Introductory matter

PRELIMINARY REMARKS.

Shakspeare might have taken the general plan of this comedy from a translation of the Menæchmi of Plautus, by W. W. i. e. (according to Wood) William Warner, in 1595, whose version of the acrostical argument hereafter quoted is as follows:

Perhaps the last of these lines suggested to Shakspeare the title for his piece.

See this translation of the Menæchmi, among Six old Plays on which Shakspeare founded, &c. published by S. Leacroft, Charing-Cross.

At the beginning of an address Ad Lectorem, prefixed to the errata of Decker's Satiromastix, &c. 1602, is the following passage, which apparently alludes to the title of the comedy before us:

“In steed of the Trumpets sounding thrice before the play begin, it shall not be omisse (for him that will read) first to beholde this short Comedy of Errors, and where the greatest enter, to give them instead of a hisse, a gentle correction.” Steevens.

In the old copy, [1623,] these brothers are occasionally styled Antipholus Erotes, or Errotis, and Antipholus Sereptus; meaning, perhaps, erraticus and surreptus. One of these twins wandered in search of his brother, who had been forced from Æmilia by fishermen of Corinth. The following acrostick is the argument to the Menæchmi of Plautus, Delph. Edit. p. 654:

The translator, W. W. calls the brothers, Menæchmus Sosicles, and Menæchmus the traveller. Whencesoever Shakspeare adopted erraticus and surreptus, (which either he or his editors have mis-spelt,) these distinctions were soon dropped, and throughout the rest of the entries the twins are styled of Syracuse or Ephesus. Steevens.

I suspect this and all other plays where much rhyme is used, and especially long hobbling verses, to have been among Shakspeare's more early productions. Blackstone.

I am possibly singular in thinking that Shakspeare was not under the slightest obligation, in forming this comedy, to Warner's translation of the Menæchmi. The additions of Erotus and Sereptus, which do not occur in that translation, and he could never invent, are, alone, a sufficient inducement to believe that he was no way indebted to it. But a further and more convincing proof is, that he has not a name, line, or word, from the old play, nor any one incident but what must, of course, be common to every translation. Sir William Blackstone, I observe, suspects “this and all other plays where much rhyme is used, and especially long hobbling verses, to have been among Shakspeare's more early productions.” But I much doubt whether any of these “long hobbling verses” have the honour of proceeding from his pen; and, in fact, the superior elegance and harmony of his language is no less distinguishable in his earliest than his latest production. The truth is, if any inference can be drawn from the most striking dissimilarity of style, a tissue as different as silk and worsted, that this comedy, though boasting the embellishments of our author's genius, in additional words, lines, speeches, and scenes, was not originally his, but proceeded from some inferior playwright, who was capable of reading the Menæchmi without the help of a translation, or, at least, did not make use of Warner's. And this I take to have been the case, not only with the three parts of King Henry VI. (though not, perhaps, exactly in the way, or to the extent, maintained by a late editor* ^note,) but with The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Love's Labour's Lost, and King Richard II. in all which pieces Shakspeare's new work is as apparent as the brightest touches of Titian would be on the poorest performance of the veriest canvass-spoiler that ever handled a brush. The originals of these plays were never printed, and may be thought to have been put into his hands by the manager, for the purpose of alteration and improvement, which we find to have been an ordinary practice of the theatre in his time. We are therefore no longer to look upon the above “pleasant and fine conceited comedie,” as entitled to a situation among the “six plays on which Shakspeare founded his Measure for Measure,”

&c. of which I should hope to see a new and improved edition. Ritson.

In consequence of the publication of the Dissertation on the Three Parts of King Henry the Sixth, in the year 1790, in which I endeavoured to shew that those plays were formed on dramas written by more ancient poets than Shakspeare, (two of which pieces have been transmitted to us, the one printed in 1594, and the other in 1595,) a strange and whimsical fancy seems to have been entertained by various criticks, that this notion is applicable to several other of our author's plays* ^note; a supposition I conceive altogether groundless in every instance, except the Taming of the Shrew, and Titus Andronicus, concerning the latter of which pieces I discovered such notices many years since, that there can be no doubt that that tragedy was originally the production of another hand. The old Taming of a Shrew being extant, we know precisely how far our poet was indebted to it. These two plays, however, though they both come within the exception stated above, stand on very different grounds; for to Andronicus, Shakspeare appears to have only added a few scenes, and to have occasionally improved the language; but in constructing the Taming of the Shrew he merely borrowed the fable and several of the incidents from the elder play, and wrote an entirely new performance on the same subject.—I say nothing concerning King Henry the Eighth, because if there be any intermixture of another hand in that historical drama, it arose not from our author's having intermingled his lines with those of an elder writer, but from some one, after he retired from the stage, intermingling his verses with those of Shakspeare.

