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. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Luc. Ant. S. That's my sister. No; It is thyself, mine own self's better part; heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, Give me thy hand. [Exit Luc. Enter, from the House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where runn'st thou so fast? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio ? am I your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself? Dro. Š. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman: one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me. Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. Ant. S. What is she? Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he sir say, reverence: 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, and 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; I 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? Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand. Ant. S. Where France? Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, 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? Dro. S. 'Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot 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, de elining 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 curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. Ang. Master Antipholus? Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain; I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine: The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with [it for you. this? Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have: Go home with it, and please your wife withal; Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. [Exit. Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell; But this I think, there's no man is so vain, ACT IV. SCENE I. The same. Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer. Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, And since I have not much importun'd you; Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholus: And, in the instant that I met with you, Off. That labour may you save; see where he comes. Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow For locking me out of my doors by day. But soft, I see the goldsmith:-get thee gone : a rope! Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you. 1 promised your presence, and the chain; But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me: Belike, you thought our love would last too long, If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not. Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, How much your chain weighs to the utmost carrat; The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion; I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, Besides, I have some business in the town: Ant. E. No! bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about you? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have: Or else you may return without your money. Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain; Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance, to excuse Your breach of promise to the Porcupine: |