BIANCA. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush, And then pursue me as you draw your bow. You are welcome all. [_Exeunt Bianca, Katherina and Widow._] PETRUCHIO. She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio; This bird you aim’d at, though you hit her not: Therefore a health to all that shot and miss’d. TRANIO. O, sir! Lucentio slipp’d me like his greyhound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master. PETRUCHIO. A good swift simile, but something currish. TRANIO. ’Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: ’Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. BAPTISTA. O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. LUCENTIO. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. HORTENSIO. Confess, confess; hath he not hit you here? PETRUCHIO. A has a little gall’d me, I confess; And as the jest did glance away from me, ’Tis ten to one it maim’d you two outright. BAPTISTA. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. PETRUCHIO. Well, I say no; and therefore, for assurance, Let’s each one send unto his wife, And he whose wife is most obedient, To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose. HORTENSIO. Content. What’s the wager? LUCENTIO. Twenty crowns. PETRUCHIO. Twenty crowns! I’ll venture so much of my hawk or hound, But twenty times so much upon my wife. LUCENTIO. A hundred then. HORTENSIO. Content. PETRUCHIO. A match! ’tis done. HORTENSIO. Who shall begin? LUCENTIO. That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. BIONDELLO. I go. [_Exit._] BAPTISTA. Son, I’ll be your half, Bianca comes. LUCENTIO. I’ll have no halves; I’ll bear it all myself. Re-enter Biondello. How now! what news? BIONDELLO. Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy and she cannot come. PETRUCHIO. How! She’s busy, and she cannot come! Is that an answer? GREMIO. Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. PETRUCHIO. I hope better. HORTENSIO. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. [_Exit Biondello._] PETRUCHIO. O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. HORTENSIO. I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Re-enter Biondello. Now, where’s my wife? BIONDELLO. She says you have some goodly jest in hand: She will not come; she bids you come to her. PETRUCHIO. Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endur’d! Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress, Say I command her come to me. [_Exit Grumio._] HORTENSIO. I know her answer. PETRUCHIO. What? HORTENSIO. She will not. PETRUCHIO. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. Re-enter Katherina. BAPTISTA. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katherina! KATHERINA. What is your will sir, that you send for me? PETRUCHIO. Where is your sister, and Hortensio’s wife? KATHERINA. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.