Reading The Taming of the Shrew — William Shakespeare

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Section 298

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Hor.

Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me:

I did but tell her she mistooke her frets,

And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering,

When (with a most impatient diuellish spirit)

Frets call you these? (quoth she) Ile fume with them:

And with that word she stroke me on the head,

And through the instrument my pate made way,

And there I stood amazed for a while,

As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute,

While she did call me Rascall, Fidler,

And twangling Iacke, with twentie such vilde tearmes,

As had she studied to misvse me so.

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