Luciana.
Adr.
Neither my Husband, nor the Slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek his Master;
Sure, Luciana, it is two a Clock.
Luc.
Perhaps some Merchant hath 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:
Time is their Master, and when they see time,
They'll go or come; if so, be patient, Sister.
Adr.
Why should their Liberty than ours be more?
Luc.
Because their Business still lyes out a-door.
Adr.
Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc.
Oh, know he is the Bridle of your Will.
Adr.
There's none but Asses will be bridled so.
Luc.
Why, head-strong Liberty is lasht with Wo.
There's nothing situate under Heav'n's Eye,
But hath its bound in Earth, in Sea, in Sky:
The Beasts, the Fishes, and the winged Fowls,
Are their Male's Subjects, and at their Controuls:
Man more divine, the Master of all these,
Lord of the wide Word, and wide watry Seas,
Indu'd with intellectual Sense and Soul,
Of more Preheminence than Fish and Fowl,
Are Masters to their Females, and their Lords:
Then let your Will attend on their Accords.
Adr.
This Servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc.
Not this, but Troubles of the Marriage-bed.
Adr.
But were you wedded, you would bear some Sway.
Luc.
E'er I learn Love, I'll practise to Obey.
Adr.
How if your Husband start some other where?
Luc.
'Till he come home again I would forbear.
Adr.
Patience unmov'd, no marvel tho' she pause;
They can be meek that have no other Cause:
A wretched Soul bruis'd with Adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of Pain,
As much, or more we should our selves complain:
-- 281 --
So thou that hast no unkind Mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless Patience wouldst relieve me:
But if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg'd Patience in thee will be left.
Luc.
Well, I will marry one day but to try;
Here comes your Man, now is your Husband nigh.
Enter Dromio Eph.
Adr.
Say, is your tardy Master now at hand?
E. Dro.
Nay, he's at two Hands with me, and that my
two Ears can witness.
Adr.
Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his
Mind?
E. Dro.
Ay, ay, he told his Mind upon mine Ear,
Beshrew his Hand, I scarce could understand it.
Luc.
Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not feel his
Meaning?
E. Dro.
Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel
his Blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand
them.
Adr.
But say, I prethee, is he coming home?
It seems he hath great Care to please his Wife.
E. Dro.
Why, Mistress, sure my Master is Horn-mad.
Adr.
Horn-mad, thou Villain?
E. Dro.
I mean not Cuckold-mad;
But sure he is 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:
Will you come, quoth I? My Gold, quoth he:
Where is 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 know not thy Mistress; out on thy Mistress.
Luc.
Quoth who?
E. Dro.
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 there.
Adr.
Go back again, thou Slave, and fetch him home.
-- 282 --
E. Dro.
Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For God's sake send some other Messenger.
Adr.
Back, Slave, or I will break thy Pate across.
E. Dro.
And he will bless that Cross with other beating:
Between you I shall have a holy Head.
Adr.
Hence, prating Peasant, fetch thy Master home.
E. Dro.
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 lowreth in your Face!
Adr.
His Company must do his Minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry Look:
Hath homely Age th' alluring Beauty took
From my poor Cheek? Then he hath wasted it.
Are my Discourses dull? Barren my Wit?
If voluble and sharp Discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blots it more than Marble hard.
Do their gay Vestments his Affections bait?
That's not my Fault; he's Master of my State.
What Ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground
Of my Defeatures. My decayed fair,
A sunny Look of his would soon repair.
But, too unruly Deer, he breaks the Pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his Stale.
Luc.
Self-harming Jealousie; fie, beat it hence.
Adr.
Unfeeling Fools can with such Wrongs dispense:
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 Chain,
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his Bed.
I see the Jewel best enameled
Will lose his Beauty; yet the Gold bides still
That others touch, and often touching will:
Since that my Beauty cannot please his Eye,
I'll weep, what's left, away, and weeping die.
Luc.
How many fond Fools serve mad Jealousie?
[Exeunt.
-- 283 --
Enter Antipholis of Syracuse.
Ant.
The Gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful Slave
Is wander'd forth in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine Host's report,
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the Mart. See here he comes.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
How now, Sir? is your merry Humour alter'd?
As you love Stroaks, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? You receiv'd no Gold?
Your Mistress sent to have me home to Dinner?
My House was at the Phœnix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me:
S. Dro.
What answer, Sir? When spake I such a Word?
