45 Ant. S. Why, first,—for flouting me; and then, wherefore,—

For urging it the second time to me.

Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,

When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?

Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S. I knew ’twould be a bald conclusion:

But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:

110 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;

I am not Adriana nor thy wife.

The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow

That never words were music to thine ear,

That never object pleasing in thine eye,

115 That never touch well welcome to thy hand,

That never meat sweet-savour’d in thy taste,

Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carved to thee.

How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,

That thou art then estranged from thyself?

120 Thyself I call it, being strange to me,

That, undividable, incorporate,

Am better than thy dear self’s better part.

Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!

For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall

125 A drop of water in the breaking gulf,

And take unmingled thence that drop again,

Without addition or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.

How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,

130 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious,

And that this body, consecrate to thee,

By ruffian lust should be contaminate!

Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me,

And hurl the name of husband in my face,

135 And tear the stain’d skin off my harlot-brow,

And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?

I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.

I am possess’d with an adulterate blot;

140 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:

For if we two be one, and thou play false,

I do digest the poison of thy flesh,

Being strumpeted by thy contagion.

Keep, then, fair league and truce with thy true bed;

145 I live distain’d, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:

In Ephesus I am but two hours old,

As strange unto your town as to your talk;

Who, every word by all my wit being scann’d,

150 Wants wit in all one word to understand.

Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!

When were you wont to use my sister thus?

She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from him,

That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,

Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?

160 What is the course and drift of your compact?

Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

165 Ant. S. How can she thus, then, call us by our names,

Unless it be by inspiration.

Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity

To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,

Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!

170 Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,

But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:

Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,

Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,

175 Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,

Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;

Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion

Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

180 Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:

What, was I married to her in my dream?

Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?

What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?

Until I know this sure uncertainty,

185 I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy.

Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.

This is the fairy land;—O spite of spites!

We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites:

190 If we obey them not, this will ensue,

They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

Luc. Why pratest thou to thyself, and answer’st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

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

200 ’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 laughs my woes to scorn.

205 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.

210 Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.

Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?

Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?

Known unto these, and to myself disguised!

I’ll say as they say, and persever so,

215 And in this mist at all adventures go.

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,

5 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 charged him with a thousand marks in gold,

And that I did deny my wife and house.

10 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

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.

15 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.

Ant. E. You’re sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer

20 May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

Ant. E. O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

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.

30 But, soft! my door is lock’d.—Go bid them let us in.

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,

35 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!

45 The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame.

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

Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass.

Luce.

[Within] Faith, no; he comes too late;

And so tell your master.

50 Dro. E.

O Lord, I must laugh!

Have at you with a proverb;—Shall I set in my staff?

70 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.

75 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. E. A crow without 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.

85 Bal. Have patience, sir; O, let it not be so!

Herein you war against your reputation,

And draw within the compass of suspect

Th’ unviolated honour of your wife.

Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom,

90 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 ruled by me: depart in patience,

95 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,

100 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;

105 For slander lives upon succession,

For ever housed where it 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,

110 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. [To Ang.] Get you home,

115 And fetch the chain; by this I know ’tis made:

Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;

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.

120 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,

I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me.

Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot

A husband’s office? shall, Antipholus,

Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?

Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?

5 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;

10 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;

15 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;

20 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.

25 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 not,

30 Nor by what wonder you do hit of 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,

35 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?

40 Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield.

But if that I am I, then well I know

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.

45 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,

To drown me in thy sister 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 them, and there lie;

50 And, in that glorious supposition, think

He gains by death that hath such means to die:

Let Love, being light, be drowned if she sink!

60 Ant. S.

No;

It is thyself, mine own self’s better part,

Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart,

My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim,

My sole earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim.

Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.

Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life:

Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife.

Give me thy hand.

Luc.

O, soft, sir! hold you still:

70 I’ll fetch my sister, to get her good will. Exit.