rights,
  If she will cease to rise, and rail, and brawl,
  And with her clangour keep the world awake. 
  This is the way to kill her wrath with kindness,
  And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.—­
  He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
  Let him speak out!  ’Tis time the kingdom knew!

* * * * *

Kathleen.  The more my wrong the more his smile appears!  How doth he madden me—­and master me!—­ I—­I, who never knew how to submit, Nor never fancied that I should submit,—­ Am starved for strife, stupid for lack of struggle, With Law kept bridled, and with Order saddled:  And that, which spites me more than all these stints, He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say, if I should have my will, ’Twere deadly sickness or else present death.

* * * * *

Petruchio.  KATHLEEN, thou mend’st apace! 
And now, my love,
Will we return unto thy father’s house,
And ruffle it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things;
With orange tissue trimmed with true-blue bravery,
Eschewing wearing of the green,—­that’s knavery. 
See GRUMIO there!  He waits thy loving leisure
To deck thy body with his boxed-up treasure. 
A cap of mine own choice, come fresh from town;
It will become thee better than a crown. 
’Tis my ideal. (Enter Haberdasher.) Well—­what would you, sirrah?

  Haberdasher.  Here is the hat the lady did bespeak!

Petruchio.  Why, this was moulded on a foreign block, A Phrygian cap.  Fie, fie! ’tis crude and flaunting.  Why, ’tis a coal-vase or a bushel-basket, A fraud, a toy, a trick, a verdant fool’scap:  Away with it!  Come, let me have a smaller!

  Kathleen.  I’ll have no smaller:  this doth fit the time,
  And gentlewomen wear such hats as these.

  Petruchio.  When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
  But of another pattern.

  Grumio (aside).  Mine, to wit.

Kathleen.  Why, Sir, I trust I may have leave to speak:  And speak I will.  I am no child, no babe:  Your betters have endured me say my mind, And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.  My tongue will tell the craving of my heart, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; And rather than it shall, I will be free E’en to the uttermost,—­at least in words!

  Petruchio.  Why, so thou art.  But ’tis a paltry hat
  This Haberdasher would fob off on thee. 
  I love thee well, but he, he loves thee not.

  Kathleen.  Love me or love me not, I like the hat,
  And it I will have, or I will have none.

  Grumio (aside).  Then is she like to go bareheaded long!