Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Kate. I chafe you if I tarrie. Let me go.
Pet. Pet.
Pet. No, not a whit, I finde you passing gentle:
Pet. 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
Pet. And now I finde report a very liar:
Pet. For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
Pet. But slow in speech: yet sweet as spring‑time flowers.
Pet. Thou canst not frowne, thou canst not looke a sconce,
Pet. Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Pet. Nor hast thou pleasure to be crosse in talke:
Pet. But thou with mildnesse entertain'st thy wooers,
Pet. With gentle conference, soft, and affable.
Pet. Why does the world report that Kate doth limpe?
Pet. Oh sland'rous world: Kate like the hazle twig
Pet. Is straight, and slender, and as browne in hue
Pet. As hazle nuts, and sweeter then the kernels:
Pet. Oh let me see thee walke: thou dost not halt.
Kate. Kate.
Kate. Go foole, and whom thou keep'st command.