He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold: Dro. E. Quoth my master: I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress. I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders; Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger. Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating. Between you I shall have a holy head. Adr. Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home. Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a foot-ball you do spurn me thus? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face! Will lose his beauty: yet though gold 'bides still, SCENE II.-The Same. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. [Exeunt. Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up By computation, and mine host's report, I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. How now, sir! is your merry humour alter'd? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 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 displeas'd. Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein. What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. 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 Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? Ant. S. Dost thou not know? Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first,-for flouting me; and then, wherefore, for urging it the second time to me. Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of 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. 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 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 How comes it now, my husband, O! how comes it, 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 theme! What, was I married to her in my dream, Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day, Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? Sleeping or waking? mad, or well-advis'd? Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd? Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? SCENE I.-The Same. ACT III. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR. Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us; And that to-morrow you will bring it home; 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. Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear, 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. [Within.] Mome, malt-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. Dro. E. What patch is made our porter?-My master stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho! open the door. 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? 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. Ant. E. Go, fetch me something: I'll break gate. ope the 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 a crow. 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. Go, 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, 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 ex pense. 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; 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, 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. Luc. Ant. S. That's my sister. No; [Exeunt. It is thyself, mine own self's better part; 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. [Exit. Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently post to the road, 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. [Exit. Ant. S. Where England? |