The Comedy of Errors

1Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall

2And by the doom of death end woes and all.

3Merchant of Syracuse, plead no more;

4I am not partial to infringe our laws:

5The enmity and discord which of late

6Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke

7To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,

8Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives

9Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,

10Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.

11For, since the mortal and intestine jars

12'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,

13It hath in solemn synods been decreed

14Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,

15To admit no traffic to our adverse towns Nay, more,

16If any born at Ephesus be seen

17At any Syracusian marts and fairs;

18Again: if any Syracusian born

19Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

20His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose,

21Unless a thousand marks be levied,

22To quit the penalty and to ransom him.

23Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,

24Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;

25Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.

26Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,

27My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

28Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause

29Why thou departed'st from thy native home

30And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

31A heavier task could not have been imposed

32Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:

33Yet, that the world may witness that my end

34Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,

35I'll utter what my sorrows give me leave.

36In Syracusa was I born, and wed

37Unto a woman, happy but for me,

38And by me, had not our hap been bad.

39With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased

40By prosperous voyages I often made

41To Epidamnum; till my factor's death

42And the great care of goods at random left

43Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:

44From whom my absence was not six months old

45Before herself, almost at fainting under

46The pleasing punishment that women bear,

47Had made provision for her following me

48And soon and safe arrived where I was.

49There had she not been long, but she became

50A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

51And, which was strange, the one so like the other,

52As could not be distinguish'd but by names.

53That very hour, and in the self-same inn,

54A meaner woman was delivered

55Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:

56Those,--for their parents were exceeding poor,--

57I bought and brought up to attend my sons.

58My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

59Made daily motions for our home return:

60Unwilling I agreed. Alas! too soon,

61We came aboard.

62A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,

63Before the always wind-obeying deep

64Gave any tragic instance of our harm:

65But longer did we not retain much hope;

66For what obscured light the heavens did grant

67Did but convey unto our fearful minds

68A doubtful warrant of immediate death;

69Which though myself would gladly have embraced,

70Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

71Weeping before for what she saw must come,

72And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

73That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

74Forced me to seek delays for them and me.

75And this it was, for other means was none:

76The sailors sought for safety by our boat,

77And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:

78My wife, more careful for the latter-born,

79Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,

80Such as seafaring men provide for storms;

81To him one of the other twins was bound,

82Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:

83The children thus disposed, my wife and I,

84Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,

85Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;

86And floating straight, obedient to the stream,

87Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

88At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,

89Dispersed those vapours that offended us;

90And by the benefit of his wished light,

91The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered

92Two ships from far making amain to us,

93Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:

94But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!

95Gather the sequel by that went before.

96Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;

97For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

98O, had the gods done so, I had not now

99Worthily term'd them merciless to us!

100For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,

101We were encounterd by a mighty rock;

102Which being violently borne upon,

103Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;

104So that, in this unjust divorce of us,

105Fortune had left to both of us alike

106What to delight in, what to sorrow for.

107Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened

108With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,

109Was carried with more speed before the wind;

110And in our sight they three were taken up

111By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.

112At length, another ship had seized on us;

113And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,

114Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;

115And would have reft the fishers of their prey,

116Had not their bark been very slow of sail;

117And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

118Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;

119That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,

120To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

121And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

122Do me the favour to dilate at full

123What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.

124My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

125At eighteen years became inquisitive

126After his brother: and importuned me

127That his attendant--so his case was like,

128Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--

129Might bear him company in the quest of him:

130Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,

131I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.

132Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,

133Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,

134And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;

135Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought

136Or that or any place that harbours men.

137But here must end the story of my life;

138And happy were I in my timely death,

139Could all my travels warrant me they live.

140Hapless AEgeon, whom the fates have mark'd

141To bear the extremity of dire mishap!

142Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,

143Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,

144Which princes, would they, may not disannul,

145My soul would sue as advocate for thee.

146But, though thou art adjudged to the death

147And passed sentence may not be recall'd

148But to our honour's great disparagement,

149Yet I will favour thee in what I can.

150Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day

151To seek thy life by beneficial help:

152Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;

153Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,

154And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.

155Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

156I will, my lord.

157Hopeless and helpless doth AEgeon wend,

158But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

1Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,

2Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.

3This very day a Syracusian merchant

4Is apprehended for arrival here;

5And not being able to buy out his life

6According to the statute of the town,

7Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.

8There is your money that I had to keep.

9Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

10And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.

11Within this hour it will be dinner-time:

12Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,

13Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,

14And then return and sleep within mine inn,

15For with long travel I am stiff and weary.

16Get thee away.

17Many a man would take you at your word,

18And go indeed, having so good a mean.

19A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,

20When I am dull with care and melancholy,

21Lightens my humour with his merry jests.

22What, will you walk with me about the town,

23And then go to my inn and dine with me?

24I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,

25Of whom I hope to make much benefit;

26I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,

27Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart

28And afterward consort you till bed-time:

29My present business calls me from you now.

30Farewell till then: I will go lose myself

31And wander up and down to view the city.

32Sir, I commend you to your own content.

33He that commends me to mine own content

34Commends me to the thing I cannot get.

35I to the world am like a drop of water

36That in the ocean seeks another drop,

37Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,

38Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:

39So I, to find a mother and a brother,

40In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

41Here comes the almanac of my true date.

42What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?

43Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:

44The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,

45The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;

46My mistress made it one upon my cheek:

47She is so hot because the meat is cold;

48The meat is cold because you come not home;

49You come not home because you have no stomach;

50You have no stomach having broke your fast;

51But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray

52Are penitent for your default to-day.

53Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:

54Where have you left the money that I gave you?

55O,--sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last

56To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?