Ant.
Even now, even here, not half an Hour since.
S. Dro.
I did not see you since you sent me hence
Home to the Centaur, with the Gold you gave me.
Ant.
Villain, thou didst deny the Gold's Receipt,
And told'st me of a Mistress, and a Dinner;
For which I hope thou felt'st I was dipleas'd.
S. Dro.
I am glad to see you in this merry Vein:
What means this jest, I pray you, Master, tell me?
Ant.
Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the Teeth?
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
[Beats Dro.
S. Dro.
Hold, Sir, for God's sake, now your Jest is Earnest;
Upon what Bargain do you give it me?
Ant.
Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my Fool, and chat with you,
Your Sawciness will jest upon my Love,
And make a Common of my serious Hours.
When the Sun shines let foolish Gnats make sport,
But creep in Crannies when he hides his Beams:
If you will jest with me, know my Aspect,
And fashion your Demeanor to my Looks;
Or I will beat this Method in your Sconce.
E. Dro.
Sconce, call you it? So you would leave battering,
I had rather have it a Head; an you use these Blows
long, I must get a Sconce for my Head, and insconce it too,
or else I shall seek my Wit in my Shoulders: But I pray,
Sir, why am I beaten?
-- 284 --
Ant.
Dost thou not know?
S. Dro.
Nothing, Sir, but that I am beaten.
Ant.
Shall I tell you why?
S. Dro.
Ay, Sir, and wherefore; for they say, every why
hath a wherefore.
Ant.
Why, first for flouting me; and then wherefore, for
urging it the second time to me.
S. Dro.
Was there ever any Man thus beaten out of Season,
when in the Why and the Wherefore is neither Rhime
nor Reason. Well, Sir, I thank you.
Ant.
Thank me, Sir, for what?
S. Dro.
Marry, Sir, for this something that you gave me
for nothing.
Ant.
I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for
something. But say, Sir, is it Dinner-time?
S. Dro.
No, Sir; I think the Meat wants that I have.
Ant.
In good time, Sir; what's that?
S. Dro.
Basting.
Ant.
Well, Sir, then 'twill be dry.
S. Dro.
If it be, Sir, I pray you eat not of it.
Ant.
Your Reason?
S. Dro.
Lest it make you Cholerick, and purchase me another
dry basting.
Ant.
Well, Sir, learn to jest in good time; there's a time
for all things.
S. Dro.
I durst have deny'd that, before you were so cholerick.
Ant.
By what Rule, Sir?
S. Dro.
Marry, Sir, by a Rule as plain as the plain bald
Pate of Father Time himself.
Ant.
Let's hear it.
S. Dro.
There's no time for a Man to recover his Hair
that grows bald by Nature.
Ant.
May he not do it by Fine and Recovery?
S. Dro.
Yes, to pay a Fine for a Peruke, and recover the
lost Hair of another Man.
Ant.
Why, is Time such a niggard of Hair, being, as it
is, so plentiful an Excrement?
S. Dro.
Because it is a Blessing that he bestows on Beasts;
and what he hath scanted them in Hair, he hath given them
in Wit.
-- 285 --
Ant.
Why, but there's many a Man hath more Hair than
Wit.
S. Dro.
Not a Man of those but he hath the Wit to lose
his Hair.
Ant.
Why, thou didst conclude hairy Men plain Dealers
without Wit.
S. Dro.
The plainer Dealer, the sooner lost; yet he loseth
it in a kind of Jollity.
Ant.
For what Reason?
S. Dro.
For two, and sound ones too.
Ant.
Nay, not sound ones, I pray you.
S. Dro.
Sure ones then.
Ant.
Nay, not sure in a thing falsing.
S. Dro.
Certain ones then.
Ant.
Name them.
S. Dro.
The one to save the Mony that he spends in trimming;
the other, that at Dinner they should not drop in his
Porrage.
Ant.
You would all this time have prov'd, there is no
time for all things.
S. Dro.
Marry, and did, Sir, namely, no time to recover
Hair lost by Nature.
Ant.
But your Reason was not substantial, why there is
no time to recover.
S. Dro.
Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore
to the World's end, will have bald Followers.
Ant.
I knew 'twould be a bald Conclusion; but soft, who
wafts us yonder?
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Adr.
Ay, ay, Antipholis, look strange and frown;
Some other Mistress hath some sweet Aspects.
