Plays and Poems

Dro. S. Within. Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!

Either get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch.

Dest 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. Within. 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. Within. Right sir: I'll tell you when,
an you'll tell me wherefore.

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

Dro. S. Within. 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. Within. 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 hadst 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. Within. 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. Within. Have at you with another:
that's-When? can you tell?
52
Dro. S. Within. 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?

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. Within. 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. Within. It seems thou wantest break-
ing Out upon thee, hind!

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

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

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

Bal. Have patience, sir; O! let it not be so; Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this,--your long experience of her wisdom, 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, Can you tell for whose sake? A vulgar comment will be made of it, Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. And that supposed by the common rout Luce. Within. Let him knock till it ache. Against your yet ungalled estimation, Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat That may with foul intrusion enter in the door down. And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; For slander lives upon succession,

Luce. Within. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S. Within.
And you said, no.
Dro. E. So; come, help: well struck! there
was blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Within.

Luce. Within. 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. Within. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

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

Adr. Within. 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.

100

For ever housed where it gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd: I will depart in
quiet,

And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle: 110
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. To ANGELO. Get
you home

And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made;
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine ;
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, 120 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 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 ? 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;

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

Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

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

Luc. Why call you me love? caH my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister.
Luc.

Ant. S.

That's my sister.

No;

It is thyself, mine own self's better part;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer
heart;

Muffle your false love with some show of My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,

blindness;

Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; 10 Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;

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. Thee will I love and with thee lead my life: Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife.

Bear a fair presence, though your heart be Give me thy hand. 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 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, 30 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 earthy-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
vield.

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:

Luc.

O! soft, sir; hold you stiil: I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse hastily.

Exit.

Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without he say 'sirreverence.' 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.

102

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 50 could not do it.

Far more, far more, to you do I decline. O! train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister flood of tears: Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote : Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take them and there lie; And in that glorious supposition think

110

Ant. S. What's her name? Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's 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?

121

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard in

the palm of the hand.

Ant. S. Where France?

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.

180

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. 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;

Dro. S. In her forehead; armed and reverted, But this I think, there's no man is so vain making war against her heir.

15)

And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith and my heart of steel, She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made me turn i' the wheel.

Ant. S. Go hie thee presently post to the road: An 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 be gone. 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,

161

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: 190
If any ship put out, then straight away.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-A public Place.

Exit.

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,
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 carat,
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. 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

Either send the chain or send me by some token.

Ant. E. Fie! now you run this humour out of breath,

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 : 60 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! 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, so 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.

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,

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.

100

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 ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus. 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.

113

Exit.

SCENE II.-The House of ANTIPHOLUS of
Ephesus.

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

Adr. Ah! Luciana, did he tempt thee so? Mightst 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?

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. Didst 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 everywhere; 20
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,
Stigmatical in making, 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:

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do | And every one doth call me by my name.

curse.

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.

Some tender money to me; some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy ;

Dro. S. Here, go: the desk! the purse! sweet Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
now, make haste.

Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
Dro. S.

By running fast. 30
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,
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;

A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that
countermands

The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands: A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot well;

One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.

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.

Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the
money in his desk?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister.

Exit LUCIANA.
This I wonder at,
That he, 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? 51 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.

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-apparelled?

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 killed 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. Ay, sir, the sergeant 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 tonight; and then were you hindered by the sergeant 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 ;

Adr. The hours come back! that did I never And here we wander in illusions: hear.

Dro. S. O yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, 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 Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant 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.

SCENE III. A public Place.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.

Exeunt.

Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me

As if I were their well-acquainted friend;

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.

« Previous Continue »

Books