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 mony, that I had to keep.

Ant.
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.
Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a means. [Exit Dromio.

Ant.
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 the 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,
And afterward consort you 'till bed-time:
My present business calls me from you now.

Ant.
Farewel 'till then; I will go lose my self,
And wander up and down to view the city.

Mer.
Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Ex. Mer.

Ant.
He that commends me to my 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 my self. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanack of my true date.
What now? how chance, thou art return'd so soon?

E. Dro.
Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock has 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.
Stop in your wind, Sir; tell me this, I pray,
Where you have left the mony that I gave you?

E. Dro.
Oh,—six pence, that I had a Wednesday last,
To pay the sadler for my mistress' crupper?
The sadler had it, Sir; I kept it not.

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

E. Dro.
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.
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?

E. Dro.
To me, Sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

Ant.
Come on, Sir knave, have done your foolishness;
And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge?

E. Dro.
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.
Now, as I am a christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my mony;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
Where are the thousand Marks thou hadst of me?

E. Dro.
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.
Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?

E. Dro.
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.
What wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? there take you that, Sir knave.

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

Ant.
Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-wrought of all my mony.
They say, this town is full of couzenage;
As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye;(4) ^note

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 be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave;
I greatly fear my mony is not safe. [Exit.

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