WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Æge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,

And by the doom of death end woes and all.

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;

I am not partial to infringe our laws:

The enmity and discord which of late

5 Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke

To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,

Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,

Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods,

10 Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.

For, since the mortal and intestine jars

’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,

It hath in solemn synods been decreed,

Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,

15 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:

Nay, more,

If any born at Ephesus be seen

At any Syracusian marts and fairs;

Again: if any Syracusian born

20 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

His goods confiscate to the duke’s dispose;

Unless a thousand marks be levied,

To quit the penalty and to ransom him.

Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,

25 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;

Therefore by law thou art condemn’d to die.

Æge. Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke. Well, Syracusian, say, in brief, the cause

30 Why thou departed’st from thy native home,

And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

Æge. A heavier task could not have been imposed

Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:

Yet, that the world may witness that my end

35 Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,

I’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.

In Syracusa was I born; and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,

And by me, had not our hap been bad.

40 With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased

By prosperous voyages I often made

To Epidamnum; till my factor’s death,

And the great care of goods at random left,

Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:

45 From whom my absence was not six months old,

Before herself, almost at fainting under

The pleasing punishment that women bear,

Had made provision for her following me,

And soon and safe arrived where I was.

50 There had she not been long but she became

A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

And, which was strange, the one so like the other

As could not be distinguish’d but by names.

That very hour, and in the self-same inn,

55 A meaner woman was delivered

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:

Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,

I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.

My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,

60 Made daily motions for our home return:

Unwilling I agreed; alas! too soon

We came aboard.

A league from Epidamnum had we sail’d,

Before the always-wind-obeying deep

65 Gave any tragic instance of our harm:

But longer did we not retain much hope;

For what obscured light the heavens did grant

Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death;

70 Which though myself would gladly have embraced,

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,

Weeping before for what she saw must come,

And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,

That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear,

75 Forced me to seek delays for them and me.

And this it was, for other means was none:

The sailors sought for safety by our boat,

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:

My wife, more careful for the latter-born,

80 Had fasten’d him unto a small spare mast,

Such as seafaring men provide for storms;

To him one of the other twins was bound,

Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:

The children thus disposed, my wife and I,

85 Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d,

Fasten’d ourselves at either end the mast;

And floating straight, obedient to the stream,

Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.

At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,

90 Dispersed those vapours that offended us;

And, by the benefit of his wished light,

The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered

Two ships from far making amain to us,

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:

95 But ere they came,—O, let me say no more!

Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Æge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now

100 Worthily term’d them merciless to us!

For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,

We were encounter’d by a mighty rock;

Which being violently borne upon,

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;

105 So that, in this unjust divorce of us,

Fortune had left to both of us alike

What to delight in, what to sorrow for.

Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened

With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,

110 Was carried with more speed before the wind;

And in our sight they three were taken up

By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.

At length, another ship had seized on us;

And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,

115 Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck’d guests;

And would have reft the fishers of their prey,

Had not their bark been very slow of sail;

And therefore homeward did they bend their course.

Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss;

120 That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d,

To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

Do me the favour to dilate at full

What hath befall’n of them and thee till now.

125 Æge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive

After his brother: and importuned me

That his attendant—so his case was like,

Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name—

130 Might bear him company in the quest of him:

Whom whilst I labour’d of a love to see,

I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.

Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,

Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,

135 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;

Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought

Or that, or any place that harbours men.

But here must end the story of my life;

And happy were I in my timely death,

140 Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke. Hapless Ægeon, whom the fates have mark’d

To bear the extremity of dire mishap!

Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,

Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,

145 Which princes, would they, may not disannul,

My soul should sue as advocate for thee.

But, though thou art adjudged to the death,

And passed sentence may not be recall’d

But to our honour’s great disparagement,

150 Yet will I favour thee in what I can.

Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day

To seek thy help by beneficial help:

Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;

Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,

155 And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die.

Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Æge. Hopeless and helpless doth Ægeon wend,

But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

First Mer. Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,

Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.

This very day a Syracusian merchant

Is apprehended for arrival here;

5 And, not being able to buy out his life,

According to the statute of the town,

Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.

There is your money that I had to keep.

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

10 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.

Within this hour it will be dinner-time:

Till that. I’ll view the manners of the town,

Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,

And then return, and sleep within mine inn;

15 For with long travel I am stiff and weary.

Get thee away.

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,

And go indeed, having so good a mean. Exit.

