Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha?

HORTENSIO.
Peace, Grumio! 'tis the rival of my love. Petruchio,
stand by awhile.

GRUMIO.
A proper stripling, and an amorous!

GREMIO.
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.
You understand me. Over and beside
Signior Baptista's liberality,
I'll mend it with a largess. Take your papers 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?

LUCENTIO.
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.

GREMIO.
O! this learning, what a thing it is.