ACT IV. SCENE I.
PETRUCHIO'S country house

Enter GRUMIO

  GRUMIO. Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and
all
    foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? Was ever man so ray'd? Was
    ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they
are
    coming after to warm them. Now were not I a little pot and
soon
    hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the
roof
    of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a
fire to
    thaw me. But I with blowing the fire shall warm myself; for,
    considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold.
    Holla, ho! Curtis!

                            Enter CURTIS

  CURTIS. Who is that calls so coldly?
  GRUMIO. A piece of ice. If thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from
my
    shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my
    neck. A fire, good Curtis.
  CURTIS. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio?
  GRUMIO. O, ay, Curtis, ay; and therefore fire, fire; cast on no
    water.
  CURTIS. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?
  GRUMIO. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; but thou
know'st
    winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tam'd my old
    master, and my new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
  CURTIS. Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast.
  GRUMIO. Am I but three inches? Why, thy horn is a foot, and so
long
    am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I
complain
    on thee to our mistress, whose hand- she being now at hand-
thou
    shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy
hot
    office?
  CURTIS. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me how goes the world?
  GRUMIO. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and
    therefore fire. Do thy duty, and have thy duty, for my master
and
    mistress are almost frozen to death.
  CURTIS. There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the
news?
  GRUMIO. Why, 'Jack boy! ho, boy!' and as much news as thou
wilt.
  CURTIS. Come, you are so full of cony-catching!
  GRUMIO. Why, therefore, fire; for I have caught extreme cold.
    Where's the cook? Is supper ready, the house trimm'd, rushes
    strew'd, cobwebs swept, the serving-men in their new fustian,
    their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment
on?
    Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets
    laid, and everything in order?
  CURTIS. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news.
  GRUMIO. First know my horse is tired; my master and mistress
fall'n
    out.
  CURTIS. How?
  GRUMIO. Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a
    tale.
  CURTIS. Let's ha't, good Grumio.
  GRUMIO. Lend thine ear.
  CURTIS. Here.
  GRUMIO. There.                                  [Striking him]
  CURTIS. This 'tis to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
  GRUMIO. And therefore 'tis call'd a sensible tale; and this
cuff
    was but to knock at your car and beseech list'ning. Now I
begin:
    Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind
my
    mistress-
  CURTIS. Both of one horse?
  GRUMIO. What's that to thee?
  CURTIS. Why, a horse.
  GRUMIO. Tell thou the tale. But hadst thou not cross'd me, thou
    shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her
horse;
    thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was
    bemoil'd, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he
beat me
    because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to
    pluck him off me, how he swore, how she pray'd that never
pray'd
    before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle
was
    burst, how I lost my crupper- with many things of worthy
memory,
    which now shall die in oblivion, and thou return
unexperienc'd to
    thy grave.
  CURTIS. By this reck'ning he is more shrew than she.
  GRUMIO. Ay, and that thou and the proudest of you all shall
find
    when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth
    Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and
the
    rest; let their heads be sleekly comb'd, their blue coats
brush'd
    and their garters of an indifferent knit; let them curtsy
with
    their left legs, and not presume to touch a hair of my
mastcr's
    horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready?
  CURTIS. They are.
  GRUMIO. Call them forth.
  CURTIS. Do you hear, ho? You must meet my master, to
countenance my
    mistress.
  GRUMIO. Why, she hath a face of her own.
  CURTIS. Who knows not that?
  GRUMIO. Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance
her.
  CURTIS. I call them forth to credit her.
  GRUMIO. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.

                     Enter four or five SERVINGMEN

  NATHANIEL. Welcome home, Grumio!
  PHILIP. How now, Grumio!
  JOSEPH. What, Grumio!
  NICHOLAS. Fellow Grumio!
  NATHANIEL. How now, old lad!
  GRUMIO. Welcome, you!- how now, you!- what, you!- fellow, you!-
and
    thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all
ready,
    and all things neat?
  NATHANIEL. All things is ready. How near is our master?
  GRUMIO. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not-
   Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master.

                     Enter PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA

  PETRUCHIO. Where be these knaves? What, no man at door
    To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse!
    Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip?
  ALL SERVANTS. Here, here, sir; here, sir.
  PETRUCHIO. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir!
    You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms!
    What, no attendance? no regard? no duty?
    Where is the foolish knave I sent before?
  GRUMIO. Here, sir; as foolish as I was before.
  PETRUCHIO. YOU peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge!
    Did I not bid thee meet me in the park
    And bring along these rascal knaves with thee?
  GRUMIO. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made,
    And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' th' heel;
    There was no link to colour Peter's hat,
    And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing;
    There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory;
    The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly;
    Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
  PETRUCHIO. Go, rascals, go and fetch my supper in.
                                   Exeunt some of the SERVINGMEN

    [Sings]  Where is the life that late I led?
             Where are those-

    Sit down, Kate, and welcome. Soud, soud, soud, soud!

                 Re-enter SERVANTS with supper

    Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry.
    Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when?

    [Sings]  It was the friar of orders grey,
             As he forth walked on his way-

    Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry;
    Take that, and mend the plucking off the other.
                                                   [Strikes him]
    Be merry, Kate. Some water, here, what, ho!

                      Enter one with water

    Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence,
    And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither:
                                                 Exit SERVINGMAN
    One, Kate, that you must kiss and be acquainted with.
    Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water?
    Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily.
    You whoreson villain! will you let it fall?    [Strikes him]
  KATHERINA. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling.
  PETRUCHIO. A whoreson, beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave!
    Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach.
    Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I?
    What's this? Mutton?
  FIRST SERVANT. Ay.
  PETRUCHIO. Who brought it?
  PETER. I.
  PETRUCHIO. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat.
    What dogs are these? Where is the rascal cook?
    How durst you villains bring it from the dresser
    And serve it thus to me that love it not?
    There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all;
                                [Throws the meat, etc., at them]
    You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves!
    What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight.
                                                 Exeunt SERVANTS
  KATHERINA. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet;
    The meat was well, if you were so contented.
  PETRUCHIO. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away,
    And I expressly am forbid to touch it;
    For it engenders choler, planteth anger;
    And better 'twere that both of us did fast,
    Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric,
    Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
    Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended.
    And for this night we'll fast for company.
    Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.        Exeunt

                     Re-enter SERVANTS severally

  NATHANIEL. Peter, didst ever see the like?
  PETER. He kills her in her own humour.

                            Re-enter CURTIS

  GRUMIO. Where is he?
  CURTIS. In her chamber. Making a sermon of continency to her,
    And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul,
    Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak.
    And sits as one new risen from a dream.
    Away, away! for he is coming hither.                  Exeunt

                       Re-enter PETRUCHIO

  PETRUCHIO. Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
    And 'tis my hope to end successfully.
    My falcon now is sharp and passing empty.
    And till she stoop she must not be full-gorg'd,
    For then she never looks upon her lure.
    Another way I have to man my haggard,
    To make her come, and know her keeper's call,
    That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
    That bate and beat, and will not be obedient.
    She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat;
    Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not;
    As with the meat, some undeserved fault
    I'll find about the making of the bed;
    And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
    This way the coverlet, another way the sheets;
    Ay, and amid this hurly I intend
    That all is done in reverend care of her-
    And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night;
    And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl
    And with the clamour keep her still awake.
    This is a way to kill a wife with kindness,
    And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.
    He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
    Now let him speak; 'tis charity to show.                Exit

Petruchio and Kate are about to arrive at Petruchio's country house. Grumio arrives first, however, complaining that he has been sent ahead to ensure that the servants prepare for the arrival of their master and his new wife. Curtis, another servant, greets him and hears his tale of the journey from Padua--Kate fell into the mud, Petruchio flew into a rage, and the horses ran away. Grumio then orders Curtis to assemble all the other servants, properly attired and on good behavior. Curtis calls for them, and a few arrive just as Petruchio and Kate return. Petruchio immediately becomes enraged, claiming that his servants fail to attend him properly. They do their best, but clearly he is not pleased by anything. He demands dinner, and they prepare it as quickly as possible, but he claims that the meat is burned and pushes the whole meal off the table. In the meantime, Kate, visibly tired and hungry, pleads with him to be more patient with the servants. Petruchio cheerfully tells her that he demands much of them for her benefit--his new bride will receive nothing short of perfection, he says, pretending to ignore the fact that his new bride simply needs a hot meal. After taking her off to bed without food, Petruchio returns to the stage alone and announces his intentions. All his actions have been calculated to aggravate Kate and to keep her wanting, for he refers to her as a wild falcon that he must train to obey his call. He intends to prevent her from sleeping by making a fuss about the way the bed is made, just as he did with the food. This, he says, is the best way to "curb her mad and headstrong humour"

