Introductory matter

Dramatis Personæ. SALINUS [Solinus], Duke of Ephesus. Ægeon [Aegeon], a Merchant of Syracuse. Antipholis of Ephesus [Antipholus of Ephesus], Twin Brother, and Son to Ægeon and Æmilia, but unknown to other. Antipholis of Syracuse [Antipholus of Syracuse], Twin Brother, and Son to Ægeon and Æmilia, but unknown to other. Dromio of Ephesus, Twin Brother, and Slave to Antipholis. Dromio of Syracuse, Twin Brother, and Slave to Antipholis. Balthazar [Balthasar], a Merchant. Angelo, a Goldsmith. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholis of Syracuse. Dr. Pinch, a School-master, and a Conjurer. Æmilia [Aemilia], Wife to Ægeon, an Abbess at Ephesus. Adriana, Wife to Antipholis of Ephesus. Luciana, Sister to Adriana. Luce, Servant to Adriana. Jailor, Officers, and other attendants. [Gaoler], [Officer], [Messenger] SCENE Ephesus. ^note

The COMEDY of ERRORS. ACT I. SCENE I. Enter the Duke of Ephesus, Ægeon, Tailor, and other Attendants.

Ægeon.
Proceed, Salinus, 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 ranc'rous 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 threatning 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 our selves,
T' admit no traffick to our adverse towns.
Nay, more; if any born at Ephesus

Be seen at Syracusan 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 ransom him.
Thy substance, valu'd at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die.

Ægeon.
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.

Ægeon.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my grief 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, 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 leaving,
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse;
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before her self (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 she had 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 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 heav'ns did grant,
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which tho' my self would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weeping 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 were none.)
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship then sinking-ripe to us;
My wife, more careful for the elder 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.

The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixt,
Fasten'd our selves at either end the mast,
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carry'd towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun gazing upon the earth
Disperst those vapours that offended us;
And by the benefit of his wish'd light
The seas wax calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this;
But ere they came—oh 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, tho' not pardon thee.

Ægeon.
Oh 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 encountred by a mighty rock;
Which being violently born upon,
Our helpless ship 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 wo,
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 ship had seiz'd on us;
And knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwrackt guests,
And would have rest the fishers of their prey,

Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend 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 my own mishaps.

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

Ægeon.
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 case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in 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 loath 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 Ægeon, whom the fates have markt
To bear th' extremity of dire mishap;
Now trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which Princes would, they may not disanul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But tho' 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 therefore, merchant, limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus,
Beg thou, or borrow to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die:
Jailor, take him to thy custody.

Jail.
I will, my lord.

Ægeon.
Hopeless and helpless doth Ægeon wend,
But to procrastinate his liveless end. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Street. Enter Antipholis of Syracuse, a Merchant, and Dromio.

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 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 your mony that I had to keep.

Ant.
Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, 'till I come to thee:
'Till that I'll view the manners of the town,
Within this hour it will be dinner-time,
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.

Dro.
Many a man would take you at your word,

And go indeed, having so good a means. [Exit Dromio.

Ant.
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 the inn 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 a 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.

Ant.
Farewel 'till then; I will go lose my self,
And wander up and down to view the city.

Mer.
Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Ex. Mer. SCENE III.

Ant.
He that commends me to my own 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, unhappy, lose my self. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanack of my true date.
What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?

E. Dro.
Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock has 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 stomach;
You have no stomach having broke your fast:
But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant.
Stop in your wind, Sir; tell me this I pray,
Where you have left the mony that I gave you?

E. Dro.
Oh, six pence that I had a Wednesday last,
To pay the sadler for my mistress' crupper?
The sadler had it, Sir; I kept it not.

Ant.
I am not in a sportive humour now;
Tell me and dally not, where is the mony?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?

E. Dro.
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,
And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant.
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?

E. Dro.
To me, Sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

Ant.
Come on, Sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd thy charge?

E. Dro.
My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
Home to your house, the Phœnix, Sir, to dinner;
My mistress and her sister stay for you.

Ant.
Now as I am a christian answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my mony;

Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
Where are the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

E. Dro.
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.

Ant.
Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?

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

Ant.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? there take you that, Sir knave.

E. Dro.
What mean you, Sir? for God sake hold your hands;
Nay, an you will not, Sir, I'll take my heels. [Ex. Dromio.

Ant.
Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-wrought of all my mony.
They say, this town is full of couzenage;
&plquo;As, nimble juglers, that deceive the eye;
&plquo;Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind;
&plquo;Soul-killing witches, that deform the body;
&plquo;Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
&plquo;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 mony is not safe. [Exit.

