Introductory matter ^note

INTRODUCTION.

WE have distinct evidence of the existence of an old play called “The Historie of Error,” which was acted at Hampton Court on new-year's night, 1576–7. The same play, in all probability, was repeated at Windsor on twelfth-night, 1582–3, though, in the accounts of the Master of the Revels, it is called “The Historie of Ferrar.” Boswell (Mal. Shakesp. III. 406.) not very happily conjectured, that this “Historie of Ferrar” was some piece by George Ferrers, as if it had been named after its author, who had been dead some years: the fact, no doubt, is, that the clerk who prepared the account merely wrote the title by his ear. Thus we see that, shortly before Shakespeare is supposed to have come to London, a play was in course of performance upon which his own “Comedy of Errors” might be founded. “The Historie of Error” was, probably, an early adaptation of the Menæchmi of Plautus, of which a free translation was published in 1595, under the following title:—

“A pleasant and fine Conceited Comædie, taken out of the most excellent wittie Poet Plautus: Chosen purposely from out the rest, as least harmefull, and yet most delightfull. Written in English by W. W.—London, Printed by Tho. Creede, and are to be sold by William Barley, at his shop in Gratious streete. 1595.” 4to.

The title-page, therefore, does not (as we might be led to suppose from Steevens's reprint in the “Six Old Plays”) mention the Menæchmi by name, but we learn it from the commencement of the piece itself.

Ritson was of opinion, “that Shakespeare was not under the slightest obligation” to the translation of the Menæchmi, by W. W., supposed, by Ant. Wood (Ath. Oxon. by Bliss, I. 766.), to be W. Warner; and most likely Ritson was right, not from want of resemblance, but because “The Comedy of Errors” was, in all probability, anterior in point of date, and because Shakespeare may have availed himself of the old drama which, as has been noticed, was performed at court in 1576–7, and in 1582–3. That court-drama, we may infer,

had its origin in Plautus; and it was, perhaps, the popularity of Shakespeare's “Comedy of Errors” which induced Creede to print Warner's version of the Menæchmi in 1595. There are various points of likeness between Warner's Menæchmi and Shakespeare's “Comedy of Errors;” but those points we may suppose to have been derived intermediately through the court-drama, and not directly from Plautus^{1 note}. Sir W. Blackstone entertained the belief, from the “long hobbling verses” in “The Comedy of Errors,” that it was “among Shakespeare's more early productions:” this is plausible, but we imagine, from their general dissimilarity to the style of our great dramatist, that these “long hobbling verses” formed a portion of the old court-drama, of which Shakespeare made as much use as answered his purpose: they are quite in the style of plays anterior to the time of Shakespeare, and it is easy to distinguish such portions of the comedy as he must have written.

The earliest notice we have of “The Comedy of Errors,” is by Meres, in his Palladis Tamia, 1598, where he gives it to Shakespeare under the name of “Errors^{2 note}.” How much before that time it had been written and produced on the stage, we can only speculate. Malone refers to a part of the dialogue in Act III. sc. 2, where Dromio of Syracuse is conversing with his master about the “kitchen wench” who insisted upon making love to him, and who was so fat and round—“spherical like a globe”—that Dromio “could find out countries in her:”— “Ant. S.
Where France? Dro. S.
In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her heir.”

It is supposed that an equivoque was intended on the word “heir” (which is printed in the folio of 1623 “heire,” at that period an unusual way of spelling “hair”), and that Shakespeare alluded to the civil war in France, which began in the middle of 1589, and did not terminate until the close of 1593. This notion seems well-founded, for otherwise there would be no joke in the reply; and it accords pretty exactly with the time when we may believe “The Comedy of Errors” to have been written. But here we have a range of four years and a half, and we can arrive at no nearer approximation to a precise date. As a mere conjecture it may be stated that Shakespeare would

not have inserted the allusion to the hostility between France and her “heir,” after the war had been so long carried on, that interest in, or attention to it in this country would have been relaxed.

Another question by Antipholus, and the answer of Dromio, immediately preceding what is above quoted, is remarkable on a different account:— “Ant. S.
Where Scotland? Dro. S.
I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand.”

