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If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Luc. Self-harming jealousie! - fie, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense: I know, his eye doth homage other-where; 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 derain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed. I see, the jewel, best enameled, (s) Will lose his beauty; and the gold bides still, That others touch: yer often touching will Wear Gold: and so no Man, that hath a' Name, But Fallhood, and Corruption, doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousie!
[Exeunt. (5) I see the Jewel beft enameled
Will lose his Beauty; yet the gold bides still
By Falhood and Corruption doth it Shame.] In this miferably mangled Condition is this Paffage exhibited in the first Folio. All the Editions since have left out the last Couplet of it ; I presume, as too hard for them. Mr. Pope, who pretends to have collated the first Folio, should have fpar'd us the Lines, at least, in their Corruption. I communicated my Doubts upon this Passage to my Friend Mr. Warburton; and to his Sagacity. I owe, in good part, the Correction of it. The Sense of the whole is now very pertinent; which, without the two Lines from the ift Folio, was very imperfect; not to say, ridiculous. The Compa. rison is fully closed. “ Gold, indeed, bides handling well; but, for all " that, often Touching will wear even Gold ; So, no Man of a great " Character, even as pure as Gold, but may in Time lose it by Falmood “ and Corruption.
SCENE changes to the Street.
Enter Antipholis of Syracuse.
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful llave
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
S. Dro. I did not see you fince you sent me hence
Ant. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt ;
S. Dro. I'm glad to see you in this merry vein:
Ant. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? Think'st thou, I jest? hold, take thou that, and that.
[Beats Dro. S. Dro. Hold, Sir, for God's fake, now your jeft is
earnest; Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Ant. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, Your fawciness 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:
S. Dro. 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 iny wic in my shoulders: but, I pray, Sir, why am I beaten? Ant. Dost thou not know? S. Dro. Nothing, Sir, but that I am beaten. Ant. Shall I tell you why?
S. Dro. Ay, Sir, and wherefore; for they say, every why hath a wherefore.
Ant. Why, first, for flouting me; and then whereforė, for urging it the second time to me. S. Dro. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of
season, When, in the why, and wherefore, is neither thime nor
reason? Well, Sir, I thank you.
Ant. Thank me, Sir, for what?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing
Ant. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, Sir, is it dinner-timc?
S. Dro. No, Sir, I think, the meat wants that I have.
S. Dro. Left it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry-basting:
Ant. Well, Sir, learn to jest in good time; there's a time for all things.
S. Dro. I durit have deny'd that, before you were so cholerick.
Ant. By what rule, Sir?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.
Ant. Let's hear it.
S. Dro. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature.
Ant. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
S. Dro. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the loft hair of another man.
(6) Ant. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
S. Dro. 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. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.
S. Dro. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit to lose his hair.
Ant. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.
S. Dro. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost; yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
Ant. For what reason?
S. Dro. The one to save the money that he spends in tyring; the other, that at dinner. 'they Thould not drop in his porridge.
(6) Ant. Why is Time such a Niggard of Hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an Excrement?
S. Dro. Because it is a Blefing that he bestows on Beasts, and what be hath scanted them in hair, be hath given them in Wit.) Surely, this is Mock-seasoning, and a Contradiction in Sense. Can Hair be suppos’d a Blessing, which Time bestows on Beasts peculiarly; and yet that he hath scanted them of it too? I corrected this Passage, as I have now reform'd the Text, in my SHAKESPEARE restor'd; and Mr. Pope has been pleas'd to adopt my Correction in his last Edition. Men and Them, I observe, are very frequently mistaken vice verfâ for each other, in the old Impressions of our Author.
Ant. You would all this time have proy'd, there is no time for all things.
S. Dro. Marry, and did, Sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.
Ant. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.
S. Dro. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore to the world's end will have bald Followers.
Ant. I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion: but, soft! who wafts us yonder?
Enter Adriana, and Luciana. Adri. Ay, ay, Antipholis, look strange and frown, Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects : I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou, unurg'd, wouldst vow, That never words were musick to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, That never Touch well welcome to thy Hand, That never Meat sweet-favour'd in thy Tafte, Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch'd, or carv'd. How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, That thou art thus ettranged from thy self? Thy self I call it, being Itrange to me: That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part. Ah, do not tear away thy self from me: For know, my love, as easie may'st thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulph, And take unmingled thence that drop again, Without addition or diminishing, As take from me thy self; and not me too. How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Should'st thou but hear, I were licentious ? And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate? Would'st thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face, And tear the stain'd skin of my. harlot-brow, And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, . C 2