ACT II. SCENE I. The House of Antipholis of Ephesus. Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adriana.
Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two a 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 lyes out a-door.

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

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

Adr.
There's none but asses will be bridled so.

Luc.
Why, head-strong liberty is lasht with wo.
There's nothing situate under heav'n's eye,
But hath its bound in earth, in sea, and sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their male's subjects, and at their controuls:
Man more divine, the master of all these,
Lord of the wide world, and wide wat'ry seas,
Indu'd with intellectual sense and soul,
Of more preheminence than fish and fowl,

Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will 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 other where?

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

Adr.
Patience unmov'd, no marvel tho' 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 our selves 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,
This fool-begg'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. SCENE II. Enter Dromio Eph.

Adr.

Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

E. Dro.

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?

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

Luc.

Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not feel his meaning?

E. Dro.

Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his

blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

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

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

Adr.
Horn-mad, thou villain?

E. Dro.
I mean not cuckold-mad; but sure he's stark mad:
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Will you come, 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 thy mistress; out on thy mistress:

Luc.
Quoth who?

E. Dro.
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 there.

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

E. Dro.
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.

E. Dro.
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.

E. Dro.
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.

SCENE III.

Luc.
Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face!

Adr.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look:
Hath homely age th'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 marr'd,
Unkindness blots it 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 jealousie; fie, beat it hence.

Adr.
Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense:
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 chain,
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.
I see the jewel best enameled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still
That others touch, and often touching will:
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousie! [Exe.

SCENE IV. The Street. Enter Antipholis of Syracuse.

Ant.
The gold I gave to Dromio is laid 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 of Syracuse.
How now, Sir? is your merry humour alter'd?
As you love stroaks, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phœnix? wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

S. Dro.
What answer, Sir? when spake I such a word?

Ant.
Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

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

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

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

Ant.
Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou I jest? hold, take thou that, and that. [Beats Dro.

S. Dro.
Hold, Sir, for God's sake, now your jest is earnest;

Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant.
Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your sawciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common 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 aspect,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks;
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
But soft; who wafts us yonder?* ^note

SCENE V. Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr.
Ay, ay Antipholis, look strange and frown;
Some other mistress hath some sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'dst wouldst vow,
&plquo;That never words were musick to thine ear,
&plquo;That never object pleasing in thine eye,
&plquo;That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
&plquo;That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
&plquo;Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd.
How comes it now, my husband, oh how comes it,
That thou art thus estranged 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 easie may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingled 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 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 of 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 possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For if we two be one and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of my flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live distain'd, thou undishonoured.

Ant.
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.* ^note

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.

Ant.
By Dromio?

S. Dro.
By me?

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

Ant.
Did you converse, Sir, with this gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your compact?

S. Dro.
I, Sir? I never saw her 'till this time.

Ant.
Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

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

Ant.
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 state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate;
If ought possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss,
Who all for want of pruning, with intrusion,
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Ant.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her theam;
What, was I marry'd to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Untill I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the favour'd fallacy.

Luc.
Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.* ^note

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

Ant.
Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking, mad or well advis'd?
Known unto these, and to my self disguis'd?
I'll say as they say, and persever so;
And in this mist at all adventures go.

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

Adr.
Ay, let none enter, lest I break your pate.

Luc.
Come, come, Antipholis, we dine too late. [Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I. The Street before Antipholis's House. Enter Antipholis of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar.

E. Antipholis.
Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us;
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 † ^note 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?* ^note





I think thou art an ass.

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

E. Ant.
Y'are sad, Signior Balthazar. Pray God our cheer

May answer my good will, and your good welcome.* ^note











But soft; my door is lockt; go bid them let us in.

E. Dro.
Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cisly, Gillian!

S. Dro. within.
Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, 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.* ^note

Adr. within.
Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?

S. Dro.
By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

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

Adr.
Your wife, Sir knave! go get you from the gate.* ^note

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

Bal.
Have patience, Sir: oh let it not be thus.
Herein you war against your Reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this; your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are barr'd against you.
Be rul'd by me, depart in patience,
And let us to the Tyger all to dinner,

And about evening come your self 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 estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For slander lives upon succession,
For ever hous'd where it once gets possession.

E. Ant.
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 I will bestow,
(Be it for nothing but to spight my wife,)
Upon mine hostess there. Good Sir, make haste:
Since my own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

Ang.
I'll meet you at that place, some hour, Sir, hence.