I am not Adriana, nor thy Wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow,
That never Words were Musick to thine Ear,
That never Object pleasing in thine Eye,
That never Touch well welcome to thy Hand,
That never Meat sweet-savour'd in thy Taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my Husband, oh how comes it,
That thou art thus estranged from thy self?
Thy self, I call it, being strange to me:
-- 286 --
That undividable Incorporate
Am better than thy dear Self's better Part.
Ah do not tear away thy self from me;
For know, my Love, as easie may'st thou fall
A Drop of Water in the breaking Gulf,
And take unmingled thence that Drop again,
Without addition or diminishing,
As take from me thy self, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou hear I were licentious;
And that this Body consecrate to thee,
By Ruffian Lust should be contaminate?
Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the Name of Husband in my Face,
And tear the stain'd Skin of my Harlot-brow,
And from my false Hand cut the Wedding-Ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing Vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.
I am possest with an adulterate Blot;
My Blood is mingled with the crime of Lust:
For if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the Poison of my Flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy Contagion.
Keep thou fair League and Truce with thy true Bed;
I live distain'd, and thou dishonoured.
Ant.
Plead you to me, fair Dame? I know you not:
In Ephesus I am but two Hours old,
As strange unto your Town as to your Talk,
Who every Word by all my Wit being scann'd,
Wants Wit in all one Word to understand.
Luc.
Fie, Brother, how the World is chang'd with you;
When were you wont to use my Sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to Dinner.
Ant.
By Dromio?
S. Dro.
By me.
Adr.
By thee; and thus thou didst return from him,
That he did buffet thee, and in his Blows,
Deny'd my House for his, me for his Wife.
Ant.
Did you converse, Sir, with this Gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your Compact?
S. Dro.
I, Sir? I never saw her 'till this time.
-- 287 --
Ant.
Villain, thou liest; for even her very Words
Didst thou deliver to me on the Mart.
S. Dro.
I never spake with her in all my Life.
Ant.
How can she thus then call us by our Names,
Unless it be by Inspiration?
Adr.
How ill agrees it with your Gravity,
To counterfeit thus grosly with your Slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my Mood?
By it my Wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that Wrong with a more Contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this Sleeve of thine;
Thou art an Elm, my Husband, I a Vine:
Whose Weakness marry'd to thy stronger State,
Makes me with thy Strength to communicate;
If ought possess thee from me, it is Dross,
Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss,
Who all for want of pruning, with Intrusion,
Infect thy Sap, and live on thy Confusion.
Ant.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her Theam;
What, was I marry'd to her in my Dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What Error drives our Eyes and Ears amiss?
Until I know this sure Uncertainty,
I'll entertain the freed Fallacy.
Luc.
Dromio, go bid the Servants spread for Dinner.
S. Dro.
Oh for my Beads, I cross me for a Sinner.
This is the Fairy Land: Oh Spight of Spights;
We talk with Goblins, Owls, and Elves Sprights;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They'll suck our Breath, or pinch us black and blue.
Luc.
Why prat'st thou to thy self,
Dromio, thou Dromio, Snail, thou Slug, thou Sot?
S. Dro.
I am transformed, Master, am I not?
Ant.
I think thou art in Mind, and so am I.
S. Dro.
Nay, Master, both in Mind and in my Shape.
Ant.
Thou hast thine own Form.
S. Dro.
No; I am an Ape.
Luc.
If thou art chang'd to ought, 'tis to an Ass.
S. Dro.
'Tis true, she rides me, and I long for Grass.
'Tis so; I am an Ass; else it could never be,
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
-- 288 --
Adr.
Come, come, no longer will I be a Fool,
To put the Finger in the Eye and weep,
Whilst Man and Master laughs my Woes to scorn.
Come, Sir, to Dinner; Dromio, keep the Gate;
Husband, I'll dine above with you to Day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle Pranks:
Sirrah, if any ask you for your Master,
Say, he dines forth, and let no Creature enter:
Come, Sister; Dromio, play the Porter well.
Ant.
Am I in Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell?
Sleeping or waking, mad or well advis'd;
Known unto these, and to my self disguis'd?
I'll say as they say, and persevere so;
And in this Mist at all Adventures go.
S. Dro.
Master, shall I be Porter at the Gate?
Adr.
Ay, and let none enter, lest I break your Pate.
Luc.
Come, come, Antipholis, we dine too late.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
