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Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And by the doom of death end woes and all.
Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more.
I am not partial to infringe our laws.
55The enmity and discord which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
1010Excludes 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 Syracusians and ourselves,
1515To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.
Nay, more, if any born at Ephesus
Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again, if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
2020His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levièd
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
2525Therefore by law thou art condemned to die.
Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home
3030And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus.
A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable;
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offense,
3535I’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, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy. Our wealth increased
4040By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamium, till my factor’s death
And the great care of goods at random left
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse;
From whom my absence was not six months old
4545Before herself—almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear—
Had made provision for her following me
And soon and safe arrivèd where I was.
There had she not been long but she became
5050A 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 inn,
A mean woman was deliverèd
5555Of 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.
6060Unwilling, I agreed. Alas, too soon
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamium had we sailed
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm;
6565But longer did we not retain much hope,
For what obscurèd light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death,
Which though myself would gladly have embraced,
7070Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourned for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.
7575And 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 fastened him unto a small spare mast,
8080Such as seafaring 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 disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fixed,
8585Fastened ourselves at either end the mast
And, floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapors that offended us,
9090And by the benefit of his wished light
The seas waxed calm, and we discoverèd
Two ships from far, making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this.
But ere they came—O, let me say no more!
9595Gather the sequel by that went before.
Nay, forward, old man. Do not break off so,
For we may pity though not pardon thee.
O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily termed them merciless to us.
100100For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encountered 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,
105105Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdenèd
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind,
110110And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwracked guests,
115115And would have reft the fishers of their prey
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me severed from my bliss,
That by misfortunes was my life prolonged
120120To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favor to dilate at full
What have befall’n of them and thee till now.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
125125At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother, and importuned me
That his attendant—so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retained his name—
Might bear him company in the quest of him,
130130Whom whilst I labored of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus,
135135Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbors 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.
140140Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have marked
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,
145145My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But though thou art adjudgèd to the death,
And passèd sentence may not be recalled
But to our honor’s great disparagement,
Yet will I favor thee in what I can.
150150Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help.
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live. If no, then thou art doomed to die.—
155155Jailer, take him to thy custody.
I will, my lord.
Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.
Therefore give out you are of Epidamium,
160Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here
5And, not being able to buy out his life,
According to the statute of the town
165Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.
Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
10And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinnertime.
170Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return and sleep within mine inn,
15For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.
175Many a man would take you at your word
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
20When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humor with his merry jests.
180What, will you walk with me about the town
And then go to my inn and dine with me?
I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
25Of whom I hope to make much benefit.
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o’clock,
185Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart
And afterward consort you till bedtime.
My present business calls me from you now.
30Farewell till then. I will go lose myself
And wander up and down to view the city.
190Sir, I commend you to your own content.
He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
35I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
195Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
40In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanac of my true date.—
200What now? How chance thou art returned so soon?
Returned so soon? Rather approached too late!
The capon burns; the pig falls from the spit;
45The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek.
205She 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;
50You have no stomach, having broke your fast.
But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray
210Are penitent for your default today.
Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this, I pray:
Where have you left the money that I gave you?
55O, sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last
To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper?
215The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
I am not in a sportive humor now.
Tell me, and dally not: where is the money?
60We being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?
220I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner.
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
65For she will scour your fault upon my pate.
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your
225clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.
Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season.
70Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?
230To me, sir? Why, you gave no gold to me!
Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.
75My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner.
235My mistress and her sister stays for you.
Now, as I am a Christian, answer me
In what safe place you have bestowed my money,
80Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed.
240Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders,
85But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your Worship those again,
245Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
Thy mistress’ marks? What mistress, slave, hast
thou?
90Your Worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phoenix,
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner
250And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.
95What mean you, sir? For God’s sake, hold your
hands.
255Nay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels.
Upon my life, by some device or other
The villain is o’erraught of all my money.
100They say this town is full of cozenage,
As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
260Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguisèd cheaters, prating mountebanks,
105And many suchlike liberties of sin.
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
265I’ll to the Centaur to go seek this slave.
I greatly fear my money is not safe.
Neither my husband nor the slave returned
That in such haste I sent to seek his master?
Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock.
270Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
5And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret.
A man is master of his liberty;
Time is their master, and when they see time
275They’ll go or come. If so, be patient, sister.
10Why should their liberty than ours be more?
Because their business still lies out o’ door.
Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
O, know he is the bridle of your will.
280There’s none but asses will be bridled so.
15Why, headstrong liberty is lashed with woe.
There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye
But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky.
The beasts, the fishes, and the wingèd fowls
285Are their males’ subjects and at their controls.
20Man, more divine, the master of all these,
Lord of the wide world and wild wat’ry seas,
Endued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more preeminence than fish and fowls,
290Are masters to their females, and their lords.
25Then let your will attend on their accords.
This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.
But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.
295Ere I learn love, I’ll practice to obey.
30How if your husband start some otherwhere?
Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Patience unmoved! No marvel though she pause;
They can be meek that have no other cause.
300A wretched soul bruised with adversity
35We bid be quiet when we hear it cry,
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain.
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
305With urging helpless patience would relieve me;
40But if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begged patience in thee will be left.
Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
Here comes your man. Now is your husband nigh.
310Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
45Nay, he’s at two hands with me,
and that my two ears can witness.
Say, didst thou speak with him? Know’st thou his
mind?
315Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear.
50Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Spake he so doubtfully thou couldst not feel
his meaning?
Nay, he struck so plainly I could
320too well feel his blows, and withal so doubtfully
55that I could scarce understand them.
But say, I prithee, is he coming home?
It seems he hath great care to please his wife.
