PETRUCHIO.
Villain, I say, knock me at this gate;
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.

GRUMIO.
My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first,
And then I know after who comes by the worst.

PETRUCHIO.
Will it not be?
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it;
I'll try how you can sol,fa, and sing it.

[He wrings GRUMIO by the ears.]

GRUMIO.
Help, masters, help! my master is mad.

PETRUCHIO.
Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

[Enter HORTENSIO.]

HORTENSIO.
How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my
good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?

PETRUCHIO.
Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?