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From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:
look of his would soon repair:
Luc. Self-arming jealousy!—fye, beat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis
pense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ;Would that alone alone he would detain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see, the jewel, best enamelled, Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still, That others touch, yet often touching will Wear gold: and so no man, that hath a name, But falshood and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
4 Alteration of features.
5 Fair, for fairness.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. By computation, and mine host's report, I could not speak with Dromio, since at first I sent him from the mart: See, here he comes.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse. How now, sir ? is your merry humour alter'd ? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold ? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner ? My house was at the Phænix? Wast thou mad, That thus so madly thou didst answer me? Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a
word ? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
[Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce' it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?
Ant. S. Dost thou not know?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say,
wherefore, For urging it the second time to me.
8 i.e. Intrude on them when you please. 9 Study my countenance. " A sconce was a fortification.
Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out
of season ? When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither
rhyme nor reason? Well, sir, I thank you.
Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you, gave me for nothing.
Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?
Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I have.
Dro. S. Lest it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things.
Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so cholerick.
Ant. S. By what rule, sir?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the 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 be 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. 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 word's end, will have bald followers.
Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts? us yonder?