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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