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:
Muffle 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 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,
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, syren, for thyself, and I will dote :

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;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart;
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim,
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee.
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life:
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
Give me thy hand.

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,
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 knows us, and we know none,
"Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and begone.

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
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.

10

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.

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 caract,
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.
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?

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

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 darʼst.

Ang. Here is thy fee: arrest him, officer.—
I would not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.

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, 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
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. Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope;

And told thee to what purpose, and what end.
Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon.
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure,

And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight;
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
There is a purse of ducats: let her send it.
Tell her, I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave, be gone.
On, officer, to prison till it come.

[Exeunt Merchant, ANGELO, Officer, and
ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.

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.
Adr. Ah! Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest? yea or no?

Look'd he or red, or pale? or sad, or merrily?
What observation mad'st thou in this case,
Of his heart's meteor's tilting in his face?

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.
Adr.
And what said he?
Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.

Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do

curse.

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.

Dro. S. Here, go: the desk! the purse! sweet, now make haste.

Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
Dro. S.

By running fast.
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?
Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell:
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;

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,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And, therewithal, took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

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?
Ant. S. It is the devil.

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,