Why, mistress, sure my master is horn mad.
325Horn mad, thou villain?
60I mean not cuckold mad,
But sure he is stark mad.
When I desired him to come home to dinner,
He asked me for a thousand marks in gold.
330“’Tis dinnertime,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.
65“Your meat doth burn,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth
he.
“Will you come?” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he.
“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?”
335“The pig,” quoth I, “is burned.” “My gold,” quoth
70he.
“My mistress, sir,” quoth I. “Hang up thy mistress!
I know not thy mistress. Out on thy mistress!”
Quoth who?
340Quoth my master.
75“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no
mistress.”
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders,
345For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
80Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.
Go back again and be new beaten home?
For God’s sake, send some other messenger.
Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.
350And he will bless that cross with other beating.
85Between you, I shall have a holy head.
Hence, prating peasant. Fetch thy master home.
Am I so round with you as you with me,
That like a football you do spurn me thus?
355You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither.
90If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
Fie, how impatience loureth in your face.
His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
360Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took
95From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marred,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard.
365Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
100That’s not my fault; he’s master of my state.
What ruins are in me that can be found
By him not ruined? Then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayèd fair
370A sunny look of his would soon repair.
105But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale
And feeds from home. Poor I am but his stale.
Self-harming jealousy, fie, beat it hence.
Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
375I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
110Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promised me a chain.
Would that alone o’ love he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.
380I see the jewel best enamelèd
115Will lose his beauty. Yet the gold bides still
That others touch, and often touching will
Wear gold; yet no man that hath a name
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
385Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
120I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die.
How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!
The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave
390Is wandered forth in care to seek me out.
By computation and mine host’s report,
5I 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 humor altered?
395As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? You received no gold?
10Your 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?
400What answer, sir? When spake I such a word?
Even now, even here, not half an hour since.
15I did not see you since you sent me hence,
Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me.
Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt
405And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner,
For which I hope thou felt’st I was displeased.
20I am glad to see you in this merry vein.
What means this jest, I pray you, master, tell me?
Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
410Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that and that.
Hold, sir, for God’s sake! Now your jest is earnest.
25Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool and chat with you,
415Your sauciness will jest upon my love
And make a common of my serious hours.
30When 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,
420And fashion your demeanor to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
35“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
425sconce for my head and ensconce it too, or else I
shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I pray, sir,
40why am I beaten?
Dost thou not know?
Nothing, sir, but that I am
430beaten.
Shall I tell you why?
45Ay, sir, and wherefore, for they
say every why hath a wherefore.
“Why” first: for flouting
435me; and then “wherefore”: for urging it the second
time to me.
50Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
When in the “why” and the “wherefore” is neither
rhyme nor reason?
440Well, sir, I thank you.
Thank me, sir, for what?
55Marry, sir, for this something
that you gave me for nothing.
I’ll make you amends next,
445to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it
dinnertime?
60No, sir, I think the meat wants
that I have.
In good time, sir, what’s
450that?
Basting.
65Well, sir, then ’twill be dry.
If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of
it.
455Your reason?
Lest it make you choleric and
70purchase me another dry basting.
Well, sir, learn to jest in
good time. There’s a time for all things.
460I durst have denied that before
you were so choleric.
75By what rule, sir?
Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as
the plain bald pate of Father Time himself.
465Let’s hear it.
There’s no time for a man to
80recover his hair that grows bald by nature.
May he not do it by fine and
recovery?
470Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig,
and recover the lost hair of another man.
85Why is Time such a niggard
of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?
Because it is a blessing that he
475bestows on beasts, and what he hath scanted men
in hair, he hath given them in wit.
90Why, but there’s many a
man hath more hair than wit.
Not a man of those but he hath
480the wit to lose his hair.
Why, thou didst conclude
95hairy men plain dealers without wit.
The plainer dealer, the sooner
lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
485For what reason?
For two, and sound ones too.
100Nay, not sound, I pray you.
Sure ones, then.
Nay, not sure, in a thing
490falsing.
Certain ones, then.
105Name them.
The one, to save the money that
he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they
495should not drop in his porridge.
You would all this time
110have proved there is no time for all things.
Marry, and did, sir: namely, e’en
no time to recover hair lost by nature.
500But your reason was not
substantial why there is no time to recover.
115Thus I mend it: Time himself is
bald and therefore, to the world’s end, will have
bald followers.
505I knew ’twould be a bald
conclusion. But soft, who wafts us yonder?
120Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects.
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
510The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear,
125That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savored in thy taste,
515Unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved to
thee.
130How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it
That thou art then estrangèd from thyself?
“Thyself” I call it, being strange to me,
520That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self’s better part.
135Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
525And take unmingled thence that drop again
Without addition or diminishing,
140As take from me thyself and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious
530And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
145Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stained skin off my harlot brow,
535And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
150I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it.
I am possessed with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust;
540For if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
155Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed,
I live distained, thou undishonorèd.
545Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not.
In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
160As strange unto your town as to your talk,
Who, every word by all my wit being scanned,
Wants wit in all one word to understand.
550Fie, brother, how the world is changed with you!
When were you wont to use my sister thus?
165She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.
By Dromio?
By me?
555By thee; and this thou didst return from him:
That he did buffet thee and, in his blows,
170Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your compact?
560I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Villain, thou liest, for even her very words
175Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.
I never spake with her in all my life.
How can she thus then call us by our names—
565Unless it be by inspiration?
How ill agrees it with your gravity
180To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood.
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
570But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine.
She takes his arm.
185Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate.
575If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss,
190Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.
To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme.
580What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this?
195What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty
I’ll entertain the offered fallacy.
585Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
He crosses himself.
