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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 earthly, gross conceit, Smothered in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labor you,
To make it wander in an unknown field ? Are you a god? would you create me new ?
Transform me, then, and to your power 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. 0, 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, in that glorious supposition, think
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink !
That's my sister.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee.
O, soft, sir, hold you still ;
Enter from the House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO
of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run’st thou so fast?
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? am I your man ? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio; thou art my man; thou art
thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass; I am a woman's man, and besides
myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.
Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. What is she?
Dro. S. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet she is a wondrous fat marriage.
Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, 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, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world
Ant. S. What complexion is she of?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend.
Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.
Ant. S. What's her name?
Dro. S. Nell, sir;- but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ?
Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip; she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.
Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.
Ant. S. Where Scotland ?
Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand.
Ant. S. Where France ?
Dro. S. In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her heir.
Ant. s. Where England ?
Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them; but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.
Ant. S. Where Spain ?
Dro. S. 0, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose.
Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. . To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch; and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the wheel.
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
every one knows us, and we know none,
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life,
Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here;
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain;
Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with this?
Ang. Not once nor twice, but twenty times you have. Go home with it, and please your wife withal; And soon at supper-time I'll visit you, And then receive my money for the chain.
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare you well.
well. [Exit. Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell; But this I think, there's no man is so vain, That would refuse so fair an offered chain. I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; If any ship put out, then straight away. [Erit.
SCENE I. The same.
Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer.
Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to you,
I shall receive the money for the same.
from the Courtesan's. Off. That labor may you save; see where he comes.
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow Among my wife and her confederates, For locking me out of my doors by day.But soft, † see the goldsmith. - Get thee gone; Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope !
Ang. Saving your merry humor, here's the note,
Ant. E. I am not furnished with the present money;
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself? Ant. E. No! bear it with you, lest I come not time
enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will; have you the chain about you?
Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have; Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain; Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good Lord, you use this dalliance to excuse Your breach of promise to the Porcupine. I should have chid you for not bringing it, But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.