Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an

ass.

Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.

'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be, But I should know her as well as she knows

me.

Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, To put the finger in the eye and weep, Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to

scorn.

Come, Sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate :-
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks:
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
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.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The same.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR.

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 carkanet,t
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?

Dro. E. Say what you will, Sir, but I know what I know:

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; [heart. Better cheer may you have, but not with better 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. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; [blame. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Luce. [Within.] What a coill is there? Dromio, who are those at the gate?

Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce.
Luce. Faith no; he comes too late;

And so tell your master.

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh:--

Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in iny staff?

When? can you tell?

Dro. S. If thy name be call'd 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.

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 on it;
And that supposed by the common rout

Dro. S. And you said, no.

was blow for blow.

Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.

Luce. Let him knock till it ake.

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

the door down.

Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of

stocks in the town?

together.

crow.

Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron 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 wisHer sober virtue, years, and modesty, [dom, 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. ➡ Have part.

That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are
For slander lives upon succession;
[dead:
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart

in quiet,

And, in despight 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
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine; (made:
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
heste:

Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain

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; [ed? Be secret-false: What need she be acquaintWhat 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, Though others have the arm, show us the Being compact of credit, that you love us; sleeve;

We in your motion turn, and you may move Then, gentle brother, get you in again; [us. Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, [strife. When the sweet breath of flattery conquers

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 But if that I am I, then well I know, [yield. Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,

Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;
Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy

note,

To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden

hairs,

And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;
And, in that glorious supposition, think
He gains by death, that hath such means to

die:

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.

Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee?

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast; not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.

Ant. S. What is she?

Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-reverence: I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage? Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? Dro. S. 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 Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world. Ant. S. What complexion is she of?

Dro. S. Swart,* like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.

Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. Dro. S. No, Sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood

could not do it.

Ant. S. What's her name?

Dro. S. Nell, Sir; but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.

Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth?

Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe;

I could find out countries in her.

Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland?

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.

Ant. S. Where Scotland?

Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness: hard, in

the palm of the hand.

Ant. S. Where France?

Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her hair. S. Where England?

Ant. S.

Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.

Ant. S. Where Spain?

Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her breath.

Ant. S. Where America, the Indies?

Dro. S. O, Sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armadas of carrackst to be ballast to her nose.

Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

Dro. S. O, Sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me Dromio; swore, I was assur'd to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel.

+ Large ships. A turn-spit,

road;

And if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbour in this town to-night.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
If every one know us, and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be

gone.

Dro. S. As from bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here;

And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,

I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

Ephesus.

Offi. That labour may you save; see where he comes.

Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou

And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of my doors by day.-
But soft, I see the goldsmith:-get thee gone;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year! I
[Exit DROMIO.
Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts
to you:

buy a rope!

I promised your presence, and the chain;
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me:
Belike, you thought our love would last too
long,

If it were chain'd together; and therefore
came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the
note,
[carrat;
How much your chain weighs to the utmost
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion;
Which doth amount to three old ducats more
That I stand debted to this gentleman;
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present

money:

Besides, I have some business in the town: Good signior take the stranger to my house, And with you take the chain, and bid my wife Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; Perchance, I will be there as soon as you. Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?

Ant. E. No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

Ang. Well, Sir, I will: Have you the chain about you?

Ant. E. An if I have not, Sir, I hope you have;

Or else you may return without your money. Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, Sir, give me the chain;

Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, And I, to blame, have held him here too long. Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance, to

excuse

Your breach of promise to the Porcupine:
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, Sir,

despatch. Ang. You hear, how he impórtunes me; the chainAnt. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even now; [token. Either send the chain, or send me by some Ant. E. Fie! now you run this humour out of breath: [see it. Come, where's the chain? I pray you let me Mer. My business cannot brook this dal

liance;

Good Sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me, or no; If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

Ant. E. I answer you! What should I an

swer you?

Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain.