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Have won his grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the abbess.
Enter Merchant, and Angelo.
Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five :
Anon, I'm sure, the duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale,
The place of death and sorry execution,
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Ang. Upon what cause?
Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant,
Who put unluckily into this bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publickly for his offence.
Ang. See, where they come, we will behold his death.
Luc. Kneel to the duke before he pass the abbey.
SCENE III. Enter the Duke, and Ægeon bare-headed, with the Headsman,
and other Officers. Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publickly, If any
friend will pay the sum for him He shall not die, so much we tender him.
Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess !
Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady ;
It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholis my husband,
Whom I made lord of me and all I had
At your important letters, this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him,
That desp’rately he hurry'd through the street,
With him his bondman áll as mad as he,
Doing displeasure to the citizens,
By rushing in their houses; bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went,
That here and there his fury had committed :
Anon, I wot not by what strong escape,
He broke from those that had the guard of him,
And with his mad attendant mad himself,
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords
Met us again, and, madly bent on us,
Chas'd us away; till raising of more aid
We came again to bind them; then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursu'd them;
And 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.
Therefore, moft gracious duke, with thy command,
Let him be brought forth, and born hence for help.
Duke. Long since thy husband serv'd me in my wars,
And I to thee engag'd a prince's word,
When thou didft make him master of thy bed,
To do him all the grace and good I could.
Go, some of you, knock at the abbey-gate,
And bid the lady abbess come to me.
I will determine this before I ftir.
Enter a Messenger.
Mell. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
My master and his man are both broke loose,
Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,
Whose beard they have fing’d off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blaz’d, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair ;
My master preaches patience to him, the while
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool:
And, sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.
Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here; And that is false thou dost report to us.
Mes. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true, I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. He crys for you,
and vows if he can take you, To scotch your face, and to disfigure you.
[Cry within. Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone.
Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with halberds. Adr. Ay me, it is my husband! witness you, That he is born about invisible. Ev'n now we hous’d him in the abbey here; And now he's there, past thought of human reason.
Enter Antipholis, and Dromio of Ephesus. E. Ant. Justice, most gracious duke, o, grant me justice ! Even for the service that long since I did thee, When I bestrid thee in the
and took Deep scars to save thy life, even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice !
Ægeon. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, I see my son Antipholis, and Dromio.
E. Ant. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there; She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife; That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Ev’n in the strength and height of injury ! Beyond imagination is the wrong That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
E. Ant. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me; Whilft she with harlots feasted in
Duke. A grievous fault: say, woman, didst thou so?
Adr. No, my good lord: myself, he, and my sister,
Did dine together : so befall my soul,
As this is false he burthens me withal !
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness fimple truth!
Ang. O perjur'd woman! they are both forsworn.
In this the mad-man justly chargeth them.
E. Ant. My liege, I am advised what I say,
Neither disturb’d with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire,
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner;
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her,
Could witness it, for he was with me then;
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him ; in the street I met him,
And in his company that gentleman.
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
That I this day from him receiv’d the chain,
Which, god he knows, I saw not; for the which
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey, and fent my peasant home
For certain ducats; he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer
in person with me to my house.
By th’ way we met my wife, her fifter, and
A rabble more of vile confederates;
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man. This pernicious flave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer;
And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as ’twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was possess’d. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;
'Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds asunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep Thames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth thus far I witness with him ;
That he din’d not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thce, or no?
Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here,
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
first forswore it on the mart,
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you're come by miracle.
E. Ant. I never came within these abbey-walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
I never saw the chain, so help me heav’n!
And this is false you burthen me withal.
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this !
I think, you all have drunk of Circe's cup:
If here you hous’d him, here he would have been.
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
You say, he din'd at home, the goldsmith here
Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you?
E. Dro. Sir, he din’d with her there, at the porcupine.
Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.
E. Ant. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.