S. Dro.
Here, go; the desk, the purse; sweet now, make haste.

Luc.
How hast thou lost thy breath?

S. Dro.
By running fast.

Adr.
Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

S. Dro.
No, he's in Tartar Limbo, worse than hell;
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,
One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel:
A fiend, a (a) ^notefury, pitiless and rough,
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that commands
The passages of allies, creeks, and narrow lands;
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well;
One, that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.

Adr.

Why, man, what is the matter?

S. Dro.

I do not know the matter; he is 'rested on the case.

Adr.

What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit.

S. Dro.

I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; but he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that I can tell. Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the mony in his desk?

Adr.
Go fetch it, sister. This I wonder at, [Exit Luciana.
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt!
Tell me, was he arrested on a bond?

S. Dro.
Not on a bond, but on a stronger thing,
A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring?

Adr.
What, the chain?

S. Dro.
No; no; the bell; 'tis time that I were gone.
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.

Adr.
The hours come back! that I did never hear.

S. Dro.
O yes, if any hour meet a serjeant, a' turns back for very fear.

Adr.
As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason?

S. Dro.
Time is a very bankrout, and owes more than he's worth, to season.
Nay, he's a thief too; have you not heard men say,
That Time comes stealing on by night and day?
If Time be in debt and theft, and a serjeant in the way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Enter Luciana.

Adr.
Go, Dromio; there's the mony, bear it straight,
  And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister, I am prest down with conceit;
  Conceit, my comfort and my injury. [Exeunt.

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