Dro. E. 0,-six-pence, that I had o' Wednesday last, To pay the saddlor for my mistress' crupper ;--- Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: For she will score your fault upon my pate. And strike you home without a messenger. Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are Are their males' subjects, and at their controls. out of season; Reserve them till a merrier hour than this: And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner, Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. ACT II. [Exit. Men, more divine, and masters of all these, pause; They can be meek, that have no other cause. But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain, Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try- Enter Dromio of Ephesus. Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. 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." Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home? mad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain? Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, 3) i, e. Scarce stand under them, I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress! Dro. E. Quoth my master: I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ;- 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. 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 ine hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fie, how impatience low'reth 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 check? 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 By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground Of my defeatures: My decayed fair2 A sunny look of his would soon repair: But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale." Laic. Self-arming jealousy !-fie, beat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 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. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt; And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner; teeth ? Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and Upon what bargain do you give it me? 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 insconce it too; 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. Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what? Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still, SCENE II.-The same. Syracuse. How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd? (1) Alteration of features. (2) Fair, for fairness. i, e. Intrude on them when you please, Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing. Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I have. Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that? Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason? Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things. Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Ant. S. By what rule, sir? (6) Study my countenance. (7) A sconce was a fortification, Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, plain bald pate of father Time himself. Ant. S. Let's hear it. Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the lost hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit. Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit. Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair. Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. Ant. S. For what reason? Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too. Dro. S. Sure ones then. Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Ant. S. Name them. Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature. Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover. Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. Ant. S. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts' us yonder? Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it, I Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not: In Ephesus I am but two hours old, Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd When were you wont to use my sister thus? Dro. S. By me? Adr. By thee: and this thou did'st return from That he did buffet thee, and. in his blows, Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- What is the course and drift of your compact? Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. 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, The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st Vow, That never words were music to thine ear, As take from me thyself, and not me too. (1) Beckons, Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme: What, was I married to her in my dream? Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for Dro. S. O, for my beade! I cross me for a sinner. Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. No, I am an ape, Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. 'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be, Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1.-The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Bal Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. (1) Absolve. (2) A necklace strung with pearls. (3) Dishes of meat, (4) Blockhead, (5) Fool, But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'! 4 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, When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door. Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day. Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again, when you may. Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe? Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine of fice and my name; The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. Luce. [Within.] What a coil' is there? Dromio, who are those at the gate? Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. And so tell your master. Dro. E. Faith, no; he comes too late; O Lord, I must laugh:Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-When? can you tell? Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope? Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. And you said, no. Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow for blow. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Luce. Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. (6) I own, am owner of (7) Bustle, tumult, Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle; come before. Adr. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door. Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part' with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. 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.2 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. 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. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon thee, hind! Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a Bal. Have patience, sir; 0, let it not be so; Once this,-Your long experience of her wisdom, For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevailed; I will depart in quiet, And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. There will we dine: this woman that I mean, hence. Ant. E. Do so: This jest shall cost me some expense. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; ness: Let not my sister read it in your eye; 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; 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; 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. 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, Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show not, Than our carth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your word's 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? 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. 10, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: (6) i. e. Being made altogether of credulity. (7)Vain, is light of tongue, (8) Mermaid for siren, |