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.

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