With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things;
With orange tissue trimmed with true-blue bravery,
Eschewing wearing of the green,--that's knavery.
See GRUMIO there! He waits thy loving leisure
To deck thy body with his boxed-up treasure.
A cap of mine own choice, come fresh from town;
It will become thee better than a crown.
'Tis my ideal. (_Enter_ Haberdasher.) Well--what would _you_, sirrah?

_Haberdasher_. Here is the hat the lady did bespeak!

_Petruchio_. Why, this was moulded on a foreign block,
A Phrygian cap. Fie, fie! 'tis crude and flaunting.
Why, 'tis a coal-vase or a bushel-basket,
A fraud, a toy, a trick, a verdant fool'scap:
Away with it! Come, let me have a smaller!

_Kathleen_. I'll have no smaller: this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such hats as these.

_Petruchio_. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
But of another pattern.

_Grumio_ (_aside_). Mine, to wit.

_Kathleen_. Why, Sir, I trust I may have leave to speak:
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endured me say my mind,
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the craving of my heart,