Ægeon.
Proceed, Salinus, to procure my fall,
And terminate, by this, thy rig'rous doom,
Ægeon's life and miseries together.

Duke.
Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more.
The enmity and discord which, of late,
Sprung from the ranc'rous outrage of your duke,
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
(Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their blood)
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 Syracusans and ourselves,
T' admit no traffic to our adverse towns.
Nay, more—If any, born at Ephesus,
Be seen at Syracusan marts or fairs:
Again—If any Syracusan 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 ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto an hundred marks;
Therefore, by law, thou art condemn'd to die.

Ægeon.
This comfort then (the wretch's last resource)
At least, I gain from the severe decree—
My woes must finish e'er the setting sun.

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

Ægeon.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Yet will I utter what my grief permits.—
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me!
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
By prosp'rous traffic—'till my factor's death,
Drew us unwillingly to Epidamnum.
There had we not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons,
And, strange to hear, the one so like the other,
They hardly by ourselves could be distinguished.
That very hour, and in the self-same house,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burthen, male twins, both alike.
These (for their parents were exceeding poor)
I bought, and brought up, to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of her two boys,
Made daily motions for our home return.
Unwilling I agreed.—We came aboard—
O, bitter recollection!

Duke.
Stop thy tears—
I long, yet almost dread to hear the rest.

Ægeon.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm;
But longer did we not retain much hope,
For what obscured light the heavens did grant,
Did but convey into our fearful minds
A dreadful warrant of immediate death.
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
My wife, more careful for the elder born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast;
To him, one of the other twins was bound;
While I had been like heedful of the younger.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And, floating strait, obedient to the stream,

Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sea wax'd calm; and we discover'd
Two ships, from far, making amain to us;
But ere they came—

Duke.
Pursue thy tale, old man.

Ægeon.
Being encounter'd by a mighty rock,
Our helpless rast was splitted in the midst.
Her part (poor soul) burthen'd with lesser weight,
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 would have 'reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail.

Duke.
Relate at full
What hath befallen to them, and thee 'till now.

Ægeon.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years, became inquisitive
After his brother, and importun'd me
That his attendant (for his case was like,
'Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name)
Might bear him company, in quest of him,
Whom, while I labour'd of a love to see,
I yielded to the loss of him I lov'd.
Since which unhappy time, no news arriving
What course their wayward stars had hurry'd them,
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
Roaming ev'n through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
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 th' extremity of dire mishap,
Now trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee:
But though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence cannot be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can.
I, therefore, merchant, limit thee this day
To seek thy life, by beneficial help;
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus,

Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live—if not, then art thou doom'd to die. [Exit, with guards.

Ægeon.
What friends can misery expect?
This pity but prolongs the date of pain:
And to a sure, though short protracted end,
Helpless and hopeless doth Ægeon wend. [Exit, guarded. SCENE II. A Street. Enter Antipholis of Syracuse, Dromio of Syracuse, and 1st Merchant.

1st Mer.
Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods be forfeit to the state.
This very day a Syracusan merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And, not being able to buy out his life,
Dies e'er the weary sun sets in the west.—
There is your money which I had to keep.

An. of Syr.
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 then 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 sick and weary.
Get thee away!

Dr. of Syr.
Many a man would take you at your word,
And go away indeed, having so great
A treasure in his charge.—Of what strengh do
You conceive my honesty, good master,
That you dare put it to such temptation?

An. of Syr.
Of proof against a greater charge than this;
Were it remiss, thy love would strengthen it:
I think thou would'st not wrong me if thou could'st.

Dr. of Syr.
I hope I should not, sir; but there is such
A thing as trusting too far.—Odds heart, 'tis
A weighty matter, and, if ballanc'd in
A stilliard against my honesty
I doubt—

An. of Sy.
That very doubt is my security.—
No further argument, but speed away.

Dr. of Sy.
Ay, but master, you know the old saying—

An. of Sy.
Then thou hast no occasion to tell it me.—
Begone, I say.— [Exit Dromio of Syr.
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?

1st Mer.
I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit:
I crave your pardon—but at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet you here upon the mart,
And afterwards consort with you till bed-time.
My present business calls me from you now.

An. of Syr.
Farewell 'till then.—I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down to view the city.

1st Mer.
Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit.

An. of Syr.
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, failing there to find his fellow out,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother, and a brother,
In search of them, unhappy, lose myself.— Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
How now! How chance thou art return'd so soon?

Dr. of Eph.
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 for your default to-day.

An. of Sy.
Stop in your wind, sir;—tell me this, I pray,
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

Dr. of Eph.
Money!—Oh, the money that I had on
Wednesday last, to pay for mending my
Mistress's saddle.—The sadler had it, sir,
I kept it not.

An. of Syr.
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?

Dr. of Eph.
I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner—
I from my mistress come to you in haste.
Methinks your stomach, like mine, should be your clock,
And send you home without a messenger.

An. of Syr.
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?

Dr. of Eph.
To me, sir!—why, you gave no gold to me!

An. of Syr
Come, come, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd my charge.

Dr. of Eph.
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.

An. of Syr.
Now, as I am a Christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of your's,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd.
Where are the thousand marks thou had'st of me?

Dr. of Eph.
I have some marks of your's upon my pate,
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
Between you both they make perhaps a thousand:
If I should pay your worship these again,
Perchance you will not take it patiently.

An. of Syr.
Thy mistress' marks!—What mistress, slave, hast thou?

Dr. of Eph.
Your worship's wife, my mistress, at the Phœnix,
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will haste you.

An. of Syr.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid?—There, take you that, sir knave.

Dr. of Eph.
What mean you, sir?—for Heaven's sake, hold your hands—
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit.

An. of Syr.
Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain has been trick'd of all my money.

They say this town is full of cozenage;
If it proves so, I will be gone the sooner.
Misguided by my hopes, in doubt I stray,
To seek what I, perchance, may never find.
May not the cruel hand of destiny,
Ere this, have render'd all my searches vain?
If so, how wretched has my folly made me!
In luckless hour, alas! I left my home,
And the fond comforts of a father's love,
That only bliss my fortune had in store,
For dubious pleasures on a foreign shore. [Exit.

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