200This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites.
If we obey them not, this will ensue:
590They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.
Why prat’st thou to thyself and answer’st not?
205Dromio—thou, Dromio—thou snail, thou slug,
thou sot.
I am transformèd, master, am I not?
595I think thou art in mind, and so am I.
Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.
210Thou hast thine own form.
No, I am an ape.
If thou art changed to aught, ’tis to an ass.
600’Tis true. She rides me, and I long for grass.
’Tis so. I am an ass; else it could never be
215But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep
605Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.
Come, sir, to dinner.—Dromio, keep the gate.—
220Husband, I’ll dine above with you today,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
To Dromio. Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
610Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.—
Come, sister.—Dromio, play the porter well.
225Am I in Earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking, mad or well-advised?
Known unto these, and to myself disguised!
615I’ll say as they say, and persever so,
And in this mist at all adventures go.
230Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
Ay, and let none enter, lest I break your pate.
Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
620Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours.
Say that I lingered with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet,
5And that tomorrow you will bring it home.
625But here’s a villain that would face me down
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him
And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house.—
10Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
630Say 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
15were ink,
635Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
I think thou art an ass.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.
20I should kick being kicked and, being at that pass,
640You would keep from my heels and beware of an ass.
You’re sad, Signior Balthasar. Pray God our cheer
May answer my goodwill and your good welcome
here.
25I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome
645dear.
O Signior Balthasar, either at flesh or fish
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty
dish.
30Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.
650And welcome more common, for that’s nothing but
words.
Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry
feast.
35Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest.
655But though my cates be mean, take them in good
part.
Better cheer may you have, but not with better
heart.He attempts to open the door.
40But soft! My door is locked. To Dromio. Go, bid
660them let us in.
Maud, Bridget, Marian, Ciceley, Gillian, Ginn!
Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!
Either get thee from the door or sit down at the
45hatch.
665Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call’st for
such store
When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the
door.
50What patch is made our porter? My master stays in
670the street.
Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch
cold on ’s feet.
Who talks within there? Ho, open the door.
55Right, sir, I’ll tell you when an you’ll tell me
675wherefore.
Wherefore? For my dinner. I have not dined today.
Nor today here you must not. Come again when you
may.
60What art thou that keep’st me out from the house I
680owe?
The porter for this time, sir, and my name is
Dromio.
O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my
65name!
685The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle
blame.
If thou hadst been Dromio today in my place,
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or
70thy name for an ass.
690What a coil is there, Dromio! Who are those at the
gate?
Let my master in, Luce.
Faith, no, he comes too late,
75And so tell your master.
695O Lord, I must laugh.
Have at you with a proverb: shall I set in my staff?
Have at you with another: that’s—When, can you
tell?
80If thy name be called “Luce,” Luce, thou hast
700answered him well.
Do you hear, you minion? You’ll let us in, I hope?
I thought to have asked you.
And you said no.
85So, come help. Well struck! There was blow for
705blow.
Thou baggage, let me in.
Can you tell for whose sake?
Master, knock the door hard.
90Let him knock till it ache.
710You’ll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.
What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the
town?
Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?
95By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly
715boys.
Are you there, wife? You might have come before.
Your wife, sir knave? Go, get you from the door.
If you went in pain, master, this knave would go
100sore.
720Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome. We would
fain have either.
In debating which was best, we shall part with
neither.
105They stand at the door, master. Bid them welcome
725hither.
There is something in the wind, that we cannot get
in.
You would say so, master, if your garments were
110thin.
730Your 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.
115Go, fetch me something. I’ll break ope the gate.
735Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s
pate.
A man may break a word with you, sir, and words
are but wind,
120Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not
740behind.
It seems thou want’st breaking. Out upon thee, hind!
Here’s too much “Out upon thee!” I pray thee, let
me in.
125Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no
745fin.
Well, I’ll break in. Go, borrow me a crow.
A crow without feather? Master, mean you so?
For a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a
130feather.—
750If a crow help us in, sirrah, well pluck a crow
together.
Go, get thee gone. Fetch me an iron crow.
Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so.
135Herein you war against your reputation,
755And draw within the compass of suspect
Th’ unviolated honor of your wife.
Once this: your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty
140Plead on her part some cause to you unknown.
760And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made against you.
Be ruled by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner,
145And about evening come yourself alone
765To 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 of it;
150And that supposèd by the common rout
770Against your yet ungallèd estimation
That may with foul intrusion enter in
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead;
For slander lives upon succession,
155Forever housèd where it gets possession.
775You have prevailed. I will depart in quiet
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle.
160There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
780My wife—but, I protest, without desert—
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner. To Angelo. Get you home
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, ’tis made.
165Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine,
785For 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,
170I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me.
790I’ll meet you at that place some hour hence.
Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.
And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus,
Even in the spring of love thy love-springs rot?
795Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
5If 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 —
800Muffle your false love with some show of
10blindness.
Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
805Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger.
15Bear 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?
810’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed
20And let her read it in thy looks at board.
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managèd;
Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women, make us but believe,
815Being compact of credit, that you love us.
25Though 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.
820’Tis holy sport to be a little vain
30When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
Sweet mistress—what your name is else I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine—
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
825Than our Earth’s wonder, more than Earth divine.
35Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak.
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,
Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.
830Against my soul’s pure truth why labor you
40To 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
835Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
45Nor 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.
840Sing, Siren, for thyself, and I will dote.
50Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I’ll take them and there lie,
And in that glorious supposition think
He gains by death that hath such means to die.
845Let love, being light, be drownèd if she sink.
55What, are you mad that you do reason so?
