Introductory matter

Persons represented. Solinus, Duke of Ephesus. Egeon [Aegeon], an old Merchant of Syracuse. Antiphilus Syracusan [Antipholus of Syracuse] Twin to Antiphilus Ephesian, Son to Egeon and Emilia. Antiphilus Ephesian [Antipholus of Ephesus] Twin to Antiphilus Syracusan, Son to Egeon and Emilia. Dromio Syracusan [Dromio of Syracuse] Twin to Dromio Ephesian, Attendant on Antiphilus Syracusan. Dromio Ephesian [Dromio of Ephesus] Twin to Dromio Syracus, Attendant on Antiphilus Ephesian. Doctor Pinch [Pinch], a Conjurer. Angelo, a Goldsmith. Balthazar [Balthasar], a Merchant. two other Merchants [Merchant], Jailer [Gaoler], Officer, Servant to Adriana [Servant]. Emilia [Aemilia], Wife to Egeon, living an Abbess in Ephesus. Adriana, Wife to Antiphilus Ephesian: Luciana, her Sister: Luce, her Maid. ^note Divers other Officers, Citizens, Guards, &c. Scene, Ephesus.

The COMEDY of ERRORS. ACT. I. 14Q0127 I. SCENE Ephesus. A publick Place. Enter Duke, attended; Egeon, Jailer, Officers, &c.

Ege.
Proceed, Solinus ^note, to procure my fall;
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.

Duke.
Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial, to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants our well-dealing countrymen,—
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,—
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffick to our adverse towns:
Nay, more, If any, born at Ephesus,

Be seen at Syracusan ^note marts and fairs,
Again, if any, Syracusan born,
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransom ^note him:
Thy substance, valu'd at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to dye.

Ege.
Yet this my comfort, when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke.
Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Ege.
A heavier task14Q0128 could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs ^note unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too ^note, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, 'till my factor's death;
And he great store of goods at random ^note leaving ^note
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting, under
The pleasing punishment that women bear)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.

There had she not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A poor ^note mean woman was delivered
Of such a burthen, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home-return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragick instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings ^note of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was,—for other means was none.
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;

To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other: ^note
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixt,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
Which floating ^note straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carry'd towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun ^note, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas waxt ^note calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus ^note this:
But ere they came,—O, let me say no more;
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke.
Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Ege.
O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently born upon ^{note note},
Our helpful ship14Q0129 was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carry'd with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ^note ship had seiz'd on us;

And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome ^note to their shipwreckt guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark ^note been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bind ^note their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of mine own mishaps.

Duke.
And, for the sake ^note of them thou sorrow'st for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till ^note now.

Ege.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and importun'd me,
That his attendant (for his ^note case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke.
Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me,14Q0130 were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,

My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can:
I'll therefore, ^note merchant, ^note limit thee this day
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, ^note then thou art doom'd to dye:—
So, jailer, take him to thy custody.

Jai.
I will, my lord.

Ege.
Hopeless, and helpless, doth Egeon ^note wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter Antiphilus Syracusan, Dromio Syracusan, and a Merchant.

Mer.
Therefore give out, you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day, a Syracusan merchant
Is apprehended for arrival ^note here;
And, not being able to buy out his life,
According to the statute of the town,
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is &dagger2; your money, that I had to keep.

A. S.
Go, bear it &dagger2; to the centaur, where we host;
And stay there, Dromio, 'till I come to thee.
Within this hour ^note it will be dinner time:
'Till that, 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 stiff and weary.
Get thee away.

D. S.
Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a means. ^note [Exit Dromio.

A. S.
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 my inn ^note, and dine with me?

Mer.
I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit,
I crave your pardon: soon at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
And afterward consort you 'till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.

A. S.
Farewel 'till then: I will go lose myself, ^note
And wander up and down to view the city.

Mer.
Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit Merchant.

A. S.
He that commends me to mine own ^note 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, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother, and a brother,
In quest of them ^note, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio Ephesian.
Here comes the almanack of my true date.—
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon?

