Taming of the shrew translation pdf

Your Comment:. Read Online Download. Great book, The Taming of the Shrew pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. Hot Romeo and Juliet. Resource Type. Interactive resources you can assign in your digital classroom from TpT. Easel Activities. Pre-made digital activities. Add highlights, virtual manipulatives, and more. Browse Easel Activities. Easel Assessments. Quizzes with auto-grading, and real-time student data.

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My books and music will keep me company. Why lock her up just because of her crazy sister, Signor Baptista? If either of you, Hortensio and Gremio, know any teachers like that, introduce them to me. Goodbye — Katherina, you can stay here. I have something to discuss with Bianca. I can stay? Then I guess I can go too, right? The way you are, nobody can restrain you.

So will I, Gremio. But wait, listen to me. If we want to court Bianca again and be rivals like we were before, we need to accomplish one thing. Well I say a devil. Master, master, look about you. Who goes there, ha? Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by awhile. A proper stripling, and an amorous! O, very well; I have perus'd the note. Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound- All books of love, see that at any hand; And see you read no other lectures to her.

Take your paper too, And let me have them very well perfum'd; For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. What will you read to her? Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you As for my patron, stand you so assur'd, As firmly as yourself were still in place; Yea, and perhaps with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. O this learning, what a thing it is! O this woodcock, what an ass it is!

Peace, sirrah! Grumio, mum! And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. I promis'd to enquire carefully About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca; And by good fortune I have lighted well On this young man; for learning and behaviour Fit for her turn, well read in poetry And other books- good ones, I warrant ye.

Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove. And that his bags shall prove. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love. Listen to me, and if you speak me fair I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katherine; Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. So said, so done, is well. Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?

I know she is an irksome brawling scold; If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? Born in Verona, old Antonio's son. My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days and long to see. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange! But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name; You shall have me assisting you in all.

But will you woo this wild-cat? Will I live? Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her. Why came I hither but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?

Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to hear As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?

For he fears none. Hortensio, hark: This gentleman is happily arriv'd, My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. I promis'd we would be contributors And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.

And so we will- provided that he win her. I would I were as sure of a good dinner. Gentlemen, God save you! He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you mean? Even he, Biondello. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to- Tranio.

Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do? Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away. Sir, a word ere you go. And if I be, sir, is it any offence? No; if without more words you will get you hence. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me as for you?

But so is not she. For what reason, I beseech you? For this reason, if you'll know, That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.

That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen, Do me this right- hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown, And, were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have, and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have; And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all!

Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two: The one as famous for a scolding tongue As is the other for beauteous modesty. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules, And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth: The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for, Her father keeps from all access of suitors, And will not promise her to any man Until the elder sister first be wed.

The younger then is free, and not before. If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest; And if you break the ice, and do this feat, Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access- whose hap shall be to have her Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding.

Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress' health; And do as adversaries do in law- Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.

Fellows, let's be gone. The motion's good indeed, and be it so. Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. Exeunt previous scene Act II, Scene 1. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me- That I disdain; but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders.

Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell Whom thou lov'st best. See thou dissemble not. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? If you affect him, sister, here I swear I'll plead for you myself but you shall have him. O then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair.

Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while. I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands.

Why, how now, dame! Whence grows this insolence? For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding-day, And for your love to her lead apes in hell.

Talk not to me; I will go sit and weep, Till I can find occasion of revenge. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I? But who comes here? Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen! And you, good sir!

Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katherina, fair and virtuous? I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katherina. You are too blunt; go to it orderly. You wrong me, Signior Gremio; give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard.

Y'are welcome, sir, and he for your good sake; But for my daughter Katherine, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. I see you do not mean to part with her; Or else you like not of my company. Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? What may I call your name? Petruchio is my name, Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy.

I know him well; you are welcome for his sake. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us that are poor petitioners speak too. O, pardon me, Signior Gremio! I would fain be doing. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar [Presenting LUCENTIO] that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics.

His name is Cambio. Pray accept his service. A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio. May I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous.

Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request- That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, And free access and favour as the rest. And toward the education of your daughters I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books.

Lucentio is your name? Of whence, I pray? Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. A mighty man of Pisa. By report I know him well. You are very welcome, sir. Holla, within! Bid them use them well. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have bettered rather than decreas'd. Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife?

After my death, the one half of my lands And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. And for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever.

Let specialities be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all. Why, that is nothing; for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together, They do consume the thing that feeds their fury. Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all. So I to her, and so she yields to me; For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.

Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. Ay, to the proof, as mountains are for winds, That shake not though they blow perpetually. How now, my friend! Why dost thou look so pale? For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. What, will my daughter prove a good musician? I think she'll sooner prove a soldier: Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.

Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 'Frets, call you these?

Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did. Well, go with me, and be not so discomfited; Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? I pray you do. Say that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.

Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence. If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week; If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katherine that do talk of me.

You lie, in faith, for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But, Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation- Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.

Let him that mov'd you hither Remove you hence. I knew you at the first You were a moveable. Why, what's a moveable? A join'd-stool. Thou hast hit it. Come, sit on me. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. Women are made to bear, and so are you. No such jade as you, if me you mean. Alas, good Kate, I will not burden thee!

Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. Should be! Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. O, slow-wing'd turtle, shall a buzzard take thee? Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. My remedy is then to pluck it out. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.

Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. In his tongue. Whose tongue? Yours, if you talk of tales; and so farewell. What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. That I'll try. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. So may you lose your arms. If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms.

A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! What is your crest- a coxcomb? A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. No cock of mine: you crow too like a craven. Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. It is my fashion, when I see a crab. Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour.

There is, there is. Then show it me. Had I a glass I would. What, you mean my face? Well aim'd of such a young one. Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. Yet you are wither'd. I care not. Nay, hear you, Kate- in sooth, you scape not so. I chafe you, if I tarry; let me go. No, not a whit; I find you passing gentle. 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. Thou dost not halt. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? Where did you study all this goodly speech? It is extempore, from my mother wit. A witty mother! Am I not wise? Yes, keep you warm. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katherine, in thy bed.

And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife your dowry greed on; And will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates.

Never make denial; I must and will have Katherine to my wife. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? How but well, sir? It were impossible I should speed amiss. Why, how now, daughter Katherine, in your dumps? Call you me daughter? Now I promise you You have show'd a tender fatherly regard To wish me wed to one half lunatic, A mad-cap ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world That talk'd of her have talk'd amiss of her.

If she be curst, it is for policy, For,she's not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity. And, to conclude, we have 'greed so well together That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.