Act IV, scenes i-ii With the beginning of Act IV, the play begins to stick even more closely to the alternating plot/subplot structure that it has followed loosely up to this point: for the next several scenes, the action alternates on a scene-by-scene basis between the Petruchio/Katherine story and the Lucentio/Bianca story. In developing the main plot, this section devotes itself largely to a gradually developing joke in which Petruchio frustrates Kate by using an exaggerated pretense of concern for her comfort to keep her hungry, tired, and generally uncomfortable. In developing the subplot, this section is devoted to the consequences of the increasingly complex series of disguises and deceptions that both enable and complicate Lucentio's courtship of Bianca. Petruchio's monologue in Act IV, scene i explains most of what transpires in this scene, as he tells the audience of his scheme to bend Kate to his will. He will tame her as the falconer trains his bird, by holding lures out in front of it, just out of reach. All has been planned in his mind in advance: "Thus have I politicly begun my reign," he says, where "politicly" means "with careful calculation" . Petruchio wishes to bend Kate's hostile temperament into benevolence by turning everything against her--ironically, under the guise of heightened concern for her well-being. He means to "kill  wife with kindness" . Though Petruchio's treatment of Kate is undoubtedly condescending and chauvinistic, it is nevertheless significant that Petruchio decides to "kill" her with kindness rather than with force. By couching his attempts to smooth out Kate's rough temper in language of love and affection, Petruchio both makes himself more sympathetic in the eyes of the audience and opens the way for an actual loving relationship with Kate once she decides to accept her new role as his wife. Had Petruchio simply attempted to dominate his wife forcibly, he would have appeared monstrous to the audience, making a pleasant union impossible. Though Shakespeare loves to use disguise as a means of transgressing social boundaries, in The Taming of the Shrew social roles and social positions are ultimately too binding to escape. This is one reason why the stakes are so high in Petruchio's "game" with Katherine. Petruchio's monologue indicates the importance of his plan. He understands that despite Kate's independence, her only hope for achieving happiness lies in her ability to adapt to her role as a wife. Otherwise, she will be forced to continue the socially alienated misery of her life as a maiden, out of sync with her role in society. For Petruchio and Katherine, this negotiation is well under way, and, despite their frequent quarreling, it is aided by their obvious attraction to one another. But for the parties involved in the subplot, who continue to deceive themselves and those around them, uncharted waters lie ahead. In Act IV, scene ii, the subplot nearly reaches complete success. Through the duping of Hortensio and the acquisition of the services of the naive pedant, all obstacles between Lucentio and Bianca seem to be removed--except, of course, for the fact that the man Baptista knows as Lucentio is really Tranio. This was the fundamental flaw in the plan, which is why Biondello, perhaps the most sensible character in the play, later arranges for the two lovers to elope while Baptista speaks with the pedant. All in all, the whole scheme amounted to little more than an entertaining distraction, since the disguises cannot be maintained forever if Bianca and Lucentio ever wish to fulfill their desires. From Biondello's news, we see that the ploy has begun to unravel quickly, now that they have finally reached their goal. Once Lucentio and Bianca have married, they must either flee Padua or reveal their ruse, since Baptista soon expects to marry Bianca to the disguised Tranio. It would be no great matter for Lucentio to return to Pisa, or to go elsewhere, since he is wealthy and educated, but for Bianca it would mean abruptly leaving her family, friends, and inheritance. In fact, the young lovers don't have the faintest idea what their married life will be like, since Lucentio has been acting a role from the beginning, and they have had to court each other in secret. They may represent the ideal of young love at first sight, but their love does not seem to be developing in a way that facilitates future growth.


SCENE II.
Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house

Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and HORTENSIO as LICIO

  TRANIO. Is 't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca
    Doth fancy any other but Lucentio?
    I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
  HORTENSIO. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
    Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching.
                                              [They stand aside]

               Enter BIANCA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO

  LUCENTIO. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
  BIANCA. What, master, read you, First resolve me that.
  LUCENTIO. I read that I profess, 'The Art to Love.'
  BIANCA. And may you prove, sir, master of your art!
  LUCENTIO. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart.
                                                   [They retire]
  HORTENSIO. Quick proceeders, marry! Now tell me, I pray,
    You that durst swear that your Mistress Bianca
    Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
  TRANIO. O despiteful love! unconstant womankind!
    I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
  HORTENSIO. Mistake no more; I am not Licio.
    Nor a musician as I seem to be;
    But one that scorn to live in this disguise
    For such a one as leaves a gentleman
    And makes a god of such a cullion.
    Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio.
  TRANIO. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
    Of your entire affection to Bianca;
    And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
    I will with you, if you be so contented,
    Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
  HORTENSIO. See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio,
    Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow
    Never to woo her more, but do forswear her,
    As one unworthy all the former favours
    That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.
  TRANIO. And here I take the like unfeigned oath,
    Never to marry with her though she would entreat;
    Fie on her! See how beastly she doth court him!
  HORTENSIO. Would all the world but he had quite forsworn!
    For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
    I will be married to a wealtlly widow
    Ere three days pass, which hath as long lov'd me
    As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard.
    And so farewell, Signior Lucentio.
    Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
    Shall win my love; and so I take my leave,
    In resolution as I swore before.                        Exit
  TRANIO. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
    As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case!
    Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love,
    And have forsworn you with Hortensio.
  BIANCA. Tranio, you jest; but have you both forsworn me?
  TRANIO. Mistress, we have.
  LUCENTIO. Then we are rid of Licio.
  TRANIO. I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now,
    That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.
  BIANCA. God give him joy!
  TRANIO. Ay, and he'll tame her.
  BIANCA. He says so, Tranio.
  TRANIO. Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
  BIANCA. The taming-school! What, is there such a place?
  TRANIO. Ay, mistress; and Petruchio is the master,
    That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long,
    To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue.

                       Enter BIONDELLO

  BIONDELLO. O master, master I have watch'd so long
    That I am dog-weary; but at last I spied
    An ancient angel coming down the hill
    Will serve the turn.
  TRANIO. What is he, Biondello?
  BIONDELLO. Master, a mercatante or a pedant,
    I know not what; but formal in apparel,
    In gait and countenance surely like a father.
  LUCENTIO. And what of him, Tranio?
  TRANIO. If he be credulous and trust my tale,
    I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio,
    And give assurance to Baptista Minola
    As if he were the right Vincentio.
    Take in your love, and then let me alone.
                                      Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA

                         Enter a PEDANT

  PEDANT. God save you, sir!
  TRANIO. And you, sir; you are welcome.
    Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest?
  PEDANT. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two;
    But then up farther, and as far as Rome;
    And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life.
  TRANIO. What countryman, I pray?
  PEDANT. Of Mantua.
  TRANIO. Of Mantua, sir? Marry, God forbid,
    And come to Padua, careless of your life!
  PEDANT. My life, sir! How, I pray? For that goes hard.
  TRANIO. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua
    To come to Padua. Know you not the cause?
    Your ships are stay'd at Venice; and the Duke,
    For private quarrel 'twixt your Duke and him,
    Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly.
    'Tis marvel- but that you are but newly come,
    You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.
  PEDANT. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so!
    For I have bills for money by exchange
    From Florence, and must here deliver them.
  TRANIO. Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
    This will I do, and this I will advise you-
    First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa?
  PEDANT. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been,
    Pisa renowned for grave citizens.
  TRANIO. Among them know you one Vincentio?
  PEDANT. I know him not, but I have heard of him,
    A merchant of incomparable wealth.
  TRANIO. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
    In count'nance somewhat doth resemble you.
  BIONDELLO.  [Aside]  As much as an apple doth an oyster, and
all
    one.
  TRANIO. To save your life in this extremity,
    This favour will I do you for his sake;
    And think it not the worst of all your fortunes
    That you are like to Sir Vincentio.
    His name and credit shall you undertake,
    And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd;
    Look that you take upon you as you should.
    You understand me, sir. So shall you stay
    Till you have done your business in the city.
    If this be court'sy, sir, accept of it.
  PEDANT. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever
    The patron of my life and liberty.
  TRANIO. Then go with me to make the matter good.
    This, by the way, I let you understand:
    My father is here look'd for every day
    To pass assurance of a dow'r in marriage
    'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here.
    In all these circumstances I'll instruct you.
    Go with me to clothe you as becomes you.              Exeunt

Back in Padua, Tranio and Lucentio are trying to conclude their scheme to win Bianca for Lucentio. Hortensio, distraught at having lost Bianca to his rival schoolmaster, takes it upon himself to inform Lucentio that he too is out of luck in his pursuit of Bianca. Tranio plays along, feigning surprise when he sees the real Lucentio and Bianca courting each other during their "lesson. He pretends to be so angry that he decides to foreswear Bianca's charms, and he convinces Hortensio to do the same--thus cleverly removing the competition. Tranio informs Bianca and Lucentio of these events after Hortensio leaves. Hortensio has decided to marry a wealthy widow instead of Bianca and is leaving to go to Petruchio's to attend "taming-school. He wants to see how Petruchio handles Kate so that he can apply the lessons to his own marriage. Just as Tranio finishes the story, Biondello rushes into the scene with encouraging news: he has just seen a man entering Padua who would make a convincing fake father for Lucentio. Tranio approaches the newcomer, learning that he is a pedant schoolmaster from Mantua. He then comes up with a story to put the old man in his debt: the dukes of Mantua and Padua, he says, are at odds with each other, and the duke of Padua has proclaimed that anyone from Mantua found in Padua shall be put to death. The pedant, frightened out of his wits, promises a favor to Tranio in exchange for protection. Tranio says that, as it happens, he is in need of someone to act as his father , and so they seal the agreement


