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you so ?
Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir;
and words are but wind. Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. Dro. S. It seems, thou want'st breaking. Out upon
thee, hind! Dro. E. Here's too much out upon thee! I pray
thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish
have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in. Go borrow me a crow.
Dro, E. A crow without feather! master, mean
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.
Ant. E. You have prevail d; I will depart in quiet,
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
-Be it for nothing but to spite my wife-
Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hoür hence.
A husband's office ? shall, Antipholus,
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous ?
Muffle your false love with some show of blindness. Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
Apparel Vice like Virtue's harbinger;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
What simple thief brags of his own attaint? 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
And let her read it in thy looks at board. Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed;
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word. Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
Being compact of credit, that you love us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve;
We in your motion turn, and you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again,
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife; 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress—what your name is else, I
Nor by what wonder you do hit on mineLess, 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 earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour 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 décline. 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 hears,
And, in that glorious supposition, think
Let Love being light, be drowned if she sink !
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear
your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on
That's my sister.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee. Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. Give me thy hand. Luc.
Oh, soft, sir ! hold you still. I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. Enter, from the House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus,
DRomio of Syracuse, hastily. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'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 thy
self? 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?
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 reverent 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 is she 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. 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; arnı’d and reverted, making war against her heir.