SCENE II.-The Same. Enter LUCIANA, and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness: Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth: 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; Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted? Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve, We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again: Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,) Less in your knowledge, and your grace you show not, Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak : Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth, why labour you To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new? Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 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 It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Luc. O, soft, sir! hold you still: I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will. [Exil. Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, hastily. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where run'st thou so fast? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am 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 reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sirreverence. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a wondrous fat marriage. Ant. S. How dost thou mean a fat marriage? Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world. Ant. S. What complexion is she of? Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept: for why? she sweats; a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. Dro. S. No, sir; 'tis in grain: Noah's flood could not do it. Ant. S. What's her name? Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name is 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 heir. 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 embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes 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 assured to her: told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, If every one knows us, and we know none, 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. 20 She that doth call me husband, even my soul Ang. Master Antipholus ? Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain. Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with this? Ang. What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you. Ant. S. Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. Go home with it, and please your wife withal; Ant. S. 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. 10 ACT 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 importun'd you; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: Therefore make present satisfaction, Or I'll attach you by this officer. Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholus ; And, in the instant that I met with you, I shall receive the money for the same. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, and DROMIO of Off. That labour may you save: see where he comes. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end, that will I bestow Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you: I promised your presence, and the chain, But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me. I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, money; Besides, I have some business in the town. Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? Come, where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it. Ant. E. I answer you! what should I answer you? Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : Consider how it stands upon my credit. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Ang. This touches me in reputation.— Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had? Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darʼst. Ang. Here is thy fee: arrest him, officer.— Off. I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter DROMIO of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, I have convey'd aboard, and I have bought Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep, What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope; And told thee to what purpose, and what end. And teach your ears to list me with more heed. [Exeunt Merchant, ANGELO, Officer, and Dro. S. To Adriana? that is where we din'd, Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. Thither I must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. SCENE II.-The Same. Enter ADRIANA, and LUCIANA. Look'd he or red, or pale? or sad, or merrily? Luc. First he denied you had in him no right. Adr. He meant, he did me none: the more my spite. Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away: curse. Enter DROMIO of Syracuse. Dro. S. Here, go: the desk! the purse! sweet, now make haste. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? By running fast. A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well; One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell. Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me at whose suit. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well; But is in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell. Will you send him, mistress, redemption? the money in his desk? Adr. Go fetch it, sister.-This I wonder at; [Exit LUCIANA. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt :Tell me, was he arrested on a band? Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; A chain, a chain: do you not hear it ring? Adr. What, the chain? Dro. S. No, no, the bell. gone: It was two ere I left him, and one 'Tis time that I were now the clock strikes Adr. The hours come back! that did I never hear. Dro. S. O yes; if any hour meet a serjeant, 'a turns back for very fear. Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason! Dro. S. Time is a very bankrout, and owes more than he's worth, to season. Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say, That time comes stealing on by night and day? If he be in debt and theft, and a serjeant in the way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? Some offer me commodities to buy: Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, Enter DROMIO of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell'd? Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean? Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's-skin that was killed for the prodigal : he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. Ant. S. I understand thee not. Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a base-viol, in a case of leather: the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and 'rests them: he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a morris-pike. Ant. S. What, thou mean'st an officer? Dro. S. Ay, sir, the serjeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, "God give you good rest!" Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone? Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the serjeant to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you. Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I, And here we wander in illusions. Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtesan. Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day? Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not! Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan? Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; and thereof comes that the wenches say, "God damn me," that's as much as to say, "God make me a light wench." It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her. Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, |