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.

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