Have at you with a proverb ; Shall I set in my
Luce. Have at you with another : that 's
when ? can you tell ?
Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce,
thou hast answered him well.
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you '11 let
us in, I hope ?
Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. 8. And you said no.
Dro. E. So, come, help : well struck ! there
was blow for blow.
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce. Let him knock till it ache.
Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat
the door down.
Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks
in the town ?
Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door that
keeps all this noise ?
Dro. 8. By my troth, your town is troubled
with unruly boys.
Ant. E. Are you there, wife ? you might have
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from
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 part
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.
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 '11 break
ope the gate.
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I '11
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
Dro. 8. 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. 8. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and
fish have no fin.
Ant. E. Well, I 'llbreakin : 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 '11 pluck a crow
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone ; fetch me an iron
Bal. Have patience, sir ; O, let it not be so !
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this, Your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made 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
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 Avife but, I protest, without desert
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal :
To her will we to dinner. 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 '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me.
Ang. I '11 meet you at that place some hour
Ant. E. Do so. This jest shall cost me some
Scene 77. Ephesus.
Enter Luciano, 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
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ;
Muffle your false love with some show of blind-
Let not my sister read it in your eye ;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
Bea/r a fair presence, though your heart be
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint :
Be secret -false : what need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint?
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
ACT III., Sc. 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 ;
111 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, show 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,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers
Ant. 8. Sweet mistress, what your name is
else, I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show
Than our earth's wonder; more than earth
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit,
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 '11
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 dp I decline.
0, train 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 '11 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 droAvned if she sink !
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason
Ant. 8. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not
Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. 8. For gazing on your beams, fair sun,
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will
clear your sight.
Ant. 8. As good to wink, sweet love, as look
Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Ant. 8. Thy sister's sister.
Luc. That 's my sister.
Ant. 8. No ;
It is thyself, mine own self's better part,
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer
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. 8. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am 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. O, soft, sir ! hold you still :
I '11 fetch my sister, to get her good-will. Exit.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Ant. 8. Why, how now, Dromio ! Avhere runn'st
thou so fast ?
Dro. 8. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ?
am I your man ? am I inyself ?
Ant. 8. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man,
thou art thyself.
Dro. 8. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and
Ant. S. What woman's man ? and how besides
Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due
to a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts
me, one that Avill have me.
Ant. 8. What claim lays she to thee ?
Dro. 8. Marry, sir, such claim as you Avould
lay to your horse ; and she would have me as a
beast : not that, I being a beast, she would have
me; but that she, being a very beastly creature,
lays claim to me.
Ant. S. What is she ?
Dro. S. A very reverent body : ay, such a one
as a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-
reverence. I have but lean luck in the match,
and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
Ant. 8. How dost thou mean a fat marriage?
Dro. 8. 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 Poland winter ; if
she lives till doomsday, she '11 burn a week longer
than the whole world.
Ant. S. What complexion is she of?
Dro. 8. 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.
Ant. 8. That 's a fault that water will mend.
Dro. 8. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood
could not do it.
Ant. 8. What 's her name ?
Dro. 8. Nell, sir ; but her name and three
quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will
not measure her from hip to hip.
Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ?
Dro. 8. No longer from head to foot, than from
hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe ; I could
find out countries in her.
Ant. 8. In what part of her body stands Scot-
Dro. 8. I found it by the barrenness ; hard in
the palm of the hand.
Ant. 8. Where France ?
Dro. 8. In her forehead ; armed and reverted,
making Avar against her heir.
Ant. 8. Where England ?
Dro. S. I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I
could find no whiteness in them ; but I guess, it
stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran be-
tween France and it.
Ant. S. Where Spain ?
Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not ; but I felt it hot
in her breath.
Ant. S. Where America, the Indies ?
Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er em-
bellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of
Spain, who sent whole armadoes of carracks to
be ballast at her nose.
ACT IV., Sc. 1.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Ant. 8. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ?
Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To
conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to
me ; call'd me Dromio ; swore I was assured to
her'; told me what privy marks I had about me,
as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck,
the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed,
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 transform' d me to a curtal-dog, and
made me turn i' the wheel.
Ant. 8. 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 :
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk till thou return to me.
If every one knows us, and we know none,.
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
Dro. 8. As from a bear a man would run for life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife. Exit.
Ant. 8. There 's none but witches do inhabit
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
She that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister,
Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace,
Of such enchanting presence and discourse,
Hath almost made me traitor to myself :
But, lest myself be guilty to self -wrong,
I '11 stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Ang. Master Antipholus,
Ant. S. 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 Porpentine :
The chain unfinished made me stay thus long.
Ant. 8. What is your will that I shall do with
Ang. What please yourself , sir : I have made, it
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not.
Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times
Go home with it, and please your wife withal ;
And soon at supper-time I '11 visit you,
And then receive my money for the chain.
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir : fare you well.
Ant. 8. What I should think of this, I cannot
But this I think, there 's no man is so vain
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see. a man here needs not live by shifts,
When in the street he meets such golden gifts.
I '11 to the mart, and there for Dromio stay :
If any ship put out, then straight away. Exit.
Scene I. A Public Place.
Enter Merchant, Angela and an Officer.
Mer. You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much import un'd you ;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage :
Therefore make present satisfaction,
Or I '11 attach you by this officer.
Ang. Even just the sum that I do owe to you,
Is growing to me by Antipholus ;
And in the instant that I met with you
He had of me a chain : at five o'clock
I shall receive the money for the same.
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of
Off, That labour may you save: see where he
Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house,
And buy a rope's end, that I will bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of my doors by day.
But soft, I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone ;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. -
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy
a rope I Exit.
Ant. E. A man is well holp up that trusts to
I promised your presence and the chain ;
But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
Belike you thought our love would last too long,
If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humour, here 's the
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat.
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
Than I stand debted to this gentleman :
I pray you, see him presently discharged,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish' d with the present
Besides, I have some business in the town.
Good-signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof :
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
Ang. Then, you will bring the chain to her
Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not
Ang. Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain
about you ?
Ant. E, An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ;
Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good lord 1 you use this dalliance, to
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.
I should have chid you for not bringing it,
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on ; I pray you, sir,
Ang. You hear how he importunes me : the
Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
ACT IV., Sc. 2.
Ang. Come, come, you know I gave it you even
Either send the chain, or send by me some token.
Ant. E. Fie ! now you run this humour out of
Come, where 's the chain? I pray you, let me
Her. My business cannot brook this dalliance.
Good sir, say whether you '11 answer me, or no :
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer.
Ant. E. I answer you ! what should I answer
Ang. The money that you owe me for the
Ant . E. I owe you none till I receive the chain.
Ang. You know I gave it you half an hour
Ant. E. You gave me none : you wrong me
much to say so.
Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it :
Consider how it stands upon my credit.
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name
to obey me.
Ang. This touches me in reputation.
Either consent to pay this sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.
Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had !
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.
Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer.
I would not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.
Off. I do arrest you, sir : you hear the suit.
Ant. E. I do obey thee till I give thee bail.
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear,
As all the metal in your shop will answer.
Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. 8. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage,
I have convey 'd aboard ; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae.
The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind
Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
Ant. E. How now ! a madman ! Why, thou
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ?
Dro. 8. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a
And told thee to what purpose, and what end.
Dro. 8. You sent me for a rope's end as soon ;
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight :
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
That 's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
There is a purse of ducats ; let her send it :
Tell her I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave, begone.
On, officer, to prison till it come.
Exeunt Mer., Ang., 0/f. and Ant. E.
Dro. 8. To Adriana ! that is where we din'd,
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband :
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Thither I must, although against my will,
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.
Scene II. The House of Antipholus of
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ?
Might' st thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ?