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,

20 When I am dull with care and melancholy,

Lightens my humour with his merry jests.

What, will you walk with me about the town,

And then go to my inn, and dine with me?

First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,

25 Of whom I hope to make much benefit;

I crave your pardon. Soon at five o’clock,

Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart,

And afterward consort you till bed-time:

My present business calls me from you now.

30 Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself,

And wander up and down to view the city.

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own content

Commends me to the thing I cannot get.

35 I to the world am like a drop of water,

That in the ocean seeks another drop;

Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,

Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:

So I, to find a mother and a brother,

40 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

Enter Dromio of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanac of my true date.

What now? how chance thou art return’d so soon?

Dro. E. Return’d so soon! rather approach’d too late:

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;

45 The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;

My mistress made it one upon my cheek:

She is so hot, because the meat is cold;

The meat is cold, because you come not home;

You come not home, because you have no stomach;

50 You have no stomach, having broke your fast;

But we, that know what ’tis to fast and pray,

Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:

Where have you left the money that I gave you?

55 Dro. E. O,—sixpence, that I had o’ Wednesday last

To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper?

The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now:

Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?

60 We being strangers here, how darest thou trust

So great a charge from thine own custody?

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:

I from my mistress come to you in post;

If I return, I shall be post indeed,

65 For she will score your fault upon my pate.

Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,

And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;

Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.

70 Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,

And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart

75 Home to your house, the Phœnix, sir, to dinner:

My mistress and her sister stays for you.

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me,

In what safe place you have bestow’d my money;

Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,

80 That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:

Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate,

Some of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders;

But not a thousand marks between you both.

85 If I should pay your worship those again,

Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

Dro. E. Your worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phœnix;

She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,

90 And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.

Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,

Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God’s sake, hold your hands!

Nay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels. Exit.

95 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other

The villain is o’er-raught of all my money.

They say this town is full of cozenage;

As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,

Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind.

100 Soul-killing witches that deform the body,

Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,

And many such-like liberties of sin:

If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.

I’ll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:

105 I greatly fear my money is not safe. Exit.

Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave return’d,

That in such haste I sent to seek his master!

Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.

Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,

5 And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.

Good sister, let us dine, and never fret:

A man is master of his liberty:

Time is their master; and when they see time,

They’ll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

15 Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe.

There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye

But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:

The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,

Are their males’ subjects and at their controls:

20 Men, more divine, the masters of all these,

Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,

Indued with intellectual sense and souls,

Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,

Are masters to their females, and their lords:

25 Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. Patience unmoved! no marvel though she pause;

They can be meek that have no other cause.

A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,

35 We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;

But were we burden’d with like weight of pain,

As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:

So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,

With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me;

40 But, if thou live to see like right bereft,

This fool-begg’d patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try.

Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:

Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

55 Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home?

It seems he hath great care to please his wife.

Dro. E.

I mean not cuckold-mad;

But, sure, he is stark mad.

60 When I desired him to come home to dinner,

He ask’d me for a thousand marks in gold:

‘’Tis dinner-time,’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he:

‘Your meat doth burn,’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he:

‘Will you come home?’ quoth I; ‘My gold!’ quoth he,

65 ‘Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?’

‘The pig,’ quoth I, ‘is burn’d;’ ‘My gold!’ quoth he:

‘My mistress, sir,’ quoth I; ‘Hang up thy mistress!

I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!’

70 Dro. E. Quoth my master:

‘I know,’ quoth he, ‘no house, no wife, no mistress.’

So that my errand, due unto my tongue,

I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;

For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home?

For God’s sake, send some other messenger.

Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating:

80 Between you I shall have a holy head.

Dro. E. Am I so round with you as you with me,

That like a football you do spurn me thus?

You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:

85 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. Exit.

Adr. His company must do his minions grace,

Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.

Hath homely age the alluring beauty took

90 From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:

Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?

If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d,

Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard:

Do their gay vestments his affections bait?

95 That’s not my fault; he’s master of my state:

What ruins are in me that can be found,

By him not ruin’d? then is he the ground

Of my defeatures. My decayed fair

A sunny look of his would soon repair:

100 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,

And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.

I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;

105 Or else what lets it but he would be here?

Sister, you know he promised me a chain;

Would that alone, alone he would detain,

So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!

I see the jewel best enamelled

110 Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still,

That others touch, and often touching will

Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,

By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.

Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,

115 I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.

Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up

Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave

Is wander’d forth, in care to seek me out

By computation and mine host’s report.

