KATHERINA.
I care not.
PETRUCHIO.
Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape not so.
KATHERINA.
I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go.
PETRUCHIO.
No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers.
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers;
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O sland'rous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender, and as brown in hue
As hazel-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O! let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt.
KATHERINA.
Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
PETRUCHIO.
Did ever Dian so become a grove
As Kate this chamber with her princely gait?
O! be thou Dian, and let her be Kate,
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful!
KATHERINA.
Where did you study all this goodly speech?
PETRUCHIO.
It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
