Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis
well.
[PAULINA undraws a Curtain, and discovers
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: But yet speak;-first, you, my
Comes it not something near?
[liege,
Leon. Her natural posture!-
Chide me, lear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hmione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace.-But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.
Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence;
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and
makes her
As she liv'd now.
Leon. As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd
her!
I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it?-O, royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!
Per. And give me leave;
And do not say, 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.
Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.
Leon. O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
Puu. I am sorry, Sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you: but
I could afflict you further.
Leon. Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine
chizzel
[me,
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock
For I will kiss her.
Paul. Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: "If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll
think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.
Leon. What you can make her do,
I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.
You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
Leon. Proceed;
No foot shall stir.
Paul. Music; awake her: strike.— [Music. "Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach;
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;
I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away;
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from
him
[stirs:
Dear life redeems you.-You perceive, she
[HERMIONE comes down from the Pedestal.
Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double: Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in
Is she become the suitor.
Leon. O, she's warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest Lawful as eating.
May think anon, it moves.
Leon. Let Le, let be.
Would I were dead, but that methinks al
[lord, What was he, that did make it?-See, my Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
Pol. Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't
Ast we are mock'd with art.
Paul. I'll draw the curtain;
Cam. She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has
liv'd
Or, how stol'n from the dead?
Paul. That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good
Our Perdita is found.
[lady
[Presenting PERDITA, who kneels to
HERMIONE.
Her. You gods, look down,
+1. e. Though her eye be fixed it seems to have motion And from your secret vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head!"ell me, mine own
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? | But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her, how found [I,As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that
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
Partaket to every one. 1, 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,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast
found mine;
You who by this discovery have gained what you de. sired + Participate.
SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus. ÆGEON, a Merchant of Syracuse.
ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse,
DROMIO of Ephesus, DROMIO of Syracuse, BALTHAZAR, a Merchant. ANGELO, a Goldsmith.
A MERCHANT, Friend to Antipholus of Syra
Twin Brothers, PINCH, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjuror.
and Sons to E-
geon and Emi-EMILIA, Wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus.
fia, but unknown ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LUCIANA, her Sister.
LUCE, her Servant.
A COURTEZAN.
to each other. Twin Brothers, and Attendants on the two Antipholus's.
Jailer, Officers, and other Attendants. SCENE, Ephesus.
SCENE 1.-A Hall in the DUKE'S Palace. Enter DUKE, ÆGEON, Jailer, Officer, 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 [duke
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who, wanting gilders* to redeem their lives,
Have sealed 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 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
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,
➜ Name of a coin. † Markets. Natural affection.
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,
To Epidamnum, till my factor's death;
By prosperous voyages I often made
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
Before herself (almost at fainting, under
old,
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;
[other,
And, which was strange, the one so like the
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,
Fore'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,-, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by what went before.
Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break
off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
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 helpful 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
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 sor-
rowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at fuii
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest
At eighteen years became inquisitive [care,
After his brother; and impórtun'd mẹ,
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 cleant 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.
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.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
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And passed sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can:
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die :-
Jailer, take him to thy custody.
Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Ægeon
wend,*
But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt,
SCENE II-A public Place.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse,
and a MERCHANT.
Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epi-
damnum,
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,
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
And then return, and sleep within mine inn;
Get thee away.
Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your
word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
[Exit DRO. S.
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Ant. S. A trusty villain, Sir; that very oft,
What, will you walk with me about the town,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?
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 afterwards consort you till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose
And wander up and down, to view the city.
myself,
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own con-
tent.
[Exit MERCHANT.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own
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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 ;
[you? Where have you left the money that gave Dro. E. 0,-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
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
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your
And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from
[ner;
Home to your house, the Phoenix, Sir, to din?
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.
Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer
[ney; In what safe place you have bestow'd my moOr I will break that merry sconce of yours, That stands on tricks when I am indispos'd: Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon
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; [ner, She that doth fast, till you come home to din? 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. 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
The villain is o'er-raughtt 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 public Place.
Enter ADRIANA, and LUCIANA.
Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave re-
turn'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,
[dinner,
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to
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
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
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
Are their males' subject, and at their controls:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Men, more divine, and 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 un-
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practice 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 burthen'd with like weight of pain, [plain: As much, or more, we should ourselves comSo thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, Ime: With urging helpless patience would'st relieve 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's thou his mind?
Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine [it Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand
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