“From this passage,” (says Malone) “we may learn that this comedy was not revived after the accession of the Scottish monarch to the English throne; otherwise it would probably have been struck out by the Master of the Revels.” However, we are now certain (a curious fact hitherto unknown), that “The Comedy of Errors” was represented at Whitehall on the 28th December, 1604. In the account of the Master of the Revels of the expenses of his department, from the end of Oct. 1604, to Shrove Tuesday, 1605, preserved in the Audit Office, we read the subsequent entry:—

“By his Ma^tis Plaiers. On Inosents Night, the plaie of Errors,” the name of Shaxberd, for Shakespeare, being inserted in the margin as “the Poet which mayd the Plaie.” “The Comedy of Errors” was, therefore, not only “revived,” but represented at court very soon after James I. came to the crown: we may be confident, however, that the question and answer respecting Scotland were not repeated on the occasion, though retained in the MS. used by the actor-editors for the folio of 1623.

In his Lectures on Shakespeare in 1818, Coleridge passed over “The Comedy of Errors” without any particular or separate observation; but in his “Literary Remains” we find it twice mentioned (vol. ii. 90 and 114), in much the same terms. “Shakespeare,” he observes, “has in this piece presented us with a legitimate farce, in exactest consonance with the philosophical principles and character of farce, as distinguished from comedy and entertainments. A proper farce is mainly distinguished from comedy by the licence allowed, and even required, in the fable, in order to produce strange and laughable situations. The story need not be probable; it is enough that it is possible. A comedy would scarcely allow even the two Antipholuses; because, although there have been instances of almost undistinguishable likeness in two persons, yet these are mere individual accidents, casus ludentis naturæ, and the verum will not excuse the inverisimile. But farce dares add the two Dromios, and is justified in so doing by the laws of its end and constitution.”

1 ^note.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus. ÆGEON [Aegeon], a Merchant of Syracuse. ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, Twin brother to Antipholus of Syracuse, Son to Ægeon and Æmilia. ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, Twin brother to Antipholus of Ephesus, Son to Ægeon and Æmilia. DROMIO of Ephesus, Twin brother to Dromio of Syracuse, Attendant on Antipholus of Ephesus. DROMIO of Syracuse, Twin brother to Dromio of Ephesus, Attendant on Antipholus of Syracuse. BALTHAZAR [Balthasar], a Merchant. ANGELO, a Goldsmith. A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. PINCH, a Schoolmaster. ÆMILIA [Aemilia], Wife to Ægeon. ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. LUCIANA, her Sister. LUCE, Servant to Adriana. A Courtezan. Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants. [Gaoler], [Officer] SCENE, Ephesus.

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS. ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter Solinus, Duke of Ephesus, Ægeon, a Merchant of Syracusa, Jailor, Officers, and other Attendants.

Æge.
Proceed, Solinus, 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 rancorous 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 threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more, if any, born at Ephesus,
Be seen at any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again, if any Syracusian 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 to ransom him.

Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

Æge.
Yet this my comfort; when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke.
Well, Syracusian; say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home,
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Æge.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs 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. 11Q0130
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too^{1 note}, 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 the great care of goods at random left^{2 note}


Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear^{3 note})
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There had she 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^{4 note}

Of such a burden, 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^{5 note}!
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 11Q0131
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 was none.—
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
My wife, more careful for the latter-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 fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us,
And by the benefit of his wish'd light
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us;
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,—O, 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, though not pardon thee.

Æge.
O, 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 encounter'd by a mighty rock,
Which being violently borne upon^{6 note},
Our helpful 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 woe,
Was carried 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 seized on us;
And knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome^{7 note} to their shipwreck'd guests;

And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail^{8 note},
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 sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now^{9 note}
.

Æge.
My youngest boy^{10 note}, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and importun'd me,
That his attendant (so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him;
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 11Q0132
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 loth 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 mark'd
To bear the 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 disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But though 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:
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help 11Q0133^{1 note}

.
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.—
Jailor, take him to thy custody.

Jail.
I will, my lord.

Æge.
Hopeless, and helpless, doth Ægeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A public Place. Enter Antipholus^{2 note} and Dromio of Syracuse, and a Merchant.

Mer.
Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day, a Syracusian 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 money that I had to keep.

Ant. S.
Go, bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
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. S.
Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit.

Ant. S.
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 my 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 o'clock^{3 note},
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
And afterwards consort you till bed-time^{4 note}:
My present business calls me from you now.

Ant. S.
Farewell till then. I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down to view the city.

