The Taming of the Shrew
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- 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 art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime 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 sland’rous world! Kate like the hazel twig Is straight, and slender, and as brown in hue As hazelnuts, and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk! Thou dost not halt.
- I’ll see thee hanged on Sunday first.
- Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world/ And to conclude, we have ’greed so well together That upon Sunday is the wedding day.
- Why, how now, daughter Katherine? In your dumps?
- “Mates,” maid? How mean you that? No mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mold.
- I’ faith, sir, you shall never need to fear. Iwis it is not halfway to her heart. But if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legged stool And paint your face and use you like a fool.
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