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Luc. Till he come home again, I would for- If I last in this service, you must case me in bear.

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


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

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?



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


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

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-

SCENE II.-The same.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.
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 send him from the mart: See here he comes.
Enter DROM10 of Syracuse.

How now, Sir? is your merry humour alter'd?
vil-As you love strokes, 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 Phoenix ? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

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


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


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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


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Your sauciness will jest upon my love,

And make a common of iny serious hours. ⚫
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make

But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me know my aspect, t
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 bead, and insconce it too; 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. Marry, and did, Sir; namely, 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 conclu sion :

But soft! who wafts us yonder?

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst

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That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thiue eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless i spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to

How comes it now, my husband, oh! 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?

Dro. S. If it be, Sir, I pray you eat none And that this body, consecrate to thee,

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?

By ruffian Just 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 band cut the wedding ring.
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

know thou canst; and therefore, see, thon
do it.

I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, by a rule as plain as the My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: 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 peruke, 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, 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.
Dro. S. Certain ones then.

Ant. S. Name them.

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; 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.

1. e. Intrude on them when you please

1 Study my countenance.

1 A sconce was a fortification.

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

I live dis-stain'd, thon undishonoured.

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 I 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 bis wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, Sir, with this gen-

What is the course and drift of your compact ?
Dro. S. 1, Sir? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very


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,

• Beckons.

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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-

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


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


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


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.

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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

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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


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 ?

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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:

Why at this time the doors are made against


Be rul'd by me; depart in patience,

And let us to the Tiger all to dinner:

Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my And, about evening, come yourself alone, staff?

To know the reason of this strange restraint.

Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-If by strong hand you offer to break in,

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.

Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on 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;

Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.

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

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

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Ant E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in

And, in despite 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

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

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain


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


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

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


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


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

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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

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

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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 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

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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.

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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


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

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