Master, master, news! And such old news as you never heard of!

Biondello
Master, master, news! And such old
news as you never heard of!
Baptista
Is it new and old too? How may that be?
Biondello
Why, is it not news to hear  of Petruchio’s coming?
Baptista
Is he come?
Biondello
Why, no, sir.
Baptista
What then?
Biondello
He is coming.
Baptista
When will he be here?
Biondello
When he stands where I am, and sees you there.
Tranio, as Lucentio
But say, what to thine old news?
Biondello
Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and
an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned,
a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one
buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta’en
out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, and
chapeless; with two broken points; his horse
hipped, with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no
kindred, besides possessed with the glanders and
like to mose in the chine, troubled with the lampass,
infected with the fashions, full of windgalls,
sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, past cure
of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn
with the bots, swayed  in the back and shoulder-shotten,
near-legged before, and with a half-checked
bit and a headstall of sheep’s leather,
which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling,
hath been often burst, and now repaired with
knots; one girth six times pieced, and a woman’s
crupper of velour, which hath two letters for her
name fairly set down in studs, and here and there
pieced with packthread.
Baptista
Who comes with him?
Biondello
Oh, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned
like the horse: with a linen stock on one leg
and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with
a red and blue list; an old hat, and the humor of
forty fancies pricked in ’t for a feather. A monster,
a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian
footboy or a gentleman’s lackey.
Tranio, as Lucentio
’Tis some odd humor pricks him to this fashion,
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-appareled.
Baptista
I am glad he’s come, howsoe’er he comes.
Biondello
Why, sir, he comes not.
Baptista
Didst thou not say he comes?
Biondello
Who? That Petruchio came?
Baptista
Ay, that Petruchio came!
Biondello
No, sir, I say his horse comes with him on
his back.
Baptista
Why, that’s all one.
Biondello
Nay, by Saint Jamy.
I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man
Is more than one,
And yet not many.