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 coilt is there? Dromio, who are those at the gate?

Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.

Luce.

Faith, no; he comes too late;

And so tell your master.

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh:Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-When? 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? you'll let us in, I hope?

Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.

Dro. S.

And you said, no.

Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was

blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.

Luce.

Can you tell for whose sake?

Let him knock till it ake.

Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.

Luce.
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?

Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

I own, am owner of.

+ Bustle, tumult,

.

Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have

come before.

Adr. Your wife, sir knavego, 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 t.

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 be

hind.

Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon thee, hind!

Dro. E. Here's 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

crow.

Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean

you so?

* Have part.

+ A proverbial phrase.

For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a

feather:

If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow toge

ther.

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.

Once this,-Your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,

Plead on her part some cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, sir, that she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made* against you.
Be rul'd by me; depart in patience,

And let us to the Tiger all to dinner:

And, about evening, come yourself alone,
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,

And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For slander lives upon succession;

For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in

quiet,

And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,-

Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle;-
There will we dine: this woman that I mean,
My wife (but, I protest, without desert),
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;

To her will we to dinner.-Get you home,

And fetch the chain; by thist, I know, 'tis made: Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;

i. e. Made fast..

+ By this time.

For there's the house; that chain will I bestow (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife),

Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste:
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.
Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour
hence.

Ant. E. Do so: This jest shall cost me some expence.

SCENE II.

The same.

Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse.

Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, hate,
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,

Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kindness:

Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
Muffle your false love with some show of blind-

ness:

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 aequainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint?

* Love-springs are young plants or shoots of love.

Act III. '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 vaint,

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress (what your name is else, I know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine),

Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show

not,

Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthly gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your word's deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you,
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new?
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

i. e. Being made altogether of credulity. + Vain, is light of tongue.

Mermaid for siren.