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.

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?
Known unto these, and to myself disguised!
I'll say as they say, and perséver so,
And in this mist at all adventures go.

Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. [Exeunt.

SCENE I-4 public Place.

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 lingered 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 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?
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 shew:

If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,

Your own hand-writing would tell you what I think.

Ant. E. I think thou art an ass.

Dro. E.
By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear.

Marry, so it doth appear

I should kick, being kicked; 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 locked. Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'!

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.

Dro. S. 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.

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.

If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Luce. [within]. What a call is there! Dromio, who are those at the gate? Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. 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 Iset 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 answered him well.

Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?

Luce. I thought to have asked you.
Dro. S. And you said, no.

Dro. E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce.
Dro. E.
Luce.

Can you tell for whose sake?
Master, knock the door hard.

Let him knock till it ache.

Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

Luce. What needs all this, 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.

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 ope the 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 wantest 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 a 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. 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 on it;
And that supposéd, by the common rout,
Against your yet ungalléd 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.

Ant. E. You have prevailed: 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, 't is 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.
expense.

This jest shall cost me some
[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 be 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,
Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Though others have the arm, shew 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 on mine), Less, in your knowledge and your grace, you

shew not,

Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine.

Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthly, gross conceit, Smothered 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, 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 hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;

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

Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: Give me thy hand.

Luc.

O, 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.

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?

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 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. No, sir, 't is in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.

Ant. S. What's her name?

Dro. S. Nell, sir. But her name and threequarters, 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; armed and reverted, making war against her hair.

Ant. S. Where England?

Dro. S. I looked 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 armadas 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; called me Dromio; swore I was assured to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on 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 transformed me to a curtail-dog, 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 know us, and we know none, "T is time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 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;

And therefore 't is high time that I were hence.
She that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister,
Possessed with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Enter ANGELO.

Ang. Master Antipholus?
Ant. S. Ay, that's my name.
Ang. I know it well, sir.
chain

Lo, here is the