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Adr. [1Vithin.] Who is that at the door, that keeps
all this noise? S. Dro. By my troth, your town is troubled with un
ruly boys. E. Ant. Are you there, wife ? you might have come
before. Adr. Your wife, Sir Knave! go, get you from the
door *. E. Ant. Go get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, Sir: Oh, let it not be so. Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect Th’unviolated honour of your wife: Once, this, your long experience of her wisdom, Her fober virtue, years, and modesty, Plead-on her part fome cause to you unknown; And doubt not, Sir, but she will well excuse, Why at this time the doors are barr’d against you. Be rul'd by me, depart in patience, And let us to the Tyger all to dinner; And about evening come yourself alone,
get you from the door. E. Dro. If you went in pain, master, this knave would go fore. Ang. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome; we would fain
have either. Bal. In debating which was best, we shall have part with neither. E. Dro. They Itand at the door, master ; bid them welcome
hither. E. Ant. There's something in the wind that we cannot get in.
E. Dro. 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 fold.
E. Ant. Go fetch me something, I'll break ope the gate. s. Dro. Break any thing here, and I'll break
your E. Dro. 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. 's. Dro. It seems, thou wantest breaking; out upon thee, hind! E. Dro. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee let me in, S. Dro. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and Goth have no fin, E. Ant. Well, I'll break in; go borrow me a crow.
E. Dre. A crow without feather, master, mean you so !
To know the reason of this strange restraint,
with foul intrusion enter in,
E. Ant. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
hence. E. Ant. Do so; this jest shall Soft me some
S C Ε Ν Ε E II.
The house of Antipholis of Ephesus.
Then for her wealth's fake use her with more kind.
like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; Mume your
false love with some thew of blindness; Let not my sister read it in your eyes ;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
Apparel vice, like virtue's harbinger ;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy faint ;
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;
you may move us, Theo, gentle brothet, get you in again;
Comfort my sister, chear her, call her wife; 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers Strife,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of nine), [know not; Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine, Teach me, dear Cicature, how to think and speaks ;
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, fecble, fhallow, weak,
The foulded meaning of your words’ deceit ; Against my fuul'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 pow'r I'll yield, But if that I am I, then well I know,
Your wcering filter is no wife of mine ;
Far more, far more, to rou do I decline.
To drown me in thy liter's flood of tears ;
Spread o'er the filver waves thy golden hairs,
And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie:
And in that glorious fuppofition* think,
Let love, being light, be drowned if the sink.
S. Ant. No;
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
S. Ant. Call thyself fifter, sweet; for I mean thee: Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hait no husband yet, nor I no wife. Give me thy hand.
Luc. Oh, foft, Sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will.
[Exit Luciana, . S CE N E III. Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
S. int. Why, how now, Dronnio, where run'st thou fo fast?
S. Dro. Do you know me, Sir? am I Dromio ? am I your man ? am I myself ?
S. AH. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyielf.
s. Dra. I ar an ass, I am a woman's man, and befides myfolf.
S. int. What woman's man? and how besides thyfelf?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, besides myself ; I am due to a * Sitosti 014, for the thug lain open.
woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.
S. int. What claim lays she to thee?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, such a claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beaft: not that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
S. Ant. What is she?
S. Dro. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not fpeak of, without he say, Sir reverence : I have but lean luck in the match; and yet is the a wondrous fat marriage.
S. Ant. How doit thou mean, a fat marriage ? S. Dro. 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 Lapland winter : if the lives till doomsday, the'll burn a week longer than the whole world,
S. Ant. What complexion is the of?
S. Dro. Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; for why? fhe sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.
S. Ant. That's a fault that water will mend.
S. Dro. No, Sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.
S. Ant. What's her name? S. Dro. Nell, Sir ;-but her name and three quarters (that is, an ell and three quarters) will not measure her from hip to hip.
S. Ant. Then the bears some breadth ?
S. Dro. No longer from head to fout, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe : I could find out countries in her.
S. Ant. In what part of her body stands Ireland ?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs:
S. Ant. Where Scotland ?
S. Dro. I found it out by the barrenness, hard in the palm of her hand.
S. Ant. Where France ?