E. Ant.
Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all:
My Wife is shrewish when I keep not Hours;
Say, that I linger'd with you at your Shop
To see the making of her Carkanet,
And that to Morrow you will bring it Home.
But here's a Villain that would face me down,
He met me on the Mart, and that I beat him,
And charg'd him with a thousand Marks in Gold;
And that I did deny my Wife and House:
Thou Drunkard thou, what didst thou mean by this?

E. Dro.
Say what you will, Sir, but I know what I know,
That you beat me at the Mart, I have your Hand to show;
If the Skin were Parchment, and the Blows you gave were Ink,
Your Hand-writing would tell you what I think.

E. Ant.
I think thou art an Ass.

E. Dro.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the Wrongs I suffer, and the Blows I bear;

I should kick being kickt; and being at that pass,
You would keep from my Heels, and beware of an Ass.

E. Ant.
Y'are sad, Signior Balthazar: Pray God our Cheer
May answer my good Will, and your good Welcome here.

Bal.
I hold your Dainties cheap, Sir, and your welcome dear.

E. Ant.
Ah Signior Balthazar, either at Flesh or Fish,
A Table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty Dish.

Bal.
Good Meat, Sir, is common, that every Churl affords.

E. Ant.
And Welcome more common; for that's nothing but Words.

Bal.
Small Cheer, and great Welcome, makes a merry Feast.

E. Ant.
Ay, to a niggardly Host, and more sparing Guest:
But tho' my Cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better Cheer may you have, but not with a better Heart.
But soft; my Door is lockt; go bid them let us in.

E. Dro.
Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cisly, Gillian, Ginn.

S. Dro. within.
Mome, Malt-horse, Capon, Coxcomb, Idiot Patch.
Either get thee from the Door, or sit down at the Hatch:
Dost thou conjure for Wenches, that thou call'st for such store,
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the Door.

E. Dro.
What Patch is made our Porter? My Master stays in the Street.

S. Dro.
Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's Feet.

E. Ant.
Who talks within there? Hoa, open the Door.

S. Dro.
Right, Sir, I'll tell you when, and you'll tell me wherefore.

E. Ant.
Wherefore? for my Dinner: I have not din'd to Day.

S. Dro.
Nor to Day here you must not: Come again when you may.

E. Ant.
What art thou that keep'st me out from the House I owe?

S. Dro.
The Porter for this time, Sir, and my Name is Dromio.

E. Dro.
O Villain, thou hast stol'n both mine Office and my Name.
The one ne'er got me Credit, the other mickle Blame;

If thou hadst been Dromio to Day in my place,
Thou wouldst have chang'd thy Face for a Name, or thy Name for an Ass.

Luce. within.
What a Coile is there, Dromio? Who are those at the Gate?

E. Dro.
Let my Master in, Luce.

Luce.
Faith, no; he comes too late; and so tell your Master.

E. Dro.
O Lord, I must laugh; have at you with a Proverb.
Shall I set in my Staff?

Luce.
Have at you with another; that's when? Can you tell?

S. Dro.
If thy Name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

E. Ant.
Do you hear, you Minion, you'll let us in, I hope?

Luce.
I thought to have askt you.

S. Dro.
And you said, no.

E. Dro.
So, come, help, well struck; there was Blow for Blow.

E. Ant.
Thou Baggage, let me in.

Luce.
Can you tell for whose sake?

E. Dro.
Master, knock the Door hard.

Luce.
Let him knock 'till it ake.

E. Ant.
You'll cry for this, Minion, if I beat the Door down.

Luce.
What needs all that, and a pair of Stocks in the Town?

Adr. within.
Who is that at the Door that keeps all this Noise?

S. Dro.
By my Troth, your Town is troubled with unruly Boys.

E. Ant.
Are you there, Wife? You might have come before.

Adr.
Your Wife, Sir Knave! Go get you from the Door.

E. Dro.
If you went in pain, Master, this Knave would go sore.

Ang.
Here is neither Cheer, Sir, nor Welcome; we would fain have either.

Bal.
In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

E. Dro.
They stand at the Door, Master; bid them Welcome hither.

E. Ant.
There is something in the Wind, that we cannot get in.

E. Dro.
You would say so, Master, if your Garments were thin.
Your Cake here is warm within: You stand here in the Cold.
It would make a Man as mad as a Buck to be so bought and sold.

E. Ant.
Go fetch me something, I'll break ope the Gate.

S. Dro.
Break any breaking here, and I'll break your Knave's Pate.

E. Dro.
A Man may break a Word with you, Sir, and Words are but Wind;
Ay, and break it in your Face, so he break it not behind.

S. Dro.
It seems thou want'st breaking; Out upon thee, Hind.

E. Dro.
Here's too much: Out upon thee; I pray thee let me in.

S. Dro.
Ay, when Fowls have no Feathers, and Fish have no Fin.

E. Ant.
Well, I'll break in; go borrow me a Crow.

E. Dro.
A Crow without Feather, Master, mean you so?
For a Fish without a Fin, there's a Fowl without a Feather:
If a Crow help us in, Sirrah, we'll pluck a Crow together.

