_Tra._ Your Mistriss has a little frown'd it may be? _Row._ She was my Mistriss. _Tra._ Is she not? _R[o]w._ No _Tranio_. She has done me such disgrace, so spitefully So like a woman bent to my undoing, That henceforth a good horse shall be my Mistriss, A good Sword, or a Book: and if you see her, Tell her I [doe] beseech you, even for love sake.-- _Tra._ I will _Rowland_. _Row._ She may sooner Count the good I have thought her, Our old love and our friendship, Shed one true tear, mean one hour constantly, Be old and honest, married, and a maid, Than make me see her more, or more believe her: And now I have met a messenger, farewel Sir. [_Exit._ _Tra._ Alas poor _Rowland_, I will do it for thee: This is that dog _Moroso_, but I hope To see him cold i'th' mouth first, e'r he enjoy her: I'll watch this young man, desperate thoughts may seize him, And if my purse or council can, I'll ease him. [_Exit._ _Scaena Quinta._ _Enter_ Petruchio, Petronius, Moroso, _and_ Sophocles. _Petru._ For look you Gentlemen, say that I grant her, Out of my free and liberal love, a pardon, Which you, and all men else know, she deserves not, _(Teneatis amici)_ can all the world leave laughing? _Petro._ I think not. _Petru._ No by ---- they cannot; For pray consider, have you ever read, Or heard of, or can any man imagine. So stiff a _Tom-boy_, of so set a malice, And such a brazen resolution, As this young Crab-tree? and then answer me, And mark but this too friends, without a cause, Not a foul word come cross her, not a fear, She justly can take hold on, and do you think I must sleep out my anger, and endure it, Sow pillows to her ease, and lull her mischief? Give me a Spindle first: no, no my Masters, Were she as fair as _Nell-a-Greece_, and housewife, As good as the wise Sailors wife, and young still, Never above fifteen, and these tricks to it, She should ride the wild Mare once a week, she should, (Believe me friends she should) I would tabor her, Till all the Legions that are crept into her, Flew out with fire i'th' tails. _Soph._ Methinks you err now, For to me seems, a little sufferance Were a far surer cure. _Petru._ Yes, I can suffer, Where I see promises of peace and amendment. _Mor._ Give her a few conditions. _Petru._ I'll be hanged first. _Petron._ Give her a Crab-tree Cudgel. _Petru._ So I will; And after it a flock-bed for her bones. And hard eggs, till they brace her like a Drum, She shall be pamper'd with ---- She shall not know a stool in ten months, Gentlemen. _Soph._ This must not be. _Enter_ Jaques. _Jaq._ Arm, arm, out with your weapons, For all the women in the Kingdom's on ye; _Enter_ Pedro. They swarm like wasps, and nothing can destroy 'em, But stopping of their hive, and smothering of 'em,