Adriana.
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.

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

Adr.
There's none but asses will be bridl'd so.

Luc.
Why, head-strong 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 controuls;
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild watry seas,
Indu'd with intellectual sense and soul,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowl,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords* ^note.

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 otherwhere?

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 would'st relieve me;
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-beg'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 Ephesian.

Adr.
Say, is your tardy master yet at hand?

D. E.
At hand? nay, he is at two hands with me,
That my two ears can witness.

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

D. 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?

D. E.
Nay, he struck so plainly, I
Could too well feel his blows; and therewithal
So doubtfully, 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.

D. E.
Why, mistress, sure, my master is horn-mad.

Adr.
Horn-mad, thou villain?

D. 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:
'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; 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 of thy mistress; out on thy mistress,
Quoth he!

Luc.
Quoth who?

D. E.
Why, 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 bare home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Adr.
Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.

D. E.
Go back again, and be new beaten home:—
For Heav'n's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr.
Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

D. 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.

D. E.
Am I so round with you, as you with me,

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. [Exit Dromio.

Luc.
Fie, how impatience loureth 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 mar'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-harming 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 enameled,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold: and e'en so, man, that hath a name,
By falshood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die* ^note.

Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

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