Not mad, but mated—how, I do not know.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
850Gaze when you should, and that will clear your
60sight.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Why call you me “love”? Call my sister so.
Thy sister’s sister.
855That’s my sister.
65No,
It is thyself, mine own self’s better part,
Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart,
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim,
860My sole Earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim.
70All this my sister is, or else should be.
Call thyself “sister,” sweet, for I am thee.
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.
865Give me thy hand.
75O soft, sir. Hold you still.
I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill.
Why, how now, Dromio.
Where runn’st thou so fast?
870Do you know me, sir? Am I
80Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself?
Thou art Dromio, thou art
my man, thou art thyself.
I am an ass, I am a woman’s
875man, and besides myself.
85What woman’s man? And
how besides thyself?
Marry, sir, besides myself I am
due to a woman, one that claims me, one that
880haunts me, one that will have me.
90What claim lays she to thee?
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,
885but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays
95claim to me.
What is she?
A very reverend body, ay, such a
one as a man may not speak of without he say
890“sir-reverence.” I have but lean luck in the match,
100and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
How dost thou mean a “fat
marriage”?
Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen
895wench, and all grease, and I know not what use to
105put 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
900whole world.
110What complexion is she of?
Swart like my shoe, but her face
nothing like so clean kept. For why? She sweats. A
man may go overshoes in the grime of it.
905That’s a fault that water will
115mend.
No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood
could not do it.
What’s her name?
910Nell, sir, but her name and
120three quarters—that’s an ell and three quarters—
will not measure her from hip to hip.
Then she bears some
breadth?
915No longer from head to foot than
125from hip to hip. She is spherical, like a globe. I
could find out countries in her.
In what part of her body
stands Ireland?
920Marry, sir, in her buttocks. I
130found it out by the bogs.
Where Scotland?
I found it by the barrenness,
hard in the palm of the hand.
925Where France?
135In her forehead, armed and
reverted, making war against her heir.
Where England?
I looked for the chalky cliffs, but
930I could find no whiteness in them. But I guess it
140stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran
between France and it.
Where Spain?
Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot
935in her breath.
145Where America, the Indies?
O, sir, upon her nose, all o’erembellished
with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of
940Spain, who sent whole armadas of carracks to be
150ballast at her nose.
Where stood Belgia, the
Netherlands?
O, sir, I did not look so low. To
945conclude: this drudge or diviner laid claim to me,
155called me Dromio, swore I was assured 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
950witch.
160And, I think, if my breast had not been made of
faith, and my heart of steel,
She had transformed me to a curtal dog and made
me turn i’ th’ wheel.
955Go, hie thee presently. Post to the road.
165An if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbor in this town tonight.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk till thou return to me.
960If everyone knows us, and we know none,
170’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
As from a bear a man would run for life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife.
There’s none but witches do inhabit here,
965And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence.
175She that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister,
Possessed with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
970Hath almost made me traitor to myself.
180But lest myself be guilty to self wrong,
I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song.
Master Antipholus.
Ay, that’s my name.
975I know it well, sir. Lo, here’s the chain.
185I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine;
The chain unfinished made me stay thus long.
What is your will that I shall do with this?
What please yourself, sir. I have made it for you.
980Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not.
190Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.
Go home with it, and please your wife withal,
And soon at supper time I’ll visit you
And then receive my money for the chain.
985I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
195For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more.
You are a merry man, sir. Fare you well.
What I should think of this I cannot tell,
But this I think: there’s no man is so vain
990That would refuse so fair an offered chain.
200I see a man here needs not live by shifts
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
I’ll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay.
If any ship put out, then straight away.
995You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much importuned you,
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia and want guilders for my voyage.
5Therefore make present satisfaction,
1000Or I’ll attach you by this officer.
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,
10He had of me a chain. At five o’clock
1005I shall receive the money for the same.
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond and thank you too.
That labor may you save. See where he comes.
15While I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou
1010And buy a rope’s end. That will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates
For locking me out of my doors by day.
But soft. I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone.
20Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
1015I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope!
A man is well holp up that trusts to you!
I promisèd your presence and the chain,
But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
25Belike you thought our love would last too long
1020If it were chained together, and therefore came not.
Saving your merry humor, here’s the note
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,
30Which doth amount to three-odd ducats more
1025Than I stand debted to this gentleman.
I pray you, see him presently discharged,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
I am not furnished with the present money.
35Besides, I have some business in the town.
1030Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof.
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
40Then you will bring the chain to her yourself.
1035No, bear it with you lest I come not time enough.
Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?
An if I have not, sir, I hope you have,
Or else you may return without your money.
45Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain.
1040Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Good Lord! You use this dalliance to excuse
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.
50I should have chid you for not bringing it,
1045But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
The hour steals on. I pray you, sir, dispatch.
You hear how he importunes me. The chain!
Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money.
55Come, come. You know I gave it you even now.
1050Either send the chain, or send by me some token.
Fie, now you run this humor out of breath.
Come, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it.
My business cannot brook this dalliance.
60Good sir, say whe’er you’ll answer me or no.
1055If not, I’ll leave him to the Officer.
I answer you? What should I answer you?
The money that you owe me for the chain.
I owe you none till I receive the chain.
65You know I gave it you half an hour since.
1060You gave me none. You wrong me much to say so.
You wrong me more, sir, in denying it.
Consider how it stands upon my credit.
Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
70I do, and charge you in the Duke’s name to obey
1065me.
This touches me in reputation.
Either consent to pay this sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.
75Consent to pay thee that I never had?—
1070Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar’st.
Here is thy fee. Arrest him, officer.Giving money.
I would not spare my brother in this case
If he should scorn me so apparently.
