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. Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement? Dro. 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. Dro. 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. Dro. 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. Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. Dro. S. Sure ones then. Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dro. S. Certain ones then. Ant. S. Name them. 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, e'en 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 Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. My blood is mingled with the crime of lust: Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not. Luc. Fie, brother: how the world is chang'd with you! Dro. S. By me? Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows What is the course and drift of your compact? Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown: Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss; I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow That never object pleasing in thine eye, Am better than thy dear self's better part. As take from me thyself, and not me too. I know thou can'st; and therefore, see, thou do it. Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Ant. S. To me she speaks; she means me for her What, was I married to her in my dream, I'll entertain the proffer'd fallacy. Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. grass. No, I am an ape. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR. Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us; 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 carkanet, 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 charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold; And that I did deny my wife and house.Thou drunkard, thou, what did'st thou mean by this? Dro. E. Say what you will, sir; but I know what I know. That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show: If my skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own hand-writing would tell you for certain what I think. appear, Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kick'd; and being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : pray God, our cheer May answer my good-will, and your good welcome here. Bal. 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, for that's nothing but words. Bal. Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest: But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. But soft! my door is lock'd. Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Gin! [Calling. Dro. S. Right, sir: I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not din'd to-day. Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not, come again when you may. Ant. E. What art thou that keep'st me out from the house I owe? Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir; and my name is Dromio. Dro. E. O villain! thou hast stolen both mine office and my name : The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there, Dromio: who And so tell your master. Dro. E. Faith no; he comes too late; O Lord! I must laugh :— Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in my staff? Luce. Have at you with another: that's,-when? can you tell? Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou hast answer'd him well. Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. Can you tell for whose sake? Let him knock till it ache. Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps all this noise? Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have come before. Adr. Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door. Dro. 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. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. Dro. E. They stand at the door, master: bid them welcome hither. Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold: It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. ope the Ant. E. Go, fetch me something: I'll break gate. Dro. S. 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. 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 crow. a Dro. E. A crow without feather? master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather. If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. Ant. E. Ĝo, get thee gone: fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, sir; O! let it not be so: Once this,-Your long experience of her wisdom, To know the reason of this strange restraint. And dwell upon your grave when you are dead: For ever housed, where it gets possession. 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; 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.-Get you home, And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made: Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine; 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, 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 unkind debate Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake use her with more kind ness: Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth: Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Be secret-false; what need she be acquainted? Being compact of credit, that you love us; 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,) Less in your knowledge, and your grace you show not, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 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 incline. O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die : Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What are you mad, that you do reason so? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. 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 night. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; [Exit. Enter DROMIO of Syracuse, running. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio! where run'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? 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? Dro. S. A very reverend 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 she is 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 Polar 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. No, sir; 'tis in grain: Noah's flood could not do it. Ant. S. What's her name? Dro. S. Nell, sir; but her name is 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 look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it. Ant. S. Where Spain? Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath. Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? Dro. S. O! sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? Dro. S. O! sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assured to her: told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform'd me to a curtaildog, and made me turn i' the wheel. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, And if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night. If any bark put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk till thou return to me. If every one knows us, and we know none, 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and begone. Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here, Ang. Master Antipholus? Ang. I know it well, sir. Lo! here is the chain. Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with this? Ang. What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you. Ant. S. Made it for me, sir? I bespoke it not. Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell; Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness, hard, in the That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. palm of the hand. Ant. S. Where France? I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay: making war against her heir. Ant. S. Where England? [Exit. SCENE I.-The Same. ACT IV. Enter a Merchant, ANGELO, and an Officer. Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholus; And, in the instant that I met with you, I shall receive the money for the same. Off. That labour may you save: see where he comes. But soft, I see the goldsmith.-Get thee gone; [Exit. Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to you: I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present money; Ang. Then, you will bring the chain to her yourself? Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have, Or else you may return without your money. Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain: Both wind and tide stay for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good lord! you use this dalliance, to excuse Your breach of promise to the Porcupine. I should have chid you for not bringing it, But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. Mer. The hour steals on: I pray you, sir, dispatch. Ang. You hear, how he importunes me: the chain— Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your If not, I'll leave him to the officer. Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it : Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. Off. I do, and charge you in the duke's name to obey me. Ang. This touches me in reputation.Either consent to pay this sum for me, Or I attach you by this officer. Ant. E. Consent to pay for that I never had? Ang. Here is thy fee: arrest him, officer.- Off. I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, The ship is in her trim: the merry wind Ant. E. How now? a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep, What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope; And told thee to what purpose, and what end. Dro. S. You sent me for a rope's end as soon. Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, [Exeunt Merchant, ANGELO, Officer, and ANT. E. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA. Look'd he or red, or pale? or sad, or merry? |