D. E.
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 stomack;
You have no stomack, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

A. S.
Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray,
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

D. E.
O, sixpence, that I had o' we'nsday last,
To pay the sadler for my mistress' crupper;—
The sadler had it, sir, I kept it not.

A. S.
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?

D. E.
I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
For she will score your fault upon my pate.
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock ^note, ^note
And strike you home without a messenger.

A. S.
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?

D. E.
To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

A. S.
Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.

D. E.
My charge was but to bring you from the mart
Home to your house, the phœnix, sir, to dinner;

My mistress, and her sister, stays ^note for you.

A. S.
Now, as I am a christian, answer me
In what safe place you have dispos'd my money;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
Where is the ^note thousand marks thou hadst of me?

D. E.
I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
But not a thousand marks between you both:
If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently.

A. S.
Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou?

D. E.
Your worship's wife, my mistress at the phœnix;
She that doth fast, 'till you come home to dinner,
And prays, that you will hye you home to dinner.

A. S.
What, will you flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you † that, sir knave.

D. E.
What mean you, sir? for god's sake, hold your hands:
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit Dromio.

A. S.
Upon my life, by some device, or other,
The villain is o'er-raught ^note of all my money.
They say, this town14Q0131 is full of cozenage;
As nimble juglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin:
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the centaur, to go seek this slave;
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I. The same. Enter Adriana, and 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 o'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 lies out o' door.

Adr.
Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. ^note

Luc.
O, know, he is the bridle of your will.

Adr.
There's none but asses will be bridl'd so.

Luc.
Why, head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subject, and at their controuls;
Men, more divine, the masters ^note of all these,
Lords ^note of the wide world, and wild watry ^note seas,
Indu'd with intellectual sense and soul, ^note
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowl, ^note
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will ^note 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.
Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

Adr.
How if your husband start some otherwhere?

Luc.
'Till he come home again, I would forbear.

Adr.
Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though 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 ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me;
But, if thou live to see like right bereft, ^note
This fool-beg'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 Ephesian.

Adr.
Say, is your tardy master yet at ^note hand?

D. E.
At hand? nay, he is14Q0132 at two hands ^note with me,
That ^note my two ears can witness.

Adr.
Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

D. E.
Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

Luc.
Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel
His meaning?

D. E.
Nay, he strook so plainly, I
Could too well feel his blows; and therewithal
So doubtfully, I ^note could scarce understand them.

Adr.
But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.

D. E.
Why, mistress, sure, my master is horn-mad.

Adr.
Horn-mad, thou villain?

D. E.
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 ^note in gold:
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home, 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 of thy mistress; out on thy mistress, ^note
Quoth he!

Luc.
Quoth who?

D. E.
Why, 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; ^note
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. ^note

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

D. E.
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.

D. E.
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.

D. E.
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 Dromio.

Luc.
Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!

Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the 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 mar'd,
Unkindness blunts it ^note, 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 jealousy! fie, beat it hence.

Adr.
Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispence:
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain;—
'Would that alone alone he ^note would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!—
I see, the jewel, best enameled,
Will lose his ^note beauty; and though gold14Q0133 bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold: and e'en so, man, that hath a name, ^note
By falshood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping dye.

Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! SCENE II. The same.

Enter Antiphilus Syracusan.

A. S.
The gold, I gave to Dromio, is lay'd 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 Syracusan.
How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no centaur&dotup; you receiv'd no gold&dotup;
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner&dotup;
My house was at the phœnix&dotup; Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

D. S.
What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?

A. S.
Ev'n now, ev'n here, not half an hour since.

D. S.
I did not see you since you sent me hence,
Home to the centaur, with the gold you gave me.

A. S.
Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,
And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner;
For which, I hope, hou ^note felt'st I was displeas'd.

D. S.
I am glad to see you in this merry vein:
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

A. S.
Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. [beating him.

D. S.
Hold, sir, for god's sake: now your jest is earnest:
Upon what bargain do you give it me?

A. S.
Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common ^note 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 aspéct,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

D. S.

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 I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?

