Catherine and Petruchio;

A

COMEDY,

IN THREE ACTS.

ALTERED FROM SHAKESPEARE,

BY DAVID GARRICK, Esq.

AS PERFORMED AT THE

THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT-GARDEN.

CATHERINE & PETRUCHIO.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-BAPTISTA'S House.

Enter BAPTISTA, PETRUCHIO, and GRUMIO.

Bap. Thus have I, 'gainst my own self-interest, Repeated all the worst you are to expect

From my shrewd daughter, Catherine; if you'll ven

ture

Maugre my plain and honest declaration,
You have my free consent; win her, and wed her.
Pet. Signor Baptista, thus it stands with me.
Anthonio, my father, is deceased:

You knew him well, and knowing him, know me,
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have bettered, rather than decreased.
And I have thrust myself into the world,
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may :
My business asketh haste, old signior,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.

Bap. Yes, when the special thing is well obtained, My daughter's 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; 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;

For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Grum. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is why, give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head. Though she have as many diseases as twoand-fifty horses; why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal.

Bap. As I have shewed you, sir, the coarser side, Now let me tell you, she is young and beauteous, Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman; Her only fault, and that is fault enough,

Is that she is intolerably froward;

If that you can away with, she is yours.
And will you woo her, sir?

Pet. Why came I hither but to that intent;
Think you a little din can daunt my ears?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field?
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
That gives not half so great a blow to hear,
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire?

Tush, tush! scare boys with bugs.

Bap. Then thou'rt the man,

The man for Catherine, and her father too:
I'll portion her above her gentle sister,

10

New married to Hortensio.

Pet. Say'st thou me so? Then as your daughter,

signior,

Is rich enough to be Petruchio's wife;
Be she as curst as Socrates' Xantippe,
She moves ine not a whit-Were she as rough
As are the swelling Adriatic seas,

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua,

If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy speed;

But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.

Pet. Aye, to the proof, as mountains are for winds,
That shake not, though they blow perpetually.
[CATHERINE and the Music-master make a noise within.]
Music-mas. Help! help!

Cath. Out of the house, you scraping fool.
Pet. What noise is that?

Bap. Oh, nothing; this is nothing

My daughter Catherine, and her music-master;
This is the third I've had within this month.
She is an enemy to harmony.

Enter Music-master.

How now, friend, why dost look so pale?

Music-mas. For fear, I promise you, if I do look pale. Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good musician?

Music-mas. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier; Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Bap. Why then, thou canst not break her to the lute ?

Music-mas. Why, no; for she hath broke the lute

to me,

I did but tell her she mistook her frets,

And bowed her hand to teach her fingering,
When with a most, impatient devilish spirit,