Luc. Well, I will marry one day but to try:

Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.

my

SCENE II.

Enter Dromio of Ephefus.

Adr. Say, is your tardy mafter now at hand? E. Dro. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that two ears can witness.

Adr. Say, did't thou fpeak with him? know'st

thou his mind?

E. Dro. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. Befhrew his hand, I fcarce could understand it.

Luc. Spake he fo doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

E. Dro. Nay, he ftruck fo plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal fo doubtfully, that I could fcarce understand them.

Adr. But fay, I pry'thee, is he coming home? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.

E. Dro. Why, mistress, fure, my mafter is hornmad.

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

E. Dro. I mean not, cuckold-mad; but, fure, he's
ftark mad:

When I defired him to come home to dinner,
He afk'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Will you come home, quoth I? my gold, quoth he:
Where is the thosand marks I gave thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; my gold, quoth he.
My mistrefs, Sir, quoth I; hang up thy miftrefs;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!

that patience which is fo near to idiotical fimplicity, that your next relation would take advantage

from it to reprefent you as a fool and beg the guardianship of your fortune,

Luc.

Luc. Quoth who?

E. Dro. Quoth my master:

I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress;
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,

I thank him, I bare home upon my

upon my fhoulders: For, in conclufion, he did beat me there.

Adr. Go back again thou flave, and fetch him home.

E. Dro. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's fake, fend fome other meffenger.

Adr. Back, flave, or I will break thy pate across.
E. Dro. And he will blefs that crofs with other beat-

ing:

Between you I fhall have a holy head.

Adr. Hence, prating peafant, fetch thy master home. E. Dro. Am I fo round with you as you with me", That like a foot-ball you do fpurn me thus? You fpurn me hence, and he will fpurn me hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.

[Exit.

Luc. Fy, how impatience lowreth in your face!
Ard. His company muft do his minions grace,
Whilft I at home ftarve for a merry look:
Hath homely age th' alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then, he hath wasted it.
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be mar'd,
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault: he's master of my state.
What ruins are in me, that can be found
By him not ruin'd? then, is he the ground

Am I fo round with you as you with me,] He plays upon the word round, which fig nifieth spherical applied to him

felf, and unrestrained, or free in Speech or action, fpoken of his miftrefs. So the king in Hamlet bids the queen be round with her fon.

Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A funny look of his would foon repair.
But, too unruly* deer, he breaks the pale,

And feeds from home; poor I am but his ftale ".
Luc. Self-harming jealoufy!-fy, bear it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with fuch wrongs difpenfe:
I know, his eye doth homage other-where;
Or elfe what lets it, but he would be here ?
Sifter you know he promis'd me a chain;
Would that alone, alone, he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.
I fee, the jewel, best enamelled',

Will lofe his beauty; and the gold 'bides still,
That others touch; yet often touching will
Wear gold': and fo no man, that hath a name,
But falfhood, and corruption, doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Luc. How many fond fools ferve mad jealoufy!

}

[Exeunt.

BY falfhood and corruption doth

it fame.] In this miferable condition is this paffage given us. It should be read thus,

I fee, the jewel, beft enamelled. Will lofe his beauty; and the gold bides ftill,

That others touch; yet often touching will

Wear gold: and fo no man, that bath a name,

But falfhood, and corruption, doth it fhame.

The fenfe is this, "Gold, in. deed, will long bear the hand

66

ling; however, often touching, "will wear even gold; just so "the greatest character, tho' as

66

pure as gold itself, may, in "time, be injured, by the repeated attacks of falfhood and corruption." WARBURTON.

σε

SCENE

SCENE VI.

Changes to the Street.

Enter Antipholis of Syracufe.

Ant. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful flave
Is wander'd forth in care to feek me out.
By computation, and mine hoft's report,
I could not fpeak with Dromio, fince at first
I fent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

Enter Dromio of Syracufe.

How now, Sir? is your merry humour alter'd?
As you love strokes, fo jeft with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress fent to have me home to dinner?
My houfe was at the Phenix? waft thou mad,
That thus fo madly thou didst answer me?

S. Dro. What anfwer, Sir? when fpake I fuch a word?

Ant. Even now, even here, not half an hour fince. S. Dro. I did not fee you fince you fent me hence Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

Ant. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt; And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'ft I was difpleas'd. S. Dro. I'm glad to fee you in this merry vein : What means this jeft, I pray you, mafter, tell me? Ant. Yea, doft thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? Think'ft thou, I jeft? hold, take thou that, and that. [Beats Dro. S. Dro. Hold, Sir, for God's fake, now your jest

is earneft;

Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Ant. Because that I familiarly fometimes

Do ufe you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your fawcinefs will jeft upon my love,

And make a common of my ferious hours.
When the fun fhines, let foolish gnats make fport;
But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams:
If you will jeft with me, know my afpect,
And fafhion your demeanor to my looks;
Or I will beat this method in your fconce.

·S. Dro. Sconce, call you it? fo you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head; an you use thefe blows long, I must get a fconce for my head, and infconce it too, or elfe I fhall feek my wit in my fhoulders: but, I pray, Sir, why am I beaten? Ant. Doft thou not know?

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

S. Dro. Ay, Sir, and wherefore; for, they fay, every why hath a wherefore.

Ant. Why, firft, for flouting me; and then wherefore, for urging it the fecond time to me.

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

When, in the why, and wherefore, is neither rhime nor reafon?

Well, Sir, I thank you.

Ant. Thank me, Sir, for what?

S. Dro. Marry, Sir, for this fomething that you gave me for nothing.

Ant. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for fomething. But fay, Sir, is it dinner-time? S. Dro. No, Sir, I think, the meat wants that I have. Ant. In good time, Sir; what's that?

S. Dro. Bafting.

Ant. Well, Sir, then 'twill be dry.

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

S. Dro. Left it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry-bafting.

Ant.