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 burthen'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 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.*

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'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 be :

Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he:

Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, lain?

leather.

[Exit.

Luc. Fie, how impatience lowereth in your face.

Adr. His company must do his minions grace,

Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the 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 bate?
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-arming jealousy !-fle, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs

dispense.

I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ;
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 enamelled,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides
still,

That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold: and so no man, that bath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
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 jea-
lousy!
[Exeunt.

The pig, quoth I, is burn'd, My gold, quoth

he:

My mistress, Sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mis

tress:

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.

To counterfeit thus grossly 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 con-
tempt.

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;

Whose weakness, married to my stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If aught 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. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme :

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.

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

Dro. S. Oh! 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; 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 an

swer'st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I? Ant. S. I think thou art, in mind, and so am 1.

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 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 perséver 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.

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 ?

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 handwriting would tell you what I think.

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

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

Dro. S. [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.

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

Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest be catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open

the door.

Dro. S. Right, Sir, I'll tell you when, and 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? §

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.

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:

you.

When? can you tell?

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

Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope ?

Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.

Dro. S. And you said, no.

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 ake.

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 bave either.

Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

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. +

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
bebind.

Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest 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

me.

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

hence.

Ant. E. Do so; This jest shall cost me some expense.

SCENE 11.-The same. Enter LUCIANA, and ANTIPHOLUS of Syra

cuse.

Luc. And may it be that you have quite for. got

A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, hate, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs

rot?

Shall love, in building, 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 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; 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,

Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arin, show us the sleeve ;

We in your motion turn, and you may move

note,

with thy

To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden bairs,

And as a bed I'll take thee, 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! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

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

Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your

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 1 aim
thee:

Thee will 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 Luc. Enter, from the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Syracuse.

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st thon 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 clain 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 t1. e. Confounded.

Mermaid for siren

Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such 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 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?

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 and three quarters, that is, an ell 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: hard, in the palm of the hand.

Ant. S. Where France?

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

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.

To

Dro. S. O Sir, I did not look so low. conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me Dromio; swore I was assur'd ‡ to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that 1, 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 transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel.

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 know us, and we know none,
'Tis time I think, to trudge, pack, and be