Mer.
Sir, I commend you to your own content. [Exit.

Ant. S.
He that commends me to mine 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^{5 note}

:

So I, to find a mother, and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanack of my true date^{6 note}.—
What now? How chance thou art return'd so soon?

Dro. E.
Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late.
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath 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. S.
Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray;
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

Dro. E.
O! sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper.
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

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

Dro. E.
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^{7 note}.
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock^{8 note},
And strike you home without a messenger. 11Q0134

Ant. S.
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?

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

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

Dro. E.
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. S.
Now, as I am a Christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd.
Where is the thousand marks thou had'st of me?

Dro. E.
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. S.
Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou?

Dro. E.
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. S.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,

Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. [Strikes him.

Dro. E.
What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands.
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit.

Ant. S.
Upon my life, by some device or other
The villain is o'er-raught^{9 note} of all my money.
They say, this town is full of cozenage;
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin^{1 note}:
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
I greatly fear, my money is not safe. [Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. A public Place. Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus, and Luciana her sister^{2 note}.

Adr.
Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master?
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'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 lies out o' door.

Adr.
Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill^{3 note}.

Luc.
O! know he is the bridle of your will.

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

Luc.
Why, head-strong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects, and at their controls.
Men, more divine, the masters of all these^{4 note},
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
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^{5 note}?

Luc.
Till he come home again, I would forbear^{6 note}.

Adr.
Patience unmov'd, no marvel though 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 ourselves 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^{7 note} in thee will be left.

Luc.
Well, I will marry one day, but to try.—
Here comes your man: now is your husband nigh. Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

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

Dro. E.

Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

Adr.

Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind?

Dro. E.

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

Luc.

Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

Dro. E.

Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them. 11Q0135

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

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

Adr.
Horn-mad, thou villain!

Dro. E.
I mean not cuckold-mad;
But, sure, he is stark mad.
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold^{8 note}:

'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Will you come, quoth I^{9 note}? 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?

Dro. E.
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 bear home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

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

Dro. E.
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.

Dro. E.
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.

Dro. E.
Am I so round with you^{1 note}, 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^{2 note}. [Exit.

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 blunts 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^{3 note}
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^{4 note}.

Luc.
Self-harming jealousy!—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^{5 note},
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see, the jewel best enamelled 11Q0136
Will lose his beauty: yet though gold 'bides still,
That others touch, an often touching will
Wear gold; and no man, that hath a name,
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame^{6 note}

Luc.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The Same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse^{7 note}.

Ant. S.
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 strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur^{8 note}? 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?

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

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

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

Ant. S.
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.

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

Ant. S.
Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him.

Dro. S.
Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is earnest:
Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant. S.
Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your sauciness 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.

Dro. S.

Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too^{9 note}; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?

Ant. S.

Dost thou not know?

Dro. S.

Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten.

Ant. S.

Shall I tell you why?

Dro. S.

Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.

Ant. S.

Why, first,—for flouting me; and then, wherefore,—for urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S.
Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason?—

Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S.

Thank me, sir? for what?

Dro. S.

Marry, sir, for this something, that you gave me for nothing.

Ant. S.

I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

Dro. S.

No, sir: I think, the meat wants that I have.

Ant. S.

In good time, sir; what's that?

Dro. S.

Basting.

Ant. S.

Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

Dro. S.

If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.

Ant. S.

Your reason?

Dro. S.

Lest it make you choleric; and purchase me another dry basting.

Ant. S.

Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a time for all things.

Dro. S.

I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

Ant. S.

By what rule, sir?

Dro. S.

Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.

Ant. S.

Let's hear it.

Dro. S.

There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S.

May he not do it by fine and recovery?

Dro. S.

Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another man.

Ant. S.

Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

Dro. S.

Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair^{1 note}, he hath given them in wit.

Ant. S.

Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Dro. S.

Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

Ant. S.

Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers, without wit.

Dro. S.

The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant. S.

For what reason?

Dro. S.

For two; and sound ones too.

Ant. S.

Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Dro. S.

Sure ones then.

Ant. S.

Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing^{2 note}.

Dro. S.

Certain ones then.

Ant. S.

Name them.

Dro. S.

The one, to save the money that he spends in 'tiring 11Q0137^{3 note}; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.

Ant. S.

You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things.

Dro. S.

Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S.

But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S.

Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.

