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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. 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. E. 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. Haveat you with a proverb: Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Within. Have at you with another: that's-When? can you tell?
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?
Luce. Within. I thought to have ask'd you.
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
the door down.
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.
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 breaking 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, A vulgar comment will be made of 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,
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,
And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made;
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? cal my sister so.
That's my sister.
It is thyself, mine own self's better part; 61 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,
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; 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 arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and you may move
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,- so Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our earth's wonder; more than carth 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 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. 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 :
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.
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.
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
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?
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.
Go home with it and please your wife withal;
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.
Ant. S. Where England?
Dro. S. I looked 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 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 caracks to be ballast at her nose. 141
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; called 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 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,
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present | I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought money;
Besides, I have some business in the town.
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her
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 :
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitæ.
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure,
Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman,
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine,
Ang. You hear how he importunes me: the
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife and fetch
Ang. Come, come; you know I gave it you
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
Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain.
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
And charge you in the duke's name to obey 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:
Of. I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit. so
Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum
SCENE II.-The House of ANTIPHOLUS of
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.
Adr. Ah! Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
Look'd he or red or pale? or sad or merrily?
Luc. First he denied you had in him no right.
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.
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do | 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 ;
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Here, go: the desk! the purse! sweet Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,
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?
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.
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?
Adr. Go, Dromio: there's the money, bear it straight,
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. 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 ;
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 And here we wander in illusions: hear. Some blessed power deliver us from hence!
Dro. S. O yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for very fear.
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.
Ant. S. There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike.
Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer?
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?
Enter a Courtezan.
Cour. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
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.
Ant. S. Why, Dromio?
Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.