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The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their male’s subjects, and at their controls :
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wide wat’ry seas,
Endu'd with intellectual sense and soul,
Of more preheminence than fish and fowl,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.

Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.
Luc. Ere I learn love I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other where?
Luc. 'Till he come home again I would forbear.

Adr. Patience unmov’d, no marvel though she pause;
They can be meek that have no other cause :
A wretched soul, bruis’d with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more we should ourselves complain;
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me:
But if thou live to be like right-bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day but to try;
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.


Enter Dromio Eph.
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ?

E. Dro. Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

E. Dro. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear; Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.


Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not feel his meaning?

E. Dro. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

Adr. But say, I pr’ythee, is he coming home?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.

E. Dro. Why, mistress, fure, my master is horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

E. Dro. I mean not, cuckold-mad; but, fure, stark mad :
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; my gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn; quoth ); my gold, quoth he:
Will you come home, quoth I? my gold, quoth he:
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain ?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; my gold, quoth he.
My mistress, fir, quoth I; hang up thy mistress;
Thy mistress I know not; out on thy mistress:

Luc. Quoth who?

E. Dro. Why, quoth my master :
I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress;
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my

Thoulders :
For in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Adr. Go back again, thou Nave, and fetch him home.

E. Dro. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For god's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

E. Dro. And he will bless that cross with other beating : Between you I shall have a holy head.

Adr. Hence, prating peasant, fetch thy master home.

E. Dro. Am I so round with you as you with me, That like a foot-ball you do spurn me thus ? You fpurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither : If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit.


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Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth in your face!

Adr. His company must do his minions grace,
Whilft I at home starve for a merry look:
Hath homely age th'alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wafted it.
Are my discourses dull? barren


If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d,
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ?
That's not my fault; he's master of my state.
What ruins are in me that can be found
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground

my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair.
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home; poor I am but his ftale.

Luc. Self-harming jealousy; fie, beat it hence,

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense:
I know, his eye doth homage other-where;
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis’d me a chain,
Would, that alone alas ! he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed.
I fee, the jewel best enameled
Will lose his beauty; and though gold bides still
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold: and so no man that hath a name,
But falfhood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
what's left

away, and weeping die. Luc. How many fond fools ferve mad jealousy! [Exeunt.

I'll weep


ht. T


The Street.

Enter Antipholis of Syracuse.
Ant. HE gold I gave to Dromio is lay'd up

Safe at the centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
How now, sır? is your merry humour alter'd ?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the phenix ? wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

S. Dro. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?
Ant. Even now, even here, not half an hour since.
S. Dro. I did not see


sent me hence Home to the centaur, with the gold you gave me.

Ant. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,
And told'ft me of a mistress, and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt’st I was displeas’d.

S. Dro. I'm glad to see you in this merry vein:
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

Ant. Yea, dolt thou jeer, and fout me in the teeth? Think'st thou I jest? hold, take thou that, and that. [Beats Dro.

S. Dro. Hold, fir, for god's sake, now your jest is earnest; Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,



But creep

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And make a comedy of my serious hours.
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,

in crannies when he hides his beams :
If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks;
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
But soft; who wafts us yonder ? '
: wafts us yonder?

S. Dro. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head; an
you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and ensconce it too, or else I shall seek
my wit in my shoulders : but, I pray, fir, why am I beaten?
Ant. Doft thou not know?
S. Dro. Nothing, fir, but that I am beaten.
Ant. Shall I tell you why?
S. Dro. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.
Ant. Why, first, for flouting me; and then, wherefore, for urging it the second time to me,

S. Dro. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
When in the why and wherefore is neither rhime nor reason?
Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. Thank me, fir, for what?
S. Dro. Marry, fir, for this something that you gave me for nothing:

Ant. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, fuf, is it dinner-time?

S. Dro. No, fir; I think, the meat wants that I have.
Ant. In good time, fir, what's that?
S. Dro. Bafting.
Ant. Well, fır, then 'twill be dry.
S. Dro. If it be, fir, I pray you, eat not of it.
Ant. Your reason?
S. Dro. Left it make you cholerick, and purchase me another dry bafting.
Ant. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; there's a time for all things.
S. Dro. I durft have deny'd that, before you were so cholerick.
Ant. By what rule, fir?
S. Dro. Marry, fir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself.
Ant. Let's hear it.
S. Dro. There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.
Ant. May he not do it by fine and recovery?
S. Dro. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the loft hair of another man.
Ant. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

S. Dro. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts; and what he hath scanted them in hair, he hath given them in wit.

Ant. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.
S. Dro. Not a man of thofe but he hath the wit to lose his hair.
Ant. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without
S. Dro. The plainer dealer, the fooner lost; yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
Ant. For what reason?
S. Dro. For two, and found ones too.
Ant. Nay, not found ones, I pray you.
S. Dro. Sure ones then.
Ant. Nay, not sure in a thing falling.
S. Dro. Certain ones then.
Ant. Name them.

S. Dro. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they fhould not drop in his porridge.


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