The new fancy of which I am now speaking, seems to have arisen from a notion that our poet's earlier compositions must have been written with a felicity approaching to that of his riper years; and not finding the same excellence in some of his first performances, our criticks have had recourse to this fanciful idea, that the inferior, and what they consider the exceptionable parts of these pieces, were written by an elder dramatist: but I beg leave here to enter my solemn protest against this perverse use of the arguments advanced in my Essay, which, if rightly considered, do not lead to any such conclusion.

The ancient dramas which were the subject of the rifacimento made by Shakspeare, it should be remembered, were before me; and it was not the inferiority of the parts of those

pieces which he adopted, without alteration, to his acknowledged writings, but the difference of manner, language, structure, and versification, which gave rise to that dissertation; and these circumstances, manifesting two different hands, were still further confirmed by the various collateral proofs accumulated in the essay on this subject. But I do not hesitate to assert, that no such difference in the colour, style, and language, can be shewn in any of the pieces to which my theory concerning the three parts of King Henry the Sixth has been applied.

On examining the immediately preceding remark, a careless reader may perhaps be led astray by a pretence to investigation; but in this, as in many other observations of the same writer, we in vain look for instruction, taste, or judgment. Who that has carefully studied our poet's works, and is well acquainted with his style of writing and manner of thinking, can for a moment doubt that the admirable tragedy of King Richard the Second was the entire production of Shakspeare? And as little doubt, in my opinion, ought to be entertained concerning The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Love's Labour's Lost, and The Comedy of Errors; all of which plays, however they may be inferior to his later works, are as Shakspearian, or, in other words, have as strong marks of their lineage, of the mind by which they were formed, as any of his more admired productions. If the authenticity of King Richard the Second is to be questioned because there was a preceding play on the same subject, our poet may be deprived of several other plays, or parts of plays, on the same ground: for on every one of his historical plays, except on King Henry the Eighth, there had been preceding dramas—on King John, on King Henry the Fourth and Fifth, on Henry the Sixth, and on King Richard the Third: and on the same false ground we may deprive him of all such parts as we consider of an inferior texture to the rest—in Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Measure for Measure, Antony and Cleopatra, and Timon of Athens; for on all these subjects were dramas written before those of our poet.

Why, we may ask, should not his first essays, like those of almost all mankind, be somewhat less perfect than his later performances? And if it be reasonable to suppose that in this respect he in some measure resembled other writers, the authenticity of his earlier dramas can never be shaken by their inferiority. A strong confirmation of their authenticity may also be obtained from comparing them with several of his poetical essays produced at the same period; for we find in his early plays not only many of the thoughts employed in these poems, but also frequently quatrains ending with ultimate rhymes, strongly resembling the versification of these juvenile pieces. But so smooth a versifier, we are told, could not at any period have written such long hobbling verses as are appropriated to some of the lower characters in The Comedy of Errors and Love's Labour's Lost. And why?

Is it not highly probable that a young writer, in the inferior parts of his comedies, where the entertainment of the lower classes of his audience was particularly to be attended to, should adopt the same mode and the same loose versification for characters of their description, somewhat resembling that of the clown, which had been successfully and prescriptively appropriated to similar characters by preceding dramatists? Of the precedents which he copied in this instance, some examples may be found in The History of the English Stage, where some account of Tarleton is preserved; and several others are written at the end of the present comedy. Sir William Blackstone's observation, therefore, on this part of our present subject, appears to me extremely apposite and well founded; and the true inference to be drawn from the intermixture of this kind of metre is, not that it denotes another hand, but strongly indicates those plays in which it is found to have been among the writer's early essays in dramatick poetry, in which he in some measure walked in the steps of his predecessors. With respect to his earlier pieces, we do not rest upon conjecture: we know from the list transmitted by Meres* ^note what plays he had produced before the end of the year 1598; and it is reasonable to suppose, that so careful and minute a writer, who appears to have been well acquainted with the poets of the time, did not, without good information, give the first place in that list to The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and The Comedy of Errors. The first productions of so extraordinary a dramatick poet as Shakspeare could not but have made a great impression on a man who appears to have been perfectly well acquainted with all the poetry of the time, and who doubtless was then a frequenter of the Curtain Theatre, where our poet's dramas were at that period exhibited.