E. Ant.
Do so; this jest shall cost me some expence. [Exe.

SCENE II. The House of Antipholis of Ephesus. Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracuse.

Luc.
And may it be, that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? shall, Antipholis,
Ev'n in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love in buildings grow so ruinate?
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, tho' 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?
'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 doubled with an evil word:
Alas poor women, make us not believe
  (Being compact of credit) that you love us;
Tho' 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.

S. Ant.
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,
  The foulded 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 pow'r 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 a homage do I owe;
  Far more, far more to you do I decline:
Oh train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
  To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears;
Sing Siren for thy self, and I will dote;
  Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lye:
  And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die;
  Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink.

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

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

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

S. Ant.
For gazing on your beams, fair sun being by.

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

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

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

S. Ant.
Thy sister's sister.

Luc.
That's my sister.

S. Ant.
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.

S. Ant.
Call thy self sister, sweet; for I mean thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life.
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife;
Give me thy hand.

Luc.
Oh soft, Sir, hold you still;
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luc. SCENE III. Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

S. Ant.

Why how now, Dromio, where runn'st thou so fast?

S. Dro.

Do you know me, Sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I my self?

S. Ant.

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thy self.

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

What woman's man? and how besides thy self?

S. Dro.

Marry, Sir, besides my self, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

S. Ant.

What claim lays she to thee?

S. Dro.

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.

S. Ant.

What is she?

S. Dro.

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 is she a wond'rous fat marriage.

S. Ant.

How dost thou mean, a fat marriage?

S. Dro.

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.

S. Ant.

What complection is she of?

S. Dro.

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.

S. Ant.

That's a fault that water will mend.

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

What's her name?

S. Dro.

Nell, Sir; but her name is three quarters; that is, an ell and three quarters will not measure her from hip to hip.

S. Ant.

Then she bears some breadth?

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

In what part of her body stands Ireland?

S. Dro.

Marry, Sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.

S. Ant.

Where Scotland?

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

Where France?

S. Dro.

In her forehead, arm'd and reverted, making war against her hair.

S. Ant.

Where England?

S. Dro.

I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no

whiteness in them; but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

S. Ant.

Where Spain?

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

Where America, the Indies?

S. Dro.

Oh Sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, saphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracts to be ballast at her nose.

S. Ant.

Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

S. Dro.

Oh, Sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me Dromio, swore I was assur'd to her, told me what privy marks I had about me, as the marks 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 my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn i'th' wheel.

S. Ant.
Go hie thee presently; post to the road;
And 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.

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

S. Ant.
There's none but witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence:

She that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
Possest with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such inchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to my self:
But lest my self be guilty of self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Enter Angelo with a chain.

Ang.
Master Antipholis.

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

Ang.
I know it well, Sir, lo, here is the chain;
I thought t' have tane you at the Porcupine;
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

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

Ang.
What please your self, Sir; I have made it for you.

S. Ant.
Made it for me, Sir! I bespoke it not.

Ang.
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 mony for the chain.

S. Ant.
I pray you, Sir, receive the mony now,
For fear you ne'er see chain nor mony more.

Ang.
You are a merry man, Sir; fare you well. [Exit.

S. Ant.
What I 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 he meets such golden gifts:
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;
If any ship put out, then strait away. [Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE I. The Street. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer.

Merchant.
You know since Pentecost the sum is due;
And since I have not much importun'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.

Ang.
Ev'n just the sum that I do owe to you,
Is owing to me by Antipholis;
And in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain: at five a clock
I shall receive the mony for the same:
Please you but walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antiph. Eph. and Dro. Eph. as from the Courtezans.

Offi.
That labour you may save: see where he comes.

E. Ant.
While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
And buy a rope's end; that I will bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
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.

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

E. Ant.
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; therefore came not.

Ang.
Saving your merry humour, here's the note,
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
The fineness of the gold, the 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.

E. Ant.
I am not furnish'd with the present mony,
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.

Ang.
Then you will bring the chain to her your self.

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

Ang.
Well, Sir, I will: have you the chain about you?

E. Ant.
And if I have not, Sir, I hope you have:
Or else you may return without your mony.

Ang.
Nay come, I pray you, Sir, give me the chain,
Both wind and tide stay for the gentleman;
And I to blame have held him here too long.

E. Ant.
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.

Ang.
You hear how he importunes me; the chain.

E. Ant.
Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your mony.

Ang.
Come, come, you know I gave it you ev'n now.
Or send the chain, or send me by some token.

E. Ant.
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, if you'll answer me, or no;
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

E. Ant.
I answer you? why should I answer you?

Ang.
The mony that you owe me for the chain.

E. Ant.
I owe you none 'till I receive the chain.

Ang.
You know I gave it you half an hour since.

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

Ang.
You wrong me more, Sir, in denying it;
Consider how it stands upon my credit.

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

Offi.
I do, and charge you in the Duke's name to obey me.

Ang.
This touches me in reputation.
Either consent to pay the sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.

E. Ant.
Consent to pay for that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.

Ang.
Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer;
I would not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.

Offi.
I do arrest you, Sir; you hear the suit.

E. Ant.
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.

Ang.
Sir, Sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.

SCENE II. Enter Dromio Sira. from the bay.

S. Dro.
Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but till her owner comes aboard;
Then, Sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, Sir,
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
The Oyl, 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.

E. Ant.
How now! a mad man! why, thou peevish sheep,
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

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

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

S. Dro.
You sent me for a rope's-end as soon:
You sent me to the bay, Sir, for a bark.

E. Ant.
I will debate this matter at more leisure,
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee strait,
Give her this 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; hie thee, slave; be gone:
On officer, to prison 'till it come. [Exeunt.

S. Dro.
To Adriana! that is where we din'd,
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband;
She is too big I hope for me to compass.
Thither I must, altho' against my will,
For servants must their masters minds fulfil. [Exit.

SCENE III. E. Antipholis's House. 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, or sad or merrily?
What observation mad'st thou in this case,
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?

Luc.
First he deny'd you had in him a 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 begg'd for you, he begg'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 it's 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.

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 eyes were worse,
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;
  My heart prays for him, tho' my tongue do curse. SCENE IV. Enter S. Dromio.

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 fairy, pitiless and rough,
A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
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; 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 Luc.
That he unknown to me should be in debt!
Tell me, was he arrested on a bond?

S. Dro.
Not on a bond, but 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.* ^note









Enter Luciana.

Adr.
Go, Dromio; there's the mony, bear it strait,
  And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister, I am prest down with conceit;
  Conceit, my comfort and my injury. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Street. Enter Antipholis of Syracuse.

S. Ant.
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 mony to me, some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy.
Ev'n now a taylor 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 of Syracuse.

S. Dro.

Master, here's the gold you sent me for; what, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparel'd?

S. Ant.

What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean?

S. Dro.

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

S. Ant.

I understand thee not.

S. Dro.

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 rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a moris pike.

S. Ant.

What! thou mean'st an officer?

S. Dro.

Ay, Sir, the serjeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it that breaks his bond; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and saith, God give you good rest.

S. Ant.
Well, Sir, there rest in your foolery.
Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

S. Dro.

Why, Sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition puts forth to-night, and then were you hinder'd by the serjeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay; here are the angels that you sent for, to deliver you.

S. Ant.
The fellow is distract, and so am I,
And here we wander in illusions;
Some blessed power deliver us from hence.

SCENE VI. Enter a Curtezan.

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

S. Ant.
Satan avoid, I charge thee tempt me not.* ^note

Cur.
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.

S. Dro.

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, and if you give it her, the devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

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

S. Ant.
Avant, thou witch! come Dromio, let us go.* ^note

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

Cur.
Now out of doubt Antipholis 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 hie 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 chuse,
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. SCENE VIII. The Street. Enter Antipholis of Ephesus with a Jailor.

E. Ant.
Fear me not man, I will not break away,
I'll give thee ere I leave thee so much mony,
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 of Ephesus with a rope's-end.
Here comes my man, I think he brings the mony.
How now, Sir, have you that I sent you for?

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

E. Ant.
But where's the mony?

E. Dro.
Why, Sir, I gave the mony for the rope.

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

E. Dro.
I'll serve you, Sir, five hundred at the rate.

E. Ant.
To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

E. Dro.
To a ropes-end, Sir, and to that end am I return'd.

E. Ant.
And to that end, Sir, I will welcome you. [Beats Dro.

Offi.

Good Sir, be patient.

E. Dro.

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

Offi.

Good now hold thy tongue.

E. Dro.

Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

E. Ant.

Thou whorson, senseless villain!

E. Dro.

I would I were senseless, Sir, that I might not feel your blows.

E. Ant.

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

E. Dro.

I am an ass indeed, you may prove it by my long ears. I have serv'd 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.

SCENE IX. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Curtezan and Pinch.

