Chapter 34

_Tra._ O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, Which runs himself, and catches for his master. _Pet._ A good swift simile, but something currish. _Tra._ 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: 55 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. _Bap._ O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. _Luc._ I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. _Hor._ Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? _Pet._ A' has a little gall'd me, I confess; 60 And, as the jest did glan…