony! What does Lucentio think of this embarrassment?
No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced To give my hand opposed against my heart Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen; Who woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior: And, to be noted for a merry man, He’ll woo a thousand, ’point the day of marriage, Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo’d. Now must the world point at poor Katharina, And say, ’Lo, there is mad Petruchio’s wife, If it would please him come and marry her!’
There’s no shame but mine: I must, indeed, be forced To give my hand against my will To a madman, a hot-headed brute full of anger; Who courted me in a rush and plans to marry slowly. I told you, I said he was a crazy fool, Hiding his harsh jokes in rude behavior: And to be known as a fun-loving man, He’ll court a thousand women, set a wedding date, Hold feasts, invite friends, and announce the banns; But he never actually means to marry anyone he’s courted. Now the whole world will point at poor Katharina, And say, "Look, there’s mad Petruchio’s wife, If he wants her, let him come and marry her!"
Patience, good Katharina, and Baptista too. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he’s honest.
Patience, good Katharina, and you too, Baptista. I swear, Petruchio means well, Whatever forces are keeping him from keeping his word: Though he’s rough, I know he’s very clever; Though he’s merry, he’s still honest.
Would Katharina had never seen him though!
I wish Katharina had never met him!
Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For such an injury would vex a very saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
Go, girl; I can’t blame you for crying now; Because such a wrong would upset even a saint, Let alone a hot-tempered woman like you.
Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of!
Master, master! news, old news, and news you have never heard before!
Is it new and old too? how may that be?
Is it both new and old? How can that be?
Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio’s coming?
Well, isn’t it news to hear that Petruchio is coming?
Is he come?
Is he here yet?
Why, no, sir.
No, sir.
What then?
What then?
He is coming.
He’s on his way.
When will he be here?
When will he get here?
When he stands where I am and sees you there.
When he’s standing where I am and sees you there.
But say, what to thine old news?
But what about your old news?
Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced, an old rusty sword ta’en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth six time pieced and a woman’s crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread.
Well, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jacket, old pants that are turned up three times, boots that used to be candle holders, one buckled, the other laced, a rusty sword taken from the town armory, with a broken hilt, and no guard; with two broken points: his horse is crippled with an old, moldy saddle and mismatched stirrups; besides, it has a disease that makes its legs swell, it’s likely to collapse from the disease in its back; it’s suffering from sores, infected with poor health, full of bumps, sped with leg disorders, swollen with yellow patches, past help from treatments, completely ruined with staggering, covered in worms, swayed in the back and shot through the shoulders; its legs are crooked, with a half-broken bit and a headstall made of sheepskin, which, to stop him from tripping, keeps bursting and has been patched with knots; one strap is patched six times and a woman’s crupper (a strap around the horse’s backside) made of velvet, with two letters for her name neatly engraved in studs, and here and there stitched together with thread.
Who comes with him?
Who’s coming with him?
O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat and ’the humour of forty fancies’ pricked in’t for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.
Oh, sir, his servant, dressed just like the horse; one leg has a linen sock and the other a rough boot, tied with red and blue ribbons; an old hat and ’the humor of forty different things’ stuck in it as a feather: a freak, a total freak in clothing, not at all like a Christian servant or a gentleman’s servant.
’Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell’d.
It’s some strange mood that’s making him dress this way; But often he wears simple clothes.
I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.
I’m just glad he’s here, no matter how he got here.
Why, sir, he comes not.
Well, sir, he hasn’t arrived yet.
Didst thou not say he comes?
Didn’t you say he was coming?
Who? that Petruchio came?
Who? That Petruchio is coming?
Ay, that Petruchio came.
Yes, that Petruchio is coming.
No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back.
No, sir, I mean his horse is coming, with him riding it.
Why, that’s all one.
Well, that’s the same thing.
Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many.
No, by Saint James, I’ll bet you a penny, A horse and a man Are two separate things, Even though not by much.
Come, where be these gallants? who’s at home?
Come on, where are these fine gentlemen? Who’s at home?
You are welcome, sir.
Welcome, sir.
And yet I come not well.
But even though I’m here, I don’t feel like I’m quite right.
And yet you halt not.
But still, you’re not limping.
Not so well apparell’d As I wish you were.
You’re not dressed as well as I’d hoped you would.
Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown: And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy?
If I were dressed better, I wouldn’t have barged in like this. But where’s Kate? Where’s my beautiful bride? How is my father? Gentlemen, you all seem upset: And why is everyone staring at us, As if they’ve seen some amazing monument, Or a comet, or some strange omen?
Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival!
Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First, we were sad, thinking you might not show up; Now we’re even sadder that you’ve come so unprepared. Ugh, take off that outfit, it’s a disgrace to your status, An eyesore to our serious celebration!
And tells us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain’d you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
And tell us, what important reason Has kept you away from your wife so long, And brought you here looking so unlike yourself?
Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, Though in some part enforced to digress; Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her: The morning wears, ’tis time we were at church.
It would be boring to explain, and hard to hear: It’s enough to say I came to keep my promise, Though partly forced to stray from my plan; I’ll explain it all properly later, And you’ll be satisfied with my reasons. But where’s Kate? I’ve stayed away too long: The morning is passing, it’s time to go to church.
See not your bride in these unreverent robes: Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine.
Don’t let your bride see you in these disrespectful clothes: Go to my room; put on something of mine.
Not I, believe me: thus I’ll visit her.
Not me, believe me: I’ll visit her like this.
But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
But I hope you’re not planning to marry her looking like this.
Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha’ done with words: To me she’s married, not unto my clothes: Could I repair what she will wear in me, As I can change these poor accoutrements, ’Twere well for Kate and better for myself. But what a fool am I to chat with you, When I should bid good morrow to my bride, And seal the title with a lovely kiss!
Honestly, yes, I’m going to marry her like this; so stop talking: To me, she’s married, not to my clothes: If I could fix what she’ll think of me based on what I wear, As easily as I can change these old clothes, It would be better for Kate and better for me. But what a fool I am to talk to you, When I should be saying good morning to my bride, And sealing the deal with a loving kiss!
He hath some meaning in his mad attire: We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church.
There’s some method to his madness in those clothes: We’ll try to persuade him, if we can, To wear something better before he goes to church.
I’ll after him, and see the event of this.
I’ll follow him and see how this turns out.
But to her love concerneth us to add Her father’s liking: which to bring to pass, As I before unparted to your worship, I am to get a man,--whate’er he be, It skills not much. we’ll fit him to our turn,-- And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; And make assurance here in Padua Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
But we also need to ensure her father approves of the marriage: To make that happen, as I explained to you before, I’m going to find a man,--whoever he may be, It doesn’t matter much. We’ll get him to fit our needs,-- And he will be Vincentio from Pisa; And make sure he has a lot more money here in Padua Than I originally promised. Then you can quietly enjoy your future, And marry sweet Bianca with her father’s approval.
Were it not that my fellow-school-master Doth watch Bianca’s steps so narrowly, ’Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Which once perform’d, let all the world say no, I’ll keep mine own, despite of all the world.
If it weren’t for my fellow teacher Watching Bianca’s every move so closely, It might be good, I think, to secretly marry her; Once we’ve done that, let the world say whatever it wants, I’ll keep my own, no matter what anyone else thinks.
That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business: We’ll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio; All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.
That’s something we plan to work on, And we’ll watch for the right moment in this business: We’ll outsmart the old man, Gremio, The overly-protective father, Minola, The clever musician, love-struck Licio; All for my master’s sake, Lucentio.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church?
Signior Gremio, did you come from the church?
As willingly as e’er I came from school.
I left school as gladly as I am leaving now.
And is the bride and bridegroom coming home?
Are the bride and groom coming back home?
A bridegroom say you? ’tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
A groom, you say? He’s a groom, alright, A complaining groom, and that’s what the girl will find.
Curster than she? why, ’tis impossible.
More rude than she? That’s impossible.
Why he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
He’s a devil, a devil, a real monster.
Why, she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s dam.
But she’s a devil, a devil, the devil’s own daughter.
Tut, she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool to him! I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife, ’Ay, by gogs-wouns,’ quoth he; and swore so loud, That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book; And, as he stoop’d again to take it up, The mad-brain’d bridegroom took him such a cuff That down fell priest and book and book and priest: ’Now take them up,’ quoth he, ’if any list.’
Nonsense, she’s a lamb, a dove, a fool compared to him! I’ll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Was about to ask if Katharina should be his wife, He yelled, “Yes, by God’s wounds!” and swore so loudly, That the priest, startled, dropped the book; And as he bent to pick it up, The crazy groom hit him so hard That both priest and book fell to the ground: “Now pick them up,” he said, “if anyone’s brave enough.”
What said the wench when he rose again?
What did the girl say when he stood up again?
Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp’d and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine: ’A health!’ quoth he, as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff’d off the muscadel And threw the sops all in the sexton’s face; Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem’d to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck And kiss’d her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo: And I seeing this came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before: Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.
She trembled and shook; because he stamped and swore, As if the priest was trying to trick him. But after all the formalities were done, He asked for wine: “A toast!” he said, as if He’d been at sea, celebrating with his friends After a storm; he drank the sweet wine And splashed the bread into the sexton’s face; He had no other reason Except that his beard was thin and scraggly And seemed to be asking for bread as he drank. After this, he took the bride by the neck And kissed her with such a loud smack That the whole church echoed at the sound: And I, seeing this, left in sheer embarrassment; And I’m sure the crowd followed me out. A crazier wedding has never been seen: Listen, listen! I hear the musicians play.
Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepared great store of wedding cheer; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave.
Friends, I thank you for your trouble: I know you expected to dine with me today, And I had planned a big wedding feast; But I’m in a hurry, so I must leave now, And therefore, I’ll take my leave here.
Is’t possible you will away to-night?
Is it possible you’re leaving tonight?
I must away to-day, before night come: Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife: Dine with my father, drink a health to me; For I must hence; and farewell to you all.
I must leave today, before nightfall: Don’t be surprised; if you knew what I was doing, You’d beg me to leave instead of stay. And, to my honest friends, I thank you all, For witnessing me give myself To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife: Have dinner with my father, and drink to my health; For I must go now; farewell to you all.
Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
Please, let us beg you to stay until after dinner.
It may not be.
I can’t stay.
Let me entreat you.
Please, I beg you.
It cannot be.
It’s not possible.
Let me entreat you.
Please, I beg you.
I am content.
Fine, I agree.
Are you content to stay?
Are you sure you’ll stay?
I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
I’m fine with you asking me to stay; But I won’t actually stay, no matter what you say.
Now, if you love me, stay.
If you love me, stay.
Grumio, my horse.
Grumio, get my horse.
Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses.
Yes, sir, they’re ready: the horses have eaten the oats.
Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; For me, I’ll not be gone till I please myself: ’Tis like you’ll prove a jolly surly groom, That take it on you at the first so roundly.
Well then, Do whatever you want, I’m not leaving today; No, not tomorrow, not until I feel like it. The door is open, sir; that’s the way out; You can go ahead, even while your boots are still wet. As for me, I won’t leave until I’m ready: It seems you’ll be a stubborn, rude servant, Taking control so forcefully right from the start.
O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry.
Oh Kate, calm down; please, don’t be mad.
I will be angry: what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure.
I will be mad: what are you going to do about it? Father, be quiet; he can stay until I’m ready.
Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work.
Yes, sir, now it’s starting to work.
Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist.
Gentlemen, go ahead to the wedding feast: I see that a woman can be made a fool, If she doesn’t have the strength to resist.
They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves: But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I’ll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate: I’ll buckler thee against a million.
They can go ahead, Kate, if that’s what you want. Obey the bride, all of you who are with her; Go to the feast, have fun and be bossy, Drink and be merry, or just go hang yourselves: But my lovely Kate, she’s coming with me. No, don’t scowl, or stomp, or glare, or get upset; I will be in charge of what’s mine: She is my property, my possessions; she is my house, My belongings, my farm, my barn, My horse, my ox, my donkey, my anything; And here she stands, touch her if you dare; I’ll take legal action against anyone Who tries to stop me in Padua. Grumio, Draw your weapon, we’re surrounded by thieves; Protect your mistress, if you’re a man. Don’t worry, sweet girl, they won’t harm you, Kate: I’ll protect you against a million.
Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
No, let them go, they’re a couple of calm ones.
Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing.
If they hadn’t left so quickly, I would have died laughing.
Of all mad matches never was the like.
Of all the crazy marriages, this one is the craziest.
Mistress, what’s your opinion of your sister?
Mistress, what do you think of your sister?
That, being mad herself, she’s madly mated.
Since she’s crazy herself, she’s married to someone equally crazy.
I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
I bet you, Petruchio is just as wild.
Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets at the feast. Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom’s place: And let Bianca take her sister’s room.
Neighbors and friends, even though the bride and bridegroom are missing, To fill the seats at the table, You know we don’t need any extra treats at the feast. Lucentio, you’ll take the bridegroom’s place: And let Bianca sit in her sister’s spot.
Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it?
Will sweet Bianca practice how to be a bride?
She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let’s go.
She will, Lucentio. Come on, gentlemen, let’s go.