Bion. I cannot tell, expect they are busied about a counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, Cum preuilegio ad Impremendum solem, to th' Church take the Priest, Clarke, and some sufficient honest witnesses: If this be not that you looke for, I haue no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for euer and a day Luc. Hear'st thou Biondello Biond. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench maried in an afternoone as shee went to the Garden for Parseley to stuffe a Rabit, and so may you sir: and so adew sir, my Master hath appointed me to goe to Saint Lukes to bid the Priest be readie to come against you come with your appendix. Enter. Luc. I may and will, if she be so contented: She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt: Hap what hap may, Ile roundly goe about her: It shall goe hard if Cambio goe without her. Enter. Enter Petruchio, Kate, Hortentio Petr. Come on a Gods name, once more toward our fathers: Good Lord how bright and goodly shines the Moone Kate. The Moone, the Sunne: it is not Moonelight now Pet. I say it is the Moone that shines so bright Kate. I know it is the Sunne that shines so bright Pet. Now by my mothers sonne, and that's my selfe, It shall be moone, or starre, or what I list, Or ere I iourney to your Fathers house: Goe on, and fetch our horses backe againe, Euermore crost and crost, nothing but crost Hort. Say as he saies, or we shall neuer goe Kate. Forward I pray, since we haue come so farre, And be it moone, or sunne, or what you please: And if you please to call it a rush Candle, Henceforth I vowe it shall be so for me Petr. I say it is the Moone Kate. I know it is the Moone Petr. Nay then you lye: it is the blessed Sunne Kate. Then God be blest, it is the blessed sun, But sunne it is not, when you say it is not, And the Moone changes euen as your minde: What you will haue it nam'd, euen that it is, And so it shall be so for Katherine Hort. Petruchio, goe thy waies, the field is won Petr. Well, forward, forward, thus the bowle should run, And not vnluckily against the Bias: But soft, Company is comming here. Enter Vincentio. Good morrow gentle Mistris, where away: Tell me sweete Kate, and tell me truely too, Hast thou beheld a fresher Gentlewoman: Such warre of white and red within her cheekes: What stars do spangle heauen with such beautie, As those two eyes become that heauenly face? Faire louely Maide, once more good day to thee: Sweete Kate embrace her for her beauties sake Hort. A will make the man mad to make the woman of him Kate. Yong budding Virgin, faire, and fresh, & sweet, Whether away, or whether is thy aboade? Happy the Parents of so faire a childe; Happier the man whom fauourable stars A lots thee for his louely bedfellow Petr. Why how now Kate, I hope thou art not mad, This is a man old, wrinckled, faded, withered, And not a Maiden, as thou saist he is