Ant. S.
I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion.
But soft! who wafts us yonder? Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr.
Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown:
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow
That never words were music to thine ear,

That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, O! how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy 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 thyself, 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 off my harlot-brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou can'st; 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 thy flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live disstain'd^{4 note}, thou undishonoured. 11Q0138

Ant. S.
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;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
Want wit in all one word to understand.

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. S.
By Dromio?

Dro. S.
By me?

Adr.
By thee; and this thou didst return from him,—
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

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

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

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

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

Ant. S.
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 grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt^{5 note}

,
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, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss;
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Ant. S.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme! 11Q0139
What, was I married to her in my dream,
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy^{6 note}.

Luc.
Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Dro. S.
O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites^{7 note}.
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

Luc.
Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?
Dromio, thou Dromio^{8 note}, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

Dro. S.
I am transformed, master, am I not?

Ant. S.
I think thou art, in mind, and so am I.

Dro. S.
Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.

Ant. S.
Thou hast thine own form.

Dro. S.
No, I am an ape.

Luc.
If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.

Dro. S.
'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.
'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be,
But I should know her, as well as she knows me.

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^{9 note} 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. S.
Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking? mad, or well-advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd?
I'll say as they say, and persever so,
And in this mist, at all adventures, go.

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

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

Luc.
Come, come, Antipholus; we dine too late. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. The Same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar.

Ant. E.
Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
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 carkanet^{1 note},
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 did'st thou mean by this?

Dro. E.
Say what you will, sir; but I know what I know.
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
Your own hand-writing would tell you what I think. 11Q0140

Ant. E.
I think, thou art an ass.

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

Ant. E.
You are sad, signior Balthazar: pray God, our cheer
May answer my good-will, and your good welcome here.

Bal.
I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.

Ant. E.
O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table-full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

Bal.
Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

Ant. E.
And welcome more common, for that's nothing but words.

Bal.
Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

Ant. E.
Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
But soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in.

Dro. E.
Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Gin'!

Dro. S. [Within.]
Mome^{2 note}, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch^{3 note}!
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.

Dro. E.
What patch is made our porter?—My master stays in the street.

Dro. S.
Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet.

Ant. E.
Who talks within there? ho! open the door.

Dro. S.
Right, sir: I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore.

Ant. E.
Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not din'd to-day.

Dro. S.
Nor to-day here you must not, come again when you may.

Ant. E.
What art thou that keep'st me out from the house I owe^{4 note}?

Dro. S.
The porter for this time, sir; and my name is Dromio.

Dro. E.
O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name:
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. 11Q0141

Luce. [Within.]
What a coil is there Dromio: who are those at the gate?

Dro. E.
Let my master in, Luce.

Luce
Faith no; he comes too late;
And so tell your master.

Dro. E.
O Lord! I must laugh:—
Have at you with a proverb.—Shall I set in my staff?

Luce
Have at you with another: that's,—when? can you tell^{5 note}?

Dro. S.
If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

Ant. E.
Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope^{6 note}?

Luce
I thought to have ask'd you.

Dro. S.
And you said, no.

Dro. E.
So; come, help! well struck; there was blow for blow.

Ant. E.
Thou baggage, let me in.

Luce
Can you tell for whose sake?

Dro. E.
Master, knock the door hard.

Luce
Let him knock till it ache.

Ant. E.
You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

Luce
What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

Adr. [Within.]
Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise?

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

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

Adr.
Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door.

Dro. E.
If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore.

Ang.
Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we would fain have either.

Bal.
In debating which was best, we shall part with neither^{7 note}.

Dro. E.
They stand at the door, master: bid them welcome hither.

Ant. E.
There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

Dro. E.
You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.
Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold:
It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold^{8 note}.

Ant. E.
Go, fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate.

Dro. S.
Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

Dro. E.
A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.

Dro. S.
It seems, thou want'st breaking. Out upon thee, hind!

Dro. E.
Here's too much out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in.

Dro. S.
Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.

Ant. E.
Well, I'll break in. Go, borrow me a crow.

Dro. E.
A crow without feather? master, mean you so?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather.
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.

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

Bal.
Have patience, sir; O! let it not be so:
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this^{9 note},—Your long experience of her wisdom^{1 note},
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 made against you.
Be rul'd by me: depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner;
And about evening come yourself 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 route,
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 housed, where it gets possession.

