Good morrow, Kate- for that's your name, I hear. KATHERINA. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine that do talk of me. PETRUCHIO. You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation- Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. KATHERINA. Mov'd! in good time! Let him that mov'd you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first You were a moveable. PETRUCHIO. Why, what's a moveable? KATHERINA. A join'd-stool. PETRUCHIO. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me. KATHERINA. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. PETRUCHIO. Women are made to bear, and so are you. KATHERINA. No such jade as you, if me you mean. PETRUCHIO. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee! For, knowing thee to be but young and light- KATHERINA. Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. PETRUCHIO. Should be! should- buzz! KATHERINA. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. PETRUCHIO. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee? KATHERINA. Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. PETRUCHIO. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. KATHERINA. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. PETRUCHIO. My remedy is then to pluck it out. KATHERINA. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies. PETRUCHIO. Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHERINA. In his tongue. PETRUCHIO. Whose tongue? KATHERINA. Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. PETRUCHIO. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. KATHERINA. That I'll try. [She strikes him] PETRUCHIO. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. KATHERINA. So may you lose your arms. If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms. PETRUCHIO. A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! KATHERINA. What is your crest- a coxcomb? PETRUCHIO. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. KATHERINA. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven. PETRUCHIO. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. KATHERINA. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. PETRUCHIO. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. KATHERINA. There is, there is. PETRUCHIO. Then show it me. KATHERINA. Had I a glass I would. PETRUCHIO. What, you mean my face? KATHERINA. Well aim'd of such a young one. PETRUCHIO. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. KATHERINA. Yet you are wither'd. PETRUCHIO. 'Tis with cares. KATHERINA. I care not. PETRUCHIO.