Why, no, sir.
He is coming.
When will he be here?
When he stands where I am and sees you there.
But say, what to thine old news?
Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old
jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair
boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled,
another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en out of the
armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless;
with two broken points: his horse hipped with an
old mothy saddle
and stirrups of no kindred;
besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose
in the chine; troubled
with the lampass, infected
with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with
spavins, rayed with yellows, past
cure of the fives,
stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the
bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-
near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit
and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being
to keep him from stumbling, hath been
often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth
six time pieced
and a woman's crupper of velure,
which hath two letters for her name fairly set down
in studs, and here
and there pieced with packthread.
Who comes with him?
O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned
like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a
boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red
and blue list; an old hat and 'the humour of forty
in't for a feather: a monster, a
very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
footboy or a gentleman's
'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd.
I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes.
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