DRO. S. [within.] The porter for this time, Sir, and my ACT III

name is Dromio.

DRO. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and

my name:

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

If thou hadst 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 coil is there? Dromio, who are those at the gate?

DRO. E. Let my master in, Luce.

LUCE. [within.]

And so tell your master.

DRO. E.

'Faith, no; he comes too late:

O, Lord, I must laugh!

50

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

LUCE. [within.] Have at you with another! that's
When? can you tell?

DRO. S. [within.] 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. [within.] I thought to have ask'd you.

DRO. S. [within.]

And you said No.

DRO. E. So, come, help: well struck! there was blow

ANT. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door

down.

LUCE. [within.] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks

in the town?

60

ADR. [within.] Who is that at the door that keeps all this

noise?

DRO. S. [within.] By my troth, your Town is troubled

with unruly boys.

ANT. E. Are you there, Wife? you might have come

Sc. I

before.

ACT III ADR. [within.] Your wife, Sir Knave! go, get you from Sc. I

the door.

DRO. E. If you went in pain, Master, this knave would

go sore.

ANG. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome: we would fain have either.

BAL. In debating which was best, we shall part1 with neither.

DRO. E. They stand at the door, Master: bid them welcome hither.

ANT. E. There is something in the wind-that we cannot get in!

DRO. E. You would say so, Master, if your garments were thin.

70

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.

ANT. E. Go, fetch me something: I'll break ope the

gate.

DRO. S. [within.] Break any breaking here, and I'll break your knave's pate.

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. S. [within.] It seems thou want'st breaking: out upon thee, hind!

DRO. E. Here's too much out upon thee! I pray thee,

let me in.

DRO. S. [within.] Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin.

80

ANT. E. Well, I'll break in. Go borrow me a crow.
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.
ANT. E. Go, get thee gone: fetch me an iron crow.

BAL. Have patience, Sir: O, let it not be so!

Herein you war against your reputation,

1 depart.

And draw within the compass of suspect

The unviolated honour of your wife.

Once1 this: your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,

Plead on her part some course to you unknown;
And doubt not, Sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made2 against you.
Be rul'd by me: depart in patience,

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 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 :
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,

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 ANGELO.] Get you home,

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!
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 some hour hence.
ANT. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.

120

[exeunt.

ACT III

Sc. I

ACT III

Sc. II

SCENE II. The Same.

Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.

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 ?

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;1
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;

Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy Saint;
Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint ?2
'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,

Being compact of credit, that you love us!
Though others have the arm, shew us the sleeve;
We in your motion turn, and you may move us.
Then, gentle Brother, get you in again;

Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her Wife:

'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,*

ΤΟ

20

When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. ANT. S. Sweet Mistress (what your name is else, I

know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine)

Less in your knowledge and your grace you shew 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,

30

1 make your treason graceful. 2 conviction. 3 credulity. 4 light of tongue.

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 yield. 40
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 !1
O, train2 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 them, and there lie;

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!
Luc. What are you mad that you do reason so?
ANT. S. Not mad, but mated3-how I do not know.
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

50

ANT. S. For gazing on your beams, fair Sun, being by.
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear your
sight.

ANT. S. As good to wink, sweet Love, as look on night.
Luc. Why call you me Love? call my sister so.

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.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
ANT. S. Call thyself sister, Sweet, for I aim thee:
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life.
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife:
Give me thy hand.

ACT III

Sc. II