A. S.

Dost thou not know?

D. S.

Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten.

A. S.

Shall I tell you why?

D. S.

Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, Every why hath a wherefore.

A. S.
First, why ^note,14Q0134—for flouting me: and then, wherefore,—
For urging it the second time to me.

D. S.
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.

A. S.
Thank me, sir? for what?

D. S.

Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

A. S.

I'll make you amends next, to give ^note you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

D. S.

No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I have.

A. S.

In good time, sir, what's that?

D. S.

Basting.

A. S.

Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

D. S.

If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it. ^note

A. S.

Your reason?

D. S.

Lest it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry basting.

A. S.

Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things.

D. S.

I durst have deny'd that, before you were so cholerick.

A. S.

By what rule, sir?

D. S.

Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father time himself.

A. S.

Let's hear it.

D. S.

There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature.

A. S.

May he not do it by fine and recovery?

D. S.

Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another man.

A. S.

Why is time such a niggard of hair to men, being, as it is, so plentiful and excrement?

D. S.

Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: And what he hath scanted them in hair, he hath given them in wit.

A. S.

Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

D. S.

Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

A. S.

Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain-dealers without wit.

D. S.

The plainer-dealer, the sooner lost: Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

A. S.

For what reason?

D. S.

For two; and sound ones too.

A. S.

Nay, not sound, I ^note pray you.

D. S.

Sure ones then.

A. S.

Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

D. S.

Certain ones then.

A. S.

Name them.

D. S.

The one, to save the money that he spends in tyring ^note; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.

A. S.

You would all this time have prov'd, there is ^note no time for all things.

D. S.

Marry, and did, sir; namely, no ^note time to recover hair lost by nature.

A. S.

But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

D. S.

Thus I mend it; Time himself is bald; and, therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.

A. S.
I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion:—
But, soft! who wasts ^note us yonder? Enter Adriana, and Luciana.

Adr.
Ay, ay, Antiphilus, look strange, and frown;
Some other mistress hath thy sweet ^note aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy ^note wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st 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, o, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged ^note from thy self?
Thy self I call it, being strange to me;
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 easy may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingl'd 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,
Should'st thou but ^note hear, I were licentious?
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate?
Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stain'd skin off 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 mingl'd with the crime of lust;
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh, ^note
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live unstain'd ^{note note},14Q0135 thou undishonoured.

A. S.
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 scan'd,
Want ^note 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.

A. S.
By Dromio?

D. S.
By me?

Adr.
By thee; and this thou ^note didst return from him,—
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,
Deny'd my house for his, me for his wife.

A. S.
Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your compáct?

D. S.
I, sir? I never saw her 'till this time.

A. S.
Villain, thou ly'st; for ev'n her very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

D. S.
I never spake with her in all my life.

A. S.
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?
Be 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 ^note state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If ought possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss;
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion,
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

&clquo;A. S.
&clquo;To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:&crquo;
&clquo;What, was I marry'd to her in my dream?&crquo;
&clquo;Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?&crquo;
&clquo;What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?&crquo;
&clquo;Until I know this sure uncertainty,&crquo;
&clquo;I'll entertain the offer'd ^note fallacy.&crquo;

Luc.
Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

D. S.
O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land;—o spight of spights!—
We talk with14Q0136 goblins, ouphs, and elvish sprights ^{note note}:
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They'll suck our breaths, or pinch us black and blue.

Luc.
Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not? ^note
Dromio, thou drone, thou ^note snail, ^note thou slug, thou sot!

D. S.
I am transformed, master, am not I? ^note

A. S.
I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.

D. S.
Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape.

A. S.
Thou hast thine own form.

D. S.
No, I am an ape.

Luc.
If thou art chang'd to ought, 'tis to an ass.

D. S.
'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.

Adr.
Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye, ^note and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laughs ^note 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.

