Duke. Most notedly, Sir.

Lucio. Do you so, Sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be?

Duke. You must, Sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse.

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose, for thy speeches?

Duke. I protest, I love the duke as I love myself. Ang. Hark how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses.

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal. Away with him to prison!-Where is the provost? -Away with him to prison! Lay bolts enough upon him: let him speak no more.-Away with those giglots too, and with the other confederate companion! [The Provost lays hands on the Duke. Duke. Stay, Sir; stay awhile.

Ang. What! resists he? Help him, Lucio.

Lucio. Come, Sir; come, Sir; come, Sir; foh! Sir. Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal! you must be hooded, must you? show your knave's visage, with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour! Will't not off?

[Pulls off the Friar's hood, and discovers the Duke.

Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a duke.

First, provost, let me bail these gentle three.-[To LUCIO.] Sneak not away, Sir; for the friar

and you

Must have a word anon.-Lay hold on him.
Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.
Duke. [To ESCALUS.] What you have spoke, I
pardon; sit you down:-

We'll borrow place of him.-[To ANGELO.] Sir, by your leave.

Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
That yet can do thee office? If thou hast,
Rely upon it till my tale be heard,

And hold no longer out.

Ang.

O my dread lord,

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
To think I can be undiscernible,

When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince,
No longer session hold upon my shame,
But let my trial be mine own confession:
Immediate sentence then, and sequent death,
Is all the grace I beg.

Duke.

Come hither, Mariana.Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? Ang. I was, my lord.

[stantly.

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her inDo you the office, friar; which consummate, Return him here again.-Go with him, provost.

[Exeunt ANGELO, MARIANA, Friar PETER, and Provost.

Escal. My lord, I am more amaz'd at his dis Than at the strangeness of it. [honour,

Duke.

Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your prince: as I was then Advertising and holy to your business,

Not changing heart with habit, I am still
Attorney'd at your service.

Isab.

O, give me pardon,

Your unknown sovereignty!

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd

Duke.

You are pardon'd, Isabel:

And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart;
And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself,
Labouring to save his life, and would not rather
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power,
Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid,
It was the swift celerity of his death,
Which I did think with slower foot came on,
That brain'd my purpose: but, peace be with him!
That life is better life, past fearing death,
Than that which lives to fear. Make it your com-
So happy is your brother.
Isab.

I do, my lord.

[fort,

Re-enter ANGELO, MARIANA, Friar PETER, and Provost.
Duke. For this new-married man, approaching
Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd [here,
Your well-defended honour, you must pardon
For Mariana's sake: but, as he adjudg'd your brother,
(Being criminal, in double violation
Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,)
The very mercy of the law cries out

Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
"An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!"
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;
Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure.
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested;
Which, though thou would'st deny, denies thee van-
We do condemn thee to the very block [tage:
Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like
Away with him!
[haste.-
Mari.

O, my most gracious lord!
I hope you will not mock me with a husband.
Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus-
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, [band.

I thought your marriage fit; else imputation,
For that he knew you, might reproach your life,
And choke your good to come. For his possessions,
Although by confiscation they are ours,

We do instate and widow you withal,
To buy you a better husband.

Pardon me, noble lord:

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not;
Yet did repent me, after more advice:
For testimony whereof, one in the prison,
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserv'd alive.

What's he?

Duke. Prov. His name is Barnardine. Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio.— Go, fetch him hither; let me look upon him. [Exit Provost. Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.

Ang. I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. Re-enter Provost, with BARNARDINE, CLAUDIO, muffled, and JULIET.

Duke. Which is that Barnardine?

Prov. This, my lord. Duke. There was a friar told me of this man.Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul, That apprehends no farther than this world, And squar'st thy life according. Thou 'rt con

demned:

But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all;
And pray thee, take this mercy to provide
For better times to come.-Friar, advise him;
I leave him to your hand.-What muffled fellow's
that?

Prov. This is another prisoner that I sav'd,
That should have died when Claudio lost his head;
As like almost to Claudio as himself.

[Unmuffles CLAUDIO.

Duke. [To ISABELLA.] If he be like your brother, for his sake

Is he pardon'd; and, for your lovely sake,
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine,-
He is my brother too:-but fitter time for that.
By this, lord Angelo perceives he's safe:
Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye.-
Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well:
Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth
I find an apt remission in myself; [yours.-
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon.-
[To LUCIO.] You, sirrah, that knew me for a fool,

a coward,

One all of luxury, an ass, a madman;
Wherein have I so deserv'd of you,
That you extol me thus?

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would please you I might be whipped.

Duke. Whipp'd first, Sir, and hang'd after.—
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city,

If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,—
As I have heard him swear, himself, there's one
Whom he begot with child,-let her appear,
And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd,
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd.

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore! Your highness said even now, I made you a duke: good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold.

Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits.-Take him to prison; And see our pleasure herein executed.

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging.

Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it.—

[Exeunt Officers with LUCIO. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore.— Joy to you, Mariana!-love her, Angelo:

I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue.Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good

ness:

There's more behind that is more gratulate.—
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy:
We shall employ thee in a worthier place.—
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's:
Th' offence pardons itself.-Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good;
Whereto if you 'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine.-
So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.

[Excunt.

ACT I.

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

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

--

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 rigorous statutes with their bloods,-
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, if any, born at Ephesus,
Be seen at 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 ransom him.
Thy substance, valu'd at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.
Ege. 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.

Ege. 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 increas'd
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death,
And the 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,
And soon and safe arrivèd where I was.
There had she 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:
Unwilling I agreed. Alas, too soon we came aboard!
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
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 gladly have embrac'd,
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,
Forc'd 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 latter-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,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
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 vapours 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 amain to us;
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:

But ere they came,—Ò, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off For we may pity, though not pardon thee. [so;

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,

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 healthful 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 favour to dilate at full

What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.

ge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother; and impòrtun'd me, That his attendant-for his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain'd his nameMight bear him company in the quest of him: Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia; And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought Or that, or any place that harbours 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.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant.

First 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;
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,
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.

Ant. S. A trusty villain, Sir; that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?
First 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 afterward consort you till bed-time:
My present business calls me from you now.

Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down to view the city.
First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own
[Exit.

content.

Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own conCommends me to the thing I cannot get.

[tent,

I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother, and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.—
Here comes the almanack of my true date.-
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.
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 hath 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, I

pray,

Where have you left the money that I
gave
you?
Dro. E. Ó,— 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 humour now:
Tell 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,

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

mart

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

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 had'st of me? Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my

pate;

Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders;
But not a thousand marks between you both.
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. [Strikes him.

Dro. E. What mean you, Sir? for God's sake,

hold your hands!

Nay, an you will not, Sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit.
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,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin:
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
I greatly fear my money is not safe.

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-A public Place. Before the House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

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.

Luc. 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 woe.
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,
Indu'd 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.

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? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is hornAdr. Horn-mad, thou villain!

[mad.