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Offi. One Angelo, a goldsmith; Do you know | Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day:

him?

Adr. I know the man: What is the sum be Owes ?

Offi. Two hundred ducats.

Adr. Say, how grows it doe?

Offi. Due for a chain your husband had of him.

Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

Cour. When, as your husband, ali in rage, to-day

Came to my house, and took away my ting, (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) Straight after, did I meet him with a chain.

Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it :Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is, 1 long to know the truth hereof at large.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, with his rapier drawn, and DROMIO of Syracuse. Luc. God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

Adr. And come with naked swords; let's call more help,

To have them bound again.
Offi. Away, they'll kill us.

[Exeunt OFFICER. ADR. and Luc. Ant. E. I see these witches are afraid of swords.

Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran from you.

Ant. S. Come to the Centaur ; fetch our stuff • from thence :

I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

Dro. S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely do us no harm; you saw, they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation, that but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here still, and turn witch. Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the

town;

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you;

But I protest, he had the chain of me,
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.

Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city?

Ang. Of very reverend reputation, Sir, Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, Second to none that lives here in the city; His word might bear my wealth at any time. Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, be walks.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse. Ang. 'Tis so; and that self chain about his neck,

Which he forswore, most monstrously to have. Good Sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. Signior Antipholus, I wonder much

That you would put me to this shame and trouble;

And not without some scandal to yourself,
With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny
This chain, which now you wear so openly:
Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
You have done wrong to this my honest friend;
Who, but for staying on our controversy,

• Baggage.

This chain you had of me, can you deny it! Ant. S. I think, I had; I never did deny it Mer. Yes, that you did, Sir; and forswore # too.

Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or farswear it?

Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear thee:

Fie on thee, wretch! 'tis pity that thou liv'st
To walk where any bonest men resort.

Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus:

I'll prove mine honour, and mine bonesty Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. [They draw. Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, COURTEZAN, and others.

Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; be is mad :Some get within him, take his sword away: Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. Dro. S. Run, master, run; for God's sake, take a house. +

This is some priory ;-In, or we are spoil'd. [Exeunt ANTIPH. and DROXIO to the Priory.

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Adr. Why, so I did.

Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.

Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me.
Abb. Haply, in private.

Adr. And in assemblies too.
Abb. Ay, but not enough.

In bed, he slept not for my urging it;
Adr. It was the copy of our conference:
At board, he fed not for my urging it;
Alone, it was the subject of my theme;
In company, I often glanced it;
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was
mad:

The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy rail-

ing:

And thereof comes it that is bead is light. Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy upbraidings:

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Unquiet meals make ill digestions, Thereof the raging fire of fever bred; And what's a fever but a fit of madness?

A most outrageous fit of madness took him; That desperately he hurried through the street (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,)

Thou say'st, his sports were hinder'd by thy Doing displeasure to the citizens

brawls:

Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
(Kinsman to grim and confortless despair ;)
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast;
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly,
When be deinean'd' himself rough, rude, and
wildly,-

Why hear you these rebukes, and answer not?
Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof.
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.

By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any things his rage did like.
Once did I get 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,
Chas'd us away; till raising of more aid,
We came again to bind them: then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them;
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us,
And will not suffer us to fetch him out,
hus-Nor send him forth, that we may bear him
bence.

Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. Adr. Then, let your servants bring my band forth.

Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanc-Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy com

tuary,

And it shall privilege him from your hands,
Till I have brought him to his wits again,
Or lose my labour in assaying it.

Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my office,
And will have no attorney but myself;
And therefore let me bave him home with me.
Abb. Be patient; for I will not let him stir,
Till I have us'd the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy
prayers,

To make of him a formal man again: •
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order:

Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband here ;

And ill it doth beseem your holiness,
To separate the husband and the wife.

Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not
have him.
[Exit ABBESS.
Luc. Complain unco the duke of this indig-
nity.

Adr. Come, go; I will fall prostrate at his feet,

And never rise until my tears and prayers
Have won his grace to come in person hither,
And take perforce my husband from the Ab-
bess.

Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five:
Anon, I am sure the duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale;
The place of death and sorry execution,
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Ang. Upon what cause?

Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, Who put unluckily into this bay

Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publicly for his offence.

Ang. See, where they come; we will behold

his death.

Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey.

Enter DUKE attended; RGEON bare-headed;
with the Headsman and other Officers.
Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly,
If any friend will pay the sum for him,
He shall not die, so inuch 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, Antipholus, my husband,

Whom I made loid of me and all I had,
At your important 3 letters,-this ill day

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yourself!

My master and his man are both broke loose, Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor,

Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;

And ever as it blazed they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair :
My master preaches patience to him, while
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool:
And, sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.

Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here;

And that is false thou dost report to us.

Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true; I have not breath'd almost, 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 within. Hark, bark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing:

Guard with halberts.

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1.e. To make measures. 4 know. tl. e. Successively, one after another. L. e. Cuts his hair close.

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.

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me,

While she with harlots feasted in my honse. Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so?

Adr. No, my good lord ;-myself, he, and my sister,

To-day did dine together: So befal my soul,
As this is false, he burdens me witbal!

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 for-

sworn.

In this the madman justly chargeth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I ain advised what I say ;
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine,
Nor heady rash, provok'd with raging ire,
Albeit, my wrongs might make me wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner :
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with
here.

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 Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,

1 wem to seek him in the street I met him; And in his company, that gentleman,

There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me

down,

That I this day of him receiv'd the chain.

Ant. E. 1 never came within these abbey walls.

Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven!
And this is false, you burden me witbal.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this!