E. Ant.
Go, get thee gone, fetch me an Iron Crow.

Bal.
Have patience, Sir: Oh let it not be so,
Herein you war against your Reputation,
And draw within the compass of Suspect
Th' unviolated Honour of your Wife.
Once this; your long experience of her Wisdom,
Her sober Virtue, Years and Modesty,
Plead on her part some Cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the Doors are made against you.
Be rul'd by me, depart in Patience,
And let us to the Tyger all to Dinner,
And about Evening come your self alone,
To know the Reason of this strange Restraint.
If by strong Hand you offer to break in

Now in the stirring Passage of the Day,
A vulgar Comment will be made of it;
And that supposed by the common Rout,
Against your yet ungalled Estimation,
That may with foul Intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your Grave when you are dead:
For Slander lives upon Succession,
For ever hous'd where it once gets Possession.

E. Ant.
You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And in despight of Mirth mean to be merry.
I know a Wench of excellent Discourse,
Pretty and witty, wild, and yet too gentle;
There will we dine: This Woman that I mean,
My Wife, but I protest without Desert,
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to Dinner. Get you home,
And fetch the Chain; by this I know 'tis made;
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
For there's the House: That Chain I will bestow,
Be it for nothing but to spight my Wife,
Upon my Hostess there; good Sir, make haste:
Since my own Doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

Ang.
I'll meet you at that Place, some Hour, Sir, hence.

E. Ant.
Do so; this Jest shall cost me some Expence. [Exe. Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracuse.

Luc.
And may it be, that you have quite forgot
A Husband's Office? Shall Antipholis,
Even in the Spring of Love, thy Love-springs rot?
Shall Love in Buildings grow so ruinate?
If you did wed my Sister for her Wealth,
Then for her Wealths-sake use her with more Kindness;
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth,
Muffle your false Love with some shew of Blindness;
Let not my Sister read it in your Eye;
Be not thy Tongue thy own Shame's Orator;
Look sweet, speak fair; become Disloyalty;
Apparel Vice like Virtue's Harbinger;
Bear a fair Presence, tho' your Heart he tainted;
Teach Sin the carriage of a holy Saint;
Be secret False: What need she be acquainted?

What simple Thief brags of his own Attaint?
'Tis double Wrong to truant with your Bed,
And let her read it in thy Looks at Board:
Shame hath a Bastard-fame, well managed;
Ill Deeds are doubled with an evil Word:
Alas poor Women, make us not believe,
Being compact of Credit, that you love us;
Tho' others have the Arm, shew us the Sleeve:
We in your Motion run; and you may move us.
Then, gentle Brother, get you in again;
Comfort my Sister, chear her, call her Wife:
'Tis holy Sport to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of Flattery conquers Strife.

S. Ant.
Sweet Mistress; what your Name is else, I know not;
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine:
Less in your Knowledge, and your Grace you show not,
Than our Earth's Wonder, more than Earth, Divine.
Teach me, dear Creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy gross Conceit,
Smother'd in Errors, feeble, shadow, weak,
The foulded meaning of your Words deceit;
Against my Soul's pure Truth, why labour you,
To make it wander in an unknown Field?
Are you a God? would you create me new?
Transform me then, and to your Power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know
Your weeping Sister is no Wife of mine,
Nor to her Bed a Homage do I owe;
Far more, far more to you do I decline:
Oh train me not, sweet Mermaid, with thy Note,
To drown me in thy Sister's flood of Tears;
Sing Siren for thy self, and I will dote;
Spread o'er the silver Waves thy golden Hairs,
And as a Bed I'll take thee, and there lye:
And in that glorious Supposition think,
He gains by Death that hath such means to die;
Let Love, being light, be drowned if he sink.

Luc.
What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

S. Ant.
Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.

Luc.
It is a Fault that springeth from your Eye.

S. Ant.
For gazing on your Beams, fair Sun being by.

Luc.
Gaze when you should, and that will clear your Sight.

S. Ant.
As good to wink, sweet Love, as look on Night.

Luc.
Why call you me, Love? call my Sister so.

S. Ant.
Thy Sister's Sister.

Luc.
That's my Sister.

S. Ant.
No; it is thy self, mine own self's better Part:
Mine Eye's clear Eye, my dear Heart's dearer Heart,
My Food, my Fortune, and my sweet Hope's Aim,
My sole Earth's Heav'n, and my Heaven's Claim.

Luc.
All this my Sister is, or else should be.

S. Ant.
Call thy self, Sister sweet; for I am thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my Life,
Thou hast no Husband yet, nor I no Wife;
Give me thy Hand.

Luc.
Oh soft, Sir, hold you still;
I'll fetch my Sister, to get her good Will. [Exit Luc. Enter Dromio of Siracuse.

