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E. Dro. O, villian, thou haft ftoll'n both mine office

and my name:

The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou had'ft been Dromio to day in my place,
Thou would't have chang'd thy face for a name, or
thy name for an ass.

Luce. [within] What a coile is there, Dromio? who are thofe at the gate?

E. Dro. Let my mafter 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 ftaff? 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.

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

Luce. I thought to have afkt you.

S. Dro. And you faid, no.

E. Dro. So, come, help, well ftruck; there was blow for blow.

E. Ant. Thou baggage, let me in.

Luce. Can you tell for whose sake?
E. Dro. 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.

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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 noifè?

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

door.

E. Dro.

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E. Dro. If you went in pain, mafter, this knave would go fore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.

Bal. In debating which was beft, *we shall have part with neither.

E. Dro. They ftand at the door, mafter; bid them welcome hither,

E. Ant. There's fomething in the wind, that we cannot get in.

E. Dro. You would say so, mafter, if your gar

ments 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 so 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, so 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.

C 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, mafter, mean you

fo ?

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

*

read,

ther:

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

If

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 fo. Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of fufpect Th' unviolated honour of your wife.

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

Plead on her part fome cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but fhe will well excufe,
Why at this time the doors are barr'd against you.
Be rul'd by me, depart in patience,

you are dead:

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 ftrong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the ftirring paffage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it
And that supposed by the common rout,
Againft you yet ungalled eftimation,
That may with foul intrufion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when
For flander lives upon fucceffion;
For ever hous'd, where it once get's poffeffion.
E. Ant. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in defpight 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 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 spight my wife,)
Upon mine hoftess there. Good Sir, make hafte:

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Since my own doors refufe to entertain me,

I'll knock elsewhere, to fee if they'll difdain me. Ang. I'll meet you at that place, fome hour, Sir, hence.

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

Luc.

SCENE II.

The Houfe of Antipholis of Ephefus.

[Exeunt.

Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracufe.

AND may it be that you have quite forgot

A hufband's office? fhall, Antipholis, Ev'n in the fpring of love, thy love fprings rot? Shall love, in building, grow fo ruinate?

If

you did wed my fifter for her wealth,

Then for her wealth's fake use her with more kind

nefs;

Or if you like elfewhere, do it by ftealth;

Muffle your falfe love with fome fhew of blindness; Let not my fifter read it in your eye;

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

Bear a fair presence, tho' your heart be tainted:
Teach fin the carriage of a holy faint;
Be fecret-falfe: what need fhe 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 baftard 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, fhew 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 fifter, chear her, call her wife; 'Tis holy fport to be a little vain,

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

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine:)

Lefs in your knowledge and your grace you fhow 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,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, fhallow, 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 fifter 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, fweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy fifter's flood of tears;
Sing, Siren, 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 lie:
And in that glorious fuppofition think,
He gains by death, that hath fuch means to die ;
Let love, being light, be drowned if fhe fink.
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reafon 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 fun, being
by.

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

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

night.

Luc.

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