But to advert more particularly to the play now before us. It has been said that Shakspeare has not taken a single name, line, or word, from the translated Menæchmi of Plautus; which may be literally true, but is not easily reconcileable to an observation made by Mr. Steevens, in which he seems to think that our authour's description of the cheating mountebanks and pretended conjurers who infested Epidamnum was taken from thence. See p. 166. The truth, however, is, that he had no occasion to consult Warner's Translation of the Menæchmi for this or any other purpose; for it is extremely probable that he was furnished with the fable of the present comedy by a play on a similar subject, from which he might have derived the very description above alluded to; and there also he might have found the designations of surreptus and erraticus, of which some traces are exhibited in the original copy of this play. Of this piece no mention is made in any dramatick

history that I have seen, nor in any of the fugitive pamphlets of ancient days; but the notice concerning it which I discovered not long after my former edition of these plays was published, furnishes us with decisive evidence on this subject; for the piece in question was acted before Queen Elizabeth in the year 1576–7, when our poet was in his thirteenth year. In the Historical Account of the English Stage may be found a list of the various performances exhibited before her Majesty during the Christmas festivities of the year above mentioned, among which is the following piece:

“The Historie of Error, shewn at Hampton Court on New yeres daie at night [1576–7] enacted by the children of Pawles.”

As the dramas acted by the singing boys of St. Paul's Cathedral were generally founded on classical stories, it may be presumed that this ancient piece was in a good measure founded on the comedy of Plautus; and doubtless thus the fable was transmitted to Shakspeare. Malone.

PERSONS REPRESENTED. Solinus, Duke of Ephesus. Ægeon, [Aegeon] a Merchant of Syracuse. Antipholus of Ephesus, Twin brother to Antipholus of Syracuse, Son to Ægeon and Æmilia. Antipholus of Syracuse, Twin brother to Antipholus of Ephesus, Son to Ægeon and Æmilia. Dromio of Ephesus, Twin brother to Dromio of Syracuse, Attendant on Antipholus of Ephesus. Dromio of Syracuse, Twin brother to Dromio of Ephesus, Attendant on Antipholus of Syracuse. Balthazar, [Balthasar] a Merchant. Angelo, a Goldsmith. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. Pinch, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjurer. Æmilia, [Aemilia] Wife to Ægeon, an Abbess at Ephesus. Adriana, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. Luciana, her Sister. Luce, her Servant. A Courtezan. Jailer, Officers, and other Attendants. [Gaoler], [Officer], [Servant] SCENE, Ephesus.

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter Duke, Ægeon, Jailer, Officers, and other Attendants.

Æge.
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.

Duke.
Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial, to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,—
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,—
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusians^{1 note} and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more, If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again, If any, Syracusian born,
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

Æge.
Yet this my comfort; when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke.
Well, Syracusian, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Æge.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence^{2 note}

From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting, under
The pleasing punishment that women bear* ^note,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A poor mean woman was deliver'd^{6 note}

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragick instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was,—for other means was none.—
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were* ^note carry'd towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wished light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discover'd
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:

But ere they came,—O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke.
Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Æge.
O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon^{7 note},
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^{8 note}

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^{9 note}.

Æge.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care^{1 note}

And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loth 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 travels warrant me they live.

Duke.
Hapless Ægeon, 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 the 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^{5 note}

Jail.
I will, my lord.

Æge.
Hopeless, and helpless, doth Ægeon wend^{7 note}
,
But to procrastinate his lifeless* ^note end. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A publick Place. 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 Syracusian 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^{8 note}

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 inn;

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^{9 note}
, 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^{1 note}

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 Merchant.

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^{3 note}

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^{5 note} 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.
O,—sixpence, that I had o'Wednesday last,
To pay the sadler for my mistress' crupper,—
The sadler 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^{6 note}

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 foolishness,
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 Phœnix, sir, to dinner;
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Ant. S.
Now, as I am a christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money^{8 note};
Or I shall break that merry sconce^{9 note}

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 Phœnix;
She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.

Ant. S.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. [Strikes Dromio, E.

Dro. E.
What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands;
Nay, an you will not sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit Dromio, E.

Ant. S.
Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-raught* ^{note 1 note}

Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin^{4 note}

If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave;
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. A publick 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 go, 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^{5 note}.

