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Your own handwriting would tell you what I | If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,

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 kicked; 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.

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'st for such store,

When one is one too many? Go, get thee from

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Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name,

or thy name for an ass.

Luce. Within.] What a coil is there! Dro mio, 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 called 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;
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.

there

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I best the door down.

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

Adr. [Within. Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise?

Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have 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.

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. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate.

Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll

break your 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; O, 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, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made 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 supposed 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 prevail'd; I will depart in
quiet,

And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,-
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle;-
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
expence.
[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; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:

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 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, siren, 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?

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Enter, from the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Syracuse.

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.

Dio. 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.

Art. 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 ho by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the wallow 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 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?

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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 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; called me Dromio; swore, I was assured 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 transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel.

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the

road;

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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.

SCENE I.-The same.

ACT IV.

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 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:

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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?

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

I should have chid you for

Porcupine: bringing it,

But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl

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Either send the chain, or send me by some token. Ant. E. Fye! 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;
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

since.

half an hour

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 :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, 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

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Dro. 8. You sent me, sir, 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 listen 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 E.

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. [Erit.

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 meteors 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.

Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might

move.

First, he did praise my beauty; then, my speech. Adr. Did'st speak him fair?

Luc. Have patience, I beseech.

Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still; My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.

He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were

worse:

Far from her nest the lapwing cries away;

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.

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