HORTENSIO
Madam, my instrument's in tune.
BIANCA
Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars.
LUCENTIO
Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
BIANCA
Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat
Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I
trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed
he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,'
despair not.
HORTENSIO
Madam, 'tis now in tune.
LUCENTIO
All but the base.
HORTENSIO
The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars.
Aside
How fiery and forward our pedant is!
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love:
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet.
BIANCA
In time I may believe, yet I mistrust.
LUCENTIO
Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather.
BIANCA
I must believe my master; else, I promise you,
I should be arguing still upon that doubt:
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you:
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
HORTENSIO
You may go walk, and give me leave a while:
My lessons make no music in three parts.
LUCENTIO
Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
Aside
And watch withal; for, but I be deceived,
Our fine musician groweth amorous.