5 I could not speak with Dromio since at first

I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

How now, sir! is your merry humour alter’d?

As you love strokes, so jest with me again.

You know no Centaur? you receiv’d no gold?

10 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?

My house was at the Phœnix? Wast thou mad,

That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

15 Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence,

Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt,

And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner;

For which, I hope, thou felt’st I was displeased.

20 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein:

What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?

Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. Beating him.

Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God’s sake! now your jest is earnest:

25 Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes

Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,

Your sauciness will jest upon my love,

And make a common of my serious hours.

30 When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,

But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.

If you will jest with me, know my aspect,

And fashion your demeanour to my looks,

Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

45 Ant. S. Why, first,—for flouting me; and then, wherefore,—

For urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,

When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?

Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S. I knew ’twould be a bald conclusion:

But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:

110 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;

I am not Adriana nor thy wife.

The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow

That never words were music to thine ear,

That never object pleasing in thine eye,

115 That never touch well welcome to thy hand,

That never meat sweet-savour’d in thy taste,

Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carved to thee.

How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,

That thou art then estranged from thyself?

120 Thyself I call it, being strange to me,

That, undividable, incorporate,

Am better than thy dear self’s better part.

Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!

For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall

125 A drop of water in the breaking gulf,

And take unmingled thence that drop again,

Without addition or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.

How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,

130 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious,

And that this body, consecrate to thee,

By ruffian lust should be contaminate!

Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me,

And hurl the name of husband in my face,

135 And tear the stain’d skin off my harlot-brow,

And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.

I am possess’d with an adulterate blot;

140 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:

For if we two be one, and thou play false,

I do digest the poison of thy flesh,

Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

Keep, then, fair league and truce with thy true bed;

145 I live distain’d, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:

In Ephesus I am but two hours old,

As strange unto your town as to your talk;

Who, every word by all my wit being scann’d,

150 Wants wit in all one word to understand.

Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!

When were you wont to use my sister thus?

She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from him,

That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,

Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?

160 What is the course and drift of your compact?

Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

165 Ant. S. How can she thus, then, call us by our names,

Unless it be by inspiration.

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity

To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,

Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!

170 Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,

But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,

Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,

175 Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,

Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion

Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

180 Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?

Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?

What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?

Until I know this sure uncertainty,

185 I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy.

Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.

This is the fairy land;—O spite of spites!

We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites:

190 If we obey them not, this will ensue,

They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself, and answer’st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

Dro. S. ’Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.

200 ’Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be

But I should know her as well as she knows me.

Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,

To put the finger in the eye and weep,

Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.

205 Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.

Husband, I’ll dine above with you to-day,

And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.

Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,

Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.

210 Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?

Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?

Known unto these, and to myself disguised!

I’ll say as they say, and persever so,

215 And in this mist at all adventures go.

Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;

My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:

Say that I linger’d with you at your shop

To see the making of her carcanet,

5 And that to-morrow you will bring it home.

But here’s a villain that would face me down

He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,

And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,

And that I did deny my wife and house.

10 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know;

That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:

If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,

Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

15 Dro. E.

Marry, so it doth appear

By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.

I should kick, being kick’d; and, being at that pass,

You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.

Ant. E. You’re sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer

20 May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

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.

30 But, soft! my door is lock’d.—Go bid them let us in.

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,

35 When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door,

Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name!

45 The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,

Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Luce.

[Within] Faith, no; he comes too late;

And so tell your master.

50 Dro. E.

O Lord, I must laugh!

Have at you with a proverb;—Shall I set in my staff?

70 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.

75 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. E. A crow without 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.

85 Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!

Herein you war against your reputation,

And draw within the compass of suspect

Th’ unviolated honour of your wife.

Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom,

90 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 ruled by me: depart in patience,

95 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,

100 A vulgar comment will be made of 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;

105 For slander lives upon succession,

For ever housed where it gets possession.

Ant. E. You have prevail’d: I will depart in quiet,

And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.

I know a wench of excellent discourse,

110 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. [To Ang.] Get you home,

115 And fetch the chain; by this I know ’tis made:

Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;

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.

120 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,

I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me.

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?

5 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;

10 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;

15 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;

20 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.

25 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,

30 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,

35 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?

40 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.

45 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,

To drown me in thy sister 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 them, and there lie;

50 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!

60 Ant. S.

No;

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.

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am 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:

70 I’ll fetch my sister, to get her good will. Exit.

And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel,

She had transform’d me to a curtal dog, and made me turn i’ the wheel.