57The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

58I am not in a sportive humour now:

59Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?

60We being strangers here, how darest thou trust

61So great a charge from thine own custody?

62I pray you, air, as you sit at dinner:

63I from my mistress come to you in post;

64If I return, I shall be post indeed,

65For she will score your fault upon my pate.

66Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,

67And strike you home without a messenger.

68Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;

69Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.

70Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

71To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

72Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,

73And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

74My charge was but to fetch you from the mart

75Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:

76My mistress and her sister stays for you.

77In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,

78Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours

79That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:

80Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

81I have some marks of yours upon my pate,

82Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,

83But not a thousand marks between you both.

84If I should pay your worship those again,

85Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

86Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?

87Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;

88She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,

89And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.

90What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,

91Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

92What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands!

93Nay, and you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.

94Upon my life, by some device or other

95The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.

96They say this town is full of cozenage,

97As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,

98Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,

99Soul-killing witches that deform the body,

100Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,

101And many such-like liberties of sin:

102If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.

103I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:

104I greatly fear my money is not safe.

1Neither my husband nor the slave return'd,

2That in such haste I sent to seek his master!

3Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

4Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,

5And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.

6Good sister, let us dine and never fret:

7A man is master of his liberty:

8Time is their master, and, when they see time,

9They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

10Why should their liberty than ours be more?

11Because their business still lies out o' door.

12Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

13O, know he is the bridle of your will.

14There's none but asses will be bridled so.

15Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.

16There's nothing situate under heaven's eye

17But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:

18The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,

19Are their males' subjects and at their controls:

20Men, more divine, the masters of all these,

21Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,

22Indued with intellectual sense and souls,

23Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,

24Are masters to their females, and their lords:

25Then let your will attend on their accords.

26This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

27Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

28But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.

29Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

30How if your husband start some other where?

31Till he come home again, I would forbear.

32Patience unmoved! no marvel though she pause;

33They can be meek that have no other cause.

34A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

35We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;

36But were we burdened with like weight of pain,

37As much or more would we ourselves complain:

38So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,

39With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me,

40But, if thou live to see like right bereft,

41This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

42Well, I will marry one day, but to try.

43Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.

44Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

45Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears

46can witness.

47Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

48Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:

49Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

50Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

51Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his

52blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce

53understand them.

54But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he

55hath great care to please his wife.

56Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.

57Horn-mad, thou villain!

58I mean not cuckold-mad;

59But, sure, he is stark mad.

60When I desired him to come home to dinner,

61He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:

62''Tis dinner-time,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he;

63'Your meat doth burn,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he:

64'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he.

65'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?'

66'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;' 'My gold!' quoth he:

67'My mistress, sir' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress!

68I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!'

69Quoth who?

70Quoth my master:

71'I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress.'

72So that my errand, due unto my tongue,

73I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;

74For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

75Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.

76Go back again, and be new beaten home?

77For God's sake, send some other messenger.

78Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

79And he will bless that cross with other beating:

80Between you I shall have a holy head.

81Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.

82Am I so round with you as you with me,

83That like a football you do spurn me thus?

84You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:

85If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.

86Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!

87His company must do his minions grace,

88Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.

89Hath homely age the alluring beauty took

90From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:

91Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?

92If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,

93Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard:

94Do their gay vestments his affections bait?

95That's not my fault: he's master of my state:

96What ruins are in me that can be found,

97By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground

98Of my defeatures. My decayed fair

99A sunny look of his would soon repair

100But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale

101And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

102Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!

103Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.

104I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,

105Or else what lets it but he would be here?

106Sister, you know he promised me a chain;

107Would that alone, alone he would detain,

108So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!

109I see the jewel best enamelled

110Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still,

111That others touch, and often touching will

112Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,

113By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.

114Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,

115I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

116How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

1The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up

2Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave

3Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out

4By computation and mine host's report.

5I could not speak with Dromio since at first

6I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

7How now sir! is your merry humour alter'd?

8As you love strokes, so jest with me again.

9You know no Centaur? you received no gold?

10Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?

11My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,

12That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

13What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?

14Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

15I did not see you since you sent me hence,

16Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

17Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,

18And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;

19For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.

20I am glad to see you in this merry vein:

21What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

22Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?

23Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.

24Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is earnest:

25Upon what bargain do you give it me?

26Because that I familiarly sometimes

27Do use you for my fool and chat with you,

28Your sauciness will jest upon my love

29And make a common of my serious hours.

30When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,

31But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.

32If you will jest with me, know my aspect,

33And fashion your demeanor to my looks,

34Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

35Sconce call you it? so you would leave battering, I

36had rather have it a head: an you use these blows

37long, I must get a sconce for my head and ensconce

38it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders.

39But, I pray, sir why am I beaten?

40Dost thou not know?

41Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.

42Shall I tell you why?

43Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say every why hath

44a wherefore.

45Why, first,--for flouting me; and then, wherefore--

46For urging it the second time to me.

47Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,

48When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme

49nor reason?

50Well, sir, I thank you.

51Thank me, sir, for what?

52Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

53I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for

54something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

55No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.

56In good time, sir; what's that?

57Basting.

58Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

59If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it.

60Your reason?

61Lest it make you choleric and purchase me another

62dry basting.

63Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a

64time for all things.

65I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

66By what rule, sir?

67Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald

68pate of father Time himself.

69Let's hear it.

70There's no time for a man to recover his hair that

71grows bald by nature.

72May he not do it by fine and recovery?

73Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and recover the

74lost hair of another man.

75Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is,

76so plentiful an excrement?

77Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts;

78and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.

79Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

80Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

81Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

82The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth

83it in a kind of jollity.

84For what reason?

85For two; and sound ones too.

