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Whose beard they have fing'd off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blaz'd, they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair ;
My master preaches patience to him, and the while
His man with sciffars nicks him like a fool :
And, fure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.

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;
I have not breath'd almost since I did see it.
He cries for you, and vows if he can take you,
To scotch your face, and to disfigure you,

[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.
Enter Antipholis and Dromio of Ephesus.
E. int. Justice, most gracious Duke, oh, grant me

justice.
Even for the service that long since I did thee,
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life, even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

Æreon. Unless the fear of death doth make me doat,
I see my son Antipholis and Dromio.
E. Ant. Justice, sweet Prince, against that woman

there :
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ;
That hath abused ånd dishonour'd me,
Ev’n in the strength and height of injury.
Beyond imagination is the wrong,
That she this day hath Mameless thrown on me.

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

my

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.
In this the madman juftly chargeth them.

E. Ant. My Liege, I am advised what I say.
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine,
Nor, heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire ;
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner ;
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with herg
Could witness it; for he was with me then;
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together:
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
I went to seek him; in the street I met him,
And in his company that gentleman.
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
That I this day from him receiv'd the chain,
Which, God he knows, I saiv not; for the which
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did obey, and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats; he with none return'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer,
To

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
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ;
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together,
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds afunder,
I gaind my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your Grace ; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep thames and great indignities.

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

you

first forswore it on the mart;
And thercupon I drew my sword on you ;
And then you fed into this abbey here,
From whence I think you're come by miracle.

E. Ant. I never came within these abbey-walls,
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me;
I never saw the chain, so help me heav'n !
And this is false

you

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,

And pay

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SC E

N E VI.
Ægeon. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a

word :
Haply I see a friend will save my life,

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;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, Sir ?
Ægeon. Why look you ftrange on me? you know me

well.
E. Ant. I never saw

you
in
my

life till now.
Ægeon. Oh! grief hath chang'd me since you faw

me last;
And careful hours with Time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face :
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ?

E. Ant. Neither.
Ægeon. Dromio, nor thou ?
E. Dro. No, trust me, Sir, nor I.
- Ægeon. I am sure thou doft.

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,
Can witness with me that it is not fo :
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholis,
During which time he ne'er faw Syracusa :
I see, thy age and dangers make thee doat.

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;
And so of these which is the natural man,
And which the spirit ? who decyphers them?

S. Dro. I, Sir, am Dromio; command him away.
E. Dro. I, Sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay.
S. Ant. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghoft ?
S. Dro. O, my old master! who hath bound hing

here?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds ;
And gain a husband by his liberty.
Speak, old Ægeon, if thou be’ft the man,
That hadft" a wife once call's Æmilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair fons ?
Oh, if thou be'ft the fame Ægeon, speak;
And speak unto the same Æmilia.

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

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