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 has 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,
Will come, or go—therefore be patient, sister.

Ad.
Why should their liberty be more than ours?

Luc.
Because their bus'ness still lies out of door.

Ad.
Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

Luc.
He is the bridle of your actions, sister.

Ad.
None, but an ideot, would be bridled so.

Luc.
Why, headstrong liberty belongs to man,
And ill besits a woman's gentle mind.
There's nothing situate under Heaven's eye,
But hath it's bound in earth, in sea, and air;
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged tribes,
Are their males subjects, and at their controul.
Man, more divine, the master of them all
Indued with intellectual sense and soul,
Is master to his female—nay her lord!
Let then your will attend on his commands.

Ad.
This servitude makes you remain unwed.

Luc.
Not this, but troubles of the marriage state.

Ad.
But were you wedded, you would bear some rule.

Luc.
Before I wed I'll practise to obey.

Ad.
How, if your husband start some other where?

Luc.
With all the gentle, artificial means,
That patient meekness, and domestic cares
Could bring to my relief, I would beguile
The intervening hours, till he, tir'd out

With empty transient pleasures, should return
To seek content and happiness at home—
With smiles I'd welcome him, and put in practice
Each soothing art, that kindness could suggest,
To wean his mind from such delusive joys.

Ad.
O special reasoning! well may they be patient,
Who never had a cause for anger given them!
How easily we cure another's grief!
But, were we burthen'd with like weight of woe,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain.
So thou, who hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
Would'st comfort me, by urging helpless patience;
But should'st thou live to see these griefs thine own,
This boasted patience would be thrown aside.

Luc.
Well, I will marry one day, but to try—
Here comes your man, now is your husband near. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Ad.
Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

Dr. of Eph.
Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

Ad.
Say, did'st thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

Dr. of Eph.
Ay, ay, he told his mind upon my ear;
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

Luc.

Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not find his meaning?

Dr. of Eph.

Nay he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows: and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

Ad.
But say, I pray thee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife!

Dr. of Eph.
Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.

Luc.
Horn-mad, thou villain!

Dr. of Eph.
I mean not cuckold-mad, but sure he's 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—
Where are 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 do not know thy mistress—out on thy mistress!

Luc.
Quoth who?

Dr. of Eph.
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 hither.

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

Dr. of Eph.
Go back again, and be new beaten home!
For heaven's sake, send some other messenger.

Ad.
Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.

Dr. of Eph.
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.

Luc.
Fie! how impatience lowereth on your brow!

Ad.
His company must do his minions grace,
While I, at home, starve for a cheerful look.
Hath homely age th' alluring beauty stole
From my poor cheek? no, he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses low? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be dull'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 fortunes.
What ruins are in me, that can be found
By him not ruin'd?—Then is he the cause
Of my defeatures—my decayed beauty,
A sunny look of his would soon repair:
But, too unruly deer! he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home—poor I am left despis'd.

Luc.
Self-harming jealousy! fie! beat it hence.

Ad.
I know his eye doth homage other-where,
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis'd me a bracelet—
Some stranger fair hath caught his truant eye,
And triumphs in the gifts design'd for me.
Such trifles yet with ease I could forego,
So I were sure he left his heart at home!
I see the jewel best enameled
Will lose its lustre—so doth Adriana—
Whom once, unwearied with continual gazing,
He fondly call'd the treasure of his life!
Now, since my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. [Exeunt.

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