Good morrow, gentle mistress, where away?

Petruchio, to Vincentio
Good morrow, gentle mistress, where away?—
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly, too,
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman?

Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green

Such war of white and red within her cheeks!
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty
As those two eyes become that heavenly face?—
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee.—
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty’s sake.
Hortensio, aside
He will make the man mad, to make the woman of him.
Katherine
Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet,
Whither away, or where is thy abode?
Happy the parents of so fair a child!
Happier the man whom favorable stars
Allots  thee for his lovely bedfellow.
Petruchio
Why, how now, Kate? I hope thou art not mad!
This is a man—old, wrinkled, faded, withered—
And not a maiden, as thou sayst he is.
Katherine
Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes
That have been so bedazzled with the sun
That everything I look on seemeth green.
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father.
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.