145 Ant. S. Go hie thee presently, post to the road:—

An 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.

150 If every one knows 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;

155 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,

160 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.

Ang. I know it well, sir:—lo, here is the chain.

165 I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine:

The chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long.

170 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,

175 For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more.

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.

180 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.

Sec. Mer. You know since Pentecost the sum is due,

And since I have not much importuned you;

Nor now I had not, but that I am bound

To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:

5 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

10 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.

15 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;

20 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.

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.

25 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,

30 Which doth amount to three odd ducats more

Than I stand debted to this gentleman:

I pray you, see him presently discharged,

For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.

Ant. E. I am not furnish’d with the present money;

35 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.

Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;

Or else you may return without your money.

45 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 the Porpentine.

50 I should have chid you for not bringing it,

But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

55 Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.

Either send the chain, or send me by some token.

Ant. E. Fie, now you run this humour out of breath.

Come, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

Sec. Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance.

60 Good sir, say whether you’ll answer me or no:

If not, I’ll leave him to the officer.

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:

Consider how it stands upon my credit.

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!

75 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.

Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer.

I would not spare my brother in this case,

If he should scorn me so apparently.

80 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.

85 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.

90 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?

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.

100 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

105 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.

Dro. S. To Adriana! that is where we dined,

110 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.

Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?

Mightst 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?

5 What observation madest thou, in this case,

Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face?

Luc. With words that in an honest suit might move.

15 First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.

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,

20 Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;

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.

25 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.

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;  

35 A fiend, a fury, 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;

40 One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell.

Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;

45 But he’s 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. [Exit Luciana.] This I wonder at,

That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.

Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

50 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;

A chain, a chain! Do you not hear it ring?

Dro. S. No, no, the bell: ’tis time that I were gone:

It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.

Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season.

Nay, he’s a thief too: have you not heard men say,

60 That Time comes stealing on by night and day?

If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,

Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

Adr. Go, Dromio; there’s the money, bear it straight;

And bring thy master home immediately.

65 Come, sister: I am press’d down with conceit,—

Conceit, my comfort and my injury.

Ant. S. There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me

As if I were their well-acquainted friend;

And every one doth call me by my name.

Some tender money to me; some invite me;

5 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;

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.

10 Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,

And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

Dro. S. Master, here’s the gold you sent me for.—

What, have you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled?

Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I;

And here we wander in illusions:

Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

40 Cour. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.

I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:

Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.

Will you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here?

60 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell’st thou me of supping?

Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:

I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.

Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,

Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,

65 And I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

Dro. S. Some devils ask but the parings of one’s nail,

A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,

A nut, a cherry-stone;

But she, more covetous, would have a chain.

70 Master, be wise: an if you give it her,

The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:

I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

Cour. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,

Else would he never so demean himself.

A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,

And for the same he promised me a chain:

80 Both one and other he denies me now.

The reason that I gather he is mad,—

Besides this present instance of his rage,—

Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner,

Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.

85 Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,

On purpose shut the doors against his way.

My way is now to his home to his house,

And tell his wife that, being lunatic,

He rush’d into my house, and took perforce

90 My ring away. This course I fittest choose;

For forty ducats is too much to lose. Exit.

Ant. E. Fear me not, man; I will not break away:

I’ll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,

To warrant thee, as I am ’rested for.

My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,

5 And will not lightly trust the messenger.

That I should be attach’d in Ephesus,

I tell you, ’twill sound harshly in her ears.

Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.

How now, sir! have you that I sent you for?

Adr. His incivility confirms no less.

Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;

45 Establish him in his true sense again,

And I will please you what you will demand.

Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,

To yield possession to my holy prayers,

And to thy state of darkness his thee straight:

I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!

Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your customers?

Did this companion with the saffron face

Revel and feast it at my house to-day,

60 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut,

And I denied to enter in my house?

Adr. O husband, God doth know you dined at home;

Where would you had remain’d until this time,

Free from these slanders and this open shame!

Dro. E. In verity you did; my bones bear witness,

75 That since have felt the vigour of his rage.

Pinch. It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein,

And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.

80 Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,

By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

Dro. E. Money by me! heart and good-will you might;

But surely, master, not a rag of money.

Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness

That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is possess’d;

90 I know it by their pale and deadly looks:

They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.

Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst them lock me forth to-day?

And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

95 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I received no gold;

But I confess, sir, that we were lock’d out.

Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, them art false in all,

And art confederate with a damned pack

100 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:

But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes,

That would behold in me this shameful sport.  

Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,

I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them

To make a rescue?

Off.

Masters, let him go:

He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?

Hast thou delight to see a wretched man

Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

Off. He is my prisoner: if I let him go,

115 The debt he owes will be required of me.

Adr. I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:

Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,  

And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.

Good master doctor, see him safe convey’d

120 Home to my house. O most unhappy day!

Adr. Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.

Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and Courtezan.

Say now; whose suit is he arrested at?

Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day

135 Came to my house, and took away my ring,—

The ring I saw upon his finger now,—

Straight after did I meet him with a chain.

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it.

Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is:

140 I long to know the truth hereof at large.

Adr. And come with naked swords.

Let’s call more help to have them bound again.  

Ant. S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence:

I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town;

155 Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder’d you;

But, I protest, he had the chain of me,

Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

5 Ang. Of very reverent reputation, sir,

Of credit infinite, highly beloved,

Second to none that lives here in the city:

His word might bear my wealth at any time.

10 Ang. ’Tis so; and that self chain about his neck,

Which he forswore most monstrously to have.

Good sir, draw near to me, I’ll speak to him;

Signior Antipholus, I wonder much

That you would put me to this shame and trouble;

15 And, not without some scandal to yourself,

With circumstance and oaths so to deny

This chain which now you wear so openly:

Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment,

You have done wrong to this my honest friend;

20 Who, but for staying on our controversy,

Had hoisted sail and put to sea to-day:

This chain you had of me; can you deny it?

Sec. Mer. These ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee.

Fie on thee, wretch! ’tis pity that thou livest

To walk where any honest men resort.

Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus:

30 I’ll prove mine honour and mine honesty

Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.

Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake! he is mad.

Some get within him, take his sword away:

35 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.

Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God’s sake, take a house!

This is some priory.—In, or we are spoil’d!

Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.

40 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast,

And bear him home for his recovery.

45 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,

And much different from the man he was;

But till this afternoon his passion

Ne’er brake into extremity of rage.

Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea?

50 Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye

Stray’d his affection in unlawful love?

A sin prevailing much in youthful men,

Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.

Which of these sorrows is he subject to?

55 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last;

Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.

Adr. It was the copy of our conference:

In bed, he slept not for my urging it;

At board, he fed not for my urging it;

65 Alone, it was the subject of my theme;

In company I often glanced it;

Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.

Abb. And thereof came it that the man was mad:—

The venom clamours of a jealous woman,

70 Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.

It seems his sleeps were hinder’d by thy railing:

And thereof comes it that his head is light.

Thou say’st his meat was sauced with thy upbraidings:

Unquiet meals make ill digestions;

75 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred;

And what’s a fever but a fit of madness?

Thou say’st his sports were hinder’d by thy brawls:

Sweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue

But moody and dull melancholy,

80 Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;

And at her heels a huge infectious troop

Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?

In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest

To be disturb’d, would mad or man or beast:

85 The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits

Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.

Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly,

When he demean’d himself rough, rude, and wildly.

Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not?

90 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.

Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.

Abb. Neither: he took this place for sanctuary,

95 And it shall privilege him from your hands

Till I have brought him to his wits again,

Or lose my labour in assaying it.

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,

Diet his sickness, for it is my office,

100 And will have no attorney but myself;

And therefore let me have him home with me.

Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir

Till I have used the approved means I have,

With wholesome syrups, drugs and holy prayers,

105 To make of him a formal man again:

It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,

A charitable duty of my order.

Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.

Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband here:

110 And ill it doth beseem your holiness

To separate the husband and the wife.

Adr. Come, go: I will fall prostrate at his feet,

115 And never rise until my tears and prayers

Have won his Grace to come in person hither,

And take perforce my husband from the abbess.  

Sec. Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five:

Anon, I’m sure, the Duke himself in person

120 Comes this way to the melancholy vale,

The place of death and sorry execution,

Behind the ditches of the abbey here.

Sec. Mer. To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,

125 Who put unluckily into this bay

Against the laws and statutes of this town,

Beheaded publicly for his offence.

130 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly,

If any friend will pay the sum for him,

He shall not die; so much we tender him.  

Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady:

135 It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.

Adr. May it please your Grace, Antipholus my husband,—

Whom I made lord of me and all I had,

At your important letters,—this ill day

A most outrageous fit of madness took him;

140 That desperately he hurried through the street,—

With him his bondman, all as mad as he,—

Doing displeasure to the citizens

By rushing in their houses, bearing thence

Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.