E. Ant.

Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

E. Dro.

Mistress, respice finem, respect your end, or rather prophesie like the parrot, beware the rope's-end.

E. Ant.

Wilt thou still talk?

Cur.
How say you now? is not your husband mad?

Adr.
His incivility confirms no less.
Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer,
Establish him in his true sense again,
And I will please you what you will demand.

Luc.
Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

Cur.
Mark how he trembles in his ecstasie!

Pinch.
Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.

E. Ant.
There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.

Pinch.
I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness hie thee strait,
I conjure thee by all the saints in heav'n.

E. Ant.
Peace, doating wizard, peace, I am not mad.

Adr.
Oh that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

E. Ant.
You minion you, are these your customers?
Did this companion with the saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut,
And I deny'd to enter in my house?

Adr.
Oh husband, God doth know you din'd at home,
Where would you had remain'd until this time,
Free from these slanders and this open shame.

E. Ant.
Din'd at home? thou villain, what say'st thou?

E. Dro.
Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

E. Ant.
Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out?

E. Dro.
Perdie, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out.

E. Ant.
And did not she her self revile me there?

E. Dro.
Sans fable, she her self revil'd you there.

E. Ant.
Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

E. Dro.
Certes she did, the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.

E. Ant.
And did not I in rage depart from thence?

E. Dro.
In verity you did, my bones bear witness,
That since have felt the vigour of your rage.

Adr.
Is't good to sooth him in these contraries?

Pinch.
It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein,
And yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.

E. Ant.
Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.

Adr.
Alas, I sent you mony to redeem you,
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

E. Dro.
Mony by me? heart and good-will you might,
But surely master not a rag of mony.

E. Ant.
Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?

Adr.
He came to me, and I deliver'd it.

Luc.
And I am witness with her that she did.

E. Dro.
God and the rope-maker do bear me witness,
That I was sent for nothing but a rope.

Pinch.
Mistress, both man and master are possest,
I know it by their pale and deadly looks;
They must be bound and laid in some dark room.

E. Ant.
Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day,
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

Adr.
I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

E. Dro.
And gentle master I receiv'd no gold,
But I confess, Sir, that we were lock'd out.

Adr.
Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both.

E. Ant.
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,
And art confederate with a damned pack,

To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:
But with these nails I'll pluck out those false eyes,
That would behold in me this shameful sport. Enter three or four, and offer to bind him: he strives.

Adr.
Oh bind him, bind him, let him not come near me.

Pinch.
More company, the fiend is strong within him.

Luc.
Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

E. Ant.
What, will you murther me? thou jailor thou,
I am thy prisoner, wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue?

Offi.
Masters; let him go:
He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

Pinch.
Go bind this man, for he is frantick too.

Adr.
What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Offi.
He is my prisoner, if I let him go
The debt he owes will be requir'd of me.

Adr.
I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee;
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, [They bind Ant. and Dro.
And knowing how the debt grows I will pay it.
Good master doctor see him safe convey'd
Home to my house. Oh most unhappy day!

E. Ant.
Oh most unhappy strumpet!

E. Dro.
Master, I'm here enter'd in bond for you.

E. Ant.
Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?

E. Dro.
Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, good master, cry the devil.

Luc.
God help poor souls, how idly do they talk!

Adr.
Go bear him hence; sister, stay you with me.
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? [Exeunt Pinch, Ant. and Dro.

SCENE X. Manent Officer, Adri. Luci. and Curtezan.

Offi.
One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him?

Adr.
I know the man; what is the sum he owes?

Offi.
Two hundred ducats.

Adr.
Say how grows it due?

Offi.
Due for a chain your husband had of him.

Adr.
He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

Cur.
When as your husband all in rage to-day
Came to my house, and took away my ring,
(The ring I saw upon his finger now)
Strait after did I meet him with a chain.

Adr.
It may be so, but I did never see it.
Come jailor, bring me where the goldsmith is,
I long to know the truth hereof at large. SCENE XI. Enter Antipholis Syracusan with his rapier drawn, and Dromio Syrac.

Luc.
God for thy mercy! they are loose again.

Adr.
And come with naked swords;
Let's call more help to have them bound again.

Offi.
Away, they'll kill us. [They run out. Manent Ant. and Dro.

S. Ant.
I see these witches are afraid of swords.

S. Dro.
She that would be your wife, now ran from you.

S. Ant.
Come to the Centaur, fetch our stuff from thence:
I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

S. Dro.

Faith, stay here this night, they will surely do us no harm; you saw they spake us fair, gave us gold; methinks they

are such a gentle nation, that but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and turn witch.

