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Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this !
say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying.–Sirrah, what say you ? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por
cupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatched that
ring. Ant. E. '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. Duke. Why, this is strange.—Go, call the abbess
hither; I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Exit an Attendant. Æge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a
Haply I see a friend will save my life,
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
Æge. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus ? And is not that your bondman Dromio ?
Dro. E. Within this hour, I was his bondman, sir, But he, I thank him, gnawed in two my cords; Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.
Æge. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
Dro. E. Ourselves, we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ? Æge. Why look you strange on me? You know
me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Æge. Oh! grief hath changed me, since you saw
me last; And careful hours, with Time's deformed” hand,
1 Confounded. See note on Macbeth, Act v. Sc. 1. 2 Deformed for deforming.
Have written strange defeatures in my face:
Dromio, nor thou ?
I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir ? but I am sure, I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Æge. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue, In seven, short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull, deaf ears a little use to hear ; Al these old witnesses (I cannot err) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. Ant. E. I never saw my
my life. Æge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted; but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so; I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa. I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and
DROMIO Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a much wronged.
[All gather to see him.
1 Dromio delights in a quibble, and the word bound has before been the subject of his mirth.
2 Furrowed, lined.
Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
Duke. One of these men is genius to the other ;
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
Æge. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia ;
Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right.*
Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is
which. ! In the old copy, this speech of Ægeon, and the subsequent one of the abbess, follow the speech of the duke. It is evident that they were transposed by mistake.
2 « The morning story” is what Ægeon tells the duke in the first scene of this play.
Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
And are not you my husband ? Ant. E. No, I say nay to that.
Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so;
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me.
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you, And Dromio my man did bring them me. I see, we still did meet each other's man, And I was ta’en for him, and he for me, And thereupon these Errors are arose. Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
. Duke. It shall not need; thy father hath his life. , Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my
good cheer. Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains To go with us into the abbey here, And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes.And all that are assembled in this place, That by this sympathized one day's error Have suffered wrong, go, keep us company, And we shall make full satisfaction.Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail Of
you, my sons, and till this present hour;
My heavy burden here delivered.
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, Ægeon, Courtesan,
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants. Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from ship
board ? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou em
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Ant. E., ADR. and Luc.
walk in to see their gossiping ?
1 The old copy reads, erroneously, thus :
Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
My heavy burden are delivered.”
“ Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor till this present hour
My heavy burdens are delivered.” Malone, after much argument, gives it thus :
“Of you, my sons; until this present hour
My heavy burden not delivered.” Thirty-three years are an evident error for twenty-five; this was corrected by Theobald. The reader will choose between the simple emendation in the text, and those made by Theobald and Malone.
2 i. e. the two Dromioes. Antipholus of Syracuse has already called one of them “ the almanac of my true date." See note on Act i. Sc. 2.
3 Heath thought that we should read, “ and joy with me.” Warburton proposed gaud, but the old reading is probably right.
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