ACT III. SCENE L. The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo, and Balthazar. Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all: My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours: this ? Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know: That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show: If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray, God, our cheer May answer my good will, and your good welcome here. Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common: that every churl affords. Ant. E. And welcome more common; for thats nothing but words. Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a merry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest; But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But, soft my door is lock'd; Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Mand, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'! Dro. S. [within. Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! Either get thee from the door, or sit dowr. at the hatch: Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open the door. Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. Ant. E. Wherefore ? for my dinner; 1 have not din'd to-day. Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again, when you may. Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe? Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; ̧ The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. Luce. [within] What a coil is there? Dromio, 'Faith, no; he comes too late : staff? Luce. Have at you with another that's,When 7 can you tell? Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion 7 you'll let us in, I hope ? Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? Adr. within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise 7 Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. Ant. E. Are you there wife? you might have come before. Adr. Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from the door. Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. Dro E. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold: It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold. Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir; and words are but wind; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking; Out upon thee, hind! Dro. E. Here is too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a Herein you war against your reputation, For ever housed, where it once gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet, And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. Ant. E. Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense. Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you, To make it wander in an unknown field 7 Are you a god? would you create me new 7 Transform me then, and to your power I ll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know, Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe; Far more, far more, to you do I decline. O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie; And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die :Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. That's my sister. No; It is thyself, mine own self's better part; [Exeunt. Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; SCENE II. The same. 7 Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: Let not my sister read it in your eye; Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint: Be secret-false; What need she be acquainted? What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, And let her read it in thy looks at board: Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe, Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again; Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: "Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, I know not, Nor by what wander you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show not, My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luc. Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sirreverence: I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a wondrous fat marriage. Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, land all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from, her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world. Ant. S. What complexion is she of? Dro. S. Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept: For why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it. Ant. S. What's her name ? Dro. S. Nell, sir;-but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; 1 could find out countries in her. Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs. Ant. S. Where Scotland ? Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, the palm of the hand. Ant. S. Where France? And since I have not much importun'd you; Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: making war against her heir. Ant. S. Where England? Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. Ant. S. Where Spain? Therefore make present satisfaction, Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Dro. S. 'Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, in her breath. Ant. S. Where America? the Indies? Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assur'd to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtaildog, and made me turn i' the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; Enter Angelo. Ang. Master Antipholus? Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain, this? I will discharge my bond, and thank you too Off. That labour may you save; see where he comes. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion; Besides, I have some business in the town. Ant. E. No! bear it with you, lest I come not Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about you? Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me much to say so. Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: Consider, how it stands upon my credit. Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Off. I do; and charge you in the duke's name, to obey me. Ang. This touches me in reputation: Either consent to pay this sum for me, Or I attach you by this officer. Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had! Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer; I would not spare my brother in this case, If he should scorn me so apparently. Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit. Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail:But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear As all the metal in your shop will answer. Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, That stays but till her owner comes aboard, And then, sir, bears away: our fraughtage, sir, I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vite. The ship is in her trim; the merry wind That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, [Exeunt Mer. Ang. Officer, and Ant. E. Dro. S. To Adriana! that is where we din'd, Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband: She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. Thither I must, although against my will, For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. SCENE II. The same. Enter Adriana and Luciana. Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye That he did plead in earnest, yea or no? Look'd he or red, or pale; or sad, or merrily? What observation mad'st thou in this case, Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face? Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right. Adr. He meant, he did me none; the more my spite. Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. Luc. Then pleaded I for you. And what said he? Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one? No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, And yet would herein others' eyes were worse: Far from her nest the lapwing cries away; My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath? A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; all, But for their owner, master, and yourself. Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why thou peevish sheep, What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope; And told thee to what purpose, and what end. Dro. S. You sent me, sír, for a rope's end as You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more lei sure, And teach your ears to list me with more heed. A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun termands The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dryfoot well; One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell. Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? Dro. S. I do not know the matter; he is 'rested on the case. Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me at whose suit. Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that can I tell : Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in the desk ? Adr. Go, fetch it, sister.-This I wonder at, [Exit Luciana. That he, unknown to me, should be in debt: Tell me, was he arrested on a band? Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring? Adr. What, the chain? Igone. Dro. S. No, no, the bell: 'tis time that I were It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. Adr. The hours come back! that did I never hear. Dro. S. O yes, If any hour meet a sergeant, a' turns back for very fear. Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason? Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's worth to season. Nay, he's a thief too: Have you not heard men salute me As if I were their well-acquainted friend; Enter Dromio of Syracuse. Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for: What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparell'd? Ant. S What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean? Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, but that Adam, that keeps the prison; he that goes in the calf's skin that was kill'd for the prodigal: he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty. Ant. S. I understand thee not." Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went like a base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 'rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with his mace than a morris-pike. Ant. S. What? thou mean'st an officer? Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band: one that thinks a man always going to bed, and says, God give you good rest. Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone? Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay; here are the angels that you sent for, to deliver you. Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I; And here we wander in illusions; Some blessed power deliver us from hence! Enter a Courtezan. Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now; Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day 7 Ant. S. Satan, avoid! I charge thee tempt me not! Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan? Ant. S. It is the devil. Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench; and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light wench. It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; Come not near her. Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here. Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon. Ant. S. Why, Dromio? Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that must eat with the devil. Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping? Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd; A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, A nut, a cherry-stone: but she, more covetous, Would have a chain. Master, be wise; and if you give it her, The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go. Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock; Mistress, that you know. [Exeunt Ant. and Dro. Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, Else would he never so demean himself: A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, And for the same he promis'd me a chain!' Both one, and other, he denies me now. The reason that I gather he is mad (Besides this present instance of his rage,) Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits, On purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now, to hie home to his house, And tell his wife, that, being lunatick, He rush'd into my house, and took perforce My ring away: This course I fittest choose; For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit. SCENE IV. The same. Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and an Officer. Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money away; My wife is in a wayward mood to-day: To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. And will not lightly trust the messenger, That I should be attach'd in Ephesus: tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.Enter Dromio of Ephesus, with a rope's end. Here comes my man; I think, he brings the I money. |