A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which, though myself would gladly have em-
brac'd,

After his brother; and importun'd me
That his attendant-so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name-
Might bear him company in the quest of him;
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus,
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that or any place that harbours men.
But there must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless Ægeon, whom the fates have
mark'd

70

11)

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us,
And by the benefit of his wished light
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us;
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,-O! let me say no more;
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break
off so;

80

90

We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that in this unjust divorce of us
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind,
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd

110

guests;

And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their

course.

Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss,
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

120

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

Do me the favour to dilate at full

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Mer. Therefore, give out you are of Epidamnum,

leagues,

100

Ege. O had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us, For, ere the ships could meet by twice five Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusian merchant Is apprehended for arrival here; And not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep.

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we
host,

And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return and sleep within mine inn,
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your
word,

And go indeed, having so good a mean.

Exit.

Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn and dine with me?

Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
And afterwards consort you till bed-time:
My present business calls me from you now.

What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive

120

To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can :
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day 150
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaol. I will, my lord.

Ege. Hopeless and helpless doth Ægeon wend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The Mart.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of
Syracuse, and a Merchant.

10

20

Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down to view the city.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
Exit.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own

content

Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

31

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;

91

She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.
Ant. S. What wilt thou flout me thus unto
my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.
Strikes him.
Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake,
hold your hands.

40 Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. Exit.
Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other
The villain is o'erraught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage;
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin :
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
I greatly fear my money is not safe.

Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now? How chance thou art return'd so
soon?

Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd
too late.

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit,
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold because you come not home;
You come not home because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach having broke your fast; 50
But we that know what 'tis to fast and pray
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir. Tell me this,
I pray:

Where have you left the money that I gave you?
Dro, E. Ol--sixpence, that I had o Wednes-
day last

To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper;
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now,
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?

Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner.
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
For she will score your fault upon my pate.
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your
clock

61

Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou?

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd. 80 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? Dro. E. 1 have some marks of yours upon my

pate,

Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders,
But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your worship those again,
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

200

Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-The House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus.
Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA,

Adr. Neither my husband nor the slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master !
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

Luc. Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty:

Time is their master, and, when they see time,
They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be
more?

10

Luc. Because their business still lies out o'
door.

Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc. O know he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so.
Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with

woe.

20

There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects and at their controls.
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
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

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain!

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.

he is stark mad.

Luc. How many foud fools serve mad jealousy!
Exeunt.

29

Do use you for my fool and chat with you,
Your sauciness will jet upon my love,
And make a common of my serious hours.
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,
But creep 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.

Well, sir, I thank you.

Ant. S. Thank me, sir! for what?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something, that you gave me for nothing.

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

Dro. S. 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, sir, why am I beaten?

40

Ant. S. Dost thou not know?

Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.

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 I am not Adriana nor thy wife. rime nor reason?

50

Ant. S. In good time, sir; what's that?
Dro. S. Basting.

Dro. S. No, sir: I think the meat wants that I have.

Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.
Ant. S. Your reason?

Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting.

An'. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a time for all things.

Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric.

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.
Dro. S. Sure ones then.

How comes it now, my husband, O! how comes it,
That thou art thus estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
60 That, undividable, incorporate,

Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement?

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

Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit.

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair.

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

Dro. S. Certain ones then.

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

91

Ant. S. For what reason?

Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too.

Ant. S. Name them.

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

101

Ant. S. You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things.

Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by nature.

Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial, why there is no time to recover.

Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore to the world's end will have bald followers.

110

Ant. S. I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion : But soft! who wafts us yonder?

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

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

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,

The time was once when thou unurg'd would'st

VOW

That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 120
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd

to thee.

Ant. S. By what rule, sir?

70

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the By ruffian lust should be contaminate! plain bald pate of Father Time himself.

Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig and recover the lost hair of another man.

Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah! do not tear away thyself from me,
For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,
And take unmingled thence that drop again, 130
Without addition or diminishing,
As take from me thyself and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious,
And that this body, consecrate to thee,

Would'st thou not spit at me, and spura at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow,
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, 140
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;
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;

I live distain'd, thou undishonoured.

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

150

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,
Want wit in all one word to understand.

Luc. Fie, brother: how the world is chang'd
with you!

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 persever so,

Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return And in this mist at all adventures go. from him,