SCENE III.
PETRUCHIO'S house

Enter KATHERINA and GRUMIO

  GRUMIO. No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life.
  KATHERINA. The more my wrong, the more his spite appears.
    What, did he marry me to famish me?
    Beggars that come unto my father's door
    Upon entreaty have a present alms;
    If not, elsewhere they meet with charity;
    But I, who never knew how to entreat,
    Nor never needed that I should entreat,
    Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep;
    With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed;
    And that which spites me more than all these wants-
    He does it under name of perfect love;
    As who should say, if I should sleep or eat,
    'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
    I prithee go and get me some repast;
    I care not what, so it be wholesome food.
  GRUMIO. What say you to a neat's foot?
  KATHERINA. 'Tis passing good; I prithee let me have it.
  GRUMIO. I fear it is too choleric a meat.
    How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd?
  KATHERINA. I like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me.
  GRUMIO. I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric.
    What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?
  KATHERINA. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
  GRUMIO. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
  KATHERINA. Why then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
  GRUMIO. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the mustard,
    Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
  KATHERINA. Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.
  GRUMIO. Why then the mustard without the beef.
  KATHERINA. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave,
                                                     [Beats him]
    That feed'st me with the very name of meat.
    Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you
    That triumph thus upon my misery!
    Go, get thee gone, I say.

               Enter PETRUCHIO, and HORTENSIO with meat

  PETRUCHIO. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort?
  HORTENSIO. Mistress, what cheer?
  KATHERINA. Faith, as cold as can be.
  PETRUCHIO. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.
    Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am,
    To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee.
    I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
    What, not a word? Nay, then thou lov'st it not,
    And all my pains is sorted to no proof.
    Here, take away this dish.
  KATHERINA. I pray you, let it stand.
  PETRUCHIO. The poorest service is repaid with thanks;
    And so shall mine, before you touch the meat.
  KATHERINA. I thank you, sir.
  HORTENSIO. Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame.
    Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
  PETRUCHIO.  [Aside]  Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lovest
me.-
    Much good do it unto thy gentle heart!
    Kate, eat apace. And now, my honey love,
    Will we return unto thy father's house
    And revel it as bravely as the best,
    With silken coats and caps, and golden rings,
    With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things,
    With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry.
    With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry.
    What, hast thou din'd? The tailor stays thy leisure,
    To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.

                          Enter TAILOR

    Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments;
    Lay forth the gown.

                        Enter HABERDASHER

    What news with you, sir?
  HABERDASHER. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, this was moulded on a porringer;
    A velvet dish. Fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy;
    Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell,
    A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.
    Away with it. Come, let me have a bigger.
  KATHERINA. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time,
    And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
  PETRUCHIO. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
    And not till then.
  HORTENSIO.  [Aside]  That will not be in haste.
  KATHERINA. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak;
    And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.
    Your betters have endur'd me say my mind,
    And if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
    My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,
    Or else my heart, concealing it, will break;
    And rather than it shall, I will be free
    Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap,
    A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie;
    I love thee well in that thou lik'st it not.
  KATHERINA. Love me or love me not, I like the cap;
    And it I will have, or I will have none.    Exit HABERDASHER
  PETRUCHIO. Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see't.
    O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here?
    What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
    What, up and down, carv'd like an appletart?
    Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
    Like to a censer in a barber's shop.
    Why, what a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?
  HORTENSIO.  [Aside]  I see she's like to have neither cap nor
gown.
  TAILOR. You bid me make it orderly and well,
    According to the fashion and the time.
  PETRUCHIO. Marry, and did; but if you be rememb'red,
    I did not bid you mar it to the time.
    Go, hop me over every kennel home,
    For you shall hop without my custom, sir.
    I'll none of it; hence! make your best of it.
  KATHERINA. I never saw a better fashion'd gown,
    More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
    Belike you mean to make a puppet of me.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee.
  TAILOR. She says your worship means to make a puppet of her.
  PETRUCHIO. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou
      thimble,
    Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail,
    Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou-
    Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread!
    Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant;
    Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard
    As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st!
    I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.
  TAILOR. Your worship is deceiv'd; the gown is made
    Just as my master had direction.
    Grumio gave order how it should be done.
  GRUMIO. I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff.
  TAILOR. But how did you desire it should be made?
  GRUMIO. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
  TAILOR. But did you not request to have it cut?
  GRUMIO. Thou hast fac'd many things.
  TAILOR. I have.
  GRUMIO. Face not me. Thou hast brav'd many men; brave not me. I
    will neither be fac'd nor brav'd. I say unto thee, I bid thy
    master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to
pieces.
    Ergo, thou liest.
  TAILOR. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify.
  PETRUCHIO. Read it.
  GRUMIO. The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so.
  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'Imprimis, a loose-bodied gown'-
  GRUMIO. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the
    skirts of it and beat me to death with a bottom of brown
bread; I
    said a gown.
  PETRUCHIO. Proceed.
  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'With a small compass'd cape'-
  GRUMIO. I confess the cape.
  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'With a trunk sleeve'-
  GRUMIO. I confess two sleeves.
  TAILOR.  [Reads]  'The sleeves curiously cut.'
  PETRUCHIO. Ay, there's the villainy.
  GRUMIO. Error i' th' bill, sir; error i' th' bill! I commanded
the
    sleeves should be cut out, and sew'd up again; and that I'll
    prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a
thimble.
  TAILOR. This is true that I say; an I had thee in place where,
thou
    shouldst know it.
  GRUMIO. I am for thee straight; take thou the bill, give me thy
    meteyard, and spare not me.
  HORTENSIO. God-a-mercy, Grumio! Then he shall have no odds.
  PETRUCHIO. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
  GRUMIO. You are i' th' right, sir; 'tis for my mistress.
  PETRUCHIO. Go, take it up unto thy master's use.
  GRUMIO. Villain, not for thy life! Take up my mistress' gown
for
    thy master's use!
  PETRUCHIO. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that?
  GRUMIO. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for.
    Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use!
    O fie, fie, fie!
  PETRUCHIO.  [Aside]  Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor
paid.-
    Go take it hence; be gone, and say no more.
  HORTENSIO. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow;
    Take no unkindness of his hasty words.
    Away, I say; commend me to thy master.           Exit TAILOR
  PETRUCHIO. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's
    Even in these honest mean habiliments;
    Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
    For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich;
    And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
    So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
    What, is the jay more precious than the lark
    Because his feathers are more beautiful?
    Or is the adder better than the eel
    Because his painted skin contents the eye?
    O no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse
    For this poor furniture and mean array.
    If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me;
    And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith
    To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
    Go call my men, and let us straight to him;
    And bring our horses unto Long-lane end;
    There will we mount, and thither walk on foot.
    Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock,
    And well we may come there by dinner-time.
  KATHERINA. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two,
    And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there.
  PETRUCHIO. It shall be seven ere I go to horse.
    Look what I speak, or do, or think to do,
    You are still crossing it. Sirs, let 't alone;
    I will not go to-day; and ere I do,
    It shall be what o'clock I say it is.
  HORTENSIO. Why, so this gallant will command the sun.
                                                          Exeunt

Back in Petruchio's house, Kate has had little food or sleep for several days now, and she entreats Grumio to get her something to eat. He refuses, and, like his master, claims that they are depriving her for her own benefit. Finally, Petruchio and Hortensio bring her a meal. Kate has little time to eat before Petruchio's tailor arrives. The tailor has prepared elegant and expensive clothes for their journey back to Baptista's house in Padua. Predictably, Petruchio finds fault with everything that Kate likes, from the cap to the gown, and he blames the tailor for poor craftsmanship. The tailor tries to deflect the blame onto Grumio, but Petruchio and Grumio indignantly force him to leave. Petruchio, however, secretly tells Hortensio to pull the tailor aside and tell him that he will be paid the following day, revealing that Petruchio's distasteful treatment of the tailor is in jest. Petruchio then tells Kate that they will leave at once for Padua in the clothes that they have on, planning to arrive at noon. But, when Kate tells Petruchio that noontime has already passed, he angrily responds that, yet again, she is contradicting him. He declares that they will not go that day, and that, when they do go, "t shall be what o'clock I say it is"