80I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit.
1075I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
To Angelo. But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as
dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.
85Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
1080To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.
Master, there’s a bark of Epidamium
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
90I have conveyed aboard, and I have bought
1085The oil, the balsamum, and aqua vitae.
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
Blows fair from land. They stay for naught at all
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
95How now? A madman? Why, thou peevish sheep,
1090What ship of Epidamium stays for me?
A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.
Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
100You sent me for a rope’s end as soon.
1095You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
I will debate this matter at more leisure
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight.
He gives a key.
105Give her this key, and tell her in the desk
1100That’s covered o’er with Turkish tapestry
There is a purse of ducats. Let her send it.
Tell her I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave. Begone.—
110On, officer, to prison till it come.
1105To Adriana. That is where we dined,
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,
115For servants must their masters’ minds fulfill.
1110Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no?
Looked he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
5What observation mad’st thou in this case
1115Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face?
First he denied you had in him no right.
He meant he did me none; the more my spite.
Then swore he that he was a stranger here.
10And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.
1120Then pleaded I for you.
And what said he?
That love I begged for you he begged of me.
With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?
15With words that in an honest suit might move.
1125First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.
Did’st speak him fair?
Have patience, I beseech.
I cannot, nor I will not hold me still.
20My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
1130He is deformèd, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless everywhere,
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind,
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
25Who would be jealous, then, of such a one?
1135No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.
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.
30My heart prays for him, though my tongue do
1140curse.
Here, go—the desk, the purse! Sweet, now make
haste.
How hast thou lost thy breath?
35By running fast.
1145Where is thy master, Dromio? Is he well?
No, he’s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him,
One whose hard heart is buttoned up with steel;
40A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;
1150A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff;
A backfriend, a shoulder clapper, one that
countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;
45A hound that runs counter and yet draws dryfoot
1155well,
One that before the judgment carries poor souls to
hell.
Why, man, what is the matter?
50I do not know the matter. He is ’rested on the case.
1160What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit.
I know not at whose suit he is arrested well,
But is in a suit of buff which ’rested him; that can I
tell.
55Will you send him, mistress, redemption—the
1165money in his desk?
Go fetch it, sister. (Luciana exits.) This I wonder at,
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
Tell me, was he arrested on a band?
60Not on a band, but on a stronger thing:
1170A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring?
What, the chain?
No, no, the bell. ’Tis time that I were gone.
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes
65one.
1175The hours come back. That did I never hear.
O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, he turns back
for very fear.
As if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou
70reason!
1180Time is a very bankrout and owes more than he’s
worth to season.
Nay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say
That time comes stealing on by night and day?
75If he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the
1185way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?
Go, Dromio. There’s the money. Bear it straight,
And bring thy master home immediately.
Dromio exits.
80Come, sister, I am pressed down with conceit:
1190Conceit, my comfort and my injury.
There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend,
And everyone doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me; some invite me;
51195Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;
Some offer me commodities to buy.
Even now a tailor called me in his shop
And showed me silks that he had bought for me,
And therewithal took measure of my body.
101200Sure these are but imaginary wiles,
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
Master, here’s the gold you sent
me for. What, have you got the picture of old Adam
new-appareled?
151205What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean?
Not that Adam that kept the
Paradise, but that Adam that keeps the prison; he
that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the
Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil
201210angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.
I understand thee not.
No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he
that went like a bass viol in a case of leather; the
man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives
251215them a sob 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.
What, thou mean’st an
301220officer?
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.”
351225Well, sir, there rest in your
foolery. Is there any ships puts forth tonight? May
we be gone?
Why, sir, I brought you word an
hour since that the bark put forth tonight,
401230and then were you hindered by the sergeant
to tarry for the hoy . Here are the angels that
you sent for to deliver you.
The fellow is distract, and so am I,
And here we wander in illusions.
451235Some blessèd power deliver us from hence!
Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now.
Is that the chain you promised me today?
Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.
501240Master, is this Mistress Satan?
It is the devil.
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
551245say “God damn me”; that’s as much 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.
601250Your man and you are marvelous merry, sir.
Will you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here.
Master, if you do, expect spoon
meat, or bespeak a long spoon.
Why, Dromio?
651255Marry, he must have a long
spoon that must eat with the devil.
Avoid then, fiend! What tell’st thou me of supping?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress.
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.
701260Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
And I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Some devils ask but the parings
of one’s nail, a rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a
751265nut, a cherrystone; but she, more covetous, would
have a chain. Master, be wise. An if you give it her,
the devil will shake her chain and fright us with it.
I pray you, sir, my ring or else the chain.
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.
801270Avaunt, thou witch!—Come, Dromio, let us go.
“Fly pride,” says the peacock.
Mistress, that you know.
Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad;
Else would he never so demean himself.
851275A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he promised 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,
901280Is a mad tale he told today 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
951285And tell his wife that, being lunatic,
He rushed into my house and took perforce
My ring away. This course I fittest choose,
For forty ducats is too much to lose.
Fear me not, man. I will not break away.
1290I’ll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
To warrant thee, as I am ’rested for.
My wife is in a wayward mood today
5And will not lightly trust the messenger
That I should be attached in Ephesus.
1295I 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
money.
10How now, sir? Have you that I sent you for?
Here’s that, I warrant you, will pay them all.
1300But where’s the money?
Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.
Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?
15I’ll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.
To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?
1305To a rope’s end, sir, and to that
end am I returned.
And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.
20Good sir, be patient.
Nay, ’tis for me to be patient. I am
1310in adversity.
Good now, hold thy tongue.
Nay, rather persuade him to hold
25his hands.
Thou whoreson, senseless
1315villain.
I would I were senseless, sir, that
I might not feel your blows.
30Thou art sensible in nothing
but blows, and so is an ass.
1320I am an ass, indeed; you may
prove it by my long ears.—I have served him from
the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have
35nothing at his hands for my service but blows.
When I am cold, he heats me with beating; when I
1325am warm, he cools me with beating. I am waked
with it when I sleep, raised with it when I sit,
driven out of doors with it when I go from home,
40welcomed home with it when I return. Nay, I bear it
on my shoulders as a beggar wont her brat, and I
1330think when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it
from door to door.
Come, go along. My wife is coming yonder.
45Mistress, respice finem, respect
your end, or rather, the prophecy like the parrot,
1335“Beware the rope’s end.”
Wilt thou still talk?
Beats Dromio.
How say you now? Is not your husband mad?
50His incivility confirms no less.—
Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;
1340Establish him in his true sense again,
And I will please you what you will demand.
Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!
55Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy.
Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.
1345There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.
I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
60And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.
1350Peace, doting wizard, peace. I am not mad.
O, that thou wert not, poor distressèd soul!
You minion, you, are these your customers?
65Did this companion with the saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house today
1355Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut
And I denied to enter in my house?
O husband, God doth know you dined at home,
70Where would you had remained until this time,
Free from these slanders and this open shame.
1360“Dined at home”? To Dromio. Thou villain, what
sayest thou?
Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.
75Were not my doors locked up and I shut out?
Perdie, your doors were locked, and you shut out.
1365And did not she herself revile me there?
Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.
Did not her kitchen maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?
80Certes, she did; the kitchen vestal scorned you.
And did not I in rage depart from thence?
1370In verity you did.—My bones bears witness,
That since have felt the vigor of his rage.
Is ’t good to soothe him in these contraries?
85It is no shame. The fellow finds his vein
And, yielding to him, humors well his frenzy.
1375Thou hast suborned the goldsmith to arrest me.
Alas, I sent you money to redeem you
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.
90Money by me? Heart and goodwill you might,
But surely, master, not a rag of money.
1380Went’st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?
He came to me, and I delivered it.
And I am witness with her that she did.
95God and the rope-maker bear me witness
That I was sent for nothing but a rope.
1385Mistress, both man and master is possessed.
I know it by their pale and deadly looks.
They must be bound and laid in some dark room.
100Say wherefore didst thou lock me forth today.
To Dromio of Ephesus. And why dost thou deny the
1390bag of gold?
I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.
And, gentle master, I received no gold.
105But I confess, sir, that we were locked out.
Dissembling villain, thou speak’st false in both.
1395Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all,
And art confederate with a damnèd pack
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me.
110But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes
That would behold in me this shameful sport.
1400O bind him, bind him! Let him not come near me.
More company! The fiend is strong within him.
Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!
115What, will you murder me?—Thou jailer, thou,
I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them
1405To make a rescue?
Masters, let him go.
He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.
120Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too.
What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
1410Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself?
He is my prisoner. If I let him go,
125The debt he owes will be required of me.
I will discharge thee ere I go from thee.
1415Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,
And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.—
Good Master Doctor, see him safe conveyed
130Home to my house. O most unhappy day!
O most unhappy strumpet!
1420Master, I am here entered in bond for you.
Out on thee, villain! Wherefore dost thou mad me?
Will you be bound for nothing? Be mad, good
135master.
Cry “The devil!”
1425God help poor souls! How idly do they talk!
Go bear him hence.
Pinch and his men exit with Antipholus
and Dromio of Ephesus.
Officer, Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan remain.
Sister, go you with me.
140To Officer. Say now whose suit is he arrested at.
One Angelo, a goldsmith. Do you know him?
1430I know the man. What is the sum he owes?
Two hundred ducats.
Say, how grows it due?
145Due for a chain your husband had of him.
He did bespeak a chain for me but had it not.
1435Whenas your husband all in rage today
Came to my house and took away my ring,
The ring I saw upon his finger now,
150Straight after did I meet him with a chain.
It may be so, but I did never see it.—
1440Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is.
I long to know the truth hereof at large.
God for Thy mercy, they are loose again!
155And come with naked swords. Let’s call more help
To have them bound again.
1445Away! They’ll kill us.
Run all out as fast as may be, frighted.
I see these witches are afraid of swords.
She that would be your wife now ran from you.
160Come to the Centaur. Fetch our stuff from thence.
I long that we were safe and sound aboard.
1450Faith, stay here this night. They
will surely do us no harm. You saw they speak us
fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle
165nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that
claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to
1455stay here still, and turn witch.
I will not stay tonight for all the town.
Therefore, away, to get our stuff aboard.
I am sorry, sir, that I have hindered you,
But I protest he had the chain of me,
1460Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
How is the man esteemed here in the city?
5Of very reverend reputation, sir,
Of credit infinite, highly beloved,
Second to none that lives here in the city.
1465His word might bear my wealth at any time.
Speak softly. Yonder, as I think, he walks.
10’Tis so, and that self chain about his neck
Which he forswore most monstrously to have.
Good sir, draw near to me. I’ll speak to him.—
1470Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
That you would put me to this shame and trouble,
15And not without some scandal to yourself,
With circumstance and oaths so to deny
This chain, which now you wear so openly.
1475Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
You have done wrong to this my honest friend,
20Who, but for staying on our controversy,
Had hoisted sail and put to sea today.
This chain you had of me. Can you deny it?
1480I think I had. I never did deny it.
Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too.
25Who heard me to deny it or forswear it?
These ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee.
