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For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive"
After his brother; and importun'd me,
That his attendant (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name),
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I
of a love to see,

I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my troubles warrant me they live.

Duke. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can :
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help :
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die :-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.

And afterwards consort you till bed-time; My present business calls me from you now.

Ant. S. Farewell till then I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down, to view the city.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
[Exit.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content,
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanack of my true date,-
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon?
Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too

late:

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell,
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray;
Where have you left the money that I gave you?
Dro. E. 0,-sixpence, that I had o'Wednesday last,
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper:-
The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody?

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : I from my mistress come to you in post: If I return, I shall be post indeed:

For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;

Reserve them till a merrier hour than this:
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me.
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your fool-

ishness,

And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the

mart

Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Age. Hopeless, and helpless, doth geon wend,In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

SCENE II. A public Place.

[Exeunt.

Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and a

Merchant.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusan merchant Is apprehended for arrival here; And, not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep.

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, And then return, and sleep within mine ina; For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away.

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit Dro. S.
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me!

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both.-If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou ?

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the

Phoenix;

[blocks in formation]

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say, this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such like liberties of sin If it prove so, I will bo gone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave;

I greatly fear, my money is not safe.

[Exit.

ACT 11.

SCENE I. A public Place.

Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd
That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret:

A man is master of his liberty:

Time is their master; and, when they see time,
They'll or come: If so, be patient, sister.
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more?

Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door.
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so.
Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subject, and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild watry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some

sway.

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other where?
Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she

pause;

They can be meek, that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me :
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try ;--
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.
Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st
thou his mind?

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel
his meaning.

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.
Dro. E. Why,mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's
stark-mad:

When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
'Tis dinner time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home? quoth 1; My gold, quoth he:
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, inllain?
The pig, quoth I, is burned; My gold, quoth he:
My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!
Luc. Quoth who?

Dro. E. Quoth my master:

I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me,
That like a football you do spurn me thus?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
[Exit.
Luc. Fie, how impatience lowereth in your face!
Adr. His company must do his minions
grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look."
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault, he's master of my state:
What ruins are in me that can be found
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures: My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair :
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

Luc. Self-arming jealousy!-fie, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis'd me a chain ;-
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see, the jewel, best enamelled,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Wear gold; and so no man, that hath a name,
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
[Exeunt.

SCENE H. The same.

Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.
Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,

I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart: See, here he comes.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd ?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have, me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phoenix! Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ?

Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a
word?
[since.

Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence,
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt;
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.

Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein :
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the
teeth?

Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
[Beating him.

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest
Upon what bargain do you give it me? [is earnest :
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common of my serious hours.
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport,
But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave
battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use
;-these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head,
and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in
my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?
Ant. S. Dost thou mot know?

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other Between you I shall have a holy head. [beating:

Dro. S. Nothing, sir; bat that I am beaten.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.

Ant. S. Why, first,-for flouting me; and then, wherefore,

Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master home. For urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out | By ruffian lust should be contaminate?

of season, When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what?

[nor reason?-Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner

time ?

Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that have.

Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that?
Dro. S. Basting.

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason?

I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
II do digest the poison of thy flesh,

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting.

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things.

Dro. S. 1 durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

Ant. S. By what rule, sir?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.

Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by line and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a tine for a peruke, and recoIver the lost hair of another man.

Ant. S Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit.

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant. S. For what reason?

Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too.

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Dro. S. Sure ones, then.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

Dro. S. Certain ones then.

Ant. S. Name them.

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dianer they should not drop in his porridge.

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things.

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end will have bald followers.

Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts us yonder?

Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown;
Some other mistress bath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was once, when thou unorg'd wouldst vow,
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or cary'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious;
And that this body, consecrate to thee,

Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

[not:

[you!

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live dis-stain'd, theu undishonoured.
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you
In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town, as to your talk;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
Want wit in all one word to understand.
Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd with
When were you wont to use my sister thus f
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
Ant. S. By Dromio?
Dro. S. By me?
Adr. By thee: and this thou didst return from
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,
Deny'd my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle-
woman?

[him,

What is the course and drift of your compact?
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, Unless it be by inspiration?

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss;
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her
What, was I married to her in my dream? [theme:
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land;-O, spite of spites!We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st

not?

Dromio, thon drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!
Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I?
Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape.
Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S.