86Nay, not sound, I pray you.

87Sure ones, then.

88Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

89Certain ones then.

90Name them.

91The one, to save the money that he spends in

92trimming; the other, that at dinner they should not

93drop in his porridge.

94You would all this time have proved there is no

95time for all things.

96Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair

97lost by nature.

98But your reason was not substantial, why there is no

99time to recover.

100Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald and therefore

101to the world's end will have bald followers.

102I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion:

103But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

104Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:

105Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;

106I am not Adriana nor thy wife.

107The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow

108That never words were music to thine ear,

109That never object pleasing in thine eye,

110That never touch well welcome to thy hand,

111That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste,

112Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee.

113How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,

114That thou art thus estranged from thyself?

115Thyself I call it, being strange to me,

116That, undividable, incorporate,

117Am better than thy dear self's better part.

118Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!

119For know, my love, as easy mayest thou fall

120A drop of water in the breaking gulf,

121And take unmingled that same drop again,

122Without addition or diminishing,

123As take from me thyself and not me too.

124How dearly would it touch me to the quick,

125Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious

126And that this body, consecrate to thee,

127By ruffian lust should be contaminate!

128Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me

129And hurl the name of husband in my face

130And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow

131And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring

132And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

133I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.

134I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;

135My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:

136For if we too be one and thou play false,

137I do digest the poison of thy flesh,

138Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

139Keep then far league and truce with thy true bed;

140I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured.

141Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:

142In Ephesus I am but two hours old,

143As strange unto your town as to your talk;

144Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,

145Want wit in all one word to understand.

146Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!

147When were you wont to use my sister thus?

148She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

149By Dromio?

150By me?

151By thee; and this thou didst return from him,

152That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,

153Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

154Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?

155What is the course and drift of your compact?

156I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

157Villain, thou liest; for even her very words

158Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

159I never spake with her in all my life.

160How can she thus then call us by our names,

161Unless it be by inspiration.

162How ill agrees it with your gravity

163To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,

164Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!

165Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,

166But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.

167Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:

168Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,

169Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,

170Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

171If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,

172Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;

173Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion

174Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

175To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:

176What, was I married to her in my dream?

177Or sleep I now and think I hear all this?

178What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?

179Until I know this sure uncertainty,

180I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

181Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

182O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.

183This is the fairy land: O spite of spites!

184We talk with goblins, owls and sprites:

185If we obey them not, this will ensue,

186They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

187Why pratest thou to thyself and answer'st not?

188Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

189I am transformed, master, am I not?

190I think thou art in mind, and so am I.

191Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.

192Thou hast thine own form.

193No, I am an ape.

194If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass.

195'Tis true; she rides me and I long for grass.

196'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be

197But I should know her as well as she knows me.

198Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,

199To put the finger in the eye and weep,

200Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.

201Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.

202Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day

203And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.

204Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,

205Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.

206Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.

207Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?

208Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?

209Known unto these, and to myself disguised!

210I'll say as they say and persever so,

211And in this mist at all adventures go.

212Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

213Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

214Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

1Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;

2My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:

3Say that I linger'd with you at your shop

4To see the making of her carcanet,

5And that to-morrow you will bring it home.

6But here's a villain that would face me down

7He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,

8And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,

9And that I did deny my wife and house.

10Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

11Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know;

12That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:

13If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,

14Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

15I think thou art an ass.

16Marry, so it doth appear

17By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.

18I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,

19You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass.

20You're sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer

21May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

22I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your

23welcome dear.

24O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

25A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish.

26Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

27And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

28Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

29Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:

30But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;

31Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.

32But, soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in.

33Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicel, Gillian, Ginn!

34[Within] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb,

35idiot, patch!

36Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch.

37Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st

38for such store,

39When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door.

40What patch is made our porter? My master stays in

41the street.

42[Within] Let him walk from whence he came, lest he

43catch cold on's feet.

44Who talks within there? ho, open the door!

45[Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you tell

46me wherefore.

47Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.

48[Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again

49when you may.

50What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

51[Within] The porter for this time, sir, and my name

52is Dromio.

53O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name.

54The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

55If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,

56Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy

57name for an ass.

58[Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those

59at the gate?

60Let my master in, Luce.

61[Within] Faith, no; he comes too late;

62And so tell your master.

63O Lord, I must laugh!

64Have at you with a proverb--Shall I set in my staff?

65[Within] Have at you with another; that's--When?

66can you tell?

67[Within] If thy name be call'd Luce--Luce, thou hast

68answered him well.

69Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?

70[Within] I thought to have asked you.

71[Within] And you said no.

72So, come, help: well struck! there was blow for blow.

73Thou baggage, let me in.

74[Within] Can you tell for whose sake?

75Master, knock the door hard.

76[Within] Let him knock till it ache.

77You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

78[Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

79[Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all

80this noise?

81[Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with

82unruly boys.

83Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

84[Within] Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

85If you went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore.

86Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we would

87fain have either.

88In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

89They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.

90There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

91You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.

92Your cake there is warm within; you stand here in the cold:

93It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.

94Go fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate.

95[Within] Break any breaking here, and I'll break your

96knave's pate.

97A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind,

98Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.

99[Within] It seems thou want'st breaking: out upon

100thee, hind!

101Here's too much 'out upon thee!' I pray thee,

102let me in.

103[Within] Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

104Well, I'll break in: go borrow me a crow.

105A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?

106For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather;

107If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together.

108Go get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.

109Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!

110Herein you war against your reputation

111And draw within the compass of suspect

112The unviolated honour of your wife.

113Once this,--your long experience of her wisdom,

114Her sober virtue, years and modesty,

115Plead on her part some cause to you unknown:

116And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse

117Why at this time the doors are made against you.

