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Ant. Stop in your wind, Sir; tell me this, I pray, Where you have left the mony that I gave you?

E. Dro. Oh,-fix pence, that I had a Wednesday laft, To pay the fadler for my miftrefs' crupper? The fadler had it, Sir; I kept it not.

Ant. I am not in a fportive humour now; Tell me and dally not, where is the mony? We being ftrangers here, how dar'ft thou truft So great a charge from thine own cuftody? E. Dro. I pray you, jeft, Sir, as you fit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in poft; If I return, I fhall be post indeed; For fhe will score your fault upon my pate: Methinks, your maw, like mine, fhould be your clock; And ftrike you home without a meffenger.

Ant. Come, Dromio, come, thefe jefts are out of feafon ;

Referve them 'till a merrier hour than this:
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

E. Dro. To me, Sir? why, you gave no gold to me, Ant. Come on, Sir knave, have done your foolishnefs;

And tell me, how thou haft difpos'd thy charge?

E. Dro. My charge was but to fetch you from the


Home to your houfe, the Phenix, Sir, to dinner;
My mistress and her fifter ftay for


Ant. Now, as I am a chriftian, answer me,
In what fafe place you have beftow'd my mony;
Or Ifhall break that merry sconce of yours,
That ftands on tricks when I am undifpos'd:
Where are the thousand Marks thou hadst of me?

E. Dro. I have fome marks of yours upon my pate
Some of my miftrefs' marks upon my fhoulders;
But not a thousand marks between you both.-
If I fhould pay your Worship those again,
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently.

Ant. Thy miftrefs' marks? what mistress, flave, haft thou?

E. Dro. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;


She, that doth faft, 'till you come home to dinner; And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. Ant. What wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, Being forbid? there take you that, Sir knave.

E. Dro. What mean you, Sir? for God fake hold your hands;

Nay, an you will not, Sir, I'll take my heels.

[Ex. Dromio. Ant. Upon my life, by fome device or other, The villain is o'er-wrought of all my mony. They fay, this town is full of couzenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye; (4)

(4) As, nimble Jugglers, that deceive the Eye; Dark-working Sorcerers, that change the Mind;

Saul killing Witches, that deform the Body;] Tho' I have not dif turb'd the Text, the ingenious Conjecture, Mr. Warburton made to me upon this Paffage, has fuch an Appearance of Juftness and Likelihood, that I fhall fubjoin it in his own Words. "Thofe, who attentively con"fider these three Lines, muft confefs, that the Poet intended, the Epi"thet given to each of thefe Mifcreants fhould declare the Power by "which they perform their Feats, and which would therefore be a "juft Characteristick of each of them. Thus, by nimble Jugglers, we "are taught that they perform their Tricks by flight of hand: and by « Soul-killing Witches, we are inform'd, the Mischief they do is by the "Affiftance of the Devil to whom they have given their Souls: But then, "by dark-working Sorcerers, we are not inftructed in the Means by "which they perform their Ends. Befides, this Epithet agrees as well "to Witches, as to them; and therefore, certainly, our Author could "not_defign This in their Characteristick. I am confident, we should "read;

Drug-working Sorcerers, that change the Mind;

" And we know by the whole Hiftory of antient and modern Super"ftition, that these kind of Jugglers always pretended to work Changes "of the Mind by thefe Applications. Hence all the Superftition of "Love-potions, which in this Line is alluded to: And this Practice was "fo common amongst the Greeks, that they gave the Name of apuanos "to this Operator: and therefore has Theocritus call'd his fecond Eidyl "lium, whofe Subject is built on this kind of Sorcery, dapuancúтeld. Mr. Warburton.

Brabantio, I remember, in Othello, where he thinks his Daughter's Senfes and Inclinations must have been perverted by the Moor's Practices, fpeaks not a little in Confirmation of my Friend's Conjecture.

Judge me the World, if 'tis not grofs in Senfe,
That thou haft practis'd on her with foul Charms,
Abus'd her delicate Youth with Drugs, or Minerals,
That weaken Notion,


Dark-working forcerers, that change the mind;
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body;
Difguifed cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many fuch like liberties of fin:
If it prove fo, I will be gone the fooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go feek this flave;
I greatly fear my mony is not fafe.




SCENE, the House of Antipholis of Ephefus,

Enter Adriana and Luciana,



Either my husband, nor the flave return'd,
That in fuch hafte I fent to seek his master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock,

Luc. Perhaps, fome merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he's fomewhere gone to dinner;
Good fifter, let us dine, and never fret.

A man is mafter of his liberty:

Time is their mafter; and when they see time,
They'll go or come; if fo, be patient, fifter.

Adr. Why fhould their liberty than ours be more?
Luc. Because their business ftill lyes out a-door.
Adr. Look, when I ferve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc. Oh, know, he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none, but affes, will be bridled fo.
Luc. Why, head-strong liberty is lasht with wo.
There's nothing fituate under heaven's eye,
But hath its bound in earth, in fea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their male's fubjects, and at their controuls:


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Man, more divine, the mafter of all these,
Lord of the wide world, and wide wat❜ry feas,
Indu'd with intellectual fenfe and foul,
Of more preheminence than fish and fowl,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. This fervitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
Adr. But were you wedded, you would bear fome

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practife to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other where?
Luc. 'Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel tho' fhe pause
They can be meek, that have no other caufe:
A wretched foul, bruis'd with adverfity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we fhould our felves complain;
So thou, that haft no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helplefs patience would't relieve me:
But if thou live to fee like Right bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day but to try; Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.

Enter Dromio Eph.

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

Adr. Say, did'ft thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

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

Luc. Spake he fo doubtfully, thou could'ft not feel his meaning?

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


Adr. But fay, I pr'ythee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.
E. Dro. Why, mistress, fure, my mafter is horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

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

When I defir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'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 thousand Marks I gave thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; my gold, quoth he.
My miftrefs, Sir, quoth I; hang up thy mistress ;
I know not thy miftrefs; out on thy miftrefs!
Luc. Quoth who?

E. Dro. Quoth my mafter:

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

I thank him, I bare home 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 messenger.

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


Between you I fhall have a holy head.

Adr. Hence, prating peafant, fetch thy mafter 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 spurn me hither:
If I laft in this fervice, you muft cafe me in leather.

Luc. Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face!
Adr. His company must 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 wafted it."
Are my difcourfes dull? barren my wit?

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