Angelo. O perjur'd woman! they are both for

sworn ;
In this the madman justly chargeth them.
My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this !
I think you all have drank of Circe's cup.
If here

you hous'd him, here he would have been.
You say he din'd at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying-Sirrah, what say you!
Dro. of Eph. Sir, he din'd with her there, at the

Porcupine. Lesbia. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that

ring. Ant. of Eph. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of

her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Lesbia. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. This is most strange! go, call the abbess hither.

[Exit one to the ABBess. Ægeon. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a

word ! Haply I see a friend, will save my life, And pay

that may

deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.

Ægeon. Is not your name, sir, callid Antipholis ? And is not that your bondman, Dromio ? Ant. of Eph. 'True, reverend hapless man, we are so

call'd. Ægeon. I am sure, both of ye remember me, Ant. of Eph. Remember you! Ægeon. Why look you strange on me? you know Ant. of Eph. I never saw you in my life, till now. Ægeon. Ob, grief hath chang’d me since you saw me

last ! And careful hours, with time's deforming hand,

the sum,

me well.

Have written strange defeatures in my face.
But tell me yet-dost thou not know my voice?

Ant. of Eph. Neither.

Ægeon. Not know any voice? O, time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short

years,

that here, my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hid,
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamp, some fading glimmer left,
All these old witnesses cannot err-
Tell me, thou art my son, Antipholis.
Ant. of Eph. I never saw my father in

my

life. Ægeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted—but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st tacknowledge me in misery?

Ant. of Eph. The duke, and all that know me in

the city,

Cau witness with me that it is not so.
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years,
Have I been patron to Antipholis,
During which time, he ne'er saw Syracusa.
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter Abbess, with ANTIPHOLIS OF SYRACUSE, and

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, from the Priory. Abbess. Most mighty duke, behold a man much

wrong'd! Adr. I see two husbands, or my eyes deceive me.

Duke. One of these men is genius to the other! .
But of the two, which is the natural man,
And which the spirit ? who decyphers them?

Ant. of Syr. Ægeon art thou not!
O, my dear father who hath bound him thus ?

Abbess. Whoever bound him, I will loose his

bonds,
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man,
That hadst a wife once call'd Æmilia,
Who bore thee, at a burden, two fair sons ;
Oh! if thou be'st the same Ægeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Æmilia. !

Ægeon. Æmilia! Oh, support thyself, my soul !
Till I, once more, have caught within my arms,
Their long-lost happiness!

Æmilia. Thou art Ægeon, then? I do not dream-
My husband ! take, take the reviving heart,
Spotless and pure as when it first was thine,
Which, from the cloister of religious solitude,
No voice but thine, could ever have recall’d.
Ant. of Syr. If í not interrupt such sacred feel.

ings,
Thus let me bend, and mingle tears of rapture.
Oh raise, my father, raise your reverend hands,
And bless your truant son!

Ægeon, My dearest boy!
This is too much-Ob, curb thy joys a moment,
And have compassion on thy father's weakness !
But, if my feeble brain deceives me not,
One anxious question yet remains to ask ;
Heart of my heart, resolve me; where's that son,
Who floated with thee on the fatal raft ?

Æmilia. By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
And the twin, Dromio, all were taken up,
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth,
By force, took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
What then became of them, I cannot tell;
1, to this fortune which you see me in.
Ant. of Eph. And he, reserv'd to share the happier

hours Of his dear parents; whom, till now, unknown,

He greets with nature's best and fondest feelings.
Another tie my fortune yet allots,
And thus I claim it !
Ant. of Syr. Welcome, dearest brother!

[They embrace. Both Dro. Welcome, dearest brother! Ant. of Syr. Ne'er may we feel a separation more

Duke. Why, here begins the morning story right. These plainly are the parents to these children, Who thus amazingly are met together.

Æmilia. Most gracious duke !
Duke. One moment's pause, and all your griefs

shall end.
Antipholis, thou cam'st from Corinth first?

Ant. of Syr. Not I, my lord; I came from Syra,

cuse.

Duke. Stay, stand apart-I know not which is

which. Ant. of Eph. I came from Corinth, my most gra

cious lord. Dro. of Eph. And I with him. Ant. of Eph. Brought to this town by that right fa

mous warrior,
Duke Minaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Angelo. That is the bracelet, sir, you had of me.
Ant. of Syr. I think it be, sir, I deny it not.
Ant. of Eph. And you, sir, for the same arrested me.

Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio, but I think he brought it not.
Dro. of Eph. No, none by me.

Ant. of Syr. This purse of ducats I receiv'd for you, And Dromio, my man, did bring them me, I see, we still did meet each other's man, And, thereupon, these errors all arose.

Dro. of Eph. You see, brother, these wise folks can't blame us in these matters.

Dro. of Syr. Really, brother, I think not.

Ant. of Eph. These ducats pawn I for my father

here. Ant. of Syr. It shall not be--I will procure his

life,
To make some small amends for leaving him,
Alone, and friendless.

Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
Ant. of Syr. I, gentle mistress.
Adr. Are you not my husband ?
Ant. of Eph. No; I say nay to that.
Ant. of Syr. And so do I-yet she did call me

so;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother—What I told you then,
I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
And, that the heart which beats alone for you,
May, now the mist of error is dispers’d,
Which made thee fearful for thy virgin fame,
Obtain a gentle hearing.

Luc. Should I find thee
Worthy, and constant, as my mind suggests,
The general joy, that smiles around, shall not
Be damp'd by any vain reserve of mine.

Abbess. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the

pains

To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear, at large discoursed, all our fortunes ;
And all, that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's errors
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And you shall have full satisfaction,
The duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you, the kalendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip’s feast; go all with ine;
After so long grief, such festivity!

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast, And be a cheerful witness of the blessings,