Look'd he or red, or pale, or sad, or merrily ?
What observation mad'st thou, in this case,
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ?
Luc. First he denied you had in him no right.
Adr. He meant he did me none ; the more my
Luc. Then swore he that he was a stranger here.
Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn
Luc. Then pleaded I for you.
Adr. And what said he ?
Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.
Adr. Didst speak him fair ?
Luc. Have patience, I beseech.
Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere ;
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one ?
No evil lost is wailed when it is gone.
Adr. Ah, but I think him better than I say,
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away :
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do
Enter Dromio of Syrac'ti^e.
Dro. S. Here, go ; the desk ! the purse ! sweet,
now, make haste.
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ?
Dro. 8. By running fast.
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? Is he
Dro. 8. No, he 's in Tartar limbo, worse than
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him ;
One whose hard heart is button' d up with steel ;
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ;
A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff ;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun-
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands ;
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-
foot well ;
One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls
ACT IV., Sc. 3.
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter?
Dro. S. I do not know the matter ; he is
'rested on the case.
Adr. What, is he arrested ? tell me at whose
Dro. 8. I know not at whose suit he is arrested
But he 's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that
can I tell.
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the
money in his desk ?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. [Exit Luciana.]
This I wonder at :
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
Tell me, was he arrested on a band ?
Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger
A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring ?
Adr. What, the chain ?
Dro. 8. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I were
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never
Dro. S. O yes ; if any hour meet a sergeant, a'
tunis back for very fear.
Adr. As if Time were in debt ! how fondly dost
thou reason !
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes
more than he 's worth, to season.
Nay, he 's a thief too : have you not heard men
That time comes stealing on by night and day ?
If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a
Adr. Go, Dromio ; there 's the money, bear it
And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit,
Conceit, my comfort and my injury. Exeunt.
Scene III. A Public Place.
Enter Antipholus of Syracuse.
Ant. S. There 's not a man I meet but doth I
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me ; some invite me ;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ;
Some offer me commodities to bxiy :
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And therewithal took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary Aviles,
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. 8. Master, here 's the gold you sent me
What, have you got the picture of old Adam new
Ant. 8. What gold is this ? What Adam dost
thou mean ?
Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the Paradise,
but that Adam that keeps the prison : he that
goes in the calf's skin that was killed for the
prodigal : he that came behind you, sir, like an
evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.
Ant. S. I understand thee not.
Dro. 8. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that
went, like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the
man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives
them a fob, and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes
pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of
durance ; he that sets up his rest to do more ex-
ploits with his mace than a morris-pike.
Ant. S. What, thou meanest an officer ?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he
that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his
band ; one that thinks a man always going to
bed, and says, God give you good rest !
Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery.
Is there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be
Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour
since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-
night; and then were you hindered by the ser-
geant, to tarry for the hoy Delay. Here are the
angels that you sent for, to deliver you.
Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ;
And here we wander in illusions :
Some blessed power deliver us from hence !
Enter a Courtezan.
Cou. Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now ;
Is that the chain you promised me to-day ?
Ant. S: Satan, avoid ! I charge thee tempt me
Dro. S. Master, is this Mistress Satan?
Ant. S. It is the devil.
Dro. S. Nay, she is Avorse, she is the devil's
dam ; and here she comes in the habit of a light
wench : and thereof comes that the wenches say,
God damn me ; that 's as much as to say, God
make me a light wench. It is written, they ap-
pear to men like angels of light : light is an effect
of fire, and fire wUl burn ; ergo, light wenches
will burn. Come not near her.
Cou. Your man and you are marvellous merry,
Will you go with me ? we '11 mend our dinner
Dro. S. Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat ;
or bespeak a long spoon.
Ant. S. Why, Dromio ?
Dro. 8. Marry, he must have a long spoon that
must eat with the devil.
Ant. 8. Avoid thee, fiend! what tell'st thon
me of supping ?
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress :
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.