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.

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