_Petro._ A Box o'th' ear do you say? _Mor._ Yes sure, a sound one, Beside my nose blown to my hand; if _Cupid_ Shoot Arrows of that weight, I'll swear devoutly, H'as sued his Livery, and is no more a boy. _Petro._ You gave her some ill language? _Mor._ Not a word. _Petro._ Or might be you were fumbling? _Mor._ Would I had Sir. I had been a forehand then; but to be baffl'd, And have no feeling of the cause-- _Petro._ Be patient, I have a medicine clapt to her back will cure her. _Mor._ No sure it must be afore, Sir. _Petro._ O' my conscience, When I got these two wenches (who till now Ne'r shew'd their riding) I was drunk with Bastard, Whose nature is to form things like it self Heady, and monstrous: did she slight him too? _Mor._ That's all my comfort: a meer Hobby-horse She made child _Rowland_: s'foot she would not know him, Not give him a free look, not reckon him Among her thoughts, which I held more than wonder, I having seen her within's three days kiss him With such an appetite as though she would eat him. _Petro._ There is some trick in this: how did he take it? _Mor._ Ready to cry; he ran away. _Petro._ I fear her. And yet I tell you, ever to my anger, She is as tame as innocency; it may be This blow was but a favour. _Mor._ I'll be sworn 'twas well tied on then. _Petro._ Goe too, pray forget it, I have bespoke a Priest: and within's two hours I'll have ye married; will that please you? _Mor._ Yes. _Petro._ I'll see it done my self, and give the Lady Such a sound exhortation for this knavery I'll warrant you, shall make her smell this month on't. _Mor._ Nay good Sir be not violent. _Petro._ Neither-- _Mor._ It may be Out of her earnest love there grew a longing (As you know women have such toys) in kindness, To give me a box o'th' ear, or so. _Petro._ It may be. _Mor._ I reckon for the best still: this night then I shall enjoy her. _Petro._ You shall handsel her. _Mor._ Old as I am, I'll give her one blow for't Shall make her groan this twelve-month. _Petro._ Where's your Joynture? _Mor._ I have a Joynture for her. _Petro._ Have your Council perus'd it yet? _Mor._ No Council but the night, and your sweet daughter, Shall e'r peruse that joynture. _Petro._ Very well, Sir. _Moro._ I'll no demurrers on't, nor no rejoynders. The other's ready seal'd. _Petro._ Come then let's comfort My Son _Petruchio_, he's like little Children That loose their baubles, crying ripe. _Mor._ Pray tell me, Is this stern woman still upon the flaunt Of bold defiance? _Petro._ Still, and still she shall be, Till she be starv'd out, you shall see such justice, That women shall be glad after this tempest, To tie their husbands shooes, and walk their horses. _Mor._ That were a merry world: do you hear the rumor? They say the women are in insurrection, And mean to make a--