The first humiliation to Katharine was the lateness of the bridegroom’s arrival, but still more mortifying to her pride, when he did at last appear, was the extraordinary array in which he had chosen to attire himself. His hat was new, but his jerkin was old, and his breeches had been turned three times; his boots were not a pair, one was buckled, the other laced; and he had taken out of the town armoury a rusty old sword with a broken hilt. His horse was a poor wretched creature, scarcely able to hobble, and the rotten harness was pieced together with pack-thread. His servant, Grumio, was equipped in the same fashion, all odds and ends, a linen stocking on one leg and a woollen one on the other, gartered with red and blue list; an old hat with a tattered rag of a feather--in fact, he was a perfect guy in dress, not like a Christian foot-boy or a gentleman’s lackey. Katharine had already started for the church, when Petruchio came rushing in, demanding his bride. He declined to give any explanation of his delay, and when Baptista and the other gentlemen begged him to put on more becoming wedding garments, he flatly refused. Kate was to be married to him, and not to his clothes, he declared, and off he hurried to the church. There he behaved in such a strange, mad fashion that the guests were scandalised, and the bride was perfectly terrified. He cuffed the clergyman who was marrying them, called for a glass of wine, drank it noisily, and then threw the dregs in the old sexton’s face, giving as his only reason that his beard seemed to him thin and hungry. When they got back to the house after the wedding, things went no better. Baptista had prepared a great feast in honour of the occasion, but Petruchio refused to stay and share it, and announced that he must depart at once. Entreaties were of no avail, and even Katharine was refused when she joined her voice to the others. “Nay, then, do what you like,” she cried indignantly; “_I_ will not go to-day--no, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; you had better be moving before your boots grow old. As for me, I shall not go till I please myself. A nice surly husband you are likely to prove, if this is the way you begin.” “O Kate, content thee; prithee, do not be angry.” “I _will_ be angry. Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner. I see a woman may be made a fool if she has not spirit to resist.”