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Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so?
Adr. No, my good lord;-myself, he, and my sister,
To-day did dine together: So befal my soul,
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth!
Ang. O perjur'd woman! They are both forsworn: In this the madman justly chargeth them.
Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner: That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
Could witness it, for he was with me then;
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which, He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey; and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats: he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer,
go in person with me to my house.
By the way we met
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
Of vile confederates; along with them
They brought one Pinch; a hungry lean-faced villain,
A meer anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller;
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine
Heard you confess, you had the chain of him,
And then you fled into this abbey here,
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porcupine.
Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
Ant. E. "Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange:-Go call the abbess hither;
I think, you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Exit an Attendant. Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word;
Haply, I see a friend will save my life,
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords;
Ege. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know
Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw me last;
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
Æge. I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Dromio, nor thou?
Ege. Not know my voice! O, time's extre-
Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue,
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,)
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city,
Can witness with me that it is not so;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan and Dromio Syracusan.
Abb. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other; And so of these: Which is the natural man, And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay. Ant. S. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him here?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, And gain a husband by his liberty:Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man That had'st a wife once call'd Æmilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons: