_Luc._ 'Hic ibat,' as I told you before,--'Simois,' I am Lucentio,--'hic est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa,--'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love;--' Hic steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing,--'Priami,' is my man Tranio,--'regia,' bearing my port,--'celsa senis,' that we 35 might beguile the old pantaloon. _Hor._ Madam, my instrument's in tune. _Bian._ Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. _Luc._ Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. _Bian._ Now let me see if I can construe it: 40 'Hic ibat Simois,' I know you not,--'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I trust you not;--'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed he hear us not,--'regia,' presume not,--'celsa senis,' despair not. _Hor._ Madam, 'tis now in tune. _Luc._ All but the base. _Hor._ The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. 45 [_Aside_] How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. _Bian._ In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. _Luc._ Mistrust it not; for, sure, Æacides 50 Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. _Bian._ I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you: Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 55 That I have been thus pleasant with you both. _Hor._ You may go walk, and give me leave a while: My lessons make no music in three parts. _Luc._ Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, [_Aside_] And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, 60 Our fine musician groweth amorous. _Hor._ Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art; To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 65 More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. _Bian._ Why, I am past my gamut long ago. _Hor._ Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 70 _Bian._ [_reads_] "'Gamut' I am, the ground of all accord, 'A re,' to plead Hortensio's passion; 'B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord, 'C fa ut,' that loves with all affection: 'D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I: 75 'E la mi,' show pity, or I die." Call you this gamut? tut, I like it not: Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, To change true rules for old inventions. _Enter a_ Servant. _Serv._ Mistress, your father prays you leave your books, 80 And help to dress your sister's chamber up: You know to morrow is the wedding-day.