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Against the Laws and Statutes of this Town,
Beheaded publickly for his Offence.
Ang. See where they come, we will behold his Death,
Exter Adriana and Luciana.
Luc. Kneel to the Duke before he pass the Abbey.
Enter the Duke, and Ægeon bare-headed, with the Headsman,
and other Officers.
Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publickly,
If any Friend will pay the Sum for him,
He shall not die, so much we tender him,
Adr. Justice, most sacred Duke, against the Abbess.
Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend Lady; It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong.
Adr. May it please your Grace, Antipholis my Husband, Whom I made Lord of me, and all I had, At your all-potent Letter, this ill Day A most outragious Fit of Madness took him, That desp'rately he hurry'd through the Street, With him his Bondman, all as mad as he, Doing displeasure to the Citizens, By rushing in their Houses; bearing thence Rings, Jewels, any thing his Rage did like. Once did I
him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take Order for the Wrongs I went,
That here and there his Fury had committed:
Anon, I wot not by what strong Escape
He broke from those that had the Guard of him,
And with his mad Attendant and himself,
Each one with ireful Passion, with drawn Swords
Met us again, and madly bent on us,
Chac'd us away ; 'till raising of more Aid,
We came again to bind them; then they fled
Into this Abbey, whither we pursu'd them,
And here the Abbess Thurs the Gates on us,
And will not suffer is to fetch him out,
Nor send him forth that we may bear him thence,
Therefore, most gracious Duke, with thy Command,
Let him be brought forth, and born hence for help.
Duke. Long since thy Husband serv'd me in my Wars, And I to theç ingag'd a Prince's Word,
When thou didst make him Master of thy Bed,
To do him all the grace and good I could.
Go fome of you knock at the Abbey Gate,
And bid the Lady Abbess come to me;
I will determine this before I stir.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes, O Mistress, Mistress, shift and save your self;
My Master and his Man are both broke lose,
Beaten the Maids a row, and bound the Doctor,
Whose Beard they have fing'd off with Brands of fire,
And ever as it blaz'd, they threw on him
Great Pails of puddled Mire to quench the Hair ;
My Master preaches Patience to him, and the while
His Man with Cissars nicks him like a Fool:
And fure, unless you send some other present help,
Between them they will kill the Conjurer.
Adr. Peace Fool, thy Master and his Man are here,
And that is false thou doft report to us.
Mel, Mistress, upon my Life I tell you true, I have not breath'd almoft since I did see it. He cries for you, and vows if he can take you, To scorch your Face, and to disfigure you. [Cry withix. Hark, hark, I hear him Mistress; fly, be gone.
Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guard with Halberds.
Adr. Ay me, it is my Husband; witness you,
That he is born about invisible,
Even now we hous'd him in the Abbey here.
And now he's there, past thought of human Reason.
Enter Antipholis and Dromio of Ephesus,
E. Ant. Justice, most gracious Duke, oh grant me Justice.
Even for the Service that long since I did thee,
When I beftrid thee in the Wars, and took
Deep Scars to save thy Life, even for the Blood
"That then I lost for thee, now grant me Justice.
Ægeon. Unless the fear of Death doth make me dote, I see my Son Antipholis, and Dromio.
E. Ant. Justice, sweet Prince, against that Woman there; She whom thou gav'st to me to be my Wife; That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Even in the strength and height of Injury :
Beyond Imagination is the Wrong
That she this Day hath shameless thrown on me.
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. (me;
E. Ant. This Day, great Duke, she shut the Doors upon Whilst the with Harlots feasted in my House.
Duke. A grievous Fault; fay Woman, didst thou so?
Adr. No, my good Lord: My self, he, and my Sister,
To Day did dine together: fo befal my Soul,
As this is false he burthens me withal.
Luc. Ne'er may I look on Day, nor sleep on Night,
But she tells to your Highness simple Truth.
Ang. O perjur'd Woman! they are both forsworn,
In this the Mad-man juftly chargeth them,
E. Ant. My Liege, I am advised what I say,
Neither difturb'd with the Effect of Wine,
Nor heady-rash provok'd with raging Ire,
Albeit my Wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This Woman lock'd me out this Day from Dinner;
That Goldsmith there, were he nor pack'd with her,
Could witness it; for he was with me then,
Who parted with me to go fetch a Chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine
Where Bali bazar and I did dine together.
Our Dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him; in the Street I met him,
And in his Company that Gentleman.
There did this perjurid Goldsmith swear me down,
That I this Day from him receiv'd the Chain,
Which God he knows, I saw not. For the which
He did arrest me with an Officer.
I did obey, and sent my Pesant home
For certain Duckets; he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the Officer
To go in Person with me to my Houfe.
By th’way, we met my Wife, her Sister, and a Rabble more
Of vild Confederates; along with them
They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd Villain,
A meer Anatomy, a Mountebank,
A thread-bare Juggler, and a Fortune-teller,
A ncedy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking Wretch,
A living dead Man. This pernicious Slave
Forsooth took on him as a Conjurer;
And gazing in my Eyes, feeling my Pulse,
And with no-face, as 'twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was posseft. Then all together
They fell upon me, bound me, and bore me thence,
And in a dark and dankish Vault at home
There left me and my Man, both bound together,
'Till gnawing with my Teeth my Bonds asunder,
I gain'd my Freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech
To give me ample Satisfaction
For these deep Shames, and great Indignities.
Ang. My Lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him;
That he din'd not at Home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a Chain of thee, or no?
Ang. He had my Lord, and when he ran in here,
These People saw the Chain about his Neck,
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these Ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the Chain of him,
first forswore it on the Mart,
And thereupon I drew my Sword on you;
And then you fled into this Abbey here,
From whence I think you are come by Miracle,
E. Ant. I never came within these Abbey Walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy Sword on me;
I never saw the Chain, so help me Heav'n; ,
And this is false you burthen me withal.
Duke. Why what an intricate Impeach is this?
I think you all have drunk of Circes Cup:
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been.
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:
You say he din’d at home, the Goldsmith here
Denies that Saying. Sirrah, what say you?
E. Dro. Sir, he din’d with her there, at the Porcupine.
Cour. He did, and from my Finger snatch'd that Ring.
E. Ant. 'Tis true, my Leige, this Ring I had of her.
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the Abbey here?
Cour. As sure, my Liege, as I do see your Grace.
Duke. Why this is strange; go call the Abbess hither; I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Exit one to the Abbess.
Ægeon. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a Word: Haply I see a Friend will save my Life, And
рау the Sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.
Ægeox. Is not your Name, Sir, called Antipholis?
And is not that your Bond-man Dromio ?
E. Dro. Within this Hour I was his Bond-man, Sir,
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my Cords,
Now am I Dromio, and his Man unbound.
Ægeon. I am sure both of you remember me.
E. Dro. Our selves we do remember, Sir, by you;
For lately we were bound as you are now.
You are not Pinch's Patient, are you, Sir?
Ægeon. Why look you strange on me? you know me well.
E. Ant. I never saw you in my Life 'till now.
Ægeon. Oh! Grief hath chang'd me since you saw me laft,
And careful Hours, with Time's deformed Hand,
Have written strange Defeatures in my Face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my Voice
E. Ant. Neither.
Ægeon. Dromio, nor thou.
E. Dro. No, trust me, nor I,
Ægeon, I am sure thou doft.
E. Dro. I, Sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatsoever a Man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Ægeon. Not know my Voice! oh Time's Extremity, Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor Tongue In seven short Years, that here my only Son Knows not my feeble Key of untun'd Cares? Tho' now this grained Face of mine be hid In sap-consuming Winter's drizled Snow, And all the Conduits of my Blood froze up; Yet hath my Night of Life some Memory, My wasting Lamp fome fading Glimmer left; My dull deaf Ears a little use to hear: And all these old Witnesses, I cannot err, Tell me, thou art my Son Antipholis.
E. Ant. I never saw my Father in my Life,