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Whose beard they have fing'd off with brands of fire;
Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here, And that is false thou doit report to us.
Mel. Mittrefs, upon my life, I tell you true;
[Gry witbiu. Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; ily, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with
halberds. Adr. Ay me, it is my husband; witness you, That he is borne about invisible ! Ev’n now we hous’d him in the abbey here, And now he's there, paft thought of human reason.
S CE N E V.
Æreon. Unless the fear of death doth make me doat,
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find ne juft.
E. Ant. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors
upon me; Whilst she with harlots feafted in
house. Duke. A grievous fault; say, woman, didit thou so?
Adr. No, my good Lord: myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together : fo befal my foul, As this is false he burdens me withal !
Luc. Ne’er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your Highness fimple truth!
Ang. O perjur'd woman! they are both forfworn.
E. Ant. My Liege, I am advised what I say.
go in person with me to my house. By th’ way we met my wife, her sister, and A rabble more of vile confederates : 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 Nave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was possess’d. Then all together
Ang. My Lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him; That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ?
drig. 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
first forswore it on the mart;
E. Ant. I never came within these abbey-walls,
burden me withal. Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this? I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup; If here you hous’d him, here he would have been ; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : You say, he din'd at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? E. Dro. Sir, he din'd with her there at the Porcu
pine. Cour. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. E. Ant. 'Tis true, my Liege, this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my Liege, as I do fee your
Grace. Duke. Why, this is strange ; go call the Abbess hi.
ther : I think you are all mated or stark mad.
[Exit one to the Abbess,
N E VI.
the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
Ægeon. Is not your name, Sir, callid Antipholis? And is not that your bondman Dromio ?
E. Dro. Within this hour I was his bondman, Sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords
S; Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound.
Ægeon. I am sure you both of you remember me.
E. Dro. Ourselves we do remember, Sir, by you;
life till now.
E. Ant. Neither.
E. Dro. I, Sir; but I am sure I do not: and what. soever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Ægeon. Not know my voice ! Oh, Time’s extremity ? Haft thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? • Tho' now this grained face of mine be hid • In fap-consuming winter's drizled snow, « And all the conduits of
my blood froze
up ; • Yet hath my night of life some memory; • My wafting lamp some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : o All thefe hold witnesses I cannot err, • Tell me thou art my son Aptipholis.'
E. Ant. I never saw my father in my life,
#geon. But seven years since, in Syracufa bay, Thou know'st, we parted; but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'ft t'acknowledge me in misery.
E. Ant. The Duke, and all that know me in the city,
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
S CE N E VII. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholis Syracufan, and Dro
mio 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;
S. Dro. I, Sir, am Dromio; command him away.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning-story right: These two Antipholis's, these two so like, And those two Dromio's, one in femblance; Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, These plainly are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together.
Ægeon. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia; If thou art they tell me where is that foni