Luc. Why call you me, love? call my sister so. S. Ant. Thy sister's sister. Luc. That's my sister. fe S. Ant. 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 fole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. e Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. S. Ant. Call thyself sister, sweet; for I mean 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. Oh, foft, Sir, hold you still; d. SCENE [Exit Luciana. III. S. Dro. Do you know me, Sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? S. Ant. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. S. Dro. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. S. Ant. What woman's man? and how besides thy ? felf? S. Dro. Marry, Sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that hunts me, one g that will have me. S. Ant. What claim lays she to thee? S. Dro. Marry, Sir, such a claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beaft: not n that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me. C2 S. Ant. S. Ant. What is she? S. Dro. A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he fay, Sir reverence: I have but lean luck in the match; and yet is the a wond'rous fat marriage. S. Ant. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? S. Dro. Marry, Sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and all grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, will burn a Lapland winter: if the lives 'till doomfday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world, S. Ant. What complexion is she of? S. Dro. Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept; for why? she sweats, a man may go over shoes in the grime of it. S. Ant. That's a fault, that water will mend. S. Dro. No, Sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it. S. Ant. What's her name? S. Dro. Nell, Sir; but her name and three Quarters (that is, an ell and three quarters) will not meafure her from hip to hip. S. Ant. Then the bears some breadth? S. Dro. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe: I could find out countries in her. S. Ant. In what part of her body stands Ireland? S. Dro. Marry, Sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs. S. Ant. Where Scotland? S. Dro. I found it out by the barrenness, hard in the palm of her hand. S. Ant. Where France? S. Dro. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her heir. S. Ant. Where England? S. Dro. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could e el P find no whiteness in them; but I guess, it flood in her chin, by the salt theum that ran between France and it. S. Ant. Where Spain? S. Dro. Faith, I saw it not, but I felt it hot in her breath. S. Ant. Where America, the Indies? S. Dro. Oh, Sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, saphires; declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracts to be ballast at her nofe. S. Ant. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? S. Dro. Oh, Sir, I did not look so low. * To conclude, this drudge of the devil, this diviner, laid claim to me, call'd me Dromio, swore I was assur'd to her, told me what privy marks I had about me, as the marks of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amaz'd, ran from her as a witch. And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had at transform'd me to a curtal-dog, and made me turn aith' wheel. n ? S. Ant. Go, hie thee presently; post to the road; And if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to night. lo If any bark put forth, come to the mart; Where I will walk, 'till you return to me: If every one know us, and we know none, it 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. n 日, d S. Dro. As from a bear a man would run for life. So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. * To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me,] A little lower, he calls her Witch. A Word is certainly dropt out of the Text. We should read, this drudge of the devil, this diviner, Drudge of the Devil, is the right Pariphrafis for a Witch. S. Ant. T SCENE IV. HERE's none but witches do inhabit here; And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence : I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's fong. Enter Angelo, with a chain. Ant. Master Antipholis S. Ant. Ay, that's my name. Ang. I know it well, Sir; lo, here is the chain; I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine; The chain, unfinish'd, made me stay thus long. S. Ant. What is your will, that I shall do with this? Ang. What please yourself, Sir; I have made it for you. S. Ant. Made it for me, Sir! I bespoke it not. Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times, you have: Go home with it, and please your wife withal; S. Ant. I pray you, Sir, receive the money now: S. Ant. What I should think of this, I cannot tell: But this I think, there's no man is so vain, That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. I fee, abi I fee, a man here needs not live by shifts, [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The STREET. Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. OU know, since Pentecost the sum is due; You know I have not much importun'd you; Nor now I had not, but that I am bound Or I'll attach you by this officer. Ang. Ev'n just the sum, that I do owe to you, Is growing to me by Antipholis; i I shall receive the money for the fame: Enter Antipholis of Ephefus, and Dromio of Ephefus Offi. That labour you may fave: fee, where he comes. E. Ant. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou And buy a rope's end; that will I bestow : For locking me out of my doors by day. C4 E. Dro. |