HORTENSIO.
Madam, 'tis now in tune.
LUCENTIO.
All but the base.
HORTENSIO.
The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is!
[Aside] Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
BIANCA.
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
LUCENTIO.
Mistrust it not; for sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
BIANCA.
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 master, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
HORTENSIO.
[To LUCENTIO] You may go walk and give me leave awhile;
My lessons make no music in three parts.
LUCENTIO.
Are you so formal, sir?
[Aside] Well, I must wait,
And watch withal; for, but I be deceiv'd,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.
