S. Ant.
There's not a man I meet, but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me, some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy:
Even now a taylor call'd me in his shop,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And, therewithal, took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

S. Dro.

Master, here's the gold you sent me for: ^{5 note}

S. Ant.

What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?

S. Dro.

Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, but that Adam, that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calves-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.

S. Ant.

I understand thee not.

S. Dro.

No? why, it is a plain case: he that went like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives 'em suits of durance; ^{6 note}

up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a morris pike.

S. Ant.

What! thou mean'st an officer?

S. Dro.

Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band: he, that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and saith, God give you good rest!

S. Ant.
Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there
Any ships puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

S. Dro.

Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the serjeant, to tarry for the hoy, Delay: Here are the angels that you sent for, to deliver you.

S. Ant.
The fellow is distract, and so am I;
And here we wander in illusions:
Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtezan.

Cour.
Well met, well met, master Antipholis.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day?

S. Ant.
Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not!

S. Dro.
Master, is this mistress Satan?

S. Ant.
It is the devil.

S. Dro.

Nay, she is worse, she's the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and therefore comes, that the wenches say, God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light wench. It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will

burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; Come not near her.

Cour.
Your man and you are marvellous, merry, sir.
Will you go with me? we'll mend our dinner here.

S. Dro.

Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon^{7 note}

S. Ant.

Why, Dromio?

S. Dro.

Marry, he must have a long spoon, that must eat with the devil.

S. Ant.
Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:
I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone.

Cour.
Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd;
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

S. Dro.
Some devils
Ask but the paring of one's nail, a rush,
A hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut,
A cherry-stone; but she, more covetous,
Would have a chain.
Master, be wise; an' if you give it her,
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

Cour.
I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain;
I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so?

S. Ant.
Avaunt, thou witch! Come Dromio, let us go.

S. Dro.
Fly pride, says the peacock: Mistress, that you know. [Exeunt. Ant. and Dro.

Cour.
Now, out of doubt, Antipholis is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself:
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,

And for the same he promis'd me a chain;
Both one, and other, he denies me now.
The reason that I gather he is mad,
(Besides this present instance of his rage)
Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner,
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits,
On purpose shut the doors against his way.
My way is now, to hie home to his house,
And tell his wife, that, being lunatic,
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce
My ring away: This course I fittest chuse;
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit.

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