Adr.
Why, why was I to this keen mock'ry born?
How at your hands have I deserv'd this coldness?
In sooth, you do me wrong: there was a time
When I believed, so fond was my credulity,
The sun was scarce so true unto the day,
As you to me.

Ant. of Syr.
I would some friendly light
Might chase away the mist that clouds our fancies,
And give this dream a meaning!—True, I see
These beauteous bowers, in nature's fragrance rich;
Behold the painted children of her hand,
Flaunting in gay luxuriance all around;
I see imperial Phœbus' trembling beam
Dance on the curly brook; whose gentle current
Glides imperceptibly away, scarce staying
To kiss th' embracing bank.

Adr.
So glides away
Thy hasty love,—O, apt illusion!—
And mocks my constant and attentive care,
That seeks in vain to keep it.

Luc.
Dearest brother,
Why turn on me your eyes?—regard my sister,
Who with such earnest suit solicits you
To heal her wounded peace.

Adr.
It cannot be,
But that some frenzy hath possest his mind,
Else could he not with cold indifference hear
His Adriana pleading. Music's voice
O'er such entranc'd dispositions
Hath oft a magic power, and can recall
The wand'ring faculties. That song, which in
The happy morn of life, first won his love,—
That song, I'll try again.
SONG.—(Sonnets.)

I.
Come, live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasure prove,
That hill and valley, dell and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield:
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks;
There will I make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies;

If these delights thy mind may move,
Then, live with me, and be my love.

II.
Come, live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year
In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breathes sweetest gales.
There shall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar, and the spreading vine;
The birds, with heavenly tuned throats,
Possess wood-echoes with sweet notes:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then, live with me, and be my love.

Luc.
Speak, speak to her, Antipholis.

Adr.
In vain; there is some magic in thine eye
That hath infected his: Perchance, to thee
He may unfold the source of his distemp'rature:
For me, no longer will I sue for that
My right may claim: loose infidelity
And lawless passion have estrang'd his soul.
Yet, think, my husband, could'st thou bear the like?
Preserve then equal league with thy true bed;
Keep me unstain'd, thou undishour'd live. [Exit Adriana.

Luc.
And may it be, that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? Shall, Antipholis,
Ev'n in the spring of love, thy passion fade?
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 in secret;
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.

Ant. of Syr.
Now, by the air we breathe, I vow, sweet lady,
My senses are all smother'd up in wonder;
All but my sight; with that, methinks, I view
An angel pleading; and while, thus delighted,
I may peruse the graces of that brow,
I will not wish the mystery unfolded;
But to your chidings pay submissive awe,
As to a holy mandate: Speak, speak on.

Luc.
Be secret false: Why need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own bad deeds?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
And let her read it in your looks at board;
Then gentle brother, get you in again;
And call my sister, wife; comfort her, cheer her;
'Tis holy sport, to be a little false,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

Ant. of Syr.
Sweet mistress,—let me call you by that name,—
Teach me, O teach me how to think, and answer;
Lay open to my shallow gross conceit
The folded meaning of your sugar'd words.
Against my soul's pure truth, why labour you

To make it wander in an unknown path?
Are you a goddess? Would you new-create me?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield:
But, if I am Antipholis, I swear,
Your weeping sister is no wife to me:
O, no! to you alone my soul inclines:
Then train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy voice,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears.
Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote: (Kneels.)
Spread o'er the silver waves thy glossy locks,
And, as a bed, I'll take thee; there I'll lie,
And in that glorious supposition, think,
He gains by death, that hath such means to die.

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

Ant. of Syr.
Not mad,—enchanted; how, I do not know.

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

Ant of Syr.
From gazing on your dazzling beams, fair sun.

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

Ant of Syr.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on darkness.

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

Ant of Syr.
Thy sister's sister.

Luc.
That's my sister.

Ant. of Syr.
No;
It is thyself, my own self's better half,
My eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,

My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim.

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

Ant. of Syr.
Call thyself sister, sweet; for thee I mean:
Thee will I love, with thee would spend my days:
Give me thy hand.

Luc.
O, soft, sir; hold you still:
I'll seek my sister, to get her consent,
If she approve, I shall accord, no doubt. [Going, stops.
And yet, Antipholis, is it not fit
This mockery should end—come, raise, console her,
Let not so fair a flower fade, droop and perish.
SONG.—“Love's Loss.” (Sonnets.)
Sweet rose! fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded,
  Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl! alack! too timely shaded!
  Fair creature! kill'd too soon by death's dark sting!
Like a green plum, that hangs upon a tree,
And falls (through storms) before that fall should be! [Exeunt.

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