Act IV, scenes iii-v As Act IV, scene iii opens, Kate has clearly been affected by Petruchio's treatment, especially by the excuses he continues to give for his behavior. She complains to Grumio that what particularly infuriates her is that Petruchio torments under the pretense of love. This pretense--not to mention Petruchio's erratic and peremptory behavior--makes it hard for her to react to his actions with her typical anger, since he seems to have the best intentions and to only desire her happiness and comfort. And yet, given Kate's obvious intelligence, it is remarkable that she does not see through Petruchio's facade and realize that he is doing everything simply to frustrate her. Most likely, she does in fact suspect foul play, as she indicates when she says that he torments her "under name of perfect love," implying that the "name" and the reality do not necessarily match . She simply does not wish to stand up to him on this point. The play is, after all, a comedy, and we are probably meant to believe that, despite their difficulties, Kate and Petruchio are falling in love, if they have not already done so. Under the comic influence of love, Kate is much less likely to use the full power of her critical thought to see through Petruchio's schemes. Of course, the attraction between Kate and Petruchio, which exists despite their social inequality and seems to stem from their intellectual equality, is central to our ability to read The Taming of the Shrew as something more than merely a troubling chronicle of sixteenth-century spousal abuse. Most readers, as Jean E. Howard notes in her introduction to the play in The Norton Shakespeare, "have seen in Kate and Petruchio's relationship an attractive mutuality and vitality they find difficult to reconcile with the idea that the play is simply a lesson in how to subordinate a woman." This sense of an "attractive mutuality" is what enables the play to be funny, but one of the unresolvable complications of The Taming of the Shrew is the question of how we should reconcile the apparent love story of the two main characters with Petruchio's obviously cruel treatment of his new wife.  In Act IV, scene iii, Kate once again tries to draw the line: when Petruchio tries to throw away the cap that the tailor made, which she very much likes. She has had enough and tries to establish an autonomous position: . . . I trust I may have leave to speak,And speak I will. I am no child, no babe.. . .. . . I will be freeEven to the uttermost as I please in words.            Unfortunately, not even this is enough to get her so much as the cap in the end. She may be free in words, but her words now fall upon deaf ears, which is the source of her frustration. Before she met Petruchio, even though her words were rarely taken well, at least she could be assured of a reaction to them, and she seemed to take some delight in the reaction she could wring from men. Now, her words are ignored even when she removes their edge and asks for the simplest courtesies. Now indeed she cannot choose, for though she is powerless with Petruchio, she would only endure greater shame if she fled him and returned to Padua.  Also in Act IV, scene iii, Shakespeare expands his social commentary to include a critique of the importance attributed to clothing. Petruchio says that it is "the mind that makes that body rich, / And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, / So honour peereth in the meanest habit" . By "meanest habit," Petruchio means poor attire. This speech echoes the sentiment that Petruchio expressed earlier to Baptista before the wedding, and the repetition should be noted. The Induction seemed to claim that clothes and accoutrements could in fact change the man: Sly changed from a drunkard to a nobleman. Yet, here, Shakespeare suggests the contrary: the inner nature of a person will eventually shine through, regardless of the apparel that person chooses to wear. Indeed, the ruse of Sly's nobility will last only a short time; sooner or later, he will be put back on the street. It is not clear whether Kate shares a similar fate, however. Just as the lord dresses Sly, so does society force Kate to wear the clothing of marriage, both literally and figuratively. Unlike Sly, Kate is unhappy in the role of the wife, a role that stifles her independent spirit. In this scene, however, as Kate's motivations and actions continue to show that she is changing, Shakespeare forces us to question whether the clothing actually does influence the person within.


SCENE IV.
Padua. Before BAPTISTA'S house

Enter TRANIO as LUCENTIO, and the PEDANT dressed like VINCENTIO

  TRANIO. Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call?
  PEDANT. Ay, what else? And, but I be deceived,
    Signior Baptista may remember me
    Near twenty years ago in Genoa,
    Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus.
  TRANIO. 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case,
    With such austerity as longeth to a father.

                       Enter BIONDELLO

  PEDANT. I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy;
    'Twere good he were school'd.
  TRANIO. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello,
    Now do your duty throughly, I advise you.
    Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
  BIONDELLO. Tut, fear not me.
  TRANIO. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista?
  BIONDELLO. I told him that your father was at Venice,
    And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
  TRANIO. Th'art a tall fellow; hold thee that to drink.
    Here comes Baptista. Set your countenance, sir.

                 Enter BAPTISTA, and LUCENTIO as CAMBIO

    Signior Baptista, you are happily met.
    [To To the PEDANT] Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of;
    I pray you stand good father to me now;
    Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
  PEDANT. Soft, son!
    Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua
    To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
    Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
    Of love between your daughter and himself;
    And- for the good report I hear of you,
    And for the love he beareth to your daughter,
    And she to him- to stay him not too long,
    I am content, in a good father's care,
    To have him match'd; and, if you please to like
    No worse than I, upon some agreement
    Me shall you find ready and willing
    With one consent to have her so bestow'd;
    For curious I cannot be with you,
    Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
  BAPTISTA. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say.
    Your plainness and your shortness please me well.
    Right true it is your son Lucentio here
    Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him,
    Or both dissemble deeply their affections;
    And therefore, if you say no more than this,
    That like a father you will deal with him,
    And pass my daughter a sufficient dower,
    The match is made, and all is done-
    Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
  TRANIO. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best
    We be affied, and such assurance ta'en
    As shall with either part's agreement stand?
  BAPTISTA. Not in my house, Lucentio, for you know
    Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants;
    Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still,
    And happily we might be interrupted.
  TRANIO. Then at my lodging, an it like you.
    There doth my father lie; and there this night
    We'll pass the business privately and well.
    Send for your daughter by your servant here;
    My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
    The worst is this, that at so slender warning
    You are like to have a thin and slender pittance.
  BAPTISTA. It likes me well. Cambio, hie you home,
    And bid Bianca make her ready straight;
    And, if you will, tell what hath happened-
    Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua,
    And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.      Exit LUCENTIO
  BIONDELLO. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart.
  TRANIO. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
                                                  Exit BIONDELLO
    Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way?
    Welcome! One mess is like to be your cheer;
    Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa.
  BAPTISTA. I follow you.                                 Exeunt

            Re-enter LUCENTIO as CAMBIO, and BIONDELLO

  BIONDELLO. Cambio.
  LUCENTIO. What say'st thou, Biondello?
  BIONDELLO. You saw my master wink and laugh upon you?
  LUCENTIO. Biondello, what of that?
  BIONDELLO. Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind to
expound
    the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens.
  LUCENTIO. I pray thee moralize them.
  BIONDELLO. Then thus: Baptista is safe, talking with the
deceiving
    father of a deceitful son.
  LUCENTIO. And what of him?
  BIONDELLO. His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper.
  LUCENTIO. And then?
  BIONDELLO. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is at your
command
    at all hours.
  LUCENTIO. And what of all this?
  BIONDELLO. I cannot tell, except they are busied about a
    counterfeit assurance. Take your assurance of her, cum
privilegio
    ad imprimendum solum; to th' church take the priest, clerk,
and
    some sufficient honest witnesses.
    If this be not that you look for, I have more to say,
    But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day.
  LUCENTIO. Hear'st thou, Biondello?
  BIONDELLO. I cannot tarry. I knew a wench married in an
afternoon
    as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and
so
    may you, sir; and so adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me
to
    go to Saint Luke's to bid the priest be ready to come against
you
    come with your appendix.
 Exit
  LUCENTIO. I may and will, if she be so contented.
    She will be pleas'd; then wherefore should I doubt?
    Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her;
    It shall go hard if Cambio go without her.              Exit

In Padua, Tranio has properly outfitted the pedant as Vincentio and rehearses his act with him to ensure that their stories match. When Baptista and Lucentio enter, the pedant convinces Baptista that he is indeed Lucentio's father, and that he fully approves of the marriage between Bianca and his son. Baptista, the pedant, and Tranio then leave to find a private place where they can discuss the financial details of the marriage


SCENE V.
A public road

Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and SERVANTS

  PETRUCHIO. Come on, a God's name; once more toward our
father's.
    Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon!
  KATHERINA. The moon? The sun! It is not moonlight now.
  PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon that shines so bright.
  KATHERINA. I know it is the sun that shines so bright.
  PETRUCHIO. Now by my mother's son, and that's myself,
    It shall be moon, or star, or what I list,
    Or ere I journey to your father's house.
    Go on and fetch our horses back again.
    Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd!
  HORTENSIO. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
  KATHERINA. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
    And be it moon, or sun, or what you please;
    And if you please to call it a rush-candle,
    Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
  PETRUCHIO. I say it is the moon.
  KATHERINA. I know it is the moon.
  PETRUCHIO. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun.
  KATHERINA. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun;
    But sun it is not, when you say it is not;
    And the moon changes even as your mind.
    What you will have it nam'd, even that it is,
    And so it shall be so for Katherine.
  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, go thy ways, the field is won.
  PETRUCHIO. Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run,
    And not unluckily against the bias.
    But, soft! Company is coming here.