Ant. E.
You have prevail'd: I will depart in quiet,
And, in despite of mirth^{2 note}, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse^{3 note},

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 will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)
Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste.
Since mine 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 hence.

Ant. E.
Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Same. Enter Luciana^{4 note}, and Antipholus of Syracuse.

Luc.
And may it be that you have quite forgot
  A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
  Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous 11Q0142^{5 note}
?
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 show 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^{6 note};
  Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:
Bear a fair presence, though 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 but believe^{7 note},
  Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve,
  We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again:
  Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife.
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
  When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

Ant. S.
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 earthly gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
  The folded 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 power 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 no homage do I owe:
  Far more, far more, to you do I decline 11Q0143^{8 note}.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
  To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears^{9 note}.
Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote:
  Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee^{1 note}, and there lie;
  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^{2 note}!

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

Ant. S.
Not mad, but mated^{3 note}; how, I do not know.

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

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

Luc.
Gaze where you should^{4 note}, and that will clear your sight.

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

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

Ant. S.
Thy sister's sister.

Luc.
That's my sister.

Ant. S.
No;
It is thyself, 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.

Ant. S.
Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee^{5 note}.
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life:
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
Give me thy hand.

Luc.
O, soft, sir! hold you still:
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will. [Exit. Enter Dromio of Syracuse hastily.

Ant. S.

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

Dro. S.

Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?

Ant. S.

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

Dro. S.

I am an ass; I am a woman's man, and besides myself.

Ant. S.

What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

Dro. S.

Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

Ant. S.

What claim lays she to thee?

Dro. S.

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.

Ant. S.

What is she?

Dro. S.

A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence^{6 note}. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a wondrous fat marriage.

Ant. S.

How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

Dro. S.

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.

Ant. S.

What complexion is she of? 11Q0144

Dro. S.

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.

Ant. S.

That's a fault that water will mend.

Dro. S.

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

Ant. S.

What's her name?

Dro. S.

Nell, sir; but her name is three quarters, that is, an ell^{7 note}; and three quarters will not measure her from hip to hip.

Ant. S.

Then she bears some breadth?

Dro. S.

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

Ant. S.

In what part of her body stands Ireland?

Dro. S.

Marry, sir, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs.

Ant. S.

Where Scotland?

Dro. S.

I found it by the barrenness^{8 note}, hard, in the palm of the hand.

Ant. S.

Where France?

Dro. S.

In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her heir^{9 note}.

Ant. S.

Where England?

Dro. S.

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.

Ant. S.

Where Spain?

Dro. S.

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

Ant. S.

Where America, the Indies?

Dro. S.

O! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. ^note

Ant. S.

Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

Dro. S.

O! sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assured to her: told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, 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 curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the wheel^{1 note}.

Ant. S.
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 begone.

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

Ant. S.
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,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. Enter Angelo.

Ang.
Master Antipholus?

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

Ang.
I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain.
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine;
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

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

Ang.
What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.

Ant. S.
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 money for the chain.

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

Ang.
You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well. [Exit.

Ant. S.
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 straight away. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Same. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer.

Mer.
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.
Even just the sum, that I do owe to you,
Is growing to me^{2 note} by Antipholus;
And, in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain: at five o'clock,
I shall receive the money for the same.
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of Ephesus, from the Courtezan's^{3 note}.

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

Ant. E.
While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou
And buy a rope's end, that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates 11Q0145^{4 note},
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.

Dro. E.
I buy a thousand pound a-year? I buy a rope? [Exit.

Ant. E.
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, and therefore came not.

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

Ant. E.
I am not furnish'd with the present money;
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 yourself?

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

Ang.
Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

Ant. E.
An if I have not, sir, I hope you have,
Or else you may return without your money.

Ang.
Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain:
Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman,

And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

Ant. E.
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—

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

Ang.
Come, come; you know, I gave it you even now.
Either send the chain, or send me by some token. 11Q0146

Ant. E.
Fie! now you run this humour out of breath^{5 note}.
Come, where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Mer.
My business cannot brook this dalliance.
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no^{6 note}
?
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

Ant. E.
I answer you! what should I answer you?

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

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

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

Ant. E.
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.

Off.
I do, and charge you in the duke's name to obey me.

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

Ant. E.
Consent to pay thee that I never had? 11Q0147
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.