118Be ruled by me: depart in patience,

119And let us to the Tiger all to dinner,

120And about evening come yourself alone

121To know the reason of this strange restraint.

122If by strong hand you offer to break in

123Now in the stirring passage of the day,

124A vulgar comment will be made of it,

125And that supposed by the common rout

126Against your yet ungalled estimation

127That may with foul intrusion enter in

128And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;

129For slander lives upon succession,

130For ever housed where it gets possession.

131You have prevailed: I will depart in quiet,

132And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.

133I know a wench of excellent discourse,

134Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle:

135There will we dine. This woman that I mean,

136My wife--but, I protest, without desert--

137Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:

138To her will we to dinner.

139Get you home

140And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made:

141Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;

142For there's the house: that chain will I bestow--

143Be it for nothing but to spite my wife--

144Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste.

145Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,

146I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

147I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.

148Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.

1And may it be that you have quite forgot

2A husband's office? shall, Antipholus.

3Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?

4Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?

5If you did wed my sister for her wealth,

6Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness:

7Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;

8Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:

9Let not my sister read it in your eye;

10Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;

11Look sweet, be fair, become disloyalty;

12Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;

13Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;

14Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;

15Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?

16What simple thief brags of his own attaint?

17'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed

18And let her read it in thy looks at board:

19Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;

20Ill d eeds are doubled with an evil word.

21Alas, poor women! make us but believe,

22Being compact of credit, that you love us;

23Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;

24We in your motion turn and you may move us.

25Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

26Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:

27'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,

28When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

29Sweet mistress--what your name is else, I know not,

30Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,--

31Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not

32Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.

33Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;

34Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,

35Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

36The folded meaning of your words' deceit.

37Against my soul's pure truth why labour you

38To make it wander in an unknown field?

39Are you a god? would you create me new?

40Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.

41But if that I am I, then well I know

42Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,

43Nor to her bed no homage do I owe

44Far more, far more to you do I decline.

45O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,

46To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears:

47Sing, siren, for thyself and I will dote:

48Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,

49And as a bed I'll take them and there lie,

50And in that glorious supposition think

51He gains by death that hath such means to die:

52Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

53What, are you mad, that you do reason so?

54Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.

55It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

56For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.

57Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

58As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.

59Why call you me love? call my sister so.

60Thy sister's sister.

61That's my sister.

62No;

63It is thyself, mine own self's better part,

64Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,

65My food, my fortune and my sweet hope's aim,

66My sole earth's heaven and my heaven's claim.

67All this my sister is, or else should be.

68Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.

69Thee will I love and with thee lead my life:

70Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife.

71Give me thy hand.

72O, soft, air! hold you still:

73I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

74Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'st thou so fast?

75Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man?

76am I myself?

77Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

78I am an ass, I am a woman's man and besides myself.

79What woman's man? and how besides thyself? besides thyself?

80Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one

81that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

82What claim lays she to thee?

83Marry sir, such claim as you would lay to your

84horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I

85being a beast, she would have me; but that she,

86being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.

87What is she?

88A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may

89not speak of without he say 'Sir-reverence.' I have

90but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a

91wondrous fat marriage.

92How dost thou mean a fat marriage?

93Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench and all grease;

94and I know not what use to put her to but to make a

95lamp of her and run from her by her own light. I

96warrant, her rags and the tallow in them will burn a

97Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday,

98she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

99What complexion is she of?

100Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing half so

101clean kept: for why, she sweats; a man may go over

102shoes in the grime of it.

103That's a fault that water will mend.

104No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

105What's her name?

106Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that's

107an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from

108hip to hip.

109Then she bears some breadth?

110No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip:

111she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out

112countries in her.

113In what part of her body stands Ireland?

114Marry, in her buttocks: I found it out by the bogs.

115Where Scotland?

116I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of the hand.

117Where France?

118In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war

119against her heir.

120Where England?

121I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no

122whiteness in them; but I guess it stood in her chin,

123by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

124Where Spain?

125Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath.

126Where America, the Indies?

127Oh, sir, upon her nose all o'er embellished with

128rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich

129aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole

130armadoes of caracks to be ballast at her nose.

131Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

132Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this

133drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me

134Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what

135privy marks I had about me, as, the mark of my

136shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my

137left arm, that I amazed ran from her as a witch:

138And, I think, if my breast had not been made of

139faith and my heart of steel,

140She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made

141me turn i' the wheel.

142Go hie thee presently, post to the road:

143An if the wind blow any way from shore,

144I will not harbour in this town to-night:

145If any bark put forth, come to the mart,

146Where I will walk till thou return to me.

147If every one knows us and we know none,

148'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.

149As from a bear a man would run for life,

150So fly I from her that would be my wife.

151There's none but witches do inhabit here;

152And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.

153She that doth call me husband, even my soul

154Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,

155Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,

156Of such enchanting presence and discourse,

157Hath almost made me traitor to myself:

158But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,

159I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

160Master Antipholus,--

161Ay, that's my name.

162I know it well, sir, lo, here is the chain.

163I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine:

164The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

165What is your will that I shall do with this?

166What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.

167Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

168Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.

169Go home with it and please your wife withal;

170And soon at supper-time I'll visit you

171And then receive my money for the chain.

172I pray you, sir, receive the money now,

173For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.

174You are a merry man, sir: fare you well.

175What I should think of this, I cannot tell:

176But this I think, there's no man is so vain

177That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.

178I see a man here needs not live by shifts,

179When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.

180I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay

181If any ship put out, then straight away.

