E. Dro. You would fay fo, mafter, if your garments were thin.

Your cake here is warm within: you ftand here in the cold:

It would make a man mad as a buck to be fo bought and fold.

E. Ant. Go fetch me fomething, I'll break ope the gate.

S. Dro. Break any thing here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

E. Dro. A man may break a word with you, Sir, and words are but wind;

Ay, and break it in your face, fo he break it not behind.

S. Dro. It feems thou wanteft breaking, out upon thee, hind!

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

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

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

you fo?

For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather:

If a crow help us in, firrah, we'll pluck a crow together.

E. Ant. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, Sir: oh, let it not be so.. Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compafs of fufpect Th' unviolated honour of your wife.

Once, this;--your long experience of her wisdom,
Her fober virtue, years, and modeity, *

Plead on her part fome caufe to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but fhe will well excufe

Why at this time the doors are barred against you.
Be ruled by me; depart in patience,
And let us to the Tyger all to dinner;
And about evening come yourself alone,
To know the reafon of this ftrange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the stirring paffage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it;
And that fuppofed by the common rout,
Againft your yet ungalled eftimation,
with foul intrufion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For flander lives upon fucceffion,

That may

For ever houfed where it once gets poffeffion.

E. Ant. You have prevailed; I will depart in quiet, And, in defpight of wrath, (11) 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 proteft, without defert,)
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 ipight my wife,)
Upon mine hoftefs there. Good Sir, make haste:
Since my own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to fee if they'll difdain me.

(11) And, in defpight of Mirth,] In defpight of what mirth? We don't find that it was any joke or matter of mirth, to be shut out of doors by his wife. I make no doubt therefore, but I have reflored the true reading. Antipholis's paffion is plain enough all through this fcene: and, in the next act. we find him confeffing how angry he was at this juncture-Ard did not I in rage depart from thence? The circuniftances, I think, fufficiently justify my

emendation.

Ang. I'll meet you at that place, fome hour, Sir,

hence:

E. Ant. Do fo; this jeft fhall coft me fome expence, [Exeunt.

SCENE, the House of Antipholis of Ephesus. Enter LUCIANA, with ANTIPHOLIS of Syracufe. Luc. (1) And may it be that you have quite forgot

A husband's office? fhall, Antipholis, hate,
Ev'n in the fpring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow fo ruinate?
If you did wed my filter for her wealth,

Then for her wealth's fake ufe her with more kindOr if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;

[nefs; Muffle your falfe love with fome fhew of blindnefs

Let not my fifter read it in your eye;

Be not thy tongue thy own fhame's orator;, Look fweet, fpeak fair; become difloyalty: Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;

(12). And may it be that you have quite forgot An husband's office? Shall, Antipholis,

Ev'n in the spring of love, thy love-fprings rot?"

Shall love in buildings grow so ruinate?] This paf fage has hitherto laboured under a double corruption. What conceit could our editors have of love in buildings growing ruinate? Surely, they did not dream of love made under an old wall Our Poet meant no more than this. Shall thy love-fprings rot, even in the fpring of love? and fhall thy love grow ruinous, even while 'tis but building up? The next corruption is by an accident at prefs, as I take it; this fcepe for two lines fucceffively is ftrictly in alternate rhymes; and this measure is never broken, but in the fecond and fourth lines of thefe two couplets. 'Tis certain, I think, a monofyllable dropt from the tail of the ad verse, and I have ven. tured to fupply it by, I hope, a probable conjecture.

Bear a fair prefence, though your heart be tainted:
Teach fin the carriage of a holy faint;
Be fecret falfe: what need the be acquainted?
What fimple 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:

ll deeds are doubled with an evil word:
Alas! poor women, make us but believe, (13)
Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Though others have the arm, flew us the fleeve.
We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my fifter, cheer her, call her wife; "Tis holy sport to be a little vain,

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

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine ;) Lefs in your knowledge and your grace you how not Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy grofs conceit, Smothered in errors, feeble, fhallow, weak,

The foulded meaning of your words deceit; Againft my foul's pure truth why labour you, To 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.. (13) Alas! poor women, make us not beheve, &c.] From the whole tenor of the context it is evident, that this negative (ret,) got place in the firft copies. instead of hut. And thefe two monofyllables have by miftake reciprocally dif poffeffed one another in many other paffages of our Author's works Nothing can be more plain than the Poet's fenfe in this paffage Women, fays he, are fo eafy of faith, that only make them believe you love them, and they'll take the bate profeffion for the substance and reality.

But if that I am I, then well I know,
Your weeping fifter is ne wife of mine;
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you I do incline: Oh, train me not, fweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy fifter's flood of tears; Sing, Siren, for thyfelf, and I will doat;

Spread o'er the filver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there ly; And in that glorious fuppofition think, He gains by death, that hath fuch means to die; Let love, being light, be drowned if the fink. Luc. What, are you mad that you do reaton so? S. Ant. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Luc. It is a fault that fpringeth from your eye. S. Ant. For gazing on your beams, fair fun, being by.

Luc. Gaze where you fhould, and that will clear your fight.

S. Ant. As good to wink, fweet love, as look an

night.

Luc Why call you me, love? call my fifter fo.
S. Ant. Thy fifter's filter.

Luc. That's my fifter.

S. Ant. No;

It is thyself, mine.own felf's better part:

Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart, My food, my fortune, and my fweet hope's aim, My fole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. Luc. All this my fifter is, or else should be. S. Ant. Call thyfelf fifter, fweet; for I mean thee: Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; -Thou haft no husband yet, nor I no wife: Give me thy hand.

Luc. Oh, foft, Sir, hold you ftill;

Jl fetch my fifter, to get her good will. [Exit Lue.