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Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, plain bald pate of father Time himself.

Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the lost hair of another man.

Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit.

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

Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

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

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant. S. For what reason?

Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too.
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Dro. S. Sure ones then.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
Dro. S. Certain ones then.

Ant. S. Name them.

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things.

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.

Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts' us yonder?

Enter Adriana and Luciana.

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange,

frown;

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

and

The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st

Vow,

That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or earv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious;
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
(2) Unfertile.

(1) Beckons.

And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For, if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:

In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town, as to your talk;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
Want wit in all one word to understand.

Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd with you!

When were you wont to use my sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
Ant. S. By Dromio?

Dro. S. By me?

Adr. By thec: and this thou did'st return from him,

That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,
Deny'd my house for his, me for his wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?

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

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our

names,

Unless it be by inspiration?

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss;

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for

her theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land;-0, spite of spites!We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!
Dro. S. I am transform'd, master, am not I?
Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my
shape.

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S.

No, I am an ape.

Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for
grass.

'Tis so,
I am an ass; else it could never be,
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn.-
Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate :-
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks:
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.-
Come, sister:-Dromio, play the porter well.

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping, or waking? mad, or well-advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
I'll say as they say, and perséver 80,
And in this mist at all adventures go.

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your
pate.

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

ACT III.

[Exeunt.

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Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;

My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours:
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop,
To see the making of her carkanet,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain, that would face me down
He met me on the mart; and that I beat him,
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold;
And that I did deny my wife and house:-
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by
this?

Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what

I know:

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

show:

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

Your own hand-writing would tell you what I think.
Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass.
Dro. E.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an

ass.

Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray God, our cheer

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

Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.

Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

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

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

(1) Absolve. (2) A necklace strung with pearls. (3) Dishes of meat. (4) Blockhead. (5) Fool.

Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a merry feast.

Ant.

E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:

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

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

But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'!

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

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

Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call' et for

such store,

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

Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street.

Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho open the door.

Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll

tell me wherefore.

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Luce. [Within.] What a coil' is there? Dromio,
who are those at the gate?
Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.
Luce.

Faith, no; he comes too late; And so tell your master.

Dro. E.

O Lord, I must laugh:Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my staff?

Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-When? can you tell?

Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?

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

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.

Luce.
Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce.
Let him knock till it ache.
Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the
door down.

Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

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Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle;

come before..

Adr. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door.

Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would. fain 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.

об

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. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break our 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. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon thee, hind!

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

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

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

crow.

Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean you so?

For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather:

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

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron

crow.

Bal. Have patience, sir; 0, 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, that she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made3 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 on it; And that suppos'd 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 hous'd, where it once gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevailed; I will depart in quiet,

And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,-

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There will we dine: this woman that I mean,
My wife (but, I protest, without desert,)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner.-Get you home,
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
For there's the house; that chain will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,)
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste:
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
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, hate,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs' rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more
kindness:

Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
Mule your false love with some show of blind-

ness:

Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;

Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted? What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,

And let her read it in thy looks at board: Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe,

Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and you may move us, Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,"

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress (what your name is else, I know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show

not,

Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine, Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your word's 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's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:

(6) i. e. Being made altogether of credulity. (7) Vain, is light of tongue. (8) Mermaid for siren.

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;
And, in that glorious supposition, think
He gains by death, that hath such means to 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? call my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister.

Luc.

Ant. S.

That's my sister.

No;

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thou so fast?

Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noth's flood could not do it.

Ant. S. What's her name?

Dro. S. Nell, sir ;-but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth?

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.

Ant. S. Where Scotland?

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand.

Ant. S. Where France ?

Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her hair.

Ant. S. Where England?

Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

Ant. S. Where Spain?

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it 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 embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose.

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; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assur'd to her;

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am told me what privy marks I had about me, as the I your man? am I myself?

Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.

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

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim

to me.

Ant. S. What is she?

Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir reverence: I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

Ant. S. What complexion is she of?

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend.

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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 curtail-dog, and made me
turn i'the wheel.'

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
And if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbour in this town to-night.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
If every one know us, and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be 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.
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself;
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Enter Angelo.

Ang. Master Antipholus?
Ant. S. Av, that's my name.

Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain;
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine:
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.
Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with
this?

Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made
it for you.

(5) A turn-spit.

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;
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you,
And then receive my money for the chain.

Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now;
For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well.
[Exit.
Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell;
But this I think, there's no man is so vain,
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts,
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay;
If any ship put out, then straight away.

ACT IV.

[Exit.

SCENE I.-The same. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer.

Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much impórtun'd you;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound

To Persia, and want guilders' for my voyage:
Therefore make present satisfaction,

Or I'll attach you by this officer.

Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

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

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

Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the
chain:

Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance to

excuse

Your breach of promise to the Porcupine:
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, des-
patch.

Ang. You hear, how he impórtunes me; the chain

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

Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you

even now;

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;

Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

Is growing to me by Antipholus:

And, in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain; at five o'clock,
I shall receive the money for the same:
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of
Ephesus.

Off. That labour may you save; see where he

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And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day.But soft, I see the goldsmith:-get thee gone; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! [Exit Dromio. Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you:

1 promised your presence, and the chain;

But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me:
Belike, you thought our love would last too long,
If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note,
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat;
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion;
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
Than I stand debted to this gentleman;
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present
money;

Besides, I have some business in the town:
Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof;
Perchance, I will be there as soon as you.

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Ant. E. I answer you! What should I answer you?

Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me much

to say so.

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Consider, how it stands upon my credit.
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
Off. I do; and charge you in the duke's name,
to obey me.

Ang. This touches me in reputation :-
Either consent to pay this sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had! Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer; would not spare my brother in this case, he should scorn me so apparently.

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Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit.
Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail:-
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
T'o your notorious shame, I doubt it not.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, bears away: our fraughtage, sir, I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitæ. The ship is in her trim; the merry wind Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all, But for their owner, master, and yourself.

Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why thou peevish sheep,

What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage..

(4) Freight, cargo. (5) Silly. (6) Carriage.

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