S. Ant.
I will not stay to-night for all the town,
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. A Street, before a Priory. Enter the Merchant and Angelo.

Angelo.
I am sorry, Sir, that I have hinder'd you,
But I protest he had the chain of me,
Though most dishonestly he did deny it.

Mer.
How is the man esteem'd here in the city?

Ang.
Of very reverent reputation, Sir,
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd,
Second to none that lives here in the city;
His word might bear my wealth at any time.

Mer.
Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks. Enter Antipholis and Dromio of Syracuse.

Ang.
'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck,
Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
Good Sir draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
Signior Antipholis, I wonder much
That you would put me to this shame and trouble,
And not without some scandal to your self,
With circumstance and oaths so to deny

This chain, which now you wear so openly;
Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
You have done wrong to this my honest friend,
Who but for staying on our controversie
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day:
This chain you had of me, can you deny it?

S. Ant.
I think I had, I never did deny it.

Mer.
Yes, that you did, Sir, and forswore it too.

S. Ant.
Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?

Mer.
These ears of mine thou knowest did hear thee:
Fie on thee, wretch, 'tis pity that thou liv'st
To walk where any honest men resort.

S. Ant.
Thou art a villain to impeach me thus.
I'll prove mine honour and my honesty
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand.

Mer.
I dare, and do defie thee for a villain. [They draw. SCENE II. Enter Adriana, Luciana, Curtezan and others.

Adr.
Hold, hurt him not for God's sake, he is mad;
Some get within him, take his sword away:
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.

S. Dro.
Run, master, run, for God's sake take a house;
This is some Priory; in, or we are spoil'd. [Exeunt to the Priory. Enter Lady Abbess.

Abb.
Be quiet people, wherefore throng you hither?

Adr.
To fetch my poor distracted husband hence;
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast,
And bear him home for his recovery.

Ang.
I knew he was not in his perfect wits.

Mer.
I'm sorry now that I did draw on him.

Abb.
How long hath this possession held the man?

Adr.
This week he hath been heavy, sower, sad,
And much, much different from the man he was:
But 'till this afternoon his passion
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

Abb.
Hath he not lost much wealth by wrack at sea?
Bury'd some dear friend? hath not else his eye
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?
A sin prevailing much in youthful men,
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

Adr.
To none of these, except it be the last,
Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.

Abb.
You should for that have reprehended him.

Adr.
Why so I did.

Abb.
Ay, but not rough enough.

Adr.
As roughly as my modesty would let me.

Abb.
Haply in private.

Adr.
And in assemblies too.

Abb.
Ay, but not enough.

Adr.
It was the copy of our conference.
In bed he slept not for my urging it,
At board he fed not for my urging it;
Alone it was the subject of my theam;
In company I often glanc'd at it;
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

Abb.
And thereof came it that the man was mad.
The venom'd clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing,
And thereof comes it that his head is light.
Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings,

Unquiet meals make ill digestions,
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;
And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd with thy brawls.
&plquo;Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
&plquo;But muddy and dull melancholy,
&plquo;Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
&plquo;And at her heels a huge infectious troop
&plquo;Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd would mad or man or beast:
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits
Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits.

Luc.
She never reprehended him but mildly,
When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly.
Why bear you those rebukes, and answer not?

Adr.
She did betray me to my own reproof.
Good people enter and lay hold on him.

Abb.
No, not a creature enters in my house.

Adr.
Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

Abb.
Neither; he took this place for sanctuary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands,
'Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labour in assaying it.

Adr.
I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
And will have no attorney but my self,
And therefore let me have him home with me.

Abb.
Be patient, for I will not let him stir,
'Till I have us'd th' approved means I have,
With wholsome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers
To make of him a formal man again;
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,

A charitable duty of my order;
Therefore depart and leave him here with me.

Adr.
I will not hence, and leave my husband here;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness
To separate the husband and the wife.

Abb.
Be quiet and depart, thou shalt not have him.

Luc.
Complain unto the Duke of this indignity.

Adr.
Come go, I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And never rise, until my tears and prayers
Have won his Grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the Abbess. Enter Merchant and Angelo.

Mer.
By this I think the dial points at five:
Anon I'm sure the Duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale;
The place of death and sorry execution,
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

Ang.
Upon what cause?

Mer.
To see a reverend Syracusan merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publickly for his offence.

Ang.
See where they come, we will behold his death.