                            Enter VINCENTIO

    [To VINCENTIO]  Good-morrow, gentle mistress; where away?-
    Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too,
    Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?
    Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
    What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
    As those two eyes become that heavenly face?
    Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.
    Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.
  HORTENSIO. 'A will make the man mad, to make a woman of him.
  KATHERINA. Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
    Whither away, or where is thy abode?
    Happy the parents of so fair a child;
    Happier the man whom favourable stars
    Allots thee for his lovely bed-fellow.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, how now, Kate, I hope thou art not mad!
    This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, withered,
    And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
  KATHERINA. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
    That have been so bedazzled with the sun
    That everything I look on seemeth green;
    Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.
    Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
  PETRUCHIO. Do, good old grandsire, and withal make known
    Which way thou travellest- if along with us,
    We shall be joyful of thy company.
  VINCENTIO. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress,
    That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me,
    My name is call'd Vincentio, my dwelling Pisa,
    And bound I am to Padua, there to visit
    A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
  PETRUCHIO. What is his name?
  VINCENTIO. Lucentio, gentle sir.
  PETRUCHIO. Happily met; the happier for thy son.
    And now by law, as well as reverend age,
    I may entitle thee my loving father:
    The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman,
    Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not,
    Nor be not grieved- she is of good esteem,
    Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth;
    Beside, so qualified as may beseem
    The spouse of any noble gentleman.
    Let me embrace with old Vincentio;
    And wander we to see thy honest son,
    Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
  VINCENTIO. But is this true; or is it else your pleasure,
    Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
    Upon the company you overtake?
  HORTENSIO. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
  PETRUCHIO. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof;
    For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
                                        Exeunt all but HORTENSIO
  HORTENSIO. Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart.
    Have to my widow; and if she be froward,
    Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.         Exit

Lucentio returns to the stage with Biondello, who informs him that Baptista has requested that Cambio bring Bianca to dinner. Biondello explains that he has personally arranged for a priest and witnesses to perform a hasty marriage in a church nearby. Lucentio agrees to the plan to elope, and they quickly leave to perform their respective tasks


ACT V. SCENE I.
Padua. Before LUCENTIO'S house

Enter BIONDELLO, LUCENTIO, and BIANCA; GREMIO is out before

  BIONDELLO. Softly and swiftly, sir, for the priest is ready.
  LUCENTIO. I fly, Biondello; but they may chance to need the at
    home, therefore leave us.
  BIONDELLO. Nay, faith, I'll see the church a your back, and
then
    come back to my master's as soon as I can.
                          Exeunt LUCENTIO, BIANCA, and BIONDELLO
  GREMIO. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.

           Enter PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, VINCENTIO, GRUMIO,
                          and ATTENDANTS

  PETRUCHIO. Sir, here's the door; this is Lucentio's house;
    My father's bears more toward the market-place;
    Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
  VINCENTIO. You shall not choose but drink before you go;
    I think I shall command your welcome here,
    And by all likelihood some cheer is toward.         [Knocks]
  GREMIO. They're busy within; you were best knock louder.
                                [PEDANT looks out of the window]
  PEDANT. What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate?
  VINCENTIO. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir?
  PEDANT. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
  VINCENTIO. What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two to
make
    merry withal?
  PEDANT. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he shall need
none so
    long as I live.
  PETRUCHIO. Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua.
Do
    you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you
tell
    Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is
here
    at the door to speak with him.
  PEDANT. Thou liest: his father is come from Padua, and here
looking
    out at the window.
  VINCENTIO. Art thou his father?
  PEDANT. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her.
  PETRUCHIO.  [To VINCENTIO]  Why, how now, gentleman!
    Why, this is flat knavery to take upon you another man's
name.
  PEDANT. Lay hands on the villain; I believe 'a means to cozen
    somebody in this city under my countenance.

                       Re-enter BIONDELLO

  BIONDELLO. I have seen them in the church together. God send
'em
    good shipping! But who is here? Mine old master, Vincentio!
Now we
    are undone and brought to nothing.
  VINCENTIO.  [Seeing BIONDELLO]  Come hither, crack-hemp.
  BIONDELLO. I hope I may choose, sir.
  VINCENTIO. Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me?
  BIONDELLO. Forgot you! No, sir. I could not forget you, for I
never
    saw you before in all my life.
  VINCENTIO. What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see
thy
    master's father, Vincentio?
  BIONDELLO. What, my old worshipful old master? Yes, marry, sir;
see
    where he looks out of the window.
  VINCENTIO. Is't so, indeed?               [He beats BIONDELLO]
  BIONDELLO. Help, help, help! Here's a madman will murder me.
 Exit
  PEDANT. Help, son! help, Signior Baptista!     Exit from above
  PETRUCHIO. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of
this
    controversy.                              [They stand aside]

       Re-enter PEDANT below; BAPTISTA, TRANIO, and SERVANTS

  TRANIO. Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant?
  VINCENTIO. What am I, sir? Nay, what are you, sir? O immortal
gods!
    O fine villain! A silken doublet, a velvet hose, a scarlet
cloak,
    and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! While I play
the
    good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the
    university.
  TRANIO. How now! what's the matter?
  BAPTISTA. What, is the man lunatic?
  TRANIO. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit,
but
    your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if
I
    wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to
    maintain it.
  VINCENTIO. Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo.
  BAPTISTA. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you

    think is his name?
  VINCENTIO. His name! As if I knew not his name! I have brought
him
    up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio.
  PEDANT. Away, away, mad ass! His name is Lucentio; and he is
mine
    only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vicentio.
  VINCENTIO. Lucentio! O, he hath murd'red his master! Lay hold
on
    him, I charge you, in the Duke's name. O, my son, my son!
Tell
    me, thou villain, where is my son, Lucentio?
  TRANIO. Call forth an officer.

                      Enter one with an OFFICER

    Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge
you
    see that he be forthcoming.
  VINCENTIO. Carry me to the gaol!
  GREMIO. Stay, Officer; he shall not go to prison.
  BAPTISTA. Talk not, Signior Gremio; I say he shall go to
prison.
  GREMIO. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catch'd
in
    this business; I dare swear this is the right Vincentio.
  PEDANT. Swear if thou dar'st.
  GREMIO. Nay, I dare not swear it.
  TRANIO. Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio.
  GREMIO. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio.
  BAPTISTA. Away with the dotard; to the gaol with him!
  VINCENTIO. Thus strangers may be hal'd and abus'd. O monstrous
    villain!

          Re-enter BIONDELLO, with LUCENTIO and BIANCA

  BIONDELLO. O, we are spoil'd; and yonder he is! Deny him,
forswear
    him, or else we are all undone.
         Exeunt BIONDELLO, TRANIO, and PEDANT, as fast as may be
  LUCENTIO.  [Kneeling]  Pardon, sweet father.
  VINCENTIO. Lives my sweet son?
  BIANCA. Pardon, dear father.
  BAPTISTA. How hast thou offended?
    Where is Lucentio?
  LUCENTIO. Here's Lucentio,
    Right son to the right Vincentio,
    That have by marriage made thy daughter mine,
    While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.
  GREMIO. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all!
  VINCENTIO. Where is that damned villain, Tranio,
    That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so?
  BAPTISTA. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio?
  BIANCA. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.
  LUCENTIO. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
    Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
    While he did bear my countenance in the town;
    And happily I have arrived at the last
    Unto the wished haven of my bliss.
    What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to;
    Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
  VINCENTIO. I'll slit the villain's nose that would have sent me
to
    the gaol.
  BAPTISTA.  [To LUCENTIO]  But do you hear, sir? Have you
married my
    daughter without asking my good will?
  VINCENTIO. Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to; but
I
    will in to be revenged for this villainy.               Exit
  BAPTISTA. And I to sound the depth of this knavery.       Exit
  LUCENTIO. Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown.
                                      Exeunt LUCENTIO and BIANCA
  GREMIO. My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest;
    Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.           Exit
  KATHERINA. Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado.
  PETRUCHIO. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
  KATHERINA. What, in the midst of the street?
  PETRUCHIO. What, art thou asham'd of me?
  KATHERINA. No, sir; God forbid; but asham'd to kiss.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, then, let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's
away.
  KATHERINA. Nay, I will give thee a kiss; now pray thee, love,
stay.
  PETRUCHIO. Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate:
    Better once than never, for never too late.           Exeunt

Petruchio, Kate, and Hortensio journey back to Padua. On the way, Petruchio continues his relentless attempts to coax Kate to submit to his authority as her husband. Though it is midday, Petruchio comments on how brightly the moon is shining, and when Kate responds that the sun is shining, he refuses to continue the journey until she admits that it is the moon. Having no more energy or patience to put up resistance and anxious to return to Padua, Kate concedes. Then, however, Petruchio reverses his claim and says that it is in fact the sun. Hortensio finally persuades Petruchio that he has tamed her, and they continue the journey. After they have gone a short way, a similar incident occurs. They pass an old man on the same road to Padua, and Petruchio claims that, in fact, the old man is a young maid. Furthermore, he entreats Kate to embrace the maid. This time, Kate immediately obeys, but Petruchio then says she is mistaken, for the maid is really an old man. Kate continues to play along. The old man turns out to be Vincentio, the true father of Lucentio. He tells the trio that he has come to visit his son in Padua. Petruchio happily tells him of the marriage expected between Bianca and Lucentio and realizes that this will make Vincentio Petruchio's father-in-law. A bit confused, they all continue their journey to Padua together in order to sort things out there. Act V, scene i Back in Padua, Biondello hurriedly takes Lucentio and Bianca to the church, where the priest is ready to marry them. Lucentio is no longer disguised as Cambio the schoolmaster. Just as they leave, Petruchio's party enters along with Vincentio, and they knock on the door of Lucentio's house, where Tranio and the pedant currently reside in their respective disguises. When the pedant answers, Vincentio says that he is Lucentio's father, but the pedant claims to be the true father and calls for the imposter's arrest. Just then, Biondello arrives, turning white when he sees his old master, Vincentio, who recognizes him. Biondello pretends not to notice Vincentio, as Baptista, Tranio, and the pedant come out of the house. Vincentio also recognizes Tranio in Lucentio's clothing, and he is further enraged when Tranio pretends not to know him. The crowd turns against Vincentio and prepares to escort him to jail, when Lucentio and Bianca, newly married, arrive from the church. Biondello, Tranio, and the pedant take this moment of confusion to run away from the scene, knowing that the game is up. Lucentio can do nothing but beg his father's pardon and disclose the scheme to everyone present. He explains that his deception stemmed from his love for Bianca, which pacifies the two fathers somewhat. Nevertheless, they depart to seek some small revenge on the men who fooled them. Kate and Petruchio stand in amazement at the proceedings. They follow the rest inside to see the conclusion, but not before Petruchio demands one more thing of his wife. He asks her to kiss him, there in the middle of the street. Initially, Kate refuses, saying she is ashamed to do so. But when Petruchio threatens to turn them around and return to his home, Kate kisses him. Petruchio finally seems satisfied with her, and they go in.

