Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind? Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning? Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.1 Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is hornmad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ? Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he is stark mad. 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 • Will you come home?' quoth I; My gold,' quoth he : 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!' Luc. Quoth who? Dro. E. Quoth my master: 1 I could scarce stand under them. 'I know,' quoth he, no house, no wife, no mis tress :-' So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders; Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating: Between you I shall have a holy head. Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master home. 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 : If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fie, how impatience lowereth in your face! Adr. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 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? That's not my fault; he's master of my state. What ruins are in me, that can be found SHAE. II. S By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground And feeds from home: poor I am but his stale.3 pense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; 4 Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know, he promised me a chain ;— So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still [Exeunt. SCENE II. The same. Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave Alteration of features. 2 Fair, for fairness. 3 Stalking-horse. 4 Hinders. Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. I could not speak with Dromio, since at first Enter DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. How now, sir? is your merry humor alter'd? Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word? Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 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? that. Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and [beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is earnest : 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.1 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,2 And fashion your demeanor to my looks, Or I will beat this method in your sconce. Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and ensconce it too; 3 or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? Ant. S. Dost thou not know? Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. 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. 1 Intrude on them when you please. 2 Study my countenance. 3 A sconce was a petty fortification. |