Tra. A vengeance on your crafty withered hide, Yet I haue fac'd it with a card of ten: 'Tis in my head to doe my master good: I see no reason but suppos'd Lucentio Must get a father, call'd suppos'd Vincentio, And that's a wonder: fathers commonly Doe get their children: but in this case of woing, A childe shall get a sire, if I faile not of my cunning. Enter. Actus Tertia. Enter Lucentio, Hortentio, and Bianca. Luc. Fidler forbeare, you grow too forward Sir, Haue you so soone forgot the entertainment Her sister Katherine welcom'd you withall Hort. But wrangling pedant, this is The patronesse of heauenly harmony: Then giue me leaue to haue prerogatiue, And when in Musicke we haue spent an houre, Your Lecture shall haue leisure for as much Luc. Preposterous Asse that neuer read so farre, To know the cause why musicke was ordain'd: Was it not to refresh the minde of man After his studies, or his vsuall paine? Then giue me leaue to read Philosophy, And while I pause, serue in your harmony Hort. Sirra, I will not beare these braues of thine Bianc. Why gentlemen, you doe me double wrong, To striue for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholler in the schooles, Ile not be tied to howres, nor pointed times, But learne my Lessons as I please my selfe, And to cut off all strife: heere sit we downe, Take you your instrument, play you the whiles, His Lecture will be done ere you haue tun'd Hort. You'll leaue his Lecture when I am in tune? Luc. That will be neuer, tune your instrument Bian. Where left we last? Luc. Heere Madam: Hic Ibat Simois, hic est sigeria tellus, hic steterat Priami regia Celsa senis Bian. Conster them Luc. Hic Ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hic est, sonne vnto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeria tellus, disguised thus to get your loue, hic steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a wooing, priami, is my man Tranio, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis that we might beguile the old Pantalowne Hort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune Bian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres Luc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe Bian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat simois, I know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not, hic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia presume not, Celsa senis, despaire not Hort. Madam, tis now in tune Luc. All but the base Hort. The base is right, 'tis the base knaue that iars Luc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is, Now for my life the knaue doth court my loue, Pedascule, Ile watch you better yet: In time I may beleeue, yet I mistrust Bian. Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides Was Aiax cald so from his grandfather Hort. I must beleeue my master, else I promise you, I should be arguing still vpon that doubt, But let it rest, now Litio to you: Good master take it not vnkindly pray That I haue beene thus pleasant with you both