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Piul.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image

Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is Until you see her die again; for then

mine.)
I'd not have show'd it.
Leon

Do not draw the curtain.
Paul No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your
fancy
May think anon, it moves.
Lron.
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks already-
What was he, that did make it!-See, my lord,
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those

veins

Did verily bear blood?

Pol.

Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't

As we are mock'd with art.

Paul.
I'll draw the curtain;
My lord's almost so far transported, tha!
He'll think anon, it lives

I could afflict you further.
Leon.

Leon.

O, she's warm! [Embracing her.
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Pol.

She embraces him.
Cam. She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd,

Or, how stolen from the dead.

Puut.
That she is living
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an oid tale; but it appears, she lives
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.-
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good
lady;
Our Perdita is found.

[Presenting PERDITA, who kneels tu
HERMIONE.

Her.

You gods, look down,

Leon.
O, sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far surr'd you: And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how
found

but

Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.

Paul.

Stand by, a looker-on.
Paul.

Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per.

Either forbear,

Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move; indeed, descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.

Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,

It is required

You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business

I am about, let them depart.

Leon.

You kill her double: Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, i.

age,

Is she become the suitor.

There's time enough for that.
Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation.-Go together,
You precious winners all: your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old tu tle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there
So long could I My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.

Leon.

Proceed;

No foot shall stir.

Paul.

Music; awake her: strike. [Music. 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach, Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come: Til fill your grave up; stir; nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeeins you.-You perceive she stirs: [HERMIONE comes down from the Pedestal.

1 As if

Thy father's court for thou shalt hear that I,—
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being,-have preserv'd
Myself to see the issue.

Paul.

mine;

But how, is it to be question'd; for I saw her,
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many

Leon.

What you can make her do, A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far
I am content to look on: what to speak
I am content to hear: for 'tis as easy

(For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee
An honorable husband :-Come, Camillo,

To make her speak, as move.

And take her by the hand: whose worth, and

Paul.

O peace, Paulina⚫
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,

And made between's by vows. Thou hast found

honesty,

Is richly noted; and here justified

By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.--
What-Look upon my brother:-both you

pardons,

That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.-This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter.--Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd: Hastily lead away.

[Exeunt

ANGELO, a Goldsmith.
A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus f Syracuse.
PINCH, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjurer.
EMILIA, Wife to Egeon, au Abbess at Ephesns
ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LUCE, her Servant.
LUCIANA, her Sister.

A Courtezan,

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

SOINUS, Duke of Ephesus.
ÆGEON, a Merchant of Syracuse.

Tu in Brothers, and
Sons to Egeon and

Emilia,but unknown
to each other.

Twin Brothers, and At

tendants on the two An-
tipholus's.

ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus,
ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse,

DROMIO of Ephesus,
DROMIO of Syracuse,[
BALTHAZAR, α Merchant.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

SCENE I-A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, ÆGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, Ephesus.

Ege. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall. And by the doom of death, end woes and all.

ACT I.

And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had 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,
A poor mean 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,
Made daily motions for our home return:
bloods,-Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,—
Who, wanting gilders' to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rig 'rous statutes with their
Excludes all pity from our threat ning looks,
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

1 Name of a coin.

If any born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs;
Again, If any Syracusan born,
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 ransome him.
Thy substance valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.
Age. Yet this my comfort; when your words
are done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Age. A heavier task could not have been impos'd
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
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 too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increased,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
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,

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

A league from Epidamnum had we sailed,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
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;
Which, though myself would g.adly 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,
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 elder born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring 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 dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapors that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amainus,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,-0, 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.

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

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Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
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,
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 seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful 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;
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 favor to dilate at full

What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Age. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and impórtun'd me.
That his attendant (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.

Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean3 through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbors men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.

Duke. Hapless Egeon, 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.
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 honor's great disparagement,
Yet will I favor 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,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die:-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gool. I will, my lord.

Age. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Egeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.

What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
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 afterwards consort you till ɓed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose mysel
And wander up and down, to view the city.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
[Exit Merchant
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con
tent,

Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
1 to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, failing there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So 1, to find a mother, and a brother,
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;
The clock has 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;
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, 【

pray;

Where have you left the money that I gave you?
Dro. E. 0,-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 humor now:
Teil me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how dar'st 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;
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: Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,

SCENE II-A public place.

And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the

Bereft, deprived. •Go.

Clear, completely. si. e. Servant.

mart

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROM10 of Syracuse, and
a Merchant.

Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner;
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day, a Syracusan merchant
is apprehended for arrival here;

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,
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd:
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,

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, But not a thousand marks between you both.-
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;
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 DRO. S.
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humor with his merry jests.

If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently.

Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave,
hast thou

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the
Phoenix:

She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner,
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 heaven's sake,
hold your hands;
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.
Exit DRO. E.

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, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body;

SCENE I-A public place. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

ACT II.

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.

Lut. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him,
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.

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more?

Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so. Luc. Why headstrong liberty is lash'd with woc. 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: Men, more divine, the masters of all these, Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, Indued with intellectual sense and souls, Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, Are masters to their females, and their lords: Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. Adr. But were you wedded, you would bear some sway.

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where?

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she

pause;

They can be meek, that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
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:
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. Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

Air. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two cars 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 be 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.8

Adr. But say, I prythee, is he coming home? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn

mad. Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, stark mad:

he's

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 1; My gold, quoth he: Will you come home ? quoth 1: My gold, quoth he; Where is the thousand murks I gave thee, villain? ae Scarce stand under them

Over-reached.

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The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold. quoth ne. 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:

So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress;
I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.

For God's sake, send some other messenger.
Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home?

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. Fye, 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 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. That's not my fault, he's master of my state: Do their gay vestments his affections bait? What ruins are in me, that can be found By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground of my defeatures: My decayed fair1 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. Luc. Self-arming jealousy !-fye, beat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis

pense,

I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know, he promis'd 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,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold: and so no man, that hath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
Exeunt

9 Alteration of features. 2 Stalking-horse.

SCENE 11-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
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's repert,
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart: See, here he comes.
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
How now, sir? is your merry humor alter'u?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

1 Fair, for fairness
3 Hinders.

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.
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 displeas'd.
Dr. 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.
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 demeanor to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

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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.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

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 at the second time to me.

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

have.

Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that?

Dro. S. Basting.

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?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the 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 bar, 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, be hath given them in wit.

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more
hair than wit.
Dr. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit
to lose his hair.

When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither
rhyme nor reason?-
Well, sir, I thank you.

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
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,
And tear the stain'd skin off my hariot brow,
Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.

Ant. S. Thank me, sir! for what?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

time!

Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dr. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. Ant. S. For what reason?

Study my countenance.

• A sconce was a fortification.

That never words were music to thine ear,
That never objects pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or cary'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
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
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

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,
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonored.

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,
Want wit in all one word to understand.

Luc. Fye, 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.
Ant. S. By Dromio?

Dro. S. By me?

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

That he did buffet thee, and in his plows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle-
woman?

What is the force and drift of your compact?
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very
words

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 they call us by our

names,

Unless it be by inspiration!

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with yr slave-

• Beckons.

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