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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 advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd?
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.-The same.


Ant. E. Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all.
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet,

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 charg'd 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?

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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 the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
Your own handwriting would tell you 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. [cheer
Ant. E. You are sad, Signior Balthazar; pray God, our
May answer my good-will and your good welcome here.
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome

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, 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


[my name; Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,

Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Luce. [within.] What a coil is there! Dromio, who are those at the gate?

Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.


And so tell your master.

Dro. E.

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, I hope? Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.

Dro. S.

And you said no.

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


Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.


Can you tell for whose sake?

Let him knock till it ache.

Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.

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


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


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,


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 rul'd 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 of it;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead:
For slander lives upon succession,

For ever hous'd where it once 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 expense.


SCENE II.-The same.

Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? Shall, Antipholus, hate,
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 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, show 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 Nor by what wonder do you hit on mine,


Less, in your knowledge and your grace, you show not

Than our earth's wonder; more than earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,

Smother'd 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 ani I, then well I know

Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,

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