Off.
I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit.

Ant. E.
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. Enter Dromio of Syracuse^{7 note}.

Dro. S.
Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought
The oil, 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 yourself.

Ant. E.
How now? a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep^{8 note},
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

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

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

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

Ant. E.
I will debate this matter at more leisure,

And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight;
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 Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E.

Dro. S.
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, although against my will,
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. SCENE II. The Same. 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^{9 note}?

Luc.
First he denied you had in him no right.

Adr.
He meant, he did me none: the more my spite.

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 his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-fac'd, worse bodied, shapeless every where;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,
Stigmatical in making^{1 note}, 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^{2 note}

Dro. S.
Here, go: the desk! the purse! sweet, now make haste. 11Q0148

Luc.
How hast thou lost thy breath?

Dro. S.
By running fast.

Adr.
Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

Dro. S.
No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell:

A devil in an everlasting garment hath him^{3 note},
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; 11Q0149
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands^{4 note}:
A hound that runs counter^{5 note}, and yet draws dry-foot well^{6 note};
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell^{7 note}.

Adr.
Why, man, what is the matter?

Dro. S.
I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

Adr.
What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit.

Dro. S.
I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;
But is in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell^{8 note}.
Will you send him, mistress, redemption? the money in his desk?

Adr.
Go fetch it, sister.—This I wonder at; [Exit Luciana.
That he^{9 note}, unknown to me, should be in debt:—

Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

Dro. S.
Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;
A chain, a chain: do you not hear it ring?

Adr.
What, the chain?

Dro. S.
No, no, the bell. 'Tis time that I were gone:
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.

Adr.
The hours come back! that did I never hear.

Dro. S.
O yes; if any hour meet a serjeant, 'a turns back for very fear.

Adr.
As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason!

Dro. S.
Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's worth, to season.
Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say,
That time comes stealing on by night and day?
If he be in debt^{1 note} and theft, and a serjeant in the way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Re-enter Luciana.

Adr.
Go, Dromio: there's the money, bear it straight,
  And bring thy master home immediately.—
Come, sister; I am press'd down with conceit,
  Conceit, my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Same. Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.

Ant. S.
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 money to me, some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;

Some offer me commodities to buy:
Even now a tailor 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.

Dro. S.

Master, here's the gold you sent me for.

What have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell'd^{2 note}?

Ant. S.

What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?

Dro. S.

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

Ant. S.

I understand thee not.

Dro. S.

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 sob^{3 note}, and 'rests them: he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest^{4 note} to do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike^{5 note}.

Ant. S.

What, thou mean'st an officer?

Dro. S.

Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, “God give you good rest!”

Ant. S.

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

Dro. S.

Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the serjeant to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.

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

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

Ant. S.
Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not!

Dro. S.

Master, is this mistress Satan?

Ant. S.

It is the devil.

Dro. S.

Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof comes that the wenches say, “God damn me,” that's as much as to say, “God make me a light wench.” It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her.

Cour.

Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. Will you go with me? we'll mend our dinner here.

Dro. S.

Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon^{6 note}.

Ant. S.

Why, Dromio?

Dro. S.

Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.

Ant. S.
Avoid then, fiend! 11Q0150 what tell'st thou me of supping?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress^{7 note}:
I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone.

Cour.
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.

Dro. S.
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: an if you give it her,
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

Cour.
I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain.
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

Ant. S.
Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.

Dro. S.
Fly pride, says the peacock: mistress, that you know. [Exeunt Ant. and Dro.

Cour.
Now, out of doubt, Antipholus 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 lunatic,
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce
My ring away. This course I fittest choose,
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. SCENE IV. The Same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and a Jailor^{8 note}.

Ant. E.
Fear me not, man; I will not break away:
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
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 money.—
How now, sir? have you that I sent you for?

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

Ant. E.
But where's the money?

Dro. E.
Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

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

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

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

Dro. E.

To a rope's end, sir; and to that end am I return'd.

Ant. E.

And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.

Jail.

Good sir, be patient.

Dro. E.

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

Jail.

Good now, hold thy tongue.

Dro. E.

Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

Ant. E.

Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

Dro. E.

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

Ant. E.

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

Dro. E.

I am an ass, indeed: you may prove it by my long ears^{9 note}. 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; welcomed 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 lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door.

Ant. E.

Come, go along: my wife is coming yonder.