The Family Shakspeare

Dro. S. 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 sconce for my head, and insconce 5 it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten?

Ant. S. Dost thou not know?

Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.

Ant. S. Why, first, -for flouting me; and then, wherefore,

For urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season?

When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason? ——

Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what.

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing.

Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinnertime?

Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I

have.

Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that?
Dro. S. Basting.

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason?

Dro. S. Lest it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry basting.

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things.

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things.

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers.

Ant. S. I knew it would be a bald conclusion: But soft! who wafts 6 us yonder?

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me;
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious?

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were And that this body, consecrate to thee, so cholerick.

Ant. S. By what rule, sir?

By ruffian lust should be contaminate? Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at m

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain And hurl the name of husband in my face, bald pate of father Time himself.

Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the lost hair of another man.

Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful?

Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hajr he hath given them in wit.

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit

to lose his hair.

And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ;
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know

with you:

When were you wont to use my sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner
Ant. S. By Dromio?
Dro. S. By me?

Adr. By thee: and this thou didst return from him,

That he did buffet thee, and in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle-
woman?

What is the force and drift of your compact?
Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very
words

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

Dre. S. I never spake with her in all my life.

6 Beckons.

Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our

names,

Unless it be by inspiration?

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave?
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle 7 moss;

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

Dro. S. I am transform'd, master, am not I? Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my shape.

No, I am an ape.

Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S.
Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for
grass.

'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be,
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes

scorn.

Come sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate:

Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,

theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land; - O, spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,

They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

And shrive 9 you of a thousand idle pranks :
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,

Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. —
Come, sister: Dromio, play the porter well.

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? mad, or well-advis'd? Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd I'll say as they say, and perséver so, And in this mist at all adventures go.

ACT III.

SCENE I. The same.

Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : Tray heaven, our cheer

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, May answer my good will, and your good welcome

ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR.

Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;

My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours:
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop,
To see the making of her carkanet 8,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain, that would face me down
He met me on the mart; and that I beat him,
And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house :
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
Dro. E. Say 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 were ink,

Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass.
Do. E.
Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.

I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,

You would keep from my heels, and beware of an

ass.

7 Unfruitful, barren.

8 A necklace strung with pearls.

Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street.

Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet.

Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door.

Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore?

Ant. E. Wherefore, for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day.

Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may.

Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe? 4

Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.

Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine
office and my name;

The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or
thy name for an ass.

Luce. [Within.] What a coil 5 is there? Dromio,
who are those at the gate?
Dro. E. Let thy master in, Luce.
Luce.

And so tell your master.
Dro. E.

O Lord, I must laugh: Have at you with a proverb. Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's, -When? can you tell?

Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.

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. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in.

Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and
fish have no fin.

Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go, borrow me a crow.
Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean

you so?

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; O, let it not be so;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,

Your long experience of her wisdom,
Faith, no; he comes too late; 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 rul'd by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner :
And, about evening, come yourself alone,
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For slander lives upon succession;
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.

Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us
in, I hope?

Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.

Dro. S.
And you said, nc.
Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was
blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce.
Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce.
Let him knock till it ake.
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 part 6 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.

Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle;
There will we dine: this woman that I mean,
My wife (but, I protest, without desert,)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner. Get you home,
And fetch the chain; by this 8, 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,)
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 ex-
[Exeunt.

pence.

SCENE II.

The same.
Enter LUCIANA, and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.
Luc. If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more
kindness:

Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar- Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;

ments were thin.

Muffle your false love with some show of blindness

Let not my sister read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:

Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with
your bed,
And let her read it in thy looks at board:
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women! make us but believe,

Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;
We in your motion turn, and you may move us,
Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain 9,

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

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,)
Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show

not,

Than our earth's wonder; more than earth di-
vine.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthly gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you,
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a goddess? would you make me new?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know,

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you do I decline.

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears;
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:

Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs.
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so?
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated'; how, I do not know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair
being by.

sun,

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 sister's sister.

Luc.

Ant. S.

It is thyself, mine own self's better part;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart.
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.

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. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, 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 lays she to thee?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse.

And if the wind blow any way from shore,
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
I will not harbour in this town to-night.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
If every one know us, and we know none,
Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
'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.

[Exit.

Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
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,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,.
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid'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 I 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;

But this I think, there's no man is so vain,
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.

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:
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, and DROMIO of
Ephesus.

Off. That labour 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 pound a year! I buy
a rope!
[Erit DRO. E.
Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you:
I promised your presence, and the chain;
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 humour, 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 discharg'd,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present

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 impórtunes 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 me by some token. Ant. E. Fye! how you run this humour 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 3, 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?

Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 5 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a

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