_Pet._ Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, 115 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?
_Bap._ After my death the one half of my lands, 120 And in possession twenty thousand crowns.
_Pet._ 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, 125 That covenants may be kept on either hand.
_Bap._ Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all.
_Pet._ Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; 130 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; 135 For I am rough and woo not like a babe.
_Bap._ Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
_Pet._ Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 140
_Re-enter_ HORTENSIO, _with his head broke_.
_Bap._ How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale?
_Hor._ For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
_Bap._ What, will my daughter prove a good musician?
_Hor._ I think she'll sooner prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 145
_Bap._ Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute?
_Hor._ 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, 150 '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; 155 While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so.
_Pet._ Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: 160 O, how I long to have some chat with her!