1You know since Pentecost the sum is due,

2And since I have not much importuned you;

3Nor now I had not, but that I am bound

4To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:

5Therefore make present satisfaction,

6Or I'll attach you by this officer.

7Even just the sum that I do owe to you

8Is growing to me by Antipholus,

9And in the instant that I met with you

10He had of me a chain: at five o'clock

11I shall receive the money for the same.

12Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,

13I will discharge my bond and thank you too.

14That labour may you save: see where he comes.

15While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou

16And buy a rope's end: that will I bestow

17Among my wife and her confederates,

18For locking me out of my doors by day.

19But, soft! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;

20Buy thou a rope and bring it home to me.

21I buy a thousand pound a year: I buy a rope.

22A man is well holp up that trusts to you:

23I promised your presence and the chain;

24But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.

25Belike you thought our love would last too long,

26If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.

27Saving your merry humour, here's the note

28How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,

29The fineness of the gold and chargeful fashion.

30Which doth amount to three odd ducats more

31Than I stand debted to this gentleman:

32I pray you, see him presently discharged,

33For he is bound to sea and stays but for it.

34I am not furnish'd with the present money;

35Besides, I have some business in the town.

36Good signior, take the stranger to my house

37And with you take the chain and bid my wife

38Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof:

39Perchance I will be there as soon as you.

40Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

41No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

42Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

43An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;

44Or else you may return without your money.

45Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain:

46Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,

47And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

48Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse

49Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.

50I should have chid you for not bringing it,

51But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

52The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.

53You hear how he importunes me;--the chain!

54Why, give it to my wife and fetch your money.

55Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.

56Either send the chain or send me by some token.

57Fie, now you run this humour out of breath,

58where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

59My business cannot brook this dalliance.

60Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no:

61If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

62I answer you! what should I answer you?

63The money that you owe me for the chain.

64I owe you none till I receive the chain.

65You know I gave it you half an hour since.

66You gave me none: you wrong me much to say so.

67You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:

68Consider how it stands upon my credit.

69Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

70I do; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me.

71This touches me in reputation.

72Either consent to pay this sum for me

73Or I attach you by this officer.

74Consent to pay thee that I never had!

75Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.

76Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer,

77I would not spare my brother in this case,

78If he should scorn me so apparently.

79I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit.

80I do obey thee till I give thee bail.

81But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear

82As all the metal in your shop will answer.

83Sir, sir, I will have law in Ephesus,

84To your notorious shame; I doubt it not.

85Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum

86That stays but till her owner comes aboard,

87And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,

88I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought

89The oil, the balsamum and aqua-vitae.

90The ship is in her trim; the merry wind

91Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all

92But for their owner, master, and yourself.

93How now! a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep,

94What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

95A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.

96Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;

97And told thee to what purpose and what end.

98You sent me for a rope's end as soon:

99You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

100I will debate this matter at more leisure

101And teach your ears to list me with more heed.

102To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:

103Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk

104That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,

105There is a purse of ducats; let her send it:

106Tell her I am arrested in the street

107And that shall bail me; hie thee, slave, be gone!

108On, officer, to prison till it come.

109To Adriana! that is where we dined,

110Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband:

111She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.

112Thither I must, although against my will,

113For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.

1Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?

2Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye

3That he did plead in earnest? yea or no?

4Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?

5What observation madest thou in this case

6Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?

7First he denied you had in him no right.

8He meant he did me none; the more my spite.

9Then swore he that he was a stranger here.

10And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.

11Then pleaded I for you.

12And what said he?

13That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.

14With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

15With words that in an honest suit might move.

16First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.

17Didst speak him fair?

18Have patience, I beseech.

19I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;

20My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.

21He is deformed, crooked, old and sere,

22Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;

23Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;

24Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

25Who would be jealous then of such a one?

26No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

27Ah, but I think him better than I say,

28And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.

29Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:

30My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.

31Here! go; the desk, the purse! sweet, now, make haste.

32How hast thou lost thy breath?

33By running fast.

34Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

35No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.

36A devil in an everlasting garment hath him;

37One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;

38A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;

39A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;

40A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that

41countermands

42The passages of alleys, creeks and narrow lands;

43A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot well;

44One that before the judgement carries poor souls to hell.

45Why, man, what is the matter?

46I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

47What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit.

48I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;

49But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell.

50Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?

51Go fetch it, sister.

52This I wonder at,

53That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.

54Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

55Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;

56A chain, a chain! Do you not hear it ring?

57What, the chain?

58No, no, the bell: 'tis time that I were gone:

59It was two ere I left him, and now the clock

60strikes one.

61The hours come back! that did I never hear.

62O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for

63very fear.

64As if Time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason!

65Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's

66worth, to season.

67Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say

68That Time comes stealing on by night and day?

69If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,

70Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

71Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it straight;

72And bring thy master home immediately.

73Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit--

74Conceit, my comfort and my injury.

1There's not a man I meet but doth salute me

2As if I were their well-acquainted friend;

3And every one doth call me by my name.

4Some tender money to me; some invite me;

5Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;

6Some offer me commodities to buy:

7Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop

8And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,

9And therewithal took measure of my body.

10Sure, these are but imaginary wiles

11And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

12Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What, have

13you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled?

14What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean?

15Not that Adam that kept the Paradise but that Adam

16that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's

17skin that was killed for the Prodigal; he that came

18behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you

19forsake your liberty.

20I understand thee not.

21No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a

22bass-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir,

23that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob

24and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed

25men and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up

26his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a

27morris-pike.

28What, thou meanest an officer?

29Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band, he that brings

30any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that

31thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 'God

32give you good rest!'

33Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any

34Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the

35bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were

36you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy

37Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to

38deliver you.