Luc.
Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey. SCENE III. Enter the Duke, and Ægeon bare-headed, with the Headsman, and other Officers.

Duke.
Yet once again proclaim it publickly,
If any friend will pay the sum for him
He shall not die, so much we tender him.

Adr.
Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess.

Duke.
She is a virtuous and a reverend lady;
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.

Adr.
May it please your Grace, Antipholis my husband,
Whom I made lord of me and all I had,
At your important letters, this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
That desp'rately he hurry'd through the street,
With him his bondman all as mad as he,
Doing displeasure to the citizens,
By rushing in their houses; bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
That here and there his fury had committed:
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
He broke from those that had the guard of him,
And with his mad attendant and himself,
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords
Met us again, and madly bent on us,
Chas'd us away; 'till raising of more aid
We came again to bind them; then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursu'd them,
And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command,
Let him be brought forth, and born hence for help.

Duke.
Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars,
And I to thee ingag'd a Prince's word,
When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
To do him all the grace and good I could.
Go some of you knock at the abbey gate,

And bid the lady Abbess come to me.
I will determine this before I stir. SCENE IV. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
O mistress, mistress, shift and save your self;
My master and his man are both broke loose,
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,
Whose beard they have sing'd off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blaz'd, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair;
My master preaches patience to him, and the while
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool:
And sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.

Adr.
Peace fool, thy master and his man are here,
And that is false thou dost report to us.

Mess.
Mistress, upon my life I tell you true,
I have not breath'd almost since I did see it.
He crys for you, and vows if he can take you,
To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. [Cry within.
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone.

Duke.
Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with halberds.

Adr.
Ay me, it is my husband; witness you,
That he is born about invisible.
Ev'n now we hous'd him in the abbey here,
And now he's there, past thought of human reason. SCENE V. Enter Antipholis and Dromio of Ephesus.

E. Ant.
Justice, most gracious Duke, oh grant me justice.

Even for the service that long since I did thee,
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life, even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

Ægeon.
Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
I see my son Antipholis, and Dromio.

E. Ant.
Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman there;
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife;
That hath abused and dishonour'd me,
Ev'n in the strength and height of injury:
Beyond imagination is the wrong
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

Duke.
Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.

E. Ant.
This day, great Duke, she shut the doors upon me;
Whilst she with harlots feasted in my house.

Duke.
A grievous fault; say woman, didst thou so?

Adr.
No, my good lord: my self, he and my sister,
To-day did dine together: so befall my soul,
As this is false he burthens me withal.

Luc.
Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,
But she tells to your Highness simple truth.

Ang.
O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn.
In this the mad-man justly chargeth them.

E. Ant.
My Liege, I am advised what I say,
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash provok'd with raging ire,
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner;
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
Could witness it; for he was with me then,
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.

Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him; in the street I met him,
And in his company that gentleman.
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
That I this day from him receiv'd the chain,
Which God he knows I saw not; for the which
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey, and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats; he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer
To go in person with me to my house.
By th'way we met my wife, her sister, and
A rabble more of vile confederates;
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain,
&plquo;A meer anatomy, a mountebank,
&plquo;A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune teller,
&plquo;A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking-wretch,
&plquo;A living dead man. This pernicious slave
Forsooth took on him as a conjurer;
And gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was possest. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;
'Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds asunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.

Ang.
My lord, in truth thus far I witness with him;
That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke.
But had he such a chain of thee, or no?

Ang.
He had, my lord; and when he ran in here,
These people saw the chain about his neck.

Mer.
Besides I will be sworn these ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart,
And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence I think you're come by miracle.

E. Ant.
I never came within these abbey walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
I never saw the chain, so help me heav'n;
And this is false you burthen me withal.

Duke.
Why what an intricate impeach is this?
I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup:
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been.
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
You say he din'd at home, the goldsmith here
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

E. Dro.
Sir, he din'd with her there, at the Porcupine.

Cur.
He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

E. Ant.
'Tis true, my Liege, this ring I had of her.

Duke.
Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Cur.
As sure, my Liege, as I do see your Grace.

Duke.
Why this is strange; go call the Abbess hither;
I think you are all mated, or stark mad. [Ex. one to the Abbess. SCENE VI.

Ægeon.
Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:
Haply I see a friend will save my life,
And pay the sum that may deliver me.

Duke.
Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.

Ægeon.
Is not your name, Sir, call'd Antipholis?

And is not that your bond-man Dromio?

E. Dro.
Within this hour I was his bond-man, Sir,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords,
Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound.

