E. Ant. Are you there, wife? you might have come

before.

Adr. Your wife, Sir knave! go, get you from the door.

E. Dro. If you went in pain, master, this knave wouldgo fore.

Ang. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome; we would fain have either.

Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

E. Dro. They ftand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither.

E. Ant. There's fomething in the wind, that we cannot get in.

E. Dro You would say so, mafter, 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

fold.

E. Ant. Go fetch me fomething, I'll break ope the

gate.

S. Dro. Break any thing here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

E. Dro. A man may break a word with you, Sir, and words are but wind;

Ay, and break it in your face, fo he break it not be

Jind.

S. Dro. It feems thou wantest breaking; out upon thee, hind!

E. Dro. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, le me in.

S. Dro Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.

E. Ant. Well, I'll break in, go borrow me a crow. E. Dro. A crow without feather, master, mean you so? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a fea

ther:

If a crow help us in, firrah, we'll pluck a crow toge

ther.

E. Ant.

E. Ant. Go, get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, Sir: oh, let it not be so. Herein you war against your reputation,

And draw within the compass of fufpect
Th' inviolated honour of your wife.

Once, this;-your long experience of her wifdom,
Her fober virtue, years, and modesty,

Plead on her part fome cause to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but she will well excufe,
Why at this time the doors are barr'd against you.
Be rul'd by me, depart in patience,

And let us to the Tyger all to dinner;
And about evening come yourfelf alone,
To know the reafon of this flrange restraint.
If by ftrong hand you offer to break in,
Now in the ftirring paffage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made of it;
And that fuppofed by the common rout,
Againft your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrufion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when
For flander lives upon fucceffion;

you are dead:

For ever hous'd, where it once gets poffeffion,

E. Ant. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in defpight of wrath, (9) 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 proteft, without defert,)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal;
To her will we to dinner. Get you home,

(9) And, in Defpigbt of Mirth,] In defpight of what Mirth We don't find, that it was any Joke, or matter of Mirth, to be fhut out of Doors by his Wife. I make no Doubt therefore, but I have reftor'd the true Reading. Antipbolis's Paffion is plain enough all thro' this Scene: and, in the next Act, we find him confeffing how angry He was at this Juncture.And did not I in Rage depart from thence? The Circumstances, I think, fufficiently juftify my Emendation.

And

And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made;
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;

For there's the houfe: that chain will I bestow,
(Be it for nothing but to fpight my wife,)

Upon mine hostess there. Good Sir, make hafte :
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, fome hour, Sir,
hence.

E. Ant. Do fo; this jeft fhall coft me fome expence.
[Exeunt.

SCENE, the House of Antipholis of Ephefus.

Enter Luciana, with Antipholis of Syracufe.

Luc. A

ND may it be, that you have quite forgot
(10)

A husband's office? fhall, Antipholis, hate,

Ev'n in the fpring of love, thy love-fprings rot?
Shall love, in building, grow fo ruinate?

If you did wed my filter for her wealth,

Then for her wealth's fake ufe her with more kindness;

Or if you like efwhere, do it by stealth;

Muffle your falfe love with some fhew of blindness;

(10) And may it be, that you have quite forgot

An Husband's Office? Shall, Antipholis,

Ev'n in the Spring of Love, thy love-springs rot ?

and

shall thy Love
The next Cor-
This Scene for

Shall love in buildings grow fo ruinate?] This Paffage has hitherto labour'd under a double Corruption.. What Conceit could our Editors have of Love in Buildings, growing ruinate? Our Poet meant no more than this: Shall thy Lovefprings rot, even in the Spring of Love grow ruinous, ev'n while it is but building up? ruption is by an accident at Prefs, as I take it; Fifty two Lines fucceffively is ftri&ly in alternate Rhymes: and this Measure is never broken, but in the Second, and Fourth, Lines of these two Couplets. 'Tis certain, I think, a Monofyllable dropt from the Tail of the Second Verfe: and I have ventur'd to fupply it by, I hope, a' probable Conjecture.

Let

Let not my fiifter read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own fhame's orator;
Look fweet, fpeak fair; become disloyalty:
Apparel vice, like virtue's harbinger :
Bear a fair prefence, tho' your heart be tainted:
Teach fin the carriage of a holy faint;
Be fecret falfe: what need the be acquainted?
What fimple 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 baftard fame, well managed;
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word:
Alas, poor women! make us but believe, (11)
Being compact of credit, that you love us;
Tho' others have the arm, fhew us the fleeve:
We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle brother, get you in again;

Comfort my fifter, chear her, call her wife; 'Tis holy fport to be a little vain,

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers ftrife. S. Ant. Sweet mistress, (what your name is elfe, I know not;

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine:)

Lefs 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 earthly grofs conceit,

Smother'd in errors, feeble, fhallow, weak,

The foulded meaning of your words' deceit ;

(11) Alas, poor Women! make us not believe, &c.] From the whole Tenour of the Context it is evident, that this Negative (not,) got Place in the firft Copies inftead of but. And thefe two Monofyllables have by Miftake reciprocally difpoffefs'd one another in many other Paffages of our Author's Works, Nothing can be more plain than the Poet's Senfe in this Paffage. Women, fays be, are fo eafy of Faith, that only make them believe you love them, and they'll take the bare Profeffion, for the Substance and Reality.

Against

Againft my foul'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 pow'r I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then, well I know,

Your weeping fifter is no wife of mine ;
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;

Far more, far more, to you do I decline. Oh, train me not, fweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy fifter's flood of tears; Sing, Siren, for thyself, and I will dote; Spread o'er the filver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lye: And in that glorious fuppofition think, He gains by death, that hath fuch means to die; Let love, being light, be drowned if she fink. Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason fo? S. Ant. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. S. Ant. For gazing on your beams, fair fun, being by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your fight.

S. Ant. As good to wink, fweet love, as look on night.

Luc. Why call you me, love? call my fifter fo.
S. Ant. Thy fifter's fifter.

Luc. That's my sister.

S. Ant. No;

It is thyself, mine own felf's better part:

Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
My food, my fortune, and my fweet hope's aim,
My fole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
Luc. All this my fifter is, or elfe should be.

S. Ant. Call thyself fifter, sweet; for I mean thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life;
Thou haft no husband yet, nor I no wife.

Give me thy hand.

Luc. Oh, foft, Sir, hold you ftill;

I'll fetch my fifter, to get her good will.

[Exit Luciana.

Enter