39The fellow is distract, and so am I;

40And here we wander in illusions:

41Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

42Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.

43I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:

44Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

45Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.

46Master, is this Mistress Satan?

47It is the devil.

48Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here

49she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof

50comes that the wenches say 'God damn me;' that's as

51much to say 'God make me a light wench.' It is

52written, they appear to men like angels of light:

53light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn;

54ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her.

55Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.

56Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?

57Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or bespeak a

58long spoon.

59Why, Dromio?

60Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with

61the devil.

62Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?

63Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:

64I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.

65Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,

66Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,

67And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

68Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,

69A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,

70A nut, a cherry-stone;

71But she, more covetous, would have a chain.

72Master, be wise: an if you give it her,

73The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.

74I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:

75I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

76Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go.

77'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know.

78Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,

79Else would he never so demean himself.

80A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,

81And for the same he promised me a chain:

82Both one and other he denies me now.

83The reason that I gather he is mad,

84Besides this present instance of his rage,

85Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner,

86Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.

87Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,

88On purpose shut the doors against his way.

89My way is now to hie home to his house,

90And tell his wife that, being lunatic,

91He rush'd into my house and took perforce

92My ring away. This course I fittest choose;

93For forty ducats is too much to lose.

1Fear me not, man; I will not break away:

2I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,

3To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.

4My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,

5And will not lightly trust the messenger

6That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,

7I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.

8Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.

9How now, sir! have you that I sent you for?

10Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.

11But where's the money?

12Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

13Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

14I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

15To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?

16To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I returned.

17And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.

18Good sir, be patient.

19Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity.

20Good, now, hold thy tongue.

21Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

22Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

23I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel

24your blows.

25Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an

26ass.

27I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my long

28ears. I have served him from the hour of my

29nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his

30hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he

31heats me with beating; when I am warm, he cools me

32with beating; I am waked with it when I sleep;

33raised with it when I sit; driven out of doors with

34it when I go from home; welcomed home with it when

35I return; nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as a

36beggar wont her brat; and, I think when he hath

37lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door.

38Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

39Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or

40rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the

41rope's-end.'

42Wilt thou still talk?

43How say you now? is not your husband mad?

44His incivility confirms no less.

45Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;

46Establish him in his true sense again,

47And I will please you what you will demand.

48Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

49Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!

50Give me your hand and let me feel your pulse.

51There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.

52I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,

53To yield possession to my holy prayers

54And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight:

55I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!

56Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.

57O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

58You minion, you, are these your customers?

59Did this companion with the saffron face

60Revel and feast it at my house to-day,

61Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut

62And I denied to enter in my house?

63O husband, God doth know you dined at home;

64Where would you had remain'd until this time,

65Free from these slanders and this open shame!

66Dined at home! Thou villain, what sayest thou?

67Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

68Were not my doors lock'd up and I shut out?

69Perdie, your doors were lock'd and you shut out.

70And did not she herself revile me there?

71Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.

72Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

73Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.

74And did not I in rage depart from thence?

75In verity you did; my bones bear witness,

76That since have felt the vigour of his rage.

77Is't good to soothe him in these contraries?

78It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein,

79And yielding to him humours well his frenzy.

80Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.

81Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,

82By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

83Money by me! heart and goodwill you might;

84But surely master, not a rag of money.

85Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?

86He came to me and I deliver'd it.

87And I am witness with her that she did.

88God and the rope-maker bear me witness

89That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

90Mistress, both man and master is possess'd;

91I know it by their pale and deadly looks:

92They must be bound and laid in some dark room.

93Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth to-day?

94And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

95I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

96And, gentle master, I received no gold;

97But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.

98Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in both.

99Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all;

100And art confederate with a damned pack

101To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:

102But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes

103That would behold in me this shameful sport.

104O, bind him, bind him! let him not come near me.

105More company! The fiend is strong within him.

106Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!

107What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,

108I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them

109To make a rescue?

110Masters, let him go

111He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

112Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.

113What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?

114Hast thou delight to see a wretched man

115Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

116He is my prisoner: if I let him go,

117The debt he owes will be required of me.

118I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:

119Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,

120And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.

121Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd

122Home to my house. O most unhappy day!

123O most unhappy strumpet!

124Master, I am here entered in bond for you.

125Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?

126Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, good master:

127cry 'The devil!'

128God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!

129Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.

130Say now, whose suit is he arrested at?

131One Angelo, a goldsmith: do you know him?

132I know the man. What is the sum he owes?

133Two hundred ducats.

134Say, how grows it due?

135Due for a chain your husband had of him.

136He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

137When as your husband all in rage to-day

138Came to my house and took away my ring--

139The ring I saw upon his finger now--

140Straight after did I meet him with a chain.

141It may be so, but I did never see it.

142Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is:

143I long to know the truth hereof at large.

144God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

145And come with naked swords.

146Let's call more help to have them bound again.

147Away! they'll kill us.

148I see these witches are afraid of swords.

149She that would be your wife now ran from you.

150Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence:

151I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

152Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do us

153no harm: you saw they speak us fair, give us gold:

154methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for

155the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of

156me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and

157turn witch.

158I will not stay to-night for all the town;

159Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

1I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you;

2But, I protest, he had the chain of me,

3Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

4How is the man esteemed here in the city?

5Of very reverend reputation, sir,

6Of credit infinite, highly beloved,

7Second to none that lives here in the city:

8His word might bear my wealth at any time.

9Speak softly; yonder, as I think, he walks.

10'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck

11Which he forswore most monstrously to have.

12Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.