&clquo;A. S.
&clquo;Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?&crquo;
&clquo;Sleeping, or waking? mad, or well-advis'd?&crquo;
&clquo;Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!&crquo;
&clquo;I'll say as they say, and persever so;&crquo;
&clquo;And in this mist at all adventures go.&crquo;

D. S.
Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

A. S.
Ay, and let none enter, left I break thy pate.

Luc.
Come, come, Antiphilus, we dine too late. ACT III. SCENE I. The same. Enter Antiphilus Ephesian, Dromio Ephesian; Angelo, a Goldsmith, and Balthazar, a Merchant.

A. E.
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?

D. E.
You must say14Q0137 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 own ^note hand-writing would tell you what I think.

A. E.
I think, thou art an ass.

D. E.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.

A. E.
You are sad, signior Balthazar: Pray god, our cheer
May answer my good will, and your good welcome here.

Mer.
I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.

A. E.
O signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

Mer.
Good meat, sir, is common, that every churl affords.

A. E.
And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

Mer.
Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a merry feast.

A. E.
Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.—
But, soft, my door is lock'd;—Go, bid them let us in.

D. E.
Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! [knocking, and calling loud at the Door.

D. S. [within.]
Mome, malt-horse, capon, cox-comb, 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.

D. E.
What patch is made our porter? my master stays in the street.

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

A. E.
Who talks within there? ho, open the door.

D. S.
Right, sir, I'll tell yu when, an you'll tell me wherefore.

A. E.
Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day.

D. S.
Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may.

A. E.
What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe?

D. S.
The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.

D. E.
O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name;
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame:
If thou hadst been Dromio ^note to-day in my place,
Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Mai. [within.]
What a coil is there! Dromio, who are those at the gate?

D. E.
Let my master in, Luce.

Mai.
Faith, no, he comes too late,
And so tell your master.

D. E.
O lord, I must laugh:—
Have at you with a proverb,—Shall I set in my staff?

Mai.
Have at you with another; that's,—When? can you tell?

D. S.
If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

A. E.
Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I trow? ^note

Mai.
I thought to have ask'd you.

D. S.
And you said, no.

D. E.
So, come help; well strook; there was blow for blow.

A. E.
Thou baggage, let me in.

Mai.
Can you tell for whose sake?

D. E.
Master, knock the door hard.

Mai.
Let him knock 'till it ake.

A. E.
You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

Mai.
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?

D. S.
By my troth, your town is troubl'd with unruly boys.

A. E.
Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

Adr.
Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from the door.

D. E.
If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore.

Gol.
Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.

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

D. E.
They stand at the door, master, bid them welcome hither.

A. E.
There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

D. E.
You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
Your cake is ^note warm within; you stand here in the cold:
It would make a man mad ^note, to ^note be so bought and sold.

A. E.
Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate.

D. S.
Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

D. E.
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.

D. S.
It seems thou want'st breaking; Out upon thee, hind!

D. E.
Here's too much, out upon thee; I pray thee, let me in.

D. S.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.

A. E.
Well, I'll break in;—Go, borrow me a crow.

D. E.
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.

A. E.
Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.

Mer.
Have patience, sir, o, let it not be so;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect

The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,—Your long experience of her wisdom ^note,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
Plead on her part ^note some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against ^note you.
Be rul'd by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the tyger all to dinner:
And, about evening, come yourself 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 reputation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For slander14Q0138 lives upon succession;
For ever hous'd, where it once ^note gets possession.

A. E.
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 will I ^note bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)
Upon mine hostess ^note there: good sir, make haste:—

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

Gol.
I'll meet you at that place some hour hence. ^note

A. E.
Do so; This jest shall cost me some expence. SCENE II. The same. Enter Luciana, and Antiphilus Syracusan.

Luc.
And may it be, that you have quite forgot
  A husband's office? shall, Antiphilus,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
  Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?14Q0139
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
  Then, for her wealth's 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, though your heart be 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 ^note?
'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 doubl'd ^note with an evil word.
Alas, poor women! make us but believe ^note,
  Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Though others have the arm, shew us the sleeve;
  We in your motion turn, 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.

A. S.
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, shallow, weak, ^note
  The folded 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 no homage ^note do I owe;
  Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
  To drown me in thy sister's flood ^note of tears;
Sing, syren, for thy self, and I will dote:
  Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed ^note I'll take them ^note, and there lye;
  And, in that glorious supposition, think
He gains by death, that hath such means to dye:
  Let love, being light, be drowned if he sink ^note!

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

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

Luc.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

A. S.
For gazing ^note on your beams, fair sun, being by.

Luc.
Gaze where you ^note should, and that will clear your sight.

A. S.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.

Luc.
Why call you me love? call my sister so.

A. S.
Thy sister's sister.

Luc.
That's my sister.

A. S.
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 heaven, and my heaven's claim.

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

A. S.
Call thy self sister, sweet, for I aim thee ^note:14Q0140
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife:
Give me thy hand.

Luc.
O, soft, sir, hold you still;
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. Enter Dromio Syracusan.

A. S.

Why, how now, Dromio?14Q0141 where run'st thou so fast?

D. S.

Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?

A. S.

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

D. S.

I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself.

A. S.

What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

D. S.

Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

A. S.

What claim lays she to thee?

D. S.

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.

A. S.

What is she?

D. S.

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 she is a wondrous fat marriage.

A. S.

What dost thou mean, a fat marriage?

D. S.

Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-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.

A. S.

What complexion is she of?

D. S.

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.

A. S.

That's a fault, that water will mend.

D. S.

No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

A. S.

What's her name?

D. S.

Nell, sir: but her name and three quarters ^note,— that's, an ell and three quarters, will ^note not measure her from hip to hip.

A. S.

Then she bears some breadth.

D. S.

No longer from head to foot, then ^note from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.

A. S.

In what part of her body stands Ireland?

D. S.

Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out

by the bogs.

A. S.

Where Scotland?

D. S.

I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand.

A. S.

Where France?

D. S.

In her forehead; arm'd, and reverted, making war against her heir. ^note

A. S.

Where England?

D. S.

I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but ^note I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

A. S.

Where Spain?

D. S.

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

A. S.

Where America, the Indies?

D. S.

O, 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 carracks to be ballasted ^note at her nose.

A. S.

Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

D. S.

O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge ^note, or diviner, lay'd claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assur'd to her; told me what privy marks ^note I had about me, as, the mark of 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 ^note my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtail dog, and made me turn i' the wheel.

A. S.
Go hye thee, presently, post to the road;—

An 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.

D. S.
As from a bear a man would run for life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit Dromio.

A. S.
There's none but witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
She, that doth call me husband, ev'n my soul
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister,
Possest with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting 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 the Goldsmith.

Gol.
Master Antiphilus?

A. S.
Ay, that's my name.

Gol.
I know it well, sir: Lo, here is &dagger2; the chain;
I thought to have ta'en you at the porcupine;
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

A. S.
What is your will, that I shall do with this?

Gol.
What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you.

A. S.
Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

Gol.
Not once, nor 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 money for the chain.

A. S.
I pray you, sir, receive the money now,

For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more.

Gol.
You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. [Exit Goldsmith.

A. S.
What I ^note 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 ^note he meets such golden gifts.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter a Merchant, Goldsmith, and an Officer.

Mer.
You know, since pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much impórtun'd you;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage:
Therefore make present satisfaction,
Or I'll attach you by this officer.

Gol.
Even just the sum, that I do owe to you,
Is growing to me by Antiphilus:
And, in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain; at five o'clock
I shall receive the money for the same:
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antiphilus Ephesian, and Dromio Ephesian.

Off.
That labour may you save; see, where he comes.

A. S.
While ^note I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou

And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates ^note,
For locking me out of my doors by day.—
But, soft, I see the goldsmith:—get thee gone;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.

D. E.
I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! [Exit Dromio.

A. E.
A man is well holp up, that trusts to you
I promised your presence, and the chain;
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me:
Belike, you thought, our love would last too long,
If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not.

Gol.
Saving your merry humour, here's the &dagger2; note
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat, ^note
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion;
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
Than I stand debted to this gentleman:
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd;
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.

