GREMIO.
What's that, I pray?
HORTENSIO.
Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
GREMIO.
A husband! a devil.
HORTENSIO.
I say, a husband.
GREMIO.
I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her
fatherbe very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to
hell?
HORTENSIO.
Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine to
endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the
world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all
faults, and money enough.
GREMIO.
I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this
condition: to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.
HORTENSIO.
Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten
apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it
shall be so far forth friendly maintained, till by helping
Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free
for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man
be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you,
Signior Gremio?