13Signior Antipholus, I wonder much

14That you would put me to this shame and trouble;

15And, not without some scandal to yourself,

16With circumstance and oaths so to deny

17This chain which now you wear so openly:

18Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,

19You have done wrong to this my honest friend,

20Who, but for staying on our controversy,

21Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day:

22This chain you had of me; can you deny it?

23I think I had; I never did deny it.

24Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.

25Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?

26These ears of mine, thou know'st did hear thee.

27Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou livest

28To walk where any honest man resort.

29Thou art a villain to impeach me thus:

30I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty

31Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.

32I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.

33Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake! he is mad.

34Some get within him, take his sword away:

35Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.

36Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house!

37This is some priory. In, or we are spoil'd!

38Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?

39To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.

40Let us come in, that we may bind him fast

41And bear him home for his recovery.

42I knew he was not in his perfect wits.

43I am sorry now that I did draw on him.

44How long hath this possession held the man?

45This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,

46And much different from the man he was;

47But till this afternoon his passion

48Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.

49Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?

50Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye

51Stray'd his affection in unlawful love?

52A sin prevailing much in youthful men,

53Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.

54Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

55To none of these, except it be the last;

56Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.

57You should for that have reprehended him.

58Why, so I did.

59Ay, but not rough enough.

60As roughly as my modesty would let me.

61Haply, in private.

62And in assemblies too.

63Ay, but not enough.

64It was the copy of our conference:

65In bed he slept not for my urging it;

66At board he fed not for my urging it;

67Alone, it was the subject of my theme;

68In company I often glanced it;

69Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

70And thereof came it that the man was mad.

71The venom clamours of a jealous woman

72Poisons more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.

73It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing,

74And therefore comes it that his head is light.

75Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings:

76Unquiet meals make ill digestions;

77Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;

78And what's a fever but a fit of madness?

79Thou say'st his sports were hinderd by thy brawls:

80Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue

81But moody and dull melancholy,

82Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,

83And at her heels a huge infectious troop

84Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?

85In food, in sport and life-preserving rest

86To be disturb'd, would mad or man or beast:

87The consequence is then thy jealous fits

88Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

89She never reprehended him but mildly,

90When he demean'd himself rough, rude and wildly.

91Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?

92She did betray me to my own reproof.

93Good people enter and lay hold on him.

94No, not a creature enters in my house.

95Then let your servants bring my husband forth.

96Neither: he took this place for sanctuary,

97And it shall privilege him from your hands

98Till I have brought him to his wits again,

99Or lose my labour in assaying it.

100I will attend my husband, be his nurse,

101Diet his sickness, for it is my office,

102And will have no attorney but myself;

103And therefore let me have him home with me.

104Be patient; for I will not let him stir

105Till I have used the approved means I have,

106With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers,

107To make of him a formal man again:

108It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,

109A charitable duty of my order.

110Therefore depart and leave him here with me.

111I will not hence and leave my husband here:

112And ill it doth beseem your holiness

113To separate the husband and the wife.

114Be quiet and depart: thou shalt not have him.

115Complain unto the duke of this indignity.

116Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet

117And never rise until my tears and prayers

118Have won his grace to come in person hither

119And take perforce my husband from the abbess.

120By this, I think, the dial points at five:

121Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person

122Comes this way to the melancholy vale,

123The place of death and sorry execution,

124Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

125Upon what cause?

126To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,

127Who put unluckily into this bay

128Against the laws and statutes of this town,

129Beheaded publicly for his offence.

130See where they come: we will behold his death.

131Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.

132Yet once again proclaim it publicly,

133If any friend will pay the sum for him,

134He shall not die; so much we tender him.

135Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess!

136She is a virtuous and a reverend lady:

137It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.

138May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband,

139Whom I made lord of me and all I had,

140At your important letters,--this ill day

141A most outrageous fit of madness took him;

142That desperately he hurried through the street,

143With him his bondman, all as mad as he--

144Doing displeasure to the citizens

145By rushing in their houses, bearing thence

146Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.

147Once did I get him bound and sent him home,

148Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,

149That here and there his fury had committed.

150Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,

151He broke from those that had the guard of him;

152And with his mad attendant and himself,

153Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,

154Met us again and madly bent on us,

155Chased us away; till, raising of more aid,

156We came again to bind them. Then they fled

157Into this abbey, whither we pursued them:

158And here the abbess shuts the gates on us

159And will not suffer us to fetch him out,

160Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.

161Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command

162Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.

163Long since thy husband served me in my wars,

164And I to thee engaged a prince's word,

165When thou didst make him master of thy bed,

166To do him all the grace and good I could.

167Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate

168And bid the lady abbess come to me.

169I will determine this before I stir.

170O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!

171My master and his man are both broke loose,

172Beaten the maids a-row and bound the doctor

173Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;

174And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him

175Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair:

176My master preaches patience to him and the while

177His man with scissors nicks him like a fool,

178And sure, unless you send some present help,

179Between them they will kill the conjurer.

180Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here,

181And that is false thou dost report to us.

182Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;

183I have not breathed almost since I did see it.

184He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,

185To scorch your face and to disfigure you.

186Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress. fly, be gone!

187Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with halberds!

188Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you,

189That he is borne about invisible:

190Even now we housed him in the abbey here;

191And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

192Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice!

193Even for the service that long since I did thee,

194When I bestrid thee in the wars and took

195Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood

196That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

197Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,

198I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.

199Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there!

200She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife,

201That hath abused and dishonour'd me

202Even in the strength and height of injury!

203Beyond imagination is the wrong

204That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

205Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.

206This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me,

207While she with harlots feasted in my house.

208A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so?

209No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister

210To-day did dine together. So befall my soul

211As this is false he burdens me withal!

212Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,

213But she tells to your highness simple truth!

214O perjured woman! They are both forsworn:

215In this the madman justly chargeth them.

216My liege, I am advised what I say,

217Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,

218Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire,

219Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.

220This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:

221That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,

222Could witness it, for he was with me then;

223Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,

224Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,

225Where Balthazar and I did dine together.

226Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,

227I went to seek him: in the street I met him

228And in his company that gentleman.

229There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down

230That I this day of him received the chain,

231Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which

232He did arrest me with an officer.

233I did obey, and sent my peasant home

234For certain ducats: he with none return'd

235Then fairly I bespoke the officer

236To go in person with me to my house.

237By the way we met

238My wife, her sister, and a rabble more

239Of vile confederates. Along with them

240They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,

241A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

242A threadbare juggler and a fortune-teller,

243A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,

244A dead-looking man: this pernicious slave,

245Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,

246And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,

247And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,

248Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together

249They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence

250And in a dark and dankish vault at home

251There left me and my man, both bound together;

252Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,

253I gain'd my freedom, and immediately

254Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech

255To give me ample satisfaction

256For these deep shames and great indignities.

257My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,

258That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

259But had he such a chain of thee or no?

260He had, my lord: and when he ran in here,

261These people saw the chain about his neck.

262Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine

263Heard you confess you had the chain of him

264After you first forswore it on the mart:

265And thereupon I drew my sword on you;

266And then you fled into this abbey here,

267From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

268I never came within these abbey-walls,

269Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:

270I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!

271And this is false you burden me withal.

272Why, what an intricate impeach is this!

273I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup.

274If here you housed him, here he would have been;

275If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:

276You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here

277Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

278Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine.

279He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

280'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her.

281Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

282As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

283Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.

284I think you are all mated or stark mad.

285Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:

286Haply I see a friend will save my life

287And pay the sum that may deliver me.

288Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

289Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus?

290And is not that your bondman, Dromio?

291Within this hour I was his bondman sir,

292But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords:

293Now am I Dromio and his man unbound.

294I am sure you both of you remember me.

295Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you;

296For lately we were bound, as you are now

297You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir?

298Why look you strange on me? you know me well.

299I never saw you in my life till now.

300O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

301And careful hours with time's deformed hand

302Have written strange defeatures in my face:

303But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

304Neither.

305Dromio, nor thou?

306No, trust me, sir, nor I.

307I am sure thou dost.

308Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a

309man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

310Not know my voice! O time's extremity,

311Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue

312In seven short years, that here my only son

313Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares?

314Though now this grained face of mine be hid

315In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,

316And all the conduits of my blood froze up,

317Yet hath my night of life some memory,

318My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,

319My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:

320All these old witnesses--I cannot err--

321Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

322I never saw my father in my life.

323But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,

324Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son,

325Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.

326The duke and all that know me in the city

327Can witness with me that it is not so

328I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

329I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years

330Have I been patron to Antipholus,

331During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:

332I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

333Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.

334I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

335One of these men is Genius to the other;

336And so of these. Which is the natural man,

337And which the spirit? who deciphers them?

338I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.

339I, sir, am Dromio; pray, let me stay.

340AEgeon art thou not? or else his ghost?

341O, my old master! who hath bound him here?

342Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds

343And gain a husband by his liberty.

344Speak, old AEgeon, if thou be'st the man

345That hadst a wife once call'd AEmilia

346That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:

347O, if thou be'st the same AEgeon, speak,

348And speak unto the same AEmilia!

349If I dream not, thou art AEmilia:

350If thou art she, tell me where is that son

351That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

352By men of Epidamnum he and I

353And the twin Dromio all were taken up;

354But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth

355By force took Dromio and my son from them

356And me they left with those of Epidamnum.

357What then became of them I cannot tell

358I to this fortune that you see me in.

359Why, here begins his morning story right;

360These two Antipholuses, these two so like,

361And these two Dromios, one in semblance,--

362Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,--

363These are the parents to these children,

364Which accidentally are met together.

365Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?

366No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.

367Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

368I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord,--

369And I with him.

370Brought to this town by that most famous warrior,

371Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

372Which of you two did dine with me to-day?

373I, gentle mistress.

374And are not you my husband?

375No; I say nay to that.

376And so do I; yet did she call me so:

377And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,

378Did call me brother.

379What I told you then,

380I hope I shall have leisure to make good;

381If this be not a dream I see and hear.

382That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.

383I think it be, sir; I deny it not.

384And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.

385I think I did, sir; I deny it not.

386I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,

387By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

388No, none by me.

389This purse of ducats I received from you,

390And Dromio, my man, did bring them me.

391I see we still did meet each other's man,

392And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,

393And thereupon these errors are arose.

394These ducats pawn I for my father here.

395It shall not need; thy father hath his life.

396Sir, I must have that diamond from you.

397There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.

398Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains

399To go with us into the abbey here

400And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:

401And all that are assembled in this place,

402That by this sympathized one day's error

403Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,

404And we shall make full satisfaction.

405Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail

406Of you, my sons; and till this present hour

407My heavy burden ne'er delivered.

408The duke, my husband and my children both,

409And you the calendars of their nativity,

410Go to a gossips' feast and go with me;

411After so long grief, such festivity!

412With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.

413Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?

414Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd?

415Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.

416He speaks to me. I am your master, Dromio:

417Come, go with us; we'll look to that anon:

418Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.

419There is a fat friend at your master's house,

420That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner:

421She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

422Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:

423I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.

424Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

425Not I, sir; you are my elder.

426That's a question: how shall we try it?

427We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then lead thou first.

428Nay, then, thus:

429We came into the world like brother and brother;

430And now let's go hand in hand, not one before another.