Luc.
O, know, he is the bridle of your will.

Adr.
There's none, but asses, will be bridled so.

Luc.
Why head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe^{6 note}

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^{9 note}

Luc.
Till he come again, I would forbear.

Adr.
Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she pause^{1 note};
They can be meek, that have no other cause^{2 note}.

A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry^{3 note}

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^{6 note}.

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 is stark mad:
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold^{7 note}:
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home, quoth I^{8 note}? My gold, quoth he:
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold, quoth he:
My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress^{9 note}

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.

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 beating:
Between you I shall have a holy head.

Adr.
Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master home.

Dro. E.
Am I so round with you, as you with me^{1 note},
That like a foot-ball 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^{2 note}. [Exit.

Luc.
Fye, how impatience lowreth in your face!

Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look^{3 note}

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^{4 note}

Luc.
Self-harming jealousy!—fye, 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^{8 note}

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 II. 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 Phœnix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

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

Ant. S.
Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

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 is earnest:
Upon what bargain do you give it me?

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^{1 note}.
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 aspéct^{2 note},
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^{3 note}

Ant. S.

Dost thou not know?

Dro. S.

Nothing, sir; but 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,—for urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S.
Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season?
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhime nor reason?—
Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S.

Thank me, sir? for what?

Dro. S.

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

Ant. S.

I'll make you amends next^{4 note}, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

Dro. S.

No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I 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.

You reason?

Dro. S.

Lest it make you cholerick^{5 note}


, 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.

I durst have deny'd that, before you were so cholerick.

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 fine and recovery^{6 note}?

Dro. S.

Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another man.

Ant. S.

Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement^{7 note}

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^{8 note}

Dro. S.

Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair^{9 note}

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^{1 note}.

Dro. S.

Certain ones then.

Ant. S.

Name them.

Dro. S.

The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring^{2 note}; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.

Ant. S.

You would all this time have proved, there is no time^{3 note} for all things.

Dro. S.

Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en no time^{4 note}

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^{5 note}
yonder? Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr.
Ay, ay Antipholus, look strange, and frown;
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspécts,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow
That never words were musick to thine ear^{6 note}

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, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'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 may'st thou fall^{7 note}

A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
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,
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious?
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate?
Would'st 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^{8 note},

And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou can'st; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust^{9 note}

:
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
Being strumpeted^{1 note}
by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured^{2 note}

Ant. S.
Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:
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* ^note wit in all one word to understand.

Luc.
Fye, brother! how the world is chang'd with you:
When were you wont to use my sister thus?
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 him,—
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 gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your compáct?

Dro. S.
I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

Ant. S.
Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
Did'st 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^{3 note}

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine^{5 note}

Ant. S.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:
What, was I marry'd to her in my dream?
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^{9 note}

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, spight of spights!—
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprights^{1 note}

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, thou drone^{2 note}

Dro. S.
I am transformed, master, am not I^{3 note}?

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^{4 note}

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 perséver so,
And in this mist at all 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. ACT III. SCENE I. The Same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar.

Ant. E.
Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all^{5 note}

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 did'st thou mean by this?

Dro. E.
Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know:
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:
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^{7 note}

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
May answer my good-will, and your good welcome here.

Bal.
I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome 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.

Ant. E.
Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:
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^{8 note}

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, and you'll tell me wherefore.

Ant. E.
Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day.

Dro. S.
Nor to-day here you must not; come again, when you may.

Ant. E.
What art thou that keep'st me out from the house I owe^{1 note}

?

Dro. S.
The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.

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 had'st been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou would'st 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 called Luce; Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

Ant. E.
Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope^{2 note}

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 ake.

Ant. E.
You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

Luce.
What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

Adr. [within]
Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise?

Dro. S.
By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

Ant. E.
Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

Adr.
Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

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^{3 note}

Dro. E.
They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.

Ant. E.
There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

Dro. E.
You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold:
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold^{4 note}

Ant. E.
Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate.

Dro. S.
Break any breaking here^{5 note}
, and I'll break your knave's pate.

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 behind.

Dro. S.
It seems, thou wantest breaking; Out upon thee, hind!

Dro. E.
Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in.

Dro. S.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.

Ant. E.
Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a crow.

Dro. E.
A crow without feather; master, mean you so?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather:
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together^{6 note}.

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^{7 note}

Ant. E.
You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in despight of mirth^{3 note}

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 spight 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 expence. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Same. Enter Luciana^{4 note}