Bion. Master, master, newes, and such newes as you neuer heard of, Bap. Is it new and olde too? how may that be? Bion. Why, is it not newes to heard of Petruchio's comming? Bap. Is he come? Bion. Why no sir Bap. What then? Bion. He is comming Bap. When will he be heere? Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you there Tra. But say, what to thine olde newes? Bion. Why Petruchio is comming, in a new hat and an old ierkin, a paire of old breeches thrice turn'd; a paire of bootes that haue beene candle-cases, one buckled, another lac'd: an olde rusty sword tane out of the Towne Armory, with a broken hilt, and chapelesse: with two broken points: his horse hip'd with an olde mothy saddle, and stirrops of no kindred: besides possest with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine, troubled with the Lampasse, infected with the fashions, full of Windegalls, sped with Spauins, raied with the Yellowes, past cure of the Fiues, starke spoyl'd with the Staggers, begnawne with the Bots, Waid in the backe, and shoulder-shotten, neere leg'd before, and with a halfe-chekt Bitte, & a headstall of sheepes leather, which being restrain'd to keepe him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots: one girth sixe times peec'd, and a womans Crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name, fairely set down in studs, and heere and there peec'd with packthred Bap. Who comes with him? Bion. Oh sir, his Lackey, for all the world Caparison'd like the horse: with a linnen stock on one leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartred with a red and blew list; an old hat, & the humor of forty fancies prickt in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparell, & not like a Christian foot-boy, or a gentlemans Lacky Tra. 'Tis some od humor pricks him to this fashion, Yet oftentimes he goes but meane apparel'd Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoere he comes Bion. Why sir, he comes not Bap. Didst thou not say hee comes? Bion. Who, that Petruchio came? Bap. I, that Petruchio came Bion. No sir, I say his horse comes with him on his backe Bap. Why that's all one Bion. Nay by S[aint]. Iamy, I hold you a penny, a horse and a man is more then one, and yet not many. Enter Petruchio and Grumio. Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? Bap. You are welcome sir Petr. And yet I come not well Bap. And yet you halt not Tra. Not so well apparell'd as I wish you were Petr. Were it better I should rush in thus: But where is Kate? where is my louely Bride? How does my father? gentles methinkes you frowne, And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some Commet, or vnusuall prodigie? Bap. Why sir, you know this is your wedding day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come, Now sadder that you come so vnprouided: Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemne festiuall