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There left me and my man both bound together;
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
For these deep shames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him,
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Duke. What an intricate impeach is this!
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there at the Porcupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Ant. E. '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 see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange :-Go call the abbess hither: I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Exit an Attendant. Ege. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word; Haply, I see a friend will save my life,
And pay the sum that may deliver me.
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
And is not that your bondman Dromio?
Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir,
Ege. I am sure you both of you remember me.
For lately we were bound as you are now.
Ege. Why look you strange on me? you know me well.
Ege. Oh! grief hath chang'd me since you saw me last;
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Dromio, nor thou? Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. Ege.
I am sure thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him. Ege. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity! Hast 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? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up, Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses,-I cannot err,Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so:
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS SYRACUSAN and
Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
And so of these. Which is the natural man,
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia:
Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right:
Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse.
Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. Dro. E. And I with him.
Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress.
And are not you my husband?
Ant. E. No; I say nay to that.
Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here,
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain arrested mc.
your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me.
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you,
Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:-
The duke, my husband, and my children both,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me;
After so long grief, such nativity!
Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.
[Exeunt DUKE, Abb., ÆGE., Cour., Mer., ANG., and Attendants.
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark'd! Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio: Come, go with us: we'll look to that anon:
Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him.
[Exeunt ANT. S. and E., ADR., and Luc. Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house,
That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner:
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother:
I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping?
Dro. S. Not I, sir; you are my elder.