Luc.
Where is my sister—where my Adriana? oh! she comes. Enter Adriana.

Adr.
Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd,
That, in such haste, I sent to look for him?
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

Luc.
Perhaps, some merchant has 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;
Will come, or go; therefore be patient, sister.

Adr.
Why should their liberty be more than ours?

Luc.
Because their business still lies out of door.

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

Luc.
He is the bridle of your actions, sister.

Adr.
None, but an idiot, would be bridled so.

Luc.
Why, headstrong liberty belongs to man,
And ill befits a woman's gentle mind.
There's nothing situate under Heaven's eye,
But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, and air:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged tribes,
Are their males' subjects, and at their controul:
Man, more divine, the master of them all,

Indu'd with intellectual sense and soul,
Is master to his female; nay, her lord:
Let then your will attend on his commands.

Adr.
This servitude makes you remain unwed.

Luc.
Not this; but troubles of the marriage state.

Adr.
But, were you wedded, you would bear some rule.

Luc.
Before I wed, I'll practice to obey.

Adr.
How, if your husband start some other where?

Luc.
With all the gentle, artificial means
That patient meekness and domestic cares
Could bring to my relief, I would beguile
The intervening hours, 'till he, tir'd out
With empty transient pleasures, should return,
To seek content and happiness at home:
With smiles I'd welcome him, and put in practice
Each soothing art that kindness could suggest,
To wean his mind from such delusive joys.

Adr.
O special reasoning! Well may they be patient,
Who never had a cause for anger given them.
How easily we cure another's grief!
But were we burden'd with like weight of woe,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:
Patience I've none—no—I shall haply share
The fate of her, we have so oft lamented—
Poor love-lorn Barbara!

Luc.
Barbara!—nay sister— [Taking her hand.

Adr.
She had a song of—willow!—An old thing
It was; but it expressed her fortune.
SONG.—(Othello.)
The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
  Sing all a green willow:
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
  Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh stream ran by her, and murmur'd her moans,
  Sing willow, willow, willow:
Her soft tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones,
  Sing willow, willow, willow.

Luc.
Here comes your man; now is your husband near. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Adr.
Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

Dr. of Eph.
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?

Dr. of Eph.
Ay, ay; he told his mind upon my ear:
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

Luc.
Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not find
His meaning?

Dr. of Eph.

Nay; he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and with all so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

Adr.
But say, I pray thee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife!

Dr. of Eph.
Why, mistress, sure, my master is horn-mad.

Luc.
Horn-mad, thou villain!

Dr of Eph.
I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, stark-mad.
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks of gold.
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I:—My gold, quoth he—
Your meat doth burn, quoth I: My gold quoth he:
Where are 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 do not know thy mistress:—out on thy mistress!

Luc.
Quoth who?

Dr of Eph.
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 hither.

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

Dr. of Eph.
Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For heaven's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr.
Hence prating peasant! fetch thy master home.

Dr. of Eph.
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 of Ephesus.

Luc.
Fy! how impatience lowereth on your brow!

Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
While, I at home, starve for a cheerful look.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault; he's master of my fortunes.
What ruins are in me, that can be found
By him not ruin'd? My decayed beauty,
A sunny look of his would soon repair:
But, too unruly deer! he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home: poor I am left despis'd.

Luc.
Self-harming jealousy: Fie! beat it hence.

Adr.
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 bracelet:
Some stranger fair hath caught his truant eye,
And triumphs in the gifts design'd for me.
Such trifles yet with ease I could forego,
So I were sure he left his heart at home.
I see, the jewel best enameled
Will lose its lustre: so doth Adriana;
Whom once, unwearied with continual gazing,
He fondly call'd the treasure of his life.

Luc.
And still shall call her so; come, be of heart,
In sooth, for my sake, sister; 'tis the mere
Phantom of your mind—tormenting fancy.

Adr.
Fancy!

Luc.
Aye, fancy—that strange, inexplicable—
Dismiss it, sister.

Adr.
Oh, that I could; I'll try; but first—
DUET.—(Merchant of Venice.)

I. Adriana.
Tell me, where is Fancy bred?
Or in the heart, or in the head?
  How begot, how nourished?

II. Luciana.
It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed, and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
  Let us both ring Fancy's knell;
  I'll begin it—Ding, dong, bell. Adriana.
Ding, dong, bell! Both.
Ding, dong, bell! [Exeunt.

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