S. Ant.
Why how now, Dromio, where runn'st thou so fast?

S. Dro.
Do you know me, Sir? am I Dromio? am I your Man? am I my self?

S. Ant.
Thou art Dromio, thou art my Man, thou art thy self.

S. Dro.
I am an Ass, I am a Woman's Man, and besides my self.

S. Ant.
What Woman's Man? and how besides thy self?

S. Dro.
Marry, Sir, besides my self, I am due to a Woman;
One that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

S. Ant.

What Claim lays she to thee?

S. Dro.

Marry, Sir, such Claim as you would lay to your Horse; and she would have me as a Beast: Not that I being a Beast she would have me, but that she being a very beastly Creature, lays Claim to me.

S. Ant.

What is she?

S. Dro.

A very reverent Body; ay, such a one as a Man may not speak of, without he say, Sir-reverence: I have but lean luck in the Match; and yet is she a wondrous fat Marriage.

S. Ant.

How dost thou mean, a fat Marriage?

S. Dro.

Marry, Sir, she's the Kitchin-wench, and all Grease, and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a Lamp

of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her Rags, and the Tallow in them, will burn a Poland Winter: If she lives 'till Doomsday, she'll burn a Week longer than the whole World.

S. Ant.

What Complexion is she of?

S. Dro.

Swart, like my Shoe, but her Face nothing like so clean kept; for why? she sweats, a Man may go over-shoes in the Grime of it.

S. Ant.

That's a Fault that Water will mend.

S. Dro.

No, Sir, 'tis in Grain; Noah's Flood could not do it.

S. Ant.

What's her Name?

S. Dro.

Nell, Sir; but her Name is three Quarters; that's an Ell and three Quarters will not measure her from Hip to Hip.

S. Ant.

Then she bears some breadth?

S. Dro.

No longer from Head to Foot, than from Hip to Hip; she is Spherical, like a Globe: I could find out Countries in her.

S. Ant.

In what part of her Body stands Ireland?

S. Dro.

Marry, Sir, in her Buttocks; I found it out by the Bogs.

S. Ant.

Where Scotland?

S. Dro.

I found it by the Barrenness, hard in the Palm of her Hand.

S. Ant.

Where France?

S. Dro.

In her Forehead, arm'd and reverted, making War against her Hair.

S. Ant.

Where England?

S. Dro.

I look'd for the chalky Cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them; but I guess, it stood in her Chin, by the salt Rheum that ran between France and it.

S. Ant.

Where Spain?

S. Dro.

Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her Breath.

S. Ant.

Where America, the Indies?

S. Bro.

Oh, Sir, upon her Nose, all o'er embellished with Rubies, Carbuncles, Saphires, declining their rich Aspect to the hot Breath of Spain, who sent whole Armadoes of Carracts to be ballast at her Nose.

S. Ant.

Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

S. Dro.

Oh, Sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this Drudge, or Diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me Dromio,

swore I was assur'd to her, told me what privy Marks I had about me, as the Marks on my Shoulder, the Mole in my Neck, the great Wart on my left Arm, that I, amaz'd, ran from her, as a Witch. And I think, if my Breast had not been made of Faith, and my Heart of Steel, she had transform'd me to a Curtal Dog, and made me turn i' th' Wheel.

S. Ant.
Go hie thee presently; post to the Road;
And if the Wind blow any way from Shore,
I will not harbour in this Town to Night.
If any Bark put forth, come to the Mart;
Where I will walk 'till thou return to me:
If every one knows us, and we know none,
'Tis time I think to trudge, pack and be gone.

S. Dro.
As from a Bear a Man would run for Life,
So fly I from her that would be my Wife. [Exit.

S. Ant.
There's none but Witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence:
She that doth call me Husband, even my Soul
Doth for a Wife abhor: But her fair Sister,
Possest with such a gentle Sovereign Grace,
Of such inchanting Presence and Discourse,
Hath almost made me Traitor to my self:
But lest my self be guilty to Self-wrong,
I'll stop mine Ears against the Mermaid's Song. Enter Angelo with a Chain.

Ang.
Mr. Antipholis.

S. Ant.
Ay, that's my Name.

Ang.
I know it well, Sir, lo, here's the Chain;
I thought to have tane you at the Porcupine;
The Chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

S. Ant.
What is your Will that I shall do with this?

Ang.
What please your self, Sir: I have made it for you.

S. Ant.
Make it for me, Sir! I bespoke it not.

Ang.
Not once, not twice, but twenty times you have:
Go home with it, and please your Wife withal;
And soon at Supper-time I'll visit you,
And then receive my Mony for the Chain.

S. Ant.
I pray you, Sir, receive the Mony now,
For fear you ne'er see Chain nor Mony more.

Ang.
You are a merry Man, Sir; fare you well. [Exit.

S. Ant.
What I should think of this, I cannot tell:
But this I think, there's no Man is so vain,
That would refuse so fair an offer'd Chain.
I see a Man here needs not live by Shifts,
When in the Streets he meets such golden Gifts:
I'll to the Mart, and there for Dromio stay;
If any Ship put out, then strait away. [Exit.