E. Dro. O, villian, thou haststoll'n both mine office and my name:

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

thy name for an afs.

Luce. [within] What a coile is there, Dromio? who

are those at the gate?

E. Dro. Let my master in, Luce.

Luce. Faith, no; he comes too late;

And fo tell your master.

E. Dro. O

lord, I must laugh;

Have at you with a Proverb. --Shall I fet in my staff?

Luce. Have at you with another; that's when, can

you tell?

S. Dro. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou haft anfwer'd him well.

1

E. Ant. Do you here, you minion, you'll let us in,

I trow?

Luce. I thought to have askt you.

S. Dro. And you faid, no.

E. Dro. So, come, help, well struck; there was

blow for blow.

E. Ant. Thou baggage, let me in.

Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ?

E. Dro. Master, 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 at the door, that keeps all this noife?

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, Sir knave! go, get you from the E. Dro.

4

E. Dro. If you went in pain, master, this knave

would go fore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome; we

would fain have either.

Bal. In debating which was best,

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.

E. 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 mad as a buck to be so bought and fold.

E. Ant. Go fetch me something, 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, so he break it not behind.

S. Dro. It feems, thou wantest 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 fish
have no fin.

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

fo ?

For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a fea

*

ther:

we shall part with neither.] Common Sense requires us to we shall have part with neither.

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

ther.

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 compass of suspect
Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
Once, this;-your long experience of her wisdom,
Her fober virtue, years, and modefty,
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 barr'd against you.
Be rul'd by me, depart in patience,
And let us to the Tyger 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 of it;
And that supposed by the common rout,
Against you yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead :
For flander lives upon succession;

For ever hous'd, where it once get's poffeffion.

E. Ant. 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 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 spight my wife,) Upon mine hoftess there. Good Sir, make hafte:

Since

1

t,

Since my own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elfewhere, to fee if they'll disdain me.

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

hence.

E. Ant. Do fo; this jest shall cost me some expence. [Exeunt.

Luc.

SCENE II.

The House of Antipholis of Ephefus.

Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracufe.

A

ND may it be that you have quite forgot A husband's office? shall, Antipholis, Ev'n 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 fake use her with more kind

nefs;

Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;

Muffle your false love with fome shew of blindness;

Let not my fifter 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 prefence, tho' your heart be tainted:
Teach sin the carriage of a holy faint;
Be fecret-falfe: what need she he 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;
Tho' others have the arm, shew us the fleeve:

We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
VOL. IV.

C

Then,

Then, gentle brother, get you in again; Comfort my fister, chear her, call her wife; 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 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 foulded meaning of your words' deceit;
Against 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 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 no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
Oh, 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 fink.
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so ?
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 fun, being

by.

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

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

night.

Luc.