_Soph._ Are ye resolv'd to give her fair conditions? 'Twill be the safest way. _Petru._ I am distracted, Would I had run my head into a halter When I first woo'd her: if I offer peace, She'll urge her own conditions, that's the devil. _Soph._ Why, say she do? _Petru._ Say, I am made an Ass, then; I know her aim: may I, with reputation (Answer me this) with safety of mine honor, (After the mighty manage of my first wife, Which was indeed a fury to this Filly, After my twelve strong labours to reclaim her, Which would have made Don _Hercules_ horn mad, And hid him in his Hide) suffer this _Cicely_? E're she have warm'd my sheets, e're grappell'd with me, This Pinck, this painted Foist, this Cockle-boat, To hang her Fights out, and defie me friends, A well known man of war? if this be equal, And I may suffer, say, and I have done? _Petron._ I do not think you may. _Tra._ You'll make it worse, Sir. _Soph._ Pray hear me good _Petruchio_: but ev'n now, You were contented to give all conditions, To try how far she would carry: 'Tis a folly, (And you will find it so) to clap the curb on, E're you be sure it proves a natural wildness, And not a forc'd. Give her conditions, For on my life this trick is put into her. _Petron._ I should believe so too. _Soph._ And not her own. _Tra._ You'll find it so. _Soph._ Then if she flownder with you, Clap spurs on, and in this you'll deal with temperance, Avoid the hurry of the world. _Tra._ And loose. [_Musick above._ _Mor._ No honor on my life, Sir. _Petru._ I will do it. _Petron._ It seems they are very merry. _Enter_ Jaques. _Petru._ Why [God] hold it. _Mor._ Now _Jaques_? _Jaq._ They are i'th' flaunt, Sir. _Soph._ Yes we hear 'em. _Jaq._ They have got a stick of Fiddles, and they firk it, In wondrous ways, the two grand _Capitano's_, (They brought the Auxiliary Regiments) Dance with their coats tuckt up to their bare breeches, And bid [them] kiss 'em, that's the burden; They have got _Metheglin_, and audacious Ale; And talk like Tyrants. _Petron._ How knowest thou? _Jaq._ I peept in At a loose Lansket. SONG. _A Health for all this day To the woman that bears the sway And wears the breeches; Let it come, let it come._ _Let this health be a Seal, For the good of the Common-weal the woman shall wear the breeches._ _Lets drink then and laugh it And merrily merrily quaff it And tipple, and tipple a round here's to thy fool, and to my fool. Come, to all fools though it cost us wench, many a pound._ _Tra._ Hark.