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.

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