145 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,

Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,

That here and there his fury had committed.

Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,

He broke from those that had the guard of him;

150 And with his mad attendant and himself,

Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,

Met us again, and, madly bent on us,

Chased us away; till, raising of more aid,

We came again to bind them. Then they fled

155 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them;

And here the abbess shuts the gates on us,

And will not suffer us to fetch him out,

Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence.

Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy command

160 Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help.

Duke. Long since thy husband served me in my wars;

And I to thee engaged a prince’s word,

When thou didst make him master of thy bed,

To do him all the grace and good I could.

165 Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate,

And bid the lady abbess come to me.

I will determine this before I stir.

Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!

My master and his man are both broke loose,

170 Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,

Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;

And ever, as it blazed, they threw on him

Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair:

My master preaches patience to him, and the while

175 His man with scissors nicks him like a fool;

And sure, unless you send some present help,

Between them they will kill the conjurer.

Adr. Peace, fool! thy master and his man are here;

And that is false thou dost report to us.

180 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;

I have not breathed almost since I did see it.

He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you,

To scorch your face and to disfigure you. Cry within.

Hark, hark! I hear him, mistress: fly, be gone!

Adr. Ay me, it is my husband! Witness you,

That he is borne about invisible:

Even now we housed him in the abbey here;

And now he’s there, past thought of human reason.

190 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious Duke, O, grant me justice!

Even for the service that long since I did thee,

When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took

Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood

That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

195 Æge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,

I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio.

Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there!

She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife,

That hath abused and dishonour’d me

200 Even in the strength and height of injury:

Beyond imagination is the wrong

That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

Ant. E. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors upon me,

205 While she with harlots feasted in my house.

Adr. No, my good lord: myself, he and my sister

To-day did dine together. So befal my soul

As this is false he burdens me withal!

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

But she tells to your Highness simple truth!

Ang. O perjured woman! They are both forsworn:

In this the madman justly chargeth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say;

215 Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,

Nor heady-rash, provoked 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,

220 Could witness it, for he was with me then;

Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,

Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,

Where Balthazar and I did dine together.

Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,

225 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

230 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.

235 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-faced villain,

A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,

240 A needy, hollow-eyed, 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, outfacing me,

245 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,

250 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.

Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,

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

Ang. He had, my lord: and when he ran in here,

These people saw the chain about his neck.

Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine

260 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.

265 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!

270 I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup.

If here you housed 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?

280 Duke. Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither.

I think you are all mated, or stark mad.

Æge. 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.

Æge. 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:

290 Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound.

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?

Æge. O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

And careful hours with time’s deformed hand

Have written strange defeatures in my face:

300 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Æge. Not know my 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 untuned cares?

310 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,

315 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:

All these old witnesses—I cannot err—

Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

Æge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,

320 Thou know’st we parted: but perhaps, my son,

Thou shamest 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.

325 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.

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?

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,

And gain a husband by his liberty.

340 Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be’st the man

That hadst a wife once call’d Æmilia,

That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:

O, if thou be’st the same Ægeon, speak,

And speak unto the same Æmilia!

345 Æge. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia:

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;

350 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;

I to this fortune that you see me in.

355 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right:

These two Antipholuses, 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,

360 Which accidentally are met together.

Antipholus, thou camest from Corinth first?

Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous warrior.

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.

Ant. S. And so do I; yet did she call me so:

And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,

Did call me brother. [To Lucia.] What I told you then,

I hope I shall have leisure to make good;

375 If this be not a dream I see and hear.

380 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,

By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you,

And Dromio my man did bring them me.

385 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 are arose.

Abb. Renowned Duke, vouchsafe to take the pains

To go with us into the abbey here,

And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes;—

395 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.—

Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail

400 Of you, my sons; and till this present hour

My heavy burthen ne’er delivered.

The Duke, my husband, and my children both,

And you the calendars of their nativity,

Go to a gossips’ feast, and go with me;

405 After so long grief, such nativity!

410 Ant. S. He speaks to me. —I am your master, Dromio:

Come, go with us; we’ll look to that anon:

Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master’s house,

That kitchen’d me for you to-day at dinner:

415 She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:

I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.

Will you walk in to see their gossiping?

Dro. E. Nay, then, thus:—  

We came into the world like brother and brother;

And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.