A. E.
I am not furnish'd with the present money;
Besides, I have some business in the town:
Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof;
Perchance, I will be there as soon as you.

Gol.
Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

A. E.
No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

Gol.
Well, sir, I will; Have you the chain about you?

A. E.
An if I have not, sir, I hope, you have;
Or else you may return without your money.

Gol.
Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain;
Both wind and tide stays for the gentleman ^note,

And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

A. E.
Good lord, you use this dalliance, to excuse
Your breach of promise to the porcupine;
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

Mer.
The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.

Gol.
You hear how he impórtunes me; the chain—

A. E.
Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money.

Gol.
Come, come; you know, I gave it you even now;
Either send the chain, or send me by some token.

A. E.
Fie, now you run this humour out of breath!
Come, where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Mer.
My business cannot brook this dalliance:
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no;
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

A. E.
I answer you! what should ^note I answer you?

Gol.
The money that you owe me for the chain.

A. E.
I owe you none, 'till I receive the chain.

Gol.
You know, I gave it you half an hour since.

A. E.
You gave me none; you wrong me much to say so.

Gol.
You wrong me more ^note, sir, in denying it:
Consider how it stands upon my credit.

Mer.
Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

Off.
I do;—
And charge you in the duke's name to obey me.

Gol.
This touches me in reputation:—
Either consent to pay the sum ^note for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.

A. E.
Consent to pay thee ^note that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.

Gol.
Here is thy &dagger2; fee; arrest him, officer:—
I would not spare my brother in this case,

If he should scorn me so apparently.

Off.
I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit.

A. E.
I do obey thee, 'till I give thee bail:—
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.

Gol.
Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio Syracusan.

D. S.
Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but 'till her owner comes aboard,
And ^note then she ^note bears away: Our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought ^note
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitæ.
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all,
But for their owner, master, and your self.

A. E.
How now, a madman! why, thou peevish sheep,
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

D. S.
A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.

A. E.
Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;
And told thee to what purpose, and what end.

D. S.
A rope! you sent me for a rope's end as soon;
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

A. E.
I will debate this matter at more leisure,
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hye thee straight:
Give her this &dagger2; key, and tell her, in the desk,
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish Tapestry,
There is a purse of ducats; let her send it;
Tell her, I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me: hye thee, slave; be gone.—
On, officer, to prison 'till it come.

[Exeunt Mer. Gol. Officer, and Antiphilus.

D. S.
To Adriana? that is where we din'd;
Where Dowzabel did claim me for her husband:
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Thither I must, although against my will;
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. SCENE II. The same. Enter Adriana, and Luciana.

Adr.
Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
  Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye,
That he did plead in earnest, yea, or no?
  Look'd he or red, or pale; sad, merrily ^note?
What observation mad'st thou in this case,
Of his ^note heart's meteors14Q0142 tilting in his face?

Luc.
First, he deny'd you; you had in him no right.

Adr.
He meant, he did me none: the more my spight.

Luc.
Then swore he, that he was a stranger here.

Adr.
And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.

Luc.
Then pleaded I for you.

Adr.
And what said he?

Luc.
That love, I beg'd for you, he beg'd of me.

Adr.
With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

Luc.
With words, that in an honest suit might move.
First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech:

Adr.
Did'st speak him fair?

Luc.
Have patience, I beseech.

Adr.
I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old and sere,
Ill-fac'd, worse body'd, shapeless every where;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;

Stigmatical in making, worse in mind ^note.

Luc.
Who would be jealous then of such a one?
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

Adr.
Ah, but I think him better than I say;
  And yet would herein others' ^note eyes were worse:
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:
  My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. Enter Dromio Syracusan.

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

Luc.
How hast thou lost thy breath?

D. S.
By running fast.

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

D. S.
No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell:
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,
One whose ^note hard heart is button'd up with steel;
A fiend, a fury ^note, pitiless, and rough;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;
A hound that runs counter,14Q0143 and yet draws dry-foot well;
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.

Adr.
Why, man, what is the matter?