I think you all have drank of Circe's cup.
if here you hous'd him, here he would have
been;
Dy
If he were mad, he would not plead so cold-
You say, he dined at home: the goldsmith here
Denies that saying :-Sirrah, what say you!
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the
Porcupine.

Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring.

Ant. E. 'Tis true, my leige, this ring I bad of ber.

Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey

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Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords:

which,

He did arrest me with an officer.

I did obey; and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats: be with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer,

To go in person with me to my house.

By the way we met,

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more

Of vile confederates; along with them They brought one Pinch; a hungry lean-fac'd villain,

A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller;
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man this pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer;
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd: then altogether
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence;
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound to-
gether;

Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
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 dined 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,
After you first foreswore it on the mart,
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you;
And then you tled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think you are come by miracle.

Harlot was a term of reproach applied to cheats among men as well as to wantons among women.

Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. Æge. I am sure you both of you remember

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tongue,

In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?
Though now this grained face of mine be hit
In sap consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up;
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,)
Tell me, art thou my son Antipbolus.

Ant. E. I never say my father in my life. Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,

Thou know'st, we parted: but perhaps, my sen, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery, Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city,

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Can witness with me that it is not so;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the ABBESS, with ANTIPHOLUS Syracu-
san, and DROMIO Syracusan.

Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd. [All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.

Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other;

And so of these: Which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?
Dro. S. 1, Sir, am Dromio; command him

away.

Dro. E. 1, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay. Ant. S. Egeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?

Dro. 8. O my old master! who bath bound

him here?

Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,

And gain a husband by his liberty :-
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be'st the man
That had'st a wife once call'd Æmilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons:
Oh! if thou be'st the same Egeon, speak,
And speak unto the same Æmilia!

Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilla;
If thou art she, tell me, where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up;
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
And me they left with those of Epidamnum:
What then became of them, I cannot tell ;
I, to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke. Why here begins his morning story
right;

These two Antipholuses, these two so like,
And these two Dromios, one in semblance,-
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, -
These are the parents to these children,
Which accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.

Ant. S. No, Sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which.

Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord.

Dro. E. And I with him.

Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most famous warrior

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day ?

Ant. S. 1, gentle mistress.

Adr. And are you not my husband?
Ant. E. No, I say nay to that.

Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Did call me brother :-What I told you then,
I hope I shall have leisure to make good;
If this be not a dream I see and hear.

Ang. That is the chain, Sir, which you had of me.

Ant. S. I think it be, Sir, I deny it not. Ant. E. And you, Sir, for this chain arrested me.

Ang. I think I did, Sir; I deny it not. By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Adr. I sent you money, Sir, to be your bail, Dro. E. No, none by me.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you,

And Dromio my man did bring them me:
I see, we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me,
And thereupon these Errors are arose.
Ant. S. These ducats pawn 1 for my father
here.

Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life.

Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my good cheer,

Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains

To go with us into the abbey here,

And hear at large discoursed all our for

tunes:

And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.-
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons; nor, till this present bour
My heavy burdens are delivered :-

The duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me:
After so long grief, such nativity!

Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this

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Dromio:

Come, go with us: we'll look to that anon:
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.

[Exeunt ANTIPHOLUS S. and E. ADR.
and Luc.

Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house,

That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner; She now shall be my sister, not my wife.

Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my brother:

I see by you, I am a sweet-fac'd youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossipping?
Dro. S. Not I, Sir; you are my elder.
Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try

it ?

Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior: till
then, lead thou first.
[ther;

Dro. E. Nay, then thus:
We came into the world, like brother and bro-

The morning story is what Egeon tells the Duke in And now let's go hand in hand, not one be

the first scene of this play.

fore another.

[Exeunt.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE.

MALONE ascertains the date of this play by the following singular coincidence of an allusion made by Rosaltad with a circumstance recorded by Stowe. "I will weep for nothing, (says Rosalind) like Diana in the Founter." In 1598, at the east side of the cross in Cheapside, was set up (says the latter in his survey of London.) “a curious wrought tabernacle of grey marble, and, in the same, an alabaster image of Diana, and water, comveyed from the Thames, prilling from her naked breast." A trifling novel or pastoral romance, by Dr. Thom Lodge, called Euphues's Golden Legacy, is the foundation of As you Like it. In addition to the fable, which a pretty exactly followed, the outlines of certain principal personages may be traced in the novel; but che characters of Jaques, Touchstone, and Audrey, originated entirely with the poet. Few plays contain so much instructive sentiment, poignant satire, luxuriant fancy, and amusing incident, as this: it is altogether "wild and pleasing." The philosophic reader will be no less diverted by the sententions shrewdness of Touchstone, than instructed by the elegant and amiable lessons of the moralizing Jaques.---Shakspeare is sun to have played the part of Adam in As you like it.

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The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House; afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in the Forest of Arden.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-An Orchard, near OLIVER'S
House.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM.

Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me: By will, but a poor thousand crowns: and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, stays me here at home unkept: For call you that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? His horses are bred better; for, besides that they are fair with their feeding, they are taught their mauage, and to that end riders dearly hired: but 1, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth; for the which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something that nature gave me his countenance

seems to take from me: he lets me feed with bis hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies, mines my geutility with my education. That is it, Adam, that grieves me; and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny against this servitude: I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.

Enter OLIVER.

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother.

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt bear how he will shake me up.

Oli. Now, Sir! what make you here ? Orl. Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing.

Oli. What mar you then, Sir?

Orl. Marry, Sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor unworthy brother of your's, with idleness.

Öli. Marry, Sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile.

• What do you here.

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