Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,

But she tells to your highness simple truth! Axg. O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn.

In this the madman justly chargcth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturbed with the effect of wine, Nor, heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:— That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him: in the street I met him, And, in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down, That I this day of him received the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which, He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey, and sent my peasant home For certain ducats: he with none return'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer To go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates; along with them, They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fae'd

villain,' A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,— A living dead man: this pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me, Cries out I was possess'd: then, all together, They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, And, in a dark and dankish vault at home, There left me and my man both bound together; Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gain'd my freedom, and immediately Ran hither to your grace, whom I beseech To give me ample satisfaction For these deep shames and great indignities. A_ng. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness

with him,

That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee or no?

Aire. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here These people saw the chain about his neck.

Meb. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine

Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart:
And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
And this is false you burden me withal.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. If here you hous'd him, here he would have been. If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly. You say he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?

Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porcupine.

Corn. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

Mrs. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.

Duke. Why, this is strange. Go, call the abbess hither. I think you are all mated or stark mad.

{Exit an Attendant. Yege. Most- mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word:

Haply I see a friend will save my life,
And pay the sum that may deliver me.

Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

Yege. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus? And is not that your bondman, Dromio?

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,

But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords.
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.

Yege. I am sure you both of you remember me.

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient,—are you, sir?

Yege. Why look you strange on me? You know me well.

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now.

Yege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last;

And careful hours," with Time's deformed hand, <
Have written strange defeatures in my face.b
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither.

Yege. Dromio, nor thou?

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.

Alas, I am sure thou dost.

Duo. E. Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound * to believe him.

iEoE. Not know my voice? Oh, Time's extremity! Hast thou so craek'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 lamps some fading glimmer left— My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses (I cannot err) Tell me, thou art my son, Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.

Jegk. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted; but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant, E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so; I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years

Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa.
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus of Syracuse and Ditomo of Syracuse.

Add. Most mighty duke, behold a man mud

wrong'd. [All gather to see them

Adh. I see two husbands, or mine eyes de

ceive me. Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other And so of these, which is the natural man, And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? Duo. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command hil

away. Dno. E. I. sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay. Ant. S. JEgeon, art thou not? or else h

ghost! Dro. S. Oh, my old master! who hath bom

him here? Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bond And gain a husband by his liberty! Speak, old ^Egeon, if thou be'st the man That hadst a wife once call'd ..Emilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons! Oh, if thou be'st the same iEgeon, speak!

And speak unto the same Emilia!

Xar.. If I dream not," thou art iEniilia! If thou art she, tell me, where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up.
Bat, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth,
By force, took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum.
NVhat then became of them I cannot tell;
I. to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story
right;
These two Antipholus',—these two so like,
And these two Dromios, one in semblance;
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea:
These are the parents to these children,1"
^V^l)t-h accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.

Airr. S. Xo, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.
Dtkb. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is

which.
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious

lord.
Dbo. E. And I with him.

Ast. E. Brought to this town by that most
famous warrior,
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Ask. Which of you two did dine with me

to-day *? Ast. S. I, gentle mistress. At>r. And are not you my husband?

Ast. E. Xo; I say nay to that. Axx. S. And so do I; yet did she call me so: And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother. What I told you then,c I hope 1 shall have leisure to make good; If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Axg. That is the chain, sir, which you had

Ann, I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. Xo; none by me. Ant. S. This puree of ducats I receiv'd from you. And Dromio, my man, did bring them mc: I see, we still did meet each other's man, And I was ta'en for him and he for me, And thereupon these Errors d rare arose.

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father

here. Duke. It shall not need,—thy father hath his

life. Cora. Sir, I must have that diamond from

you. Ant. E. There, take it, and much thanks for

my good cheer. Abb. 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 error, Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction. Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of you, my sons; and, till this present hour,8 My heavy burden ne'er delivered. The duke, my husband, and my children both, And you the calendars of their nativity, Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me;' After so long grief, such festivity!

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this

feast.

[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^egeon, Courtezan,

Merchant, Anoelo, and Attendants.

Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from

(11 Scene II.—Tktytay this town it full of cozenage, <fcc] TLis was the character attributed to Ephesus in remote s^a. Steevens suggests that Shakespeare might have got the hint for thisdescription from Warner's translation of the " Menaechzni," 1595. "For this assure yourselfe, this Towne Mpidamnum is a place of outragious exlinear, exceeding in all ryot and lasciviousnesse: and I heare) as full of Ribaulds, Parasites, Drunkards, Catch. pole*, Cony-catchers, and Sycophants, as it can hold," &c. Bat it is observable that Shakespeare, with great pro(rietT, makes Antipholus attach to the.Ephesians higher so-1 more poetical qualities of cozenage than those enumerated by the old translator. It is not merely as " eatch|<Jea," "cony-catchers," and the like, but as "darkworking sorcerers," and "soul-killing witches," that he s^aks of them. And hence we are prepared to find him

(1) Sczxk I.—Once this.] The following note in Gifford's "Ben Jonson" (vol. iii. p. 218) helps to confirm our opir.krti that once in this place, and in many other instances, ts only another form of nonce, and means for the occasion, f v the time being, tsx. "For the notice, is simply for the •■**, for the one thing in question, whatover it may be. TfaU is invariably its meaning. The aptitude of many of rKJ monosyllables beginning with a vowel to assume the ■ » well known ; but the progress of this expression is i-'tioetly marked in our early writers, 'aones, 'ananes,' 'for the auies,' 'for the nanes,' 'for the nones,' 'for the

(21 ScnSE II.—he gains by death, that hath such means t» die.] The allusion is obviously to the long current opinion that the syren, or mermaid, decoyed mortals to destruction by the witchery of her songs. This superstition has been charmingly illustrated by Leyden, in his poem. "The Mermaid," (ride Scott's "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. iv. p. 294.)

"Thus, all to soothe the Chieftain's woe,
Far from the maid he loved so dear,
The song arose, so soft and slow,
He scem'd her parting sigh to hear.

That sea-maid's form, of pearly light, Was whiter than the downy spray, And round her bosom, heaving bright, Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.