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

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

D. S.
I know not, at whose suit he is arrested, well;
But he's in ^note a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can I tell:

Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?

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

D. S.
Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;
A chain, a chain; Do you not hear it ring?

Adr.
What, the chain?

D. S.
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 did I never hear.

D. S.
O yes, If any hour meet a serjeant, he turns back for very fear.

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

D. S.
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 ^note in debt, and theft, and a serjeant in the way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Re-enter Luciana.

Adr.
Go, Dromio, there's &dagger2; the money, bear it strait;
  And bring thy master home immediately.—
Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit;
  Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The same. Enter Antiphilus Syracusan.

A. S.
There's not a man I meet, but doth salute me

As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me, some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy:
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And, therewithal, took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. Enter Dromio Syracusan.

D. S.

Master, here's the &dagger2; gold you sent me for: What, have you14Q0144 got rid of the picture of old Adam new apparel'd?

A. S.

What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?

D. S.

Not that Adam, that kept the paradise; but that Adam, that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's-skin that was kill'd for the prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.

A. S.

I understand thee not.

D. S.

No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decay'd men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest14Q0145 to do more exploits with his mace, than a Maurice pike ^note.

A. S.

What, thou mean'st an officer?

D. S.

Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, ^note

God give you good rest!

A. S.

Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship ^note puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

D. S.

Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark, Expedition, put forth to-night; and then were you hinder'd by the serjeant, to tarry for the hoy, Delay: Here &dagger2; are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.

A. S.
The fellow is distract, and so am I;
And here we wander in illusions:
Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtezan.

Cou.
Well met, well met, master Antiphilus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
Is that the chain you promis'd me to-day?

A. S.
Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not!

D. S.

Master, is this mistress Satan?

A. S.

It is the devil.

D. S.

Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn me; that's as much as to say, God make me a light wench.14Q0146 It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; Come not near her.

Cou.
Your man and you are marvelous merry, sir.
Will you go with me; we'll mend our dinner here?

D. S.

Master, if you ^note do, expect spoon-meat; so bespeak ^note a long spoon.

A. S.

Why, Dromio?

D. S.

Marry, he must have a long spoon, that must

must eat ^note with the devil.

A. S.
Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?
Thou art (as you are all) a sorceress:
I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone.

Cou.
Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd,
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

D. S.
Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
A nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous,
Would have a chain:—
Master, be wise; an if you give it her,
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

Cou.
I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain;
I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so.

A. S.
Avaunt, thou witch!—Come, Dromio, let us go.

D. S.
Fly pride, says the peacock; Mistress, that you know. [Exeunt Dromio, and Antiphilus.

Cou.
Now, out of doubt, Antiphilus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself:
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he promis'd me a chain;
Both one and other he denies me now.
The reason, that I gather he is mad,
(Besides this present instance of his rage)
Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner,
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance:
Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits,
On purpose shut the doors against his way.
My way is now, to hye home to his house,
And tell his wife, that, being lunatick,
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce

My ring away: This course I fittest choose;
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same. Enter Antiphilus Ephesian, and the Officer.

A. E.
Fear me not, man, I will not break away;
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day;
And will not lightly trust the messenger,
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus:
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. Enter Dromio Ephesian, with the Rope's End.
Here comes my man; I think, he brings the money.—
How now, sir? have you that I sent you for?

D. E.
Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.

A. E.
But where's the money?

D. E.
Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

A. E.
Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

D. E.
I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

A. E.
To what end did I bid thee hye thee ^note home?

D. E.
To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I
Return'd.

A. E.
And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. [beating him.

Off.

Good sir, be patient.

D. E.

Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity.

Off.

Good now, hold thy tongue.

D. E.

Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

A. E.

Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

D. E.

I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not

feel your blows.

A. E.

Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass.

D. E.

I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service, but blows: When I am cold, he heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me with beating: I am wak'd with it, when I sleep; rais'd with it, when I sit; driven out of doors with it, when I go from home; welcom'd home with it, when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, when he hath lam'd me, I shall beg with it from door to door.