But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither.

Ege. Dromio, nor thou?

Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
Ege. I am sure thou dost.

Dro. E. Ay, sir; but I am sure I do not; and what-
soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Ege. Not know my voice? O, time's extremity!
Hast thou so crack'd my voice, split 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.
Ege. 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 Syracuse. I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and DROMIO of Syracuse.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see them. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive 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? Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio: command him away. Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio: pray let me stay. Ant. S. Egeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him here? Abb. 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 had a wife once call'd Emilia, That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. O! if thou be'st the same Egeon, speak, And speak unto the same Emilia !

Ege. 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;
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.

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right.
These two Antipholus', these two so like,
And these two Dromios, one in semblance,―
Besides his urging of his wreck at sea;-
These are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.

Ant. S. No, sir, not I: I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart: I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Dro. E. And I with him.

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

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.

Adr. And are not you my husband?
Ant. E. No; I say nay to that.

Ant. 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,
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good,
If this be not a dream I see, and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
Ant. S. I think it be, sir: I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
Ang. I think I did, sir: I deny it not.
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio; but I think, he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, And Dromio, my man, did bring them me. 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 all arose.

Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. Duke. It shall not need: thy father hath his life. Cour. 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 suffered wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.
Twenty-five years have I been gone in travail
Of you, my sons; and at this present hour
My heavy burdens are 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 nativity!

Duke. With all my heart: I'll gossip at this feast.
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, EGEON, Courtezan,
Merchant, ANGELO, and Attendants.
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship-

board?

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.

[Exeunt ANT. S. and E., ADR., and Luc. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house, That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner: 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. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.

Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it? Dro. S. We'll draw cuts for the senior: till then, lead thou first.

Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Gent. He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Gent. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here, that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young Florentine, called Claudio.

Gent. Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath, indeed, better bettered expectation, than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle, here in Messina, will be very much glad of it.

Gent. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much, that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bit

lenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, readhim at the bird-bolt.-I pray you, how many hath he ing the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Gent. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it he is a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.

Gent. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?

Gent. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed: he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the stuffing,-Well, we are all mortal.

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and her: they never meet, but there's a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one; so that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left to be known a reasonable creature.-Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother.

was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and chal

Gent. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

Beat. No; an he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now, that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

H

Bene. And by my two faiths and troths, my lord, I spoke mine.

Claud. That I love her, I feel.

D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.

Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me: I will die in it at the

stake.

D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty.

Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in the force of his will.

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her: that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, (for the which I may go the finer) I will live a bachelor.

D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.

Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with love: prove, that ever I lose more blood with love, than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.

D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me; and he that first hits me, let him be clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam,

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try: "In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke."

Bene. The savage bull may, but if ever the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and set them in my forehead; and let me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write, "Here is good horse to hire," let them signify under my sign,-" Here you may see Benedick the married man."

Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st be horn-mad.

D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's: commend me to him, and tell him, I will not fail him at supper; for, indeed, he hath made great preparation.

Bene. I have almost nutter enough in me for such an embassage; and so I commit you

Claud. To the tuition of God: from my house, if I had it.

D. Pedro. The sixth of July: your loving friend, Benedick.

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly basted on neither: ere you flout old ends any farther, examine your conscience, and so [Exit BENEDICK. Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me good. D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach: teach it but how,

I leave you.

And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?

D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir. Dost thou affect her, Claudio?

Claud. O! my lord, When you went onward on this ended action, I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, That lik`d, but had a rougher task in hand, Than to drive liking to the name of love; But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts Have left their places vacant, in their rooms Come thronging soft and delicate desires, All prompting me how fair young Hero is, Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars

D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, And tire the hearer with a book of words. If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, And I will break with her, and with her father, And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end, That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?

Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love,
That know love's grief by his complexion!
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader than
the flood?

The fairest ground is the necessity.
Look, what will serve is fit: 'tis once, thou lovest,
And I will fit thee with the remedy.

I know we shall have revelling to-night:
I will assume thy part in some disguise,
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force,
And strong encounter of my amorous tale:
Then, after, to her father will I break;
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine.
In practice let us put it presently.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room in LEONATO's House. Enter LEONATO and ANTONIO. Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, your son? Hath he provided this music?

Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamt not of. Leon. Are they good?

Ant. As the event stamps them; but they have a good cover; they show well outward. The prince and count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine: the prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece, your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance; and, if he found her accordant, he meant to take the present time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this? Ant. A good sharp fellow: I will send for him, and question him yourself.

Leon. No, no: we will hold it as a dream, till it appear itself; but I will acquaint my daughter withal, that she may be the better prepared for an answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and tell her of it. Several persons cross the stage.] Cousins, you know what you have to do.-O! I cry you mercy, friend; go you with me, and I will use your skill.-Good cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another Room in LEONATO's House. Enter JOHN and CONRADE.

Con. What the good year, my lord! why are you thus out of measure sad?

John. There is no measure in the occasion that breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. Con. You should hear reason.