The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine:

And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good] As I by thine, a wife: this is a match, lady;

Our Perdita is found.

[Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Herm. Her. You gods, look down, 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

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.
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 turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough: and
there

My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.

Leon.

O peace, Paulina;

Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,

But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her, As I thought, dead'; and have in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far (For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee An honourable husband:-Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand: whose worth and honesty

Is richly noted; and here justified

By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.What?-Look upon my brother:-both your 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 direct-
ing,)

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.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus.
GEON, a Merchant of Syracuse.
ANTIPHOLUS of (twin brothers, and sons
Ephesus,
to Egeon and Emilia,
ANTIPHOLUS of but unknown to each
Syracuse,
DROMIO of Ephesus,
DROMIO of Syracuse,
BALTHAZAR, a Merchant.

other.

(twin brothers and At. tendants on the two Antipholuses.

ACT I.

ANGELO, a Goldsmith.

Exeunt

A Merchant, friend to Antipholns of Syracuse.
PINCH, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer.
EMILIA, Wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus.
ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LUCIANA, her sister.
LUCE, her servant.
A Courtezan.

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

SCENE.-Ephesus.

Egeon. 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 traffick to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

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 ransom him.
Thy substance, valued 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 depart'st from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Ege. A heavier task could not have been im-
posed,
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 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,
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 distinguished but by names.
That very hour, and in the selfsame inu,
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 hom "eturn:
Unwilling I agreed; alas! too soon.
We came aboard:

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd
Before the always wind-obeying deep

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,

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.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest
care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and importun'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 labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean 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 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.

My mistress made it one upon my check:
She is so hot, because the ineat is cold;
The meat is co:d, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no sto-
mach;

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. 0,-sixpence, that I had o' Wednes-
day 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

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
ont 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 Phenix, 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 hadst 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 7 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 Dromio E.
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-ranght 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.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A publick place.

Enter Adrian and Luciana.

Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with wo
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 com-
plain:

So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience would'st relie ve

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 could'st 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 hornmad.

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain î

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure,
he's stark mad;

When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:

[Exit.Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth

Adr. Neither my husband, uor the slave return'd,

he:

My mistress, sir, quoth 1; Hang up thy mis

tress;

I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!
Luc. Quoth who?

Dro. E. Quoth my master:

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 did'st deny the gold's receipt;

I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mis- And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner;

tress ;

So that my errand, due unto my tongue,

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.

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten
home ?

For God's sake, send some other messenger.
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate

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. Fie, how impatience loureth 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.
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 fair
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-harming jealousy !-fie, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs
dispense.

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.
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 jealousy!
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same.
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.

For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry

vein:

What means this jest 7 I pray you, master, tell

me.

Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in
the teeth?

Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and
that.
[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 demeanour to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
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 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?

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-time?

Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that

I 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.
1
Ant. S. Your reason?

Dro. S. Lest it make you cholerick, and pur-
chase 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

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 hair, that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up were so cholerick.
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,
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 humour alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?
Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such
a word?

Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour

since.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, 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.
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.
Dro. S. Sure ones then.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
Dro. S. Certain ones then.

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.

int. S. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things.

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, e'en 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 and frown;

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st

That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch were welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes
it,

That thon art then estranged from thyself 7
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
And better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,
As take from me thyself, 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 off my harlot brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep divorcing vow?

I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
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.

Dro. S. By me?

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

That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gen-
tlewoman?

What is the course and drift of your compact 7
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 then call us by our

names,

Unless it be by inspiration?

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more con-
tempt.

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine;
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine:
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss:
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.
Ant. S. To me she speaks: she moves me for
her theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.

This is the fairy land ;-O, spite of spites;We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue,

They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and

blue.

Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not I7
Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my
shape.

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S.
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,
But I should know her as well as she knows me
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to

scorn.

Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,

Keep then fair league and truce with thy true And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks:

bed;

I live distain'd, thou undishonoured.

Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.-

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame 7 I know Come, sister :-Dromio, play the porter well. you not:

In Ephesus I am bnt 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. Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd
with you:

When were you wont to use my sister thus ?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
Ant. S. By Dromio?

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? mad, or well advis'd? Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd! I'll say as they say, and persever so, And in this mist at all adventures go. 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.

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