But tho' thou art adjudged to the Death,
And paffed Sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our Honour's great Difparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can;
Therefore, Merchant, I limit thee this Day
To feek thy Help by beneficial Help:
Try all the Friends thou haft in Ephefus,
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the Sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die:
Jailor, take him to thy Cuftody.
Ageon. Hopeless and helpless doth Ageon wend,
But to procraftinate his liveless End.
[Exeunt. Enter Antipholis of Syracufe, a Merchant and Dromio. Mer. Therefore give out, you are of Epidamnium,
Left that your Goods be too foon confifcate.
This very Day a Syracufian Merchant
Is apprehended for Arrival here;
And not being able to buy out his Life,
According to the Statute of the Town,
Dies e'er the weary Sun fets in the West:
There is your Mony that I had to keep.
Ant. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we hoft,
And stay there, Dromio, 'till I come to thee:
'Till that I'll view the Manners of the Town,
Within this Hour it will be Dinner-time,
Perufe the Traders, gaze upon the Buildings,
And then return and fleep within mine Inn;
For with long Travel I am ftiff and weary.
Get thee away.
Dro. Many a Man would take you at your Word,
And go indeed, having fo good a Means. [Exit Dromio.
Ant. A trufty Villain, Sir, that very oft,
When I am dull with Care and Melancholy,
Lightens my Humour with his merry Jefts.
What, will you walk with me about the Town,
And then go to the Inn and dine with me?
Mer. I am invited, Sir, to certain Merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much Benefit:
I crave your Pardon. Soon at five a Clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the Mart,
T 3/
And afterward Confort you 'till Bed-time:
My present Business calls me from you now.
Ant. Farewel 'till then; I will go lose my self,
And wander up and down to view the City.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own Content.
[Exit. Mer, Ant. He that commends me to my own Content, Commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the World am like a drop of Water, Than in the Ocean feeks another drop, Who falling there to find his Fellow forth, Unfeen inquifitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a Mother and a Brother, In queft of him, unhappy, lofe my self.
Enter Dromio of Ephefus.
Here comes the Almanack of my true date.
What now? How chance thou art return'd fo foon.
E. Dro. Return'd fo foon! rather approach'd too late?
The Capon burns, the Pig falls from the Spit,
The Clock hath ftrucken twelve upon the Bell;
My Mistress made it one upon my Cheek;
She is fo hot because the Meat is cold;
The Meat is cold becaufe you come not home;
You come not home becaufe you have no Stomach;
You have no Stomach having broke your Faft:
But we that know what 'tis to faft and pray,
Are penitent for your Default to day.
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 Sadler for my Miftrefs Crupper?
The Sadler had it, Sir; I kept it not.
Ant, I am not in a sportive Humour now;
Tell me, and dally not, where is the Mony?
We being Strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
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 Post,
If I return, I fhall be Poft indeed;
For fhe will score your Fault upon my Pate:
Methinks your Maw, like mine, fhould be your Cook,
And ftrike you home without a Meffenger.
Ant. Come Dromio, come, these Jefts are out of Season; 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 foolishness, And tell me how thou haft difpos'd thy Charge?
E. Dro. My Charge was but to fetch you from the Mart
Home to your Houfe, the Phenix, Sir, to Dinner;
My Mistress and her Sifter ftay for you.
Ant. Now as I am a Christian answer me,
In what fafe Place you have beftow'd my Mony;
Or I fhall break that merry Sconce of yours
That ftands on Tricks when I am undifpos'd;
Where is the thoufand Marks thou hadft of me?
E. Dro. I have fome Marks of yours upon my Pate;
Some of my Mistress's 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.
[thou?
Ant. Thy Miftrefs's Marks? What Mistress, Slave, hast
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 Nay, and you will not, Sir, I'll take my Heels. [Hands;
[Exit Dromio Ep. 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 Juglers, that deceive the Eye; Dark-working Sorcerers, that change the Mind; Soul-killing Witches, that deform the Body; Difguis'd Cheaters, prating Mountebanks, And many fuch like Liberties of Sin: If it prove fo, I will be gone the fooner. I'll to the Centaur to go feek this Slave; I greatly fear my Mony is not fafe.
SCENE I.
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Either my Husband, nor the Slave return'd, That in fuch hafte I fent to feek his Mafter; Sure, Luciana, it is two a Clock.
Luc. Perhaps fome Merchant hath invited him, And from the Mart he's fowewhere gone to Dinner: Good Sifter, let us dine, and never fret.
A Man is Master of his Liberty:
Time is their Mafter, and when they fee time,
They'll go or come; if fo, be patient, Sifter.
Adr. Why fhould their Liberty than ours be more?
Luc. Because their Business ftill lyes out a-door.
Adr. Look, when I ferve him fo, 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-ftrong Liberty is lafht with Wo.
There's nothing fituate under Heav'n's Eye,
But hath its bound in Earth, in Sea, in Sky:
The Beafts, the Fishes, and the winged Fowls,
Are their Male's Subjects, and at their Controuls:
Man more divine, the Master of all these,
Lord of the wide Word, and wide watry Seas,
Indu'd with intellectual Senfe and Soul,
Of more Preheminence than Fish and Fowl,
Are Mafters to their Females, and their Lords:
Then let your Will attend on their Accords.
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 fome Sway,
Luc. E'er 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 forbear.
Adr. Patience unmov'd, no marvel tho' fhe paufe;
They can be meek that have no other Caufe:
A wretched Soul 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 should our felves complain:
So thou that haft no unkind Mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless Patience wouldft 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 Mafter now at hand?
E. Dro. 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?
E. Dro. Ay, ay, he told his Mind upon mine Ear, Befhrew his Hand, I scarce could understand 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 prethee, 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 is stark 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, quoth I? My Gold, quoth he:
Where is the thoufand Marks I gave thee, Villain?
The Pig, quoth I, is burn'd; my Gold, quoth he:
My Mistress, Sir, quoth I; hang up thy Mistress;
I know not thy Mistress; out on thy Mistress.
Luc. Quoth who?
E. Dro. Quoth my Master: I know, quoth he, no House, no Wife, no Mistress; fo that my Errand, due unto my Tongue, I thank him, I bare home upon my Shoulders: For in conclufion, he did beat me there.
Adr. Go back again, thou Slave, and fetch him home.
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