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Mej. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you trưe; I have not breath'd almoft, since I did see it. He crys for you, and vows if he can take you, To scorch your face, and to disfigure you.
[Cry within, Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress ; Ay, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with
Adr. Ay ine, it is my husband, witness you,
That he is borne about invifible!
Ev'n now we hous'd him in the abbey here,
And now he's there, past thought of human reason.
Enter Antipholis, and Dromio of Eph.
E. Ant. Justice, most gracious Duke, oh, grant me
Even for the service that long fince I did thee,
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life, even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice,
Ægeon. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote; I see my son Antipholis, and Dromio.
E. Ant. Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife;
That hath abused and dishonour'd me,
Ev'n in the strength and height of injury :
Beyond imagination is the wrong,
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me,
Duke. Discover how, and thou fhalt find me juft.
E. Ant. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors
Whilft fhe with harlots feasted in
house. Duke. A grievous fault; say, woman, didst thou so?
Adr. No, my good lord: my felf, he, and my fifter, To day did dine together : fo befal my foul, As this is false, he burthens me withal !
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your Highness simple truth!
Ang. O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn.
In this the mad-map juftly chargeth them.
E. Ant. My Liege, I am adviled, what I say.
Neither difturb'd with the effect of wine,
Nor, heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire;
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiler mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner ;
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
Could witness it; for he was with me then,
Who parted with me to go fetch a Chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him; in the street I met him,
And in his company that Gentleman.
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
That I this day from him receiv'd the Chain;
Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which,
He did arrest me with an officer.
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,
By th’ way we met my wife, her sister, and
A rabble more of vile confederates;
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain,
A meer anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man. This pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer ;
And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no-face, as 't were, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was poffeft. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound mę, bore me thence ;
And in a dark and dankith vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together ;
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds alunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep Thames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him; That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a Chain of thee, or no?
Ang. He had, my lord, and when he ran in here,
These People saw the Chain about his neck.
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of minc
Heard you confess, you had the Chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart ;
And thereupon I drew my sword on you ;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you're come by miracle.
E. Ant. I never came within these abbey-walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
I never saw the Chain, so help me heay'n!
And this is false, you burthen me withal.
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this?
I think, you all have drunk of Circe's Cup:
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been ;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly :
You say, he din'd at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that Saying. Sirrah, what say you ?
E. Dro. Sir, he din'd with her there, at the Por-
cupine. Cur. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that Ring. E. Ant. 'Tis true, my Liege, this Ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cur. As sure, my Liege, as I do see your Grace. Duke. Why, this is strange ; go call the Abbess hi
ther; I think, you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Ex. one to the Abbess. Ægeon. 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, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
Ægeon. Is not your name, Sir, callid Antipholis ? And is not that your bond-man Dromio ?
E. Dro. Within this hour I was his bond-man, Sir,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords ;
Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound.
Ægeon. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
E. Dre. Our selves we do remember, Sir, by you;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You are not Pinch's Patient, are you, Sir?
Ægeon. Why look you ftrange on me! you know
E. Ant. I never saw you in my life, 'till now.
Ægeon. Oh! grief hath chang’d 'me, since you saw
And careful hours with time's deformed hand
Have written ftrange defeatures in my face;
But tell me yet, doft thou not know my voice?
E. Ant. Neither.
Ægeon. Dromio, nor thou?
E. Dro. No, trust me, Sir, nor I.
Ægeon. I am sure, thou dost.
E. Dro. I, Sir? but I am sure, I do not; and whatfoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Ægeon. Not know my voice! oh, time's extremity!
Haft thou so crack'd and splitteď my poor tongue
In feven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ?
Tho' now this grained face of mine be hid
In fap-consuming winter's drizled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
Yet hath my night of life some memory;
My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear :
All these old witneffes, I cannot. err,
Tell me thou art my son Antipholis.
E. Ant. I never saw my father in my life.
Egeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa-bay, Thou know'lt, we parted; but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'ft t'acknowledge me in misery.
E. Ant: The Duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not fo;
I ne'er faw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Have I been Patron to Antipholis, During which time he ne'er faw Syracusa: I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholis Syracusan; and Dromio
Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
[All gather to fee bim. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other ;
And fo of thefe which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? who deciphers them?
S. Dro. I, Sir; am Drômio ;. command him away.
E. Dro. I, Sir, am Dromio'; pray, let me ftay..ni
S. Ant. Ægeon, art thou not? br elte his ghost?
S. Dro. O, my old master! who hath bound him
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds;
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man,
That hadít a wife once call'd Æmilia,
That bote thee at a butthen two fair sons?
Oh, if thou be'ft the fame Ægeong speak ;
And speak unto the famę Æmilias
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right: These two Antipholis's, these two fo like, And those two Dromio's, one in semblance; Besides her urging of her wrack at fea, These plainly are the parents to thefe children, Which accidentally, are met together.
Ægeon. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia;
If thod art she, tell me where is that fon
That floated with thee on the fatal Raft.
Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth.
By force took Dromio and my fon from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnuin.