Taming of the Shrew, [5.2.138-143]. Katharina. “Fie, fie! Unkit that threatening unkind brow,/ And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,/ To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor./ It blots thy beauty as frosts do bit the meads,/ confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,/ And in no sense is meet or amiable.”

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