No, I am an ape.
Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.
'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be,
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn.--
Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate :--
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks:
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.-
Come, sister :-Dromio, play the porter well.
Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping, or waking mad, or well-advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
I'll say as they say, and persever so,
And in this mist at al! adventures go.

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.
Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
[Exeunt.

[blocks in formation]

Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us
My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours: [all;
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop,
To see the making of her carkanet,

And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain, that would face me down
He met me on the mart: and that I beat him.
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold;
And that I did deny my wife and house :-
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what
I know:
[show:

That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave

were ink,

Your own hand writing would tell you what I think.
Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass.
Dro. E.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.
Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar; 'Pray God,
our cheer
[here.
May answer my good will, and your good welcome
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel-
come dear.

Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl
affords.

Ant. E. And welcome more common: for that's
nothing but words.

Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a
merry feast.
[guest:
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them let us in.
Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian,
Jen'!

Dro. S. [Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, cox-
comb, idiot, patch!
[hatch :
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thon call'st for
such store,
[door.
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My
master stays in the street.

Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet.

Ant.E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door.
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll
tell me wherefore.

Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not
din'd to day.
[when you may.
Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again,
Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from
the house I owe?
[is Dromio.
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name
Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine
office and my name;

The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thon wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or
thy name for an ass.

Luce. [Within] What a coil is there? Dromio,
who are those at the gate?
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.
Luce.
Faith, no; he comes too late;
And so tell your master.
Dro. E.
O Lord, I must laugh:-
Have at you with a proverb.- Shall I set in my staff?
Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-When?
can you tell?

Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou
bast answer'd him well.

Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us
in, I hope?

Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S.
And you said, no.
Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was
blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce.
Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce.
Let him knock till it ache.

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the
door down,
[the town?
Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in
Adr. Within] Who is that at the door, that
keeps all this noise?
[unruly boys.
Drp. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with
Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have
come before.
[door.

Adr. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave
would go sore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.

Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. [welcome hither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. [ments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar

the cold:

[and sold.

It would make a man mad as a buck, to he so bought
Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope
the gate.
[your knave's pate
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir:
and words are but wind;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not be-
hind.
[upon thee, hind!
Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out
Dro. E. Here's too much, oat upon thee! I pray
thee, let me in.
[have no fin,
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a crow.
Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean
von so?

For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a
feather;
[gether.
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'il pluck a crow to-
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so:
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,-Your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at that time the doors are made against you.
Be rul'd by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner:
And, about evening, come yourself alone,
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead :
For slander lives
upon succession;
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,-
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet too gentle;
There will we dine: this woman that I mean,
My wife (but, I protest, without desert),
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner.-Get you home,
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine:
For there's the house; that chain will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife),
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste:
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.
Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence.
Ant. E. Do so: This jest shall cost me some ex-
pense.
• [Exeunt

SCENE II. The same.
Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse.
Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus, hate,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate?

If you did wed my sister for her wealth, [kindness:
Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:

Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:

Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;

Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint!
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
And let her read it in thy looks at board:
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor woman! make us but believe,

Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: "Tis holy sport to be a little vain,

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress (what your name is else I know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine), [not, Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your word's deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you, To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know,

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,

Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you do I decline.

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears;
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;

And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die :Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

[night.

Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister,

Luc.

Ant. S.

That's my sister.

No;

It is thyself, mine own self's better part;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart;
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife :
Give me thy hand.
Luc.

O, soft, sir, hold you still;
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.
[Exit Luciana.
Enter, from the House of Antipholus of Ephesus,
Dromio of Syracuse.

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where runn'st thou so fast?

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am 1 Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself.

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim

to me.

Ant. S. What is she?

Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence; I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

Ant. S. What complexion is she of?

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend.

Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

Ant. S. What's her name ?

Dro. S. Nell, sir;-but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ?

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sír, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.

Ant. S. Where Scotland?

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of her hand.

Ant. S. Where France ?

[blocks in formation]

Ant. S. Where Spain ?

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her breath.

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies?

Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks, to the ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me call'd me Dromio; swore I was assur'd to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; And if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night. If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk, till thou return to me. If every one know us, and we know none, "Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here; And therefore, 'tis high time that I were hence. She that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister, Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself: But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Enter Angelo.

Ang. Master Antipholus ?
Ant. S. Ay, that's my name.

[Exit.

Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain; I thought to have ta'en yon at the Porcupine: The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus fong. Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with this? [for you.

Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made it Ant. S. Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you

have:

Go home with it, and please your wife withal;

T

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