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 armada's 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; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on 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. Ay, 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.

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.

[Exit.

ACT IV.

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,
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

comes.

Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go

thou

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: I 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 mo

ney;

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.

Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her your

self?

Ant. E. No; bear't 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,