These scenes essentially set up the conclusion of both the main plot and the subplot by illustrating the apparent completion of Kate's taming and the unraveling of Lucentio and Tranio's scheme. The disguises that gave great power to Lucentio and to Tranio finally fall away, embarrassing the two young men. No outfit can forever conceal a man's true nature, as Tranio unintentionally reveals in his hasty chiding of Vincentio: "Sir, you seem a sober, ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman" . Tranio soon receives his just desserts, however, when everyone sees that Vincentio is indeed "a sober, ancient gentleman," and that Tranio is the one whose appearance obscures his true nature. Luckily for the young wedded couple, Lucentio's true nature satisfies Baptista, who allows the marriage to stand. Again, though, how this marriage will progress now that Cambio has changed back into Lucentio remains undetermined. The passionate fire of young, naive courtship must settle itself into the quiet flame of married life.  The wall between Kate and Petruchio finally begins to crumble in these two scenes. Petruchio gives the impression that he will never approve of Kate's behavior, for even when she denies what she sees with her own eyes in order to satisfy him, he insults her. After they argue about the shining of the sun and the moon, however, Kate gives him absolute power, even over the definition of reality: "What you will have it named, even that it is, / And so it shall be still for Katherine" . Petruchio finally seems pleased, but soon he tests her again, asking her to kiss him in public. After her initial resistance and subsequent concession, Petruchio makes a remark that seems to signify the conclusion of the taming: "Is this not well? Come, my sweet Kate. / Better once than never, for never too late" . He seems to mean that it is never too late for her to lose her shrewishness for good and become his "ideal" wife. While frustration certainly plays a part in Kate's final submission, she does not simply allow Petruchio to have his way with her out of desperation. After Kate kisses him in the street, she says, "Now pray thee love, stay" . She calls him "love," not in her usual cynical tone, but with an authentic desire for his company, even despite his recent treatment of her. Finally satisfied, Petruchio responds by calling her "my sweet Kate" . Whereas their previous battles ended in a standoffish tone, here, for the first time, the couple shows genuine, kind feelings for each other. Moreover, the entire exchange concerning the kiss seems more flirtatious than the others, if for no other reason than Petruchio's potentially self-deprecating line when Kate refuses to kiss. He says, "What, art thou ashamed of me?" . Kate actually begins this exchange by illustrating her acceptance of their union by calling Petruchio "Husband" . Ultimately, this short exchange suggests an interpretation of their entire journey as a struggle against the confines of marriage. Kate still obeys Petruchio and calls him husband, and Petruchio still has the ability to make them go home should she refuse. But there, in the middle of the public street, Petruchio asks her to forgo custom, and when she does, they find love.


SCENE II.
LUCENTIO'S house

Enter BAPTISTA, VINCENTIO, GREMIO, the PEDANT, LUCENTIO, BIANCA,
PETRUCHIO, KATHERINA, HORTENSIO, and WIDOW. The SERVINGMEN with
TRANIO,
BIONDELLO, and GRUMIO, bringing in a banquet

  LUCENTIO. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree;
    And time it is when raging war is done
    To smile at scapes and perils overblown.
    My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome,
    While I with self-same kindness welcome thine.
    Brother Petruchio, sister Katherina,
    And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
    Feast with the best, and welcome to my house.
    My banquet is to close our stomachs up
    After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down;
    For now we sit to chat as well as eat.            [They sit]
  PETRUCHIO. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat!
  BAPTISTA. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.
  PETRUCHIO. Padua affords nothing but what is kind.
  HORTENSIO. For both our sakes I would that word were true.
  PETRUCHIO. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow.
  WIDOW. Then never trust me if I be afeard.
  PETRUCHIO. YOU are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense:
    I mean Hortensio is afeard of you.
  WIDOW. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.
  PETRUCHIO. Roundly replied.
  KATHERINA. Mistress, how mean you that?
  WIDOW. Thus I conceive by him.
  PETRUCHIO. Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that?
  HORTENSIO. My widow says thus she conceives her tale.
  PETRUCHIO. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow.
  KATHERINA. 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round.'
    I pray you tell me what you meant by that.
  WIDOW. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew,
    Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe;
    And now you know my meaning.
  KATHERINA. A very mean meaning.
  WIDOW. Right, I mean you.
  KATHERINA. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.
  PETRUCHIO. To her, Kate!
  HORTENSIO. To her, widow!
  PETRUCHIO. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down.
  HORTENSIO. That's my office.
  PETRUCHIO. Spoke like an officer- ha' to thee, lad.
                                           [Drinks to HORTENSIO]
  BAPTISTA. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?
  GREMIO. Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
  BIANCA. Head and butt! An hasty-witted body
    Would say your head and butt were head and horn.
  VINCENTIO. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awakened you?
  BIANCA. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again.
  PETRUCHIO. Nay, that you shall not; since you have begun,
    Have at you for a bitter jest or two.
  BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush,
    And then pursue me as you draw your bow.
    You are welcome all.
                             Exeunt BIANCA, KATHERINA, and WIDOW
  PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio,
    This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not;
    Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd.
  TRANIO. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound,
    Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
  PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish.
  TRANIO. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself;
    'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay.
  BAPTISTA. O, O, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now.
  LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio.
  HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here?
  PETRUCHIO. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess;
    And, as the jest did glance away from me,
    'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.
  BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
    I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all.
  PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance,
    Let's each one send unto his wife,
    And he whose wife is most obedient,
    To come at first when he doth send for her,
    Shall win the wager which we will propose.
  HORTENSIO. Content. What's the wager?
  LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns.
  PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns?
    I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound,
    But twenty times so much upon my wife.
  LUCENTIO. A hundred then.
  HORTENSIO. Content.
  PETRUCHIO. A match! 'tis done.
  HORTENSIO. Who shall begin?
  LUCENTIO. That will I.
    Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
  BIONDELLO. I go.                                          Exit
  BAPTISTA. Son, I'll be your half Bianca comes.
  LUCENTIO. I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself.

                          Re-enter BIONDELLO

    How now! what news?
  BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word
    That she is busy and she cannot come.
  PETRUCHIO. How! She's busy, and she cannot come!
    Is that an answer?
  GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too.
    Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
  PETRUCHIO. I hope better.
  HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife
    To come to me forthwith.                      Exit BIONDELLO
  PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her!
    Nay, then she must needs come.
  HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir,
    Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.

                            Re-enter BIONDELLO

    Now, where's my wife?
  BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand:
    She will not come; she bids you come to her.
  PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile,
    Intolerable, not to be endur'd!
    Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress;
    Say I command her come to me.                    Exit GRUMIO
  HORTENSIO. I know her answer.
  PETRUCHIO. What?
  HORTENSIO. She will not.
  PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.

                             Re-enter KATHERINA

  BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina!
  KATHERINA. What is your sir, that you send for me?
  PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife?
  KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
  PETRUCHIO. Go, fetch them hither; if they deny to come.
    Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands.
    Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
                                                  Exit KATHERINA
  LUCENTIO. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
  HORTENSIO. And so it is. I wonder what it bodes.
  PETRUCHIO. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life,
    An awful rule, and right supremacy;
    And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy.
  BAPTISTA. Now fair befall thee, good Petruchio!
    The wager thou hast won; and I will add
    Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns;
    Another dowry to another daughter,
    For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
  PETRUCHIO. Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
    And show more sign of her obedience,
    Her new-built virtue and obedience.