Ægeon.
I am sure both of you remember me.

E. Dro.
Our selves we do remember, Sir, by you;
For lately we were bound as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, Sir?

Ægeon.
Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

E. Ant.
I never saw you in my life 'till now.

Ægeon.
Oh! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last,
And careful hours with time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face;
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

E. Ant.

Neither.

Ægeon.

Dromio, nor thou?

E. Dro.

No, trust me, nor I.

Ægeon.

I am sure thou dost.

E. Dro.

I, Sir? but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

Ægeon.
Not know my voice! oh time's extremity,
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
&plquo;Tho' now this grained face of mine be hid
&plquo;In sap-consuming winter's drizled snow,
&plquo;And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
&plquo;Yet hath my night of life some memory,
&plquo;My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left;
&plquo;My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
&plquo;All these old witnesses, I cannot err,
&plquo;Tell me thou art my son Antipholis.

E. Ant.
I never saw my father in my life.

Ægeon.
But seven years since, in Syracusa bay,
Thou know'st we parted; but perhaps my son,
Thou sham'st t'acknowledge me in misery.

E. Ant.
The Duke, and all that know me in the city,
Can witness with me that it is not so:
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke.
I tell thee, Syracusan; twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholis,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. SCENE VII. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholis Syracusan and Dromio Syracusan.

Abb.
Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see them.

Adr.
I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

Duke.
One of these men is Genius to the other;
And so of these which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? who deciphers them?

S. Dro.
I, Sir, am Dromio, command him away.

E. Dro.
I, Sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay.

S. Ant.
Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?

S. Dro.
O, my old master! who hath bound him here?

Abb.
Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man
That hadst a wife once call'd Æmilia,
That bore thee at a burthen two fair sons?
Oh if thou be'st the same Ægeon, speak;
And speak unto the same Æmilia.

Duke.
Why here begins the morning story right:

These two Antipholis's, these two so like,
And those two Dromio's, one in semblance;
Besides her urging of her wrack at sea,
These plainly are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.

Ægeon.
If I dream not, thou art Æmilia;
If thou art she, tell me where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft.

Abb.
By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
What then became of them I cannot tell;
I, to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke.
Antipholis, thou cam'st from Corinth first.

S. Ant.
No, Sir, not I, I came from Syracuse.

Duke.
Stay, stand apart, I know not which is which.

E. Ant.
I came from Corinth, my most gracious Lord.

E. Dro.
And I with him.

E. Ant.
Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Adr.
Which of you two did dine with me to-day?

S. Ant.
I, gentle mistress.

Adr.
And are not you my husband?

E. Ant.
No, I say nay to that.

S. Ant.
And so do I, yet did she call me so:
And this fair gentlewoman here
Did call me brother. What I told you then,
I hope I shall have leisure to make good,
If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Ang.
That is the chain, Sir, which you had of me.

S. Ant.
I think it be, Sir, I deny it not.

E. Ant.
And you, Sir, for this chain arrested me.

Ang.
I think I did, Sir, I deny it not.

Adr.
I sent you mony, Sir, to be your bail
By Dromio, but I think he brought it not.

E. Dro.
No, none by me.

S. Ant.
This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you,
And Dromio my man did bring them me:
I see we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
And thereupon these errors all arose.

E. Ant.
These ducats pawn I for my father here.

Duke.
It shall not need, thy father hath his life.

Cur.
Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

E. Ant.
There take it, and much thanks for my good cheer.

Abb.
Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong; go, keep us company,
And ye shall have full satisfaction.
Thirty three years have I been gone in travel
Of you my sons, and 'till this present hour
My heavy burthens are delivered:
The Duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you the kalenders of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast and go with me,
After so long grief such nativity!

Duke.
With all my heart I'll gossip at this feast.

SCENE VIII. Manent the two Antiph. and two Dromio's.

S. Dro.
Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?

E. Ant.
Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou imbark'd?

S. Dro.
Your goods that lay at host, Sir, in the Centaur.

S. Ant.
He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio.
Come go with us, we'll look to that anon;
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. [Exit.

S. Dro.
There is a fat friend at your master's house,
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner:
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

E. Dro.
Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:
I see by you I am a sweet fac'd youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

S. Dro.
Not I Sir; you're my elder.

E. Dro.
That's a question:
How shall I try it?

S. Dro.
We'll draw cuts for the senior:
'Till then, lead thou first.

E. Dro.
Nay, then thus— [Embracing.
We came into the world like brother and brother:
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another. [Exeunt.

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