Fie on thee, wretch. ’Tis pity that thou liv’st
1485To walk where any honest men resort.
Thou art a villain to impeach me thus.
30I’ll prove mine honor and mine honesty
Against thee presently if thou dar’st stand.
I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.
1490Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake. He is mad.—
Some get within him; take his sword away.
35Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house!
Run, master, run. For God’s sake, take a house.
This is some priory. In, or we are spoiled.
1495Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither?
To fetch my poor distracted husband hence.
40Let us come in, that we may bind him fast
And bear him home for his recovery.
I knew he was not in his perfect wits.
1500I am sorry now that I did draw on him.
How long hath this possession held the man?
45This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad,
And much different from the man he was.
But till this afternoon his passion
1505Ne’er brake into extremity of rage.
Hath he not lost much wealth by wrack of sea?
50Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye
Strayed his affection in unlawful love,
A sin prevailing much in youthful men
1510Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing?
Which of these sorrows is he subject to?
55To none of these, except it be the last,
Namely, some love that drew him oft from home.
You should for that have reprehended him.
1515Why, so I did.
Ay, but not rough enough.
60As roughly as my modesty would let me.
Haply in private.
And in assemblies too.
1520Ay, but not enough.
It was the copy of our conference.
65In bed he slept not for my urging it;
At board he fed not for my urging it.
Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
1525In company I often glancèd it.
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
70And thereof came it that the man was mad.
The venom clamors of a jealous woman
Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth.
1530It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing,
And thereof comes it that his head is light.
75Thou sayst his meat was sauced with thy
upbraidings.
Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
1535Thereof the raging fire of fever bred,
And what’s a fever but a fit of madness?
80Thou sayest his sports were hindered by thy brawls.
Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
1540Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
85Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturbed would mad or man or beast.
1545The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits
Hath scared thy husband from the use of wits.
90She never reprehended him but mildly
When he demeaned himself rough, rude, and
wildly.—
1550Why bear you these rebukes and answer not?
She did betray me to my own reproof.—
95Good people, enter and lay hold on him.
No, not a creature enters in my house.
Then let your servants bring my husband forth.
1555Neither. He took this place for sanctuary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands
100Till I have brought him to his wits again
Or lose my labor in assaying it.
I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
1560Diet his sickness, for it is my office
And will have no attorney but myself;
105And therefore let me have him home with me.
Be patient, for I will not let him stir
Till I have used the approvèd means I have,
1565With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers,
To make of him a formal man again.
110It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order.
Therefore depart and leave him here with me.
1570I will not hence and leave my husband here;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness
115To separate the husband and the wife.
Be quiet and depart. Thou shalt not have him.
Complain unto the Duke of this indignity.
1575Come, go. I will fall prostrate at his feet
And never rise until my tears and prayers
120Have won his grace to come in person hither
And take perforce my husband from the Abbess.
By this, I think, the dial points at five.
1580Anon, I’m sure, the Duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
125The place of death and sorry execution
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Upon what cause?
1585To see a reverend Syracusian merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay
130Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publicly for his offense.
See where they come. We will behold his death.
1590Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey.
Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
135If any friend will pay the sum for him,
He shall not die; so much we tender him.
Justice, most sacred duke, against the Abbess.
1595She is a virtuous and a reverend lady.
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
140May it please your Grace, Antipholus my husband,
Who I made lord of me and all I had
At your important letters, this ill day
1600A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
That desp’rately he hurried through the street,
145With him his bondman, all as mad as he,
Doing displeasure to the citizens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
1605Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound and sent him home
150Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went
That here and there his fury had committed.
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
1610He broke from those that had the guard of him,
And with his mad attendant and himself,
155Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords,
Met us again and, madly bent on us,
Chased us away, till raising of more aid,
1615We came again to bind them. Then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them,
160And here the Abbess shuts the gates on us
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence.
1620Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command
Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help.
165Long since, thy husband served me in my wars,
And I to thee engaged a prince’s word,
When thou didst make him master of thy bed,
1625To do him all the grace and good I could.
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate,
170And bid the Lady Abbess come to me.
I will determine this before I stir.
O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself.
1630My master and his man are both broke loose,
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,
175Whose beard they have singed off with brands of
fire,
And ever as it blazed they threw on him
1635Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair.
My master preaches patience to him, and the while
180His man with scissors nicks him like a fool;
And sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.
1640Peace, fool. Thy master and his man are here,
And that is false thou dost report to us.
185Mistress, upon my life I tell you true.
I have not breathed almost since I did see it.
He cries for you and vows, if he can take you,
1645To scorch your face and to disfigure you.Cry within.
Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress. Fly, begone!
190Come, stand by me. Fear nothing.—Guard with
halberds.
Ay me, it is my husband. Witness you
1650That he is borne about invisible.
Even now we housed him in the abbey here,
195And now he’s there, past thought of human reason.
Justice, most gracious duke. O, grant me justice,
Even for the service that long since I did thee
1655When I bestrid thee in the wars and took
Deep scars to save thy life. Even for the blood
200That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
I see my son Antipholus and Dromio.
1660Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there,
She whom thou gav’st to me to be my wife,
205That hath abusèd and dishonored me
Even in the strength and height of injury.
Beyond imagination is the wrong
1665That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
210This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me
While she with harlots feasted in my house.
A grievous fault.—Say, woman, didst thou so?
1670No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister
Today did dine together. So befall my soul
215As this is false he burdens me withal.
Ne’er may I look on day nor sleep on night
But she tells to your Highness simple truth.
1675O perjured woman!—They are both forsworn.
In this the madman justly chargeth them.
220My liege, I am advisèd what I say,
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash provoked with raging ire,
1680Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman locked me out this day from dinner.