                 Re-enter KATHERINA with BIANCA and WIDOW

    See where she comes, and brings your froward wives
    As prisoners to her womanly persuasion.
    Katherine, that cap of yours becomes you not:
    Off with that bauble, throw it underfoot.
                                            [KATHERINA complies]
  WIDOW. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh
    Till I be brought to such a silly pass!
  BIANCA. Fie! what a foolish duty call you this?
  LUCENTIO. I would your duty were as foolish too;
    The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
    Hath cost me a hundred crowns since supper-time!
  BIANCA. The more fool you for laying on my duty.
  PETRUCHIO. Katherine, I charge thee, tell these headstrong
women
    What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.
  WIDOW. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have no telling.
  PETRUCHIO. Come on, I say; and first begin with her.
  WIDOW. She shall not.
  PETRUCHIO. I say she shall. And first begin with her.
  KATHERINA. Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow,
    And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
    To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.
    It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
    Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
    And in no sense is meet or amiable.
    A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled-
    Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;
    And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
    Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
    Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
    Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
    And for thy maintenance commits his body
    To painful labour both by sea and land,
    To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
    Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
    And craves no other tribute at thy hands
    But love, fair looks, and true obedience-
    Too little payment for so great a debt.
    Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
    Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
    And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
    And not obedient to his honest will,
    What is she but a foul contending rebel
    And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
    I am asham'd that women are so simple
    To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
    Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
    When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
    Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
    Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
    But that our soft conditions and our hearts
    Should well agree with our external parts?
    Come, come, you forward and unable worms!
    My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
    My heart as great, my reason haply more,
    To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
    But now I see our lances are but straws,
    Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
    That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
    Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
    And place your hands below your husband's foot;
    In token of which duty, if he please,
    My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
  PETRUCHIO. Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.
  LUCENTIO. Well, go thy ways, old lad, for thou shalt ha't.
  VINCENTIO. 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward.
  LUCENTIO. But a harsh hearing when women are froward.
  PETRUCHIO. Come, Kate, we'll to bed.
    We three are married, but you two are sped.
    [To LUCENTIO]  'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the
white;
    And being a winner, God give you good night!
                                  Exeunt PETRUCHIO and KATHERINA
  HORTENSIO. Now go thy ways; thou hast tam'd a curst shrow.
  LUCENTIO. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tam'd so.
                                                          Exeunt

THE END

Lucentio throws a banquet to celebrate the three recent marriages in Padua: Petruchio to Kate, Lucentio to Bianca, and Hortensio to the widow he had spoken of before. As they sit around the table eating and chatting, Petruchio and the widow engage in some jesting . Kate joins in, and she begins to argue with the widow. The argument nearly turns to violence, with the men cheering them on to fight, but Bianca calms them, and the three wives go off together to talk. Meanwhile, the men begin to chide Petruchio--Baptista, Lucentio, Tranio, and Hortensio still think that Petruchio has been stuck with a vicious shrew, and they give him some grief for it. Petruchio confidently suggests a test to see which of the three new husbands has the most obedient wife. Each of them will send for his wife, and the one whose wife obeys first will be the winner. After placing a significant amount of money on the wager, Lucentio sends Biondello go to get Bianca, confident that she will obey at once. However, Biondello returns to tell them that she is busy and will not come. Hortensio receives a similar response from the widow. Finally, Grumio goes back to get Kate, and she returns at once, to the great surprise of all but Petruchio. Petruchio sends Kate back to bring in the other wives. Again, she obeys. Upon their return, Petruchio comments that he dislikes Kate's hat and tells her to throw it off. She obeys at once. Bianca and the widow, aghast at Kate's subservience, become even further shocked when, at Petruchio's request, Kate gives a speech on the duty that wives owe to their husbands. In the speech, Kate reprimands them for their angry dispositions, saying that it does not become a woman to behave this way, especially toward her husband. A wife's duty to her husband, she says, mimics the duty that "the subject owes the prince," because the husband endures great pain and labor for her benefit . She admits that once she was as haughty as Bianca and the widow are now, but that she has since changed her ways and most willingly gives her obedience to her husband. The other men admit complete defeat, and Petruchio leaves victorious--he and Kate go to bed happily, and Hortensio and Lucentio remain behind to wonder at this miraculous change of fates.

Kate's speech at the end of the play has been the focus of many interpretations. It is, for obvious reasons, abhorrent to many feminist critics, who take issue with Kate's recommendation of total subservience to the husband--she says at different points that the man is the woman's lord, king, governor, life, keeper, head, and sovereign. She also stereotypes women as physically weak and then suggests that they should make their personality mild to match their physique:  Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth. . .But that our soft conditions and our heartsShould well agree with our external parts?            Petruchio agrees with Kate's description of the ideal relationship. He explains to Hortensio what Kate's obedience will mean: "Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life; / An aweful rule and right supremacy, / And, to be short, what not that's sweet and happy" . "Right supremacy" suggests that his ideal involves the complete suppression of the wife's will. As a whole, Shakespeare's society took this definition of gender roles for granted. After all, this was a uniformly Christian society that bowed to biblical notions of the husband as the wife's head and the woman as the glory of the man . In short, Shakespeare's society believed in the hierarchy that Kate earnestly supports in her speech. Yet, given the fact that the entire play challenges stereotypes and promotes an awareness of ambiguous appearances, both Kate's final speech and Petruchio's views may be open to question. In fact, in the last line of the play, Lucentio implies that Kate, in the end, allowed herself to be tamed: "'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so" . Perhaps Lucentio implies that Kate and Petruchio planned the wager, and that they worked as a team to dupe the others out of their money. Throughout the play, Kate actively accepted Petruchio's courting and taming even when she could have denied him, suggesting that here she also has the agency to say one thing and mean another. Despite her initial resistance, Kate seems to view her marriage as a chance to find harmony within a prescribed social role, ultimately implying that we should find happiness and independence within the roles to which we are assigned, not that women should subjugate themselves to men. Lucentio's marriage takes a different turn, however. Through Bianca's refusal to come when called, Shakespeare suggests that this marriage will be hard on Lucentio. Bianca might turn out to be as stubborn in her role as a wife as she was mild in her role as a maid. Thus, in his last few lines, Petruchio observes, "We three are married, but you two are sped" . That is, the other two--Lucentio and Hortensio--seem destined for unhappiness in marriage, given the disobedient natures of their wives. Petruchio fought tooth and nail to finally win Kate, but he worked hard only because he wanted her to truly allow herself to accept, or choose, obedience in married life. Lucentio, deceived by Bianca's meekness and flirtatious behavior when they were single, now finds that it is "a harsh hearing when women are froward" .


Alexandria. A Room in CLEOPATRA'S palace.

[Enter DEMETRIUS and PHILO.]

PHILO.
Nay, but this dotage of our general's
O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front: his captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper,
And is become the bellows and the fan
To cool a gipsy's lust.

[Flourish within.]

Look where they come:
Take but good note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see.

[Enter ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with their trains; Eunuchs fanning
her.]

CLEOPATRA.
If it be love indeed, tell me how much.

ANTONY.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd.

CLEOPATRA.
I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd.

ANTONY.
Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth.

[Enter an Attendant.]

ATTENDANT.
News, my good lord, from Rome.

ANTONY.
Grates me:--the sum.

CLEOPATRA.
Nay, hear them, Antony:
Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows
If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you:  'Do this or this;
Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that;
Perform't, or else we damn thee.'

ANTONY.
How, my love!

CLEOPATRA.
Perchance! Nay, and most like:--
You must not stay here longer,--your dismission
Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony.  --
Where's Fulvia's process?--Caesar's I would say?--Both?--
Call in the messengers.--As I am Egypt's queen,
Thou blushest, Antony; and that blood of thine
Is Caesar's homager: else so thy cheek pays shame
When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.--The messengers!

ANTONY.
Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall! Here is my space.
Kingdoms are clay: our dungy earth alike
Feeds beast as man: the nobleness of life
Is to do thus [Embracing]; when such a mutual pair
And such a twain can do't, in which I bind,
On pain of punishment, the world to weet
We stand up peerless.

CLEOPATRA.
Excellent falsehood!
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her?--
I'll seem the fool I am not; Antony
Will be himself.

ANTONY.
But stirr'd by Cleopatra.--
Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours,
Let's not confound the time with conference harsh:
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now:--what sport to-night?

CLEOPATRA.
Hear the ambassadors.

ANTONY.
Fie, wrangling queen!
Whom everything becomes,--to chide, to laugh,
To weep; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself in thee fair and admir'd!
No messenger; but thine, and all alone
To-night we'll wander through the streets and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen;
Last night you did desire it:--speak not to us.

[Exeunt ANTONY and CLEOPATRA, with their Train.]

DEMETRIUS.
Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight?

PHILO.
Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.

DEMETRIUS.
I am full sorry
That he approves the common liar, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome: but I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy!

[Exeunt.]

