Adr. No, my good lord;-myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together. So befal my soul, 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 for sworn: say; In this the madman justly chargeth them. There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down, 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. My wife, her sister, and a rabble more They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-faced villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller ; There left me and my man, both bound together; 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; That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this! I think, you all have drunk of Circe's cup.1 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? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por cupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Ant. 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. Egeon. 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. 1 Which is said to have transformed the companions of Ulysses into swine. * Confounded. Egeon. 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: Egeon. 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? Egeon. Why look you strange on me? you know me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. Egeon. O grief hath changed me since you saw me last; And careful hours,1 with Time's deformed hand, Egeon. Dromio, nor thou? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. Egeon. I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. Egeon. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! 1 Hours of distress and sorrow. 2 Deforming. 3 Alteration of features. Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, up; Ant. E. 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 shamest to acknowlege 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 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa. Enter ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [all gather to see him. 1 The weak and discordant tone of my voice, that is changed by grief. 2 Furrowed. |