225That goldsmith there, were he not packed with her,
Could witness it, for he was with me then,
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
1685Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
Where Balthasar and I did dine together.
230Our dinner done and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him. In the street I met him,
And in his company that gentleman.
He points to Second Merchant.
1690There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down
That I this day of him received the chain,
235Which, God He knows, I saw not; for the which
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey and sent my peasant home
1695For certain ducats. He with none returned.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer
240To go in person with me to my house.
By th’ way we met
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
1700Of vile confederates. Along with them
They brought one Pinch, a hungry, lean-faced
245villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
1705A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man. This pernicious slave,
250Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face (as ’twere) outfacing me,
1710Cries out I was possessed. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
255And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together,
Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
1715I gained my freedom and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech
260To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him:
1720That he dined not at home, but was locked out.
But had he such a chain of thee or no?
265He had, my lord, and when he ran in here,
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
1725Heard you confess you had the chain of him
After you first forswore it on the mart,
270And thereupon I drew my sword on you,
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence I think you are come by miracle.
1730I never came within these abbey walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me.
275I never saw the chain, so help me heaven,
And this is false you burden me withal.
Why, what an intricate impeach is this!
1735I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup.
If here you housed him, here he would have been.
280If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly.
To Adriana. You say he dined at home; the
goldsmith here
1740Denies that saying. To Dromio of Ephesus. Sirrah,
what say you?
285Sir, he dined with her there at the Porpentine.
He did, and from my finger snatched that ring.
’Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.
1745Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here?
As sure, my liege, as I do see your Grace.
290Why, this is strange.—Go call the Abbess hither.
Exit one to the Abbess.
I think you are all mated or stark mad.
Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word.
1750Haply I see a friend will save my life
And pay the sum that may deliver me.
295Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus?
And is not that your bondman Dromio?
1755Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,
But he, I thank him, gnawed in two my cords.
300Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.
I am sure you both of you remember me.
Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you,
1760For lately we were bound as you are now.
You are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir?
305Why look you strange on me? You know me well.
I never saw you in my life till now.
O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
1765And careful hours with time’s deformèd hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face.
310But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Neither.
Dromio, nor thou?
1770No, trust me, sir, nor I.
I am sure thou dost.
315Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not, and
whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to
believe him.
1775Not know my voice! O time’s extremity,
Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue
320In seven short years that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares?
Though now this grainèd face of mine be hid
1780In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
325Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear.
1785All these old witnesses—I cannot err—
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.
330I never saw my father in my life.
But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,
Thou know’st we parted. But perhaps, my son,
1790Thou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery.
The Duke and all that know me in the city
335Can witness with me that it is not so.
I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life.
I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
1795Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa.
340I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Most mighty duke, behold a man much wronged.
I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
1800One of these men is genius to the other.
And so, of these, which is the natural man
345And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
I, sir, am Dromio. Command him away.
I, sir, am Dromio. Pray, let me stay.
1805Egeon art thou not, or else his ghost?
O, my old master.—Who hath bound him here?
350Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds
And gain a husband by his liberty.—
Speak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man
1810That hadst a wife once called Emilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons.
355O, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Emilia.
Why, here begins his morning story right:
1815These two Antipholus’, these two so like,
And these two Dromios, one in semblance—
360Besides her urging of her wrack at sea—
These are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.
1820If I dream not, thou art Emilia.
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
365That floated with thee on the fatal raft?
By men of Epidamium he and I
And the twin Dromio all were taken up;
1825But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
370And me they left with those of Epidamium.
What then became of them I cannot tell;
I to this fortune that you see me in.
1830Antipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first.
No, sir, not I. I came from Syracuse.
375Stay, stand apart. I know not which is which.
I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.
And I with him.
1835Brought to this town by that most famous warrior
Duke Menaphon, your most renownèd uncle.
380Which of you two did dine with me today?
I, gentle mistress.
And are not you my husband?
1840No, I say nay to that.
And so do I, yet did she call me so,
385And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother. To Luciana. What I told you
then
1845I hope I shall have leisure to make good,
If this be not a dream I see and hear.
390That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
I think it be, sir. I deny it not.
And you, sir, for this chain arrested me.
1850I think I did, sir. I deny it not.
I sent you money, sir, to be your bail
395By Dromio, but I think he brought it not.
No, none by me.
This purse of ducats I received from you,
1855And Dromio my man did bring them me.
I see we still did meet each other’s man,
400And I was ta’en for him, and he for me,
And thereupon these errors are arose.
These ducats pawn I for my father here.
1860It shall not need. Thy father hath his life.
Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
405There, take it, and much thanks for my good cheer.
Renownèd duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
To go with us into the abbey here
1865And hear at large discoursèd all our fortunes,
And all that are assembled in this place
410That by this sympathizèd one day’s error
Have suffered wrong. Go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.—
1870Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons, and till this present hour
415My heavy burden ne’er deliverèd.—
The Duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you, the calendars of their nativity,
1875Go to a gossips’ feast, and go with me.
After so long grief, such nativity!
420With all my heart I’ll gossip at this feast.
Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard?
Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embarked?
1880Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur.
He speaks to me.—I am your master, Dromio.
425Come, go with us. We’ll look to that anon.
Embrace thy brother there. Rejoice with him.
There is a fat friend at your master’s house
1885That kitchened me for you today at dinner.
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
430Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother.
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
1890Not I, sir. You are my elder.
That’s a question. How shall we
435try it?
We’ll draw cuts for the signior.
Till then, lead thou first.
1895Nay, then, thus:
We came into the world like brother and brother,
440And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before
another.