SCENE II.

Luce.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Let him knock till it ache.
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.

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

Adr. Your wife, sir knave! go, 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 parts 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.

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
behind.

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 tin.

Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go, borrow me a

crow.

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

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
together.

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, sir; 0, let it not be so;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honor 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, 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:
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 despite 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 this, I know, 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
For there's the house: that chain will I bestow
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)

Take part.

i. e. Made fast.
17

8 By this time.

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
[Exeunt.
expense.

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:

Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted?
And let her read it with thy looks at board:
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
We in your motion turn, and you may move us;
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve,
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife:
Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,'
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.
Lay open to my earthly gross conceit,
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Smother'd in errors, feebie, shallow, weak,
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Against my soul's pure truth why labor you,
Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield,
Are you a god? would you create me new?
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
He gains by death, that hath such means to die:-
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink!
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated;2 how, I do not know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun,
being by.

Luc. Gaze where you should; and that will clear
your sight.

Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on
night.

Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sisters's sister.
Luc.

Ant. S.

That's my sister.

No;

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,
My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife;
Give me thy hand.

Love-springs are young plants or shoots of love.
Vain, is light of tongue.
ai. e. Confounded.

Luc.
O, soft, sir, hold you still:
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will.

Exit. Luc.
Enter, from the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus,
DROMIO of Syracuse.

Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st thou so fast?

Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?

Ant. S. Where Spain?

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her breath.

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies?

Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To con

Ani. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man,clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; thou art thyself.

Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself.

Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

Ant. S. What claim lay she to thee? Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim

to me.

Ant. S. What is she?

Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir reverence: 1 have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.

Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? Dro. S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the

whole world

Ant. S. What complexion is she of?

Dro. S. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

Ant. S. What's her name?

Dro. S. Nell, sir-but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth!

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.

Ant. S. Where Scotland?

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in

the palm of the hand.

Ant. S. Where France?

call'd 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 witch and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn I'the wheel.

[Exit.

Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
And if the wind blow any way from the shore,
I will not harbor in this town to-night.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
If every one know us, and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life.
So fly I from her that would be my wife.
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here;
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermai i's song.
Enter ANGELO.

Ang. Master Antipholus.
Ant. S. Ay, that's my name.

Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain;
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine:
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.
Ant. S. What is your will that 1 shall do with
this?

Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made it
for you.

Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.
Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you
have:
Go home with it, and please your wife withal;
And soon at supper-time, I'll visit you,
And then receive my money for the chain.
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money, now,
For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well.
[Exit.
Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot
tell;

Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, But this I think, there's no man is so vain,
making war against her hair.
Ant. S. Where England?

Dro. S. 1 look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I 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.

[Exit.

SCENE 1.-The same.

ACT IV.

Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer.
Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much impórtuned you;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage:
Therefore make present satisfaction,
Or I'll attach you by this officer.

Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you,
Is growing to me by Antipholus;
And, in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain; at five o'clock,
I shall receive the money for the same:
Please th you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
Swarthy.
T Accruing.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, and DROMIO of
Ephesus.

Off. That labor may you save; see where he

comes.

Ant E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go
thou

And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of my doors by day.-
But soft, I see the goldsmith: get thee gone;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pounds a-year! I buy
a rope!
[Exit DRO. E.
Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you;
I promised your presence, and the chain;

SCENE II.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me:
Belike, you thought our love would last too long,
If it were chain'd together; and therefore came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humor, here's the note,
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat;
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion;
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
Than I stand debted to this gentleman;
I pray you, see him presently discharged,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.

Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present

money;

Besides, I have some business in the town:
Good 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.

Ang. Then wilt thou bring the chain to her your-
self!

Ant. E. No; bear time enough.

with you, lest I come not Ang. Well, sir, I will: Have you the chain about you?

Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the
chain;

Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance,

excuse

to

Your breach of promise to the Porcupine:
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, despatch.
Ang. You hear, how he importunes me; the
chain-

Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your

money.

Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even

now;

Either send the chain, or send by me some token.
Ant. E. Fye! how you run this humor out of
breath:

Come, where's the chain? I pray you let me see it.
Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance;
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me or no;
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

Ant. E. I answer you! What should I answer
you?

Ang. The money that you owe me for the

chain.

Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain.
Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour
since.

Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me

much to say so.

Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Consider, how it stands upon my credit.
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

Off. I do; and charge you in the duke's name,

to obey me.

Ang. This touches me in reputation:-
Either consent to pay this sum for me,

Or I attach you by this officer.

Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.

Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer;

I would not spare my brother in this case,

If he should scorn me so apparently.

Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit.
Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail :-
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.

Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.

Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, bears away; our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitæ.
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all,
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
Ant. E. How now! a madman! Why, thou
peevish sheep,

What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?
•Freight, cargo.

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.'
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a
rope;

Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as soon:
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure,
And teach your ears to listen with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
There is a purse of ducats; let her send it;
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
Tell her, I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; be gone.
On, officer, to prison till it come.

[Exeunt Mer., ANG., Officer, and ANT. E.
Dro. S. To Adriana; that is where we dined,
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband:
Thither I must, although against my will,
For servants must their master's minds fulfil.

SCENE II.-The same.

[Exit.

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.
Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no?

Look'd he or red, or pale; or sad or merrily?
What observations mad'st thou in this case,
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ?
Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right.
Adr. He meant, he did me none; the more my

spite.

Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here.
Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he

were.

Luc. Then pleaded I for you.
And what said he?
Adr.
Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might

move.

Adr. Didst speak him fair?
First he did praise my beauty; then, my speech.

Luc.

Have patience, I beseech.
Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless every where:
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.
Adr. 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;5

My heart prays for him, though my tongue do

curse.

Enter DROMIO of Syracuse
Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse; sweet
now, make haste.

Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
By running fast.
Dro. S.
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?
Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell:
A devil in an everlasting garments hath him,
One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough;

A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;

A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands

The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well;

One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to hell.

Adr. Why, man, what is the matter?

Dro. S. I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, and the Courtezan, But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes,