Adr. [within.] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?
S. Dro. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.
E. Ant. Are you there, wife? you might have come before.
Adr. Your wife, fir knavel go, get you from the gate."
E, Ant. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.

Bal. Have patience, fir: 0, let it not be thus.
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
Th’unviolated honour 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, fir, but she will well excufe
Why at this time the doors are barr'd 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.

2

Luce. Can you tell for whose fake?
E. Dre. Mafter, knock the door hard.
Luce. Let him knock 'till it ake.
E. Ant. 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, &c.

go, get you from the gate.
S. Dro. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go fore.
Ang. Here is neither cheer, fir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.
Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.
E, Dro. They stand at the door, master ;-bid them welcome hither.
E. Ant. There's something in the wind that we cannot get in.

S. Dro. 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 as mad as buck to be so bought and sold.

E. Ant. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate.
S. Dro. Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

E. Dro. A man may break a word with you, fir, and words are but wind;
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.
Ś. Dro. It seems, thou wantest breaking; out upon thee, hind!
E. Dro. Here's too much : out upon thee; I pray thee, let me in.
E. Dro. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.
E. Ant. Well, I'll break in; gc, 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. &c.

If

If by strong hand you offer to break in
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it;
And that supposed by the common rout,
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrufion 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.

E. Ant. You have prevaild; I will depart in quiet,
And, in despite of wrath, 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 we 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 I will bestow,
(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife)
Upon mine hostess there. Good fir, make haste:
Since my 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, fome hour, fır, hence.
E. Ant. Do so; this jest fhall coft me some expence. [Exe.

The House of Antipholis of Ephesus.

Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracuse. Luc.

ND may it be, that you have quite forgot

A husband's office? 'shall, Antipholis, hate Ev’n in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?

Eee 2

A

Shall

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? If

you did wed my sister for her wealth,

Then for her wealth’s-fake use her with more kindness; Or, if

you like elsewhere, do it by stealth, 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, When the sweet breath of Aattery conquers

ftrife. S. Ant. Sweet mistress; what your name is else I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine: Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not

Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think, and speak;

Lay open to my earthy 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

Are you a god? would you create me new ?

Transform me then, and to your pow'r 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 a 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, firen, for thyself, and I will dote;

Spread o'er the filver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lye:

And, in that glorious fuppofition, 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 do you reason fo?
S. Ant. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
S. Ant. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.
S. Ant. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Luc. Why call you me love? call my fister fo.
S. Ant. Thy fister's fifter.
Luc. That's

my

fifter.
S. Ant. 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 fole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.

Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.

S. Ant. Call thyself fister, sweet; for I mean thee : Thee will I love, and with thee lead

my

life. Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife; Give me thy hand.

Luc. O, soft, fir, hold you still ;
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.

[Exit Luc.

SCENE

1

SCENE III.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
S. Ant. Why, how now, Dromio, where runn'st thou so fast?

S. Dro. Do you know me, fir? am I Dromio? am I your man?
am I myself?
S. Ant. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyfelf

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

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

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

S. Ant. What claim lays she to thee?

S. Dro. 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.

S. Ant. What is she?

S. Dro. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, fir reverence: I have but lean luck in the match; and yet is the a wond'rous fat marriage.

S. Ant. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage ?

S. Dro. Marry, fir, 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, The'll burn a week longer than the whole world.

S. Ant. What complexion is the of?

S. Dro. 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.

S. Ant. That's a fault that water will mend.
S. Dro. No, fir, ’tis in grain ; Noah's flood could not do it.
S. Ant. What's her name?

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

S. Ant.