Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For,ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd
guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their
Thus have you heard me sever'd trom my bliss, That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 120 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favor to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now. Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant-so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name-
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting-homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbors men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live. 140
Duke. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have
mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honor's great disparagement,
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SCENE II. The Mart.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and First Merchant.
First. Mer. Therefore give out you are of
Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And not being able to buy out his life
According to the statute of the town
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.
Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 10
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return and sleep within mine inn,
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.
Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humor with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn and dine with me?
First Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit:
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart
And afterward consort you till bedtime:
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose
myself,
30
And wander up and down to view the city.
First Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own
content.
[Exit.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own
content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, failing there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanac of my true date,
What now? how chance thou art return'd so
soon?
[too late:
Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no
stomach;
You have no stomach having broke your fast;
But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray 51
Are penitent for your default to-day.
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this,
I pray :
Where have you left the money that I gave you?
Dro. E. Ó,-sixpence, that I had o' Wednes-
day last
Το
pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.
Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humor now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody? 61
Dra. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at din-
I from my mistress come to you in post; [ner:
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.
Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are
out of season;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 70
Dro. E. To me, sir? why, you gave no gold
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you
from the mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:
My mistress and her sister stays for you.
Ant, S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money,
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed; 80
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?
Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks? what mistress,
slave, hast thou?
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at
the Phoenix;
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto
my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands!
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other
(Exit.
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage,
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Good sister, let us dine and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty;
They'll go or come; if so, be patient, sister.
Time is their master, and when they see time
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be
Luc. Because their business still lies out o' door.
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it
ill.
Luc. O, know he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so.
Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
The beasts, the fishes and the winged fowls
Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 20
Are their males' subjects and at their controls:
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Then let your will attend on their accords.
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where ?
Luc. Till he come home again, I would for-
bear.
Adr. Patience unmoved! no marvel though
They can be meek that have no other cause.
she pause;
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain;
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me:
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 of Ephesus.
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand?
Dro. E. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.
Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind? [ear; Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?
Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them.
Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain!
Dro. E.
I mean not cuckold-mad;
But, sure, he is stark mad.
When I desired him to come home to dinner, 60
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
"Tis dinner-time,' quoth I; My gold!' quoth
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promised me a chain;
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still, 110
That others touch, and often touching will
Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,
By falsehood 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 serve madjealousy!
[Excunt.
SCENE II. A public place.
Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.
Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out
By computation and mine host's report.
I could not speak with Dromio since at first
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
How now, sir! is your merry humor alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you received no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 10
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?
Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since.
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence,
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry
vein:
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. [Beating him Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is earnest :
Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest upon my love And make a common of my serious hours. When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport But creep in crannies when he hides his beams
ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.-"Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not."
"The Comedy of Errors."-Act II., Scene II., Page 97.
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