SCENE I. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house. The Taming of the Shrew  Shakespeare homepage  |  Taming of the Shrew  | Act 3, Scene 1 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE I. Padua. BAPTISTA'S house. 

 Enter LUCENTIO, HORTENSIO, and BIANCA  LUCENTIO  Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: 

 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 

 Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal? 

 HORTENSIO  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. 

 LUCENTIO  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. 

 HORTENSIO  Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. 

 BIANCA  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. 

 HORTENSIO  You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? 

 LUCENTIO  That will be never: tune your instrument. 

 BIANCA  Where left we last? 

 LUCENTIO  Here, madam: 

 'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; 

 Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' 

 BIANCA  Construe them. 

 LUCENTIO  '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. 

 HORTENSIO  Madam, my instrument's in tune. 

 BIANCA  Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. 

 LUCENTIO  Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 

 BIANCA  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. 

 HORTENSIO  Madam, 'tis now in tune. 

 LUCENTIO  All but the base. 

 HORTENSIO  The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. 



 Aside  How fiery and forward our pedant is! 

 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: 

 Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. 

 BIANCA  In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

 LUCENTIO  Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides 

 Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. 

 BIANCA  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. 

 HORTENSIO  You may go walk, and give me leave a while: 

 My lessons make no music in three parts. 

 LUCENTIO  Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, 



 Aside  And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, 

 Our fine musician groweth amorous. 

 HORTENSIO  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. 

 BIANCA  Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 

 HORTENSIO  Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 

 BIANCA  [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. 



 Enter a Servant  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. 

 BIANCA  Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone. 



 Exeunt BIANCA and Servant  LUCENTIO  Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. 



 Exit  HORTENSIO  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. 



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