Cleopatra's palace, in Alexandria. Philo complains to Demetrius that Cleopatra has transformed Antony from a great general to a whore's fool. Antony and Cleopatra enter, with Cleopatra pushing Antony to describe how much he loves her. A messenger comes from Octavius, but Antony, clearly annoyed, commands the messenger to be brief. Cleopatra, partly mocking, partly serious, chides Antony and tells him to hear the message. But in the end Antony refuses to hear the message, and he and Cleopatra set out for a night in the city. Philo and Demetrius do not approve

The play opens in Alexandria, in one of the rooms of Cleopatra's palace. Two of Antony's friends, Demetrius and Philo, are discussing Antony's increasing fondness for Cleopatra. Philo, in particular, is worried about "this dotage" that his general has for the Egyptian queen; to him, Antony's passion "o'erflows the measure." He feels that a general's passion is best spent on the battlefield "in the scuffles of great fights." As they ponder their general's unreasonable behavior, there is a fanfare of trumpets, and Antony and Cleopatra enter, accompanied by the queen's ladies-in-waiting and her attendant eunuchs. Philo is fearful that all this pomp and beauty has turned his general from a fierce warrior into an addled lover. Significantly, he worries that Antony, "The triple pillar of the world," has been translated into "a strumpet's fool." Cleopatra's first words to Antony are teasing. She wants to know how much Antony loves her, and he boasts that if any love can be measured, then it is poor love indeed . But Cleopatra tantalizes him for still more compliments -- more verbal proof of his love. Foolishly, he tries to appease her. They are interrupted by a messenger who has brought news from Rome, but Antony clearly is in no mood to hear or discuss military matters. All of his thoughts are on his beloved Cleopatra, who mocks the messenger's urgency; she sarcastically jests that Caesar is probably sending yet another order to "do this, or this; / Take in that kingdom . . . " Games of war bore her; she delights in equating the taking of whole kingdoms to being no more than a mere daily errand, ordered by the "scarce-bearded Caesar." The Queen's strategy works; Antony is furious that anyone would interrupt his thoughts and his time with his beloved Cleopatra. "Let Rome in Tiber melt," he roars. The only "messenger" he will see is Cleopatra; his devotion to the worthy Cleopatra comprises "The nobleness of life." They exit with the queen's attendants, and Demetrius and Philo are left alone to ponder their general's transformation. Rumor has already reached Rome of Antony's romantic waywardness. Demetrius hopes that tomorrow he will once again see proof that his general is still "that great property."

Shakespeare does not dally with theatrical conventions of lengthy exposition. Almost immediately we are introduced to the two lovers, who are clearly passionate lovers. There is only a modicum of introduction as the play opens. Briefly, two of Antony's friends discuss their general's infatuation with Cleopatra They describe Antony as if he had undergone some strange sort of metamorphosis; it seems to them that his eyes, which once looked upon battlefields, "now bend, now turn / The office and devotion of their view / Upon a tawny front." His soldier's heart is no longer courageous; instead, it "reneges all temper / And is become the bellows and the fan / To cool a gypsy's lust." After Antony and Cleopatra have made their entrance, it is clear that Antony has indeed let himself be seduced -- body and soul -- by Cleopatra's sensuality and charm. It is also clear that the Romans in general dislike Cleopatra, in spite of her legendary ability to enchant males -- or perhaps because of it. This prejudiced view toward Cleopatra is developed throughout the play, but as we will see, Shakespeare was not content to present her as only a one-dimensional character; she is more than merely a sensual woman who happens to rule an entire country. As Antony and Cleopatra talk, both of them use exaggerated language to swear that their love is greater than any other love in the world; their love, they believe, is more than this world can hold. This is not idle overstatement, for their intense love for one another will be the cause of their deaths. Time and again in the play this key idea will be emphasized: love and the worlds of politics and war belong in separate spheres and can never coalesce or merge. The central theme of this play is exactly that -- love vs. war -- and Shakespeare will weave this theme in and out of the action as the play progresses. By the end of the tragedy, it will seem as if the concept of war has won, but we should not be too hasty to come to that decision. Upon reflection, we will see that the final act of this play is ambiguous. It is possible that love may finally be the victor after all. In this act, however, Shakespeare's emphasis is clearly on Antony's current displeasure with political matters. The messenger who has come with a letter from Rome gives Cleopatra a chance to tease Antony that he is dominated by Octavius Caesar, a much younger man. Her motive is to goad Antony into declaring his independence of Rome -- and she succeeds, for Antony retorts that "kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike / Feeds beast as man." Impetuously, he denies that Rome and the concerns of the political arena have any hold on him. Here, we should note his choice of words: Antony says that the earth is "dungy" and that kingdoms "melt" like mud into the rivers of the world. This comparison is ironically striking when we consider the "earthy"  interest for which he is forsaking Rome. Antony thus reveals how malleable he really is, for Cleopatra clearly delights in toying with his vacillating passions. She teases him that since he has been unfaithful to his wife by becoming involved with her, it is quite likely that he will be unfaithful to her one day. Antony, of course, vehemently denies such a speculation. Here, he is willful and self-indulgent, and he is certainly fickle. We initially see him perhaps at his worst. Later, Shakespeare's dramatic portrait of him will be enlarged and will be developed in detail, stature, and complexity. As for portraying Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen, Shakespeare remains faithful to the popular image of Cleopatra as the strumpet queen, so to speak, but he suggests that she, like Antony, is more complex than one might initially suppose. On one hand, she is a coquette who manipulates Antony so skillfully that he does what she wants. On the other, she emotionally needs to have Antony tell her how much he loves her; she needs to have him affirm for her that nothing else matters as much as their love. This clearly reveals a certain amount of insecurity on her part, and in that sense, it is quite possible that she has a genuine, if momentary, feeling of sympathy for Antony's wife; she can see herself in the same position -- that is, Antony loves her now, but she can envision losing him later to another woman.

In Egypt, Philo and Demetrius, two Roman soldiers, discuss how their general, Mark Antony, has fallen in love with the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, and has lost interest in his proper role as one of the three leaders of the Roman Empire. Cleopatra and Antony enter, the queen imploring Antony to describe just how much he loves her, when a messenger from Rome greets them. Antony says that he has little interest in hearing Roman news, but Cleopatra tells him that he must listen. She teases Antony for possibly turning away a command from young Octavius Caesar or a rebuke from Antony's wife, Fulvia. When she urges him to return to Rome, Antony claims that Rome means nothing to him. He says that his duty requires him to stay in Alexandria and love Cleopatra. Although the queen doubts the sincerity of his sentiment, her suggestions that Antony hear the news from Rome go unheeded, and the couple exits together. After the lovers have gone, Philo and Demetrius express shock and despair at their general's disrespect for Caesar and the concerns of the empire

Act I, scenes i-iii Shakespeare organizes the plot of Antony and Cleopatra around the conflict between East and West, Egypt and Rome. He immediately establishes this opposition in the opening scene, when two Roman soldiers pass judgment on their commander, Mark Antony, for surrendering his martial duties to the exotic pleasures of Cleopatra's Egypt. The battle is not merely between two geographically distinct empires but also between two diametrically opposed worldviews. As Philo and Demetrius lament Antony's decline, claiming that his "captain's heart" now serves as "the bellows and the fan / To cool a gipsy's lust," they illustrate a divide between a world that is governed by reason, discipline, and prudence, and another ruled by passion, pleasure, and love . Cleopatra, however, is much more than the high-class prostitute that the Romans believe her to be. Often considered Shakespeare's strongest female character, Cleopatra is a consummate actress. As her first scene with Antony shows, she conducts her affair with the Roman general in a highly theatrical fashion, her actions fueled as much by the need to create a public spectacle as by the desire to satisfy a private passion. Later, upon learning of Antony's plan to return to Rome, the queen shifts from grief to anger with astonishing speed. No sooner does she recover from a fainting spell than she rails at Antony for his inability to mourn his dead wife adequately. As he prepares to leave, Cleopatra says, "But sir, forgive me, / Since my becomings kill me when they do not / Eye well to you" . Here, "becomings" refers not only to the graces that become or suit the queen but also to her fluid transformations, her many moods, and the many different versions of herself she presents. In Act I, scene i, Antony points to this mutability when he notes that Cleopatra is a woman "hom everything becomes-to chide, to laugh, / To weep" . This talent for perpetual change lends Cleopatra her characteristic sense of drama as well as her complexity. Antony, meanwhile, seems to enjoy indulging in hyperbole as much as Cleopatra. When she tells him that his duties call him home, he declares: Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch Of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space.Kingdoms are clay. Our dungy earth alikeFeeds beast as man.           His speech stands in contrast to the measured, unadorned speech of Philo and Demetrius and, later, Octavius Caesar. Antony delights in depicting himself in heroic terms--indeed, he occupies himself with thoughts of winning nobleness and honor--but already we detect the sharp tension between his rhetoric and his action. From the beginning of the play, Antony is strongly attracted to both Rome and Egypt, and his loyalty vacillates from one to the other. In these first scenes, he goes from letting "Rome in Tiber melt" to deciding that he "must from this enchanting queen break off" . His infatuation with the queen is not strong enough to overcome his sense of responsibility to Rome, and while Octavius Caesar, his efficient antagonist, has yet to appear onstage, the lengthy discussion of the strife between Fulvia, Caesar, and young Pompey reminds us of the political context of this love affair. Antony governs a third of the Roman Empire, which has endured decades of civil strife, and he and Caesar, though allies, are not true friends. Such an unstable situation does not bode well for the future of Antony's romance with the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. Here, as throughout the play, Enobarbus, Antony's most loyal supporter, serves as the voice of reason; he speaks plainly, in prose rather than verse. His estrangement from Antony increases as Antony's power wanes; for the moment, however, he represents -Antony's connection to the West and his political duties. Enobarbus's blunt honesty contrasts sharply with Cleopatra's theatricality.