PETRUCHIO: Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias. But, soft! company is coming here. Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away? Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? 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.