The time was once, when thou unurged wouldst vow, Am better than thy dear self's better part. As take from me thyself, and not me too. I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it. My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; Being strumpeted by thy contagion. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; I live disstained, 2 thou undishonored Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not. In Ephesus I am but two hours old, As strange unto your town, as to your talk; 1 Fall is here a verb active. 2 i. e. unstained. Who, every word by all my wit being scanned, Luc. Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you! When were you wont to use my sister thus? Dro. S. By me? Adr. By thee; and this thou didst return from him, That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows, Denied my house for his, me for his wife. Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? What is the course and drift of your compact? Dro. S. I, sir? I never saw her till this time. Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very words Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life. Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our names, Unless it be by inspiration? Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity, Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. Ant. S. To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme. What, was I married to her in my dream? Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? 1 i. e. separated, parted. 2 i. e. unfruitful. Until I know this sure uncertainty, 1 I'll entertain the offered fallacy. Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. Dro. S. O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. This is the fairy land;-O, spite of spites!We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answerest not? 2 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! shape. Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. Dro. S. No, I am an ape. Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass. Dro. S. 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. 'Tis So, I am an ass; else it could never be, But I should know her as well as she knows me. Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to scorn.- Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? 1 The old copy reads freed, which is evidently wrong; perhaps a corruption of proffered or offered. 2 The old copy reads “Dromio, thou Dromio." The emendation is Theobald's. Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate? pate. Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. ACT III. SCENE I. The same. [Exeunt. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR. Ant. E. Good seignior Angelo, you must excuse us all; My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours. And that to-morrow you will bring it home. Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? I know; That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show. If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, Your own hand writing would tell you what I think. Dro. E. I should kick, being kicked; and, being at that pass, You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. Ant. E. You are sad, seignior Balthazar. 'Pray God, our cheer May answer my good will, and your good welcome here. Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. Ant. E. O seignior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. Bal. Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words. Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a merry feast. Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest. But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; Better cheer you may have, but not with better heart. But, soft; my door is locked. Go bid them let us in. Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'! Dro. S. [Within.] Mome,' malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! 2 Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch. Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? my master stays in the street. Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet. Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door. Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell me wherefore. 1 A mome was a fool or foolish jester. fool; whence the French mommeur. Momar is used by Plautus for a 2 Patch was a term of contempt often applied to persons of low condition, and sometimes applied to a fool. |