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. 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. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out upon thee, hind! Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a crow. Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean you so ? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a feather: Herein you war against your reputation, The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this, Your long experience of her wisdom, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; Be rul'd by me; depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner : And dwell upon your grave, when you are dead: For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet, And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry. I know a wench of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle ;- For there's the house; that chain will I bestow Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence. Ant. E. Do so; This jest shall cost me some expence. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The same. Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse. If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kind ness: 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; Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Be secret-false: What need she be acquainted? Being compact of credit, that you love us; Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, 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 show not, The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Far more, far more, to you do I decline. Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And, in that glorious supposition, think, He gains by death, that hath such means to die :- Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Luc. That's my sister. Ant. S. No; It is thyself, mine own self's better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit Luc. Enter, from the House of ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st thou so fast? Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides thy self? Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one, that claims me; one, that haunts me; one, that will have me. Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee? |