What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair:
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.
Luc. Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs
dispense.

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

100

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 mad jealousy!
[Exeunt.

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 humour 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? to
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

me.

20

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, 30 But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.

60

Ant. S. In good time, sir; what's that?
Dra. S. Basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
Dra. S. If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it.
Ant. S. Your reason?

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric and purchase me another dry basting.

Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a time for all things.

Dre. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

Ant. S. By what rule, sir?

Dr. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.

Ast. S. Let's hear it.

71

Dro, S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and recover the lost hair of another man.

79

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? Dre. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts; and what he hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Dre. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

Dre, S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant. S. For what reason?

Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too.
Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Ant. S.

Dro. S. Sure ones then.

Ant. S.

Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dro. S. Certain ones then.

90

100

Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in trimming; the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers.

Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion: But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
That thou art thus estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,

130

Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition or diminishing,
As take from me thyself and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me
And hurl the name of husband in my face
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:
For if we two be one and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live unstain'd, thou undishonoured.

140

160

That he did buffet thee and in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gen-
tlewoman?

What is the course and drift of your compact?

Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names,

Unless it be by inspiration.

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity 170 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Be it my wrong you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness married to thy stronger state Makes me with thy strength to communicate: If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap and live on thy confusion.

180

Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.

Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a

Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me and I long for grass.

'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say he dines forth and let no creature enter.
Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.

210

SCENE I. Before the house of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR.

Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;

My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet

And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain that would face me down
He met me on the mart and that I beat him
And charged him with a thousand marks in gold
And that I did deny my wife and house.

Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

10

I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.

Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

Ant. E. And welcome more common;

that's nothing but words.

for

Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

Ant. E. Ay to a niggardly host and mor

sparing guest:

But though my cates be mean, take them in goo part:

Better cheer may you have, but not with bette heart.

But, soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them le

Dre. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn!

Dro. S. (Within] Mome, mal:-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch!

Either get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch.

Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store,

When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door.

Dr. E. What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street.

Dro. S. [Within] Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door!

Dro. S. [Within] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore.

Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.

40

Dro. S. [Within] Nor to-day here you must not; come again when you may.

Ant. E. What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

Dra. S. [Within] The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio.

Dra. E. O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name.

The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. If thou hast been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name or thy name for an ass.

Lace. [Within] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are those at the gate? Dre. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. [Within] Faith, no; he comes too late; And so tell your master.

Dro, E. O Lord, I must laugh! Have at you with a proverb-Shall I set in my staff? Lace. [Within] Have at you with another; that's-When? can you tell?

Dro. S. [Within] If thy name be call'd Luce,-
Luce, thou hast answer'd him well.
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let
us in, I hope?
Luce. [Within] I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S.
[Within] And you said no.
Dra. E. So, come, help: well struck! there
was blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. [Within] Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro, E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce.

[Within] Let him knock till it ache. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

Luce. [Within] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town?

60

Adr. [Within] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise?

Dro. S. [Within] By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys.

Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have come before.

Adr. [Within Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

Dre. E. If you went in pain, master, this 'knave' would go sore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome : we would fain have either.

Your cake there is warm within; you stand here in the cold:

It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought and sold.

Ant. E. Go fetch me something: I'll break ope the gate.

Dro. S. [Within] Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

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. [Within] 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. (Within] Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin.

Ant. E. Well, I'll break in: go borrow me a

Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so ! Herein you war against your reputation And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this, your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you. Be ruled by me: depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, And about evening come yourself alone To know the reason of this strange restraint. If by strong hand you offer to break in Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made of it, And that supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation That may with foul intrusion enter in And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; For slander lives upon succession, For ever housed where it gets possession.

100

Ant. E. You have prevail'd: I will depart

in quiet,

And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty, wild and yet, too, gentle: 110
There will we dine. This woman that I mean,
My wife-but, I protest, without desert-
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:
To her will we to dinner. [To Ang.] Get you
home

And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made:

Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
For there's the house: that chain will I bestow-
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife-
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 120
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they 'll disdain me.
Ang.
I'll meet you at that place some hour
hence.
Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some
expense.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. The same.

Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot

A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? If you did wed my sister for her wealth,

Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness:

Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; 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;
Bear a fair presence, though your heart
tainted;

Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted? 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,

be

20

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 know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,- 30 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 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 decline.

O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,

40

Luc.

O, soft, sir! hold you still: I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit. 70 Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.

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 thyself? 80

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?

90

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.