Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; that Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.

Men. O thou un taught! What manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave?

Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities,

And know their spring, their head, their true descent;

And then will I be general of your woes,

And lead you even to death: mean time forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.—
Ering forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me, of this direful murder;
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself excused.

Prince. Then say at once what thou dost know

in this.

Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale.

Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:
I married them; and their stolen-marriage-day
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city;
Par whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You-to remove that siege of grief from her,-
Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce,
To county Paris :--Then comes she to me;

And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second marriage,

Or, in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping-potion: which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her

The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come as this dire night,
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my letter, friar John,
Was staid by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my letter back then all alone,
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came to take her from her kindred's vault;
Yeaning to keep her closely at my cell,
Tal I conveniently could send to Romeo:
But, when I came (some minute ere the time
Of her awakening), here untimely lay
The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
And bear this work of heaven with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;

• Seat.

And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But (as it seems), did violence on herself.
All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prince. We still have known thee for a holy

man.

Where's Romeo's man? What can he say in this.
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death;
And then in post he came from Mantua,
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father;
And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it.Where is the county's page, that raised the watch ?

Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's

grave;

And bid me stand aloof, and so do I:
Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb;
And, by and by, my master drew on him;
And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,

Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he writes-that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.-
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague !-
See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with
love!

And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen :-All are punish'd.
Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand :
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.

Mon. But I can give thee more:
For I will raise her statue in pure gold;
That, while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it

brings;

The sun for sorrow will not shew his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

• Mercutio and Paris.

[Exeunt.

ACT I.

SCENE I-A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, ÆGEON, GAOLER, Officers, and other Attendants.

Ege. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.
Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial, to infringe our laws :
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,—
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,→→
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan martst and fairs;
Again, If any Syracusan born

Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose:
Unless a thousand marks be levied,

To quit the penalty, and to ransome him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.
Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are
done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home;
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.
Ege. A heavier task could not have been im-
posed,

Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.

In Syracusa was I born; and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,

And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting, under
The pleasing punishment that women bear),
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
Name of a coin.
+ Markets.

1 Natural affection.

braced,

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,
Forced 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 sea-faring 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 disposed, 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,
Dispersed those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd 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,-0, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.
Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break o

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Age. 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 league
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 helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd 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.

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

Do me the favour to dilate at full

What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and impórtuned me,
That his attendant, (for 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 loved.
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 loth to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here 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 Egeon, whom the fates have
mark'd

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,
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,

And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die:-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.

Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Egeon wendt, Bat to procrastinate his lifeless end.

SCENE II.—A public Place.

[Exeunt.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of SYRACUSE, and a MERCHANT.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidam

num,

Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusan 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.

And afterwards consort you till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.
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 Merchant.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con-
tent,

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.

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

Dro. E. Return'd so soon I 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;
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. 0,-six-pence, that I had o' Wednesday

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 darest 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,

And strike you home without a messenger.
Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out
of season;

Reserve them till a merrier hour than this:
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?
Dro. E. To me, Sir? why you gave no gold to

me.

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.

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¶,

Being forbid? There, take you that, Sir knave. Dro. E. What mean you, Sir? for God's sake, hold your hands;

Nay, an you will not, Sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit Dromio Eph.

Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say, this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye,

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!
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.
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' subject, and at their controls:
Men, more divine, and masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild watry 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

some sway.

Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other

where ?

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. Adr. Patience unmoved, no marvel though she

pause;

They can be meek, that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry;
But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me :
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try ;Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.

Enter DROMIO of EPHESUS.

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness.

Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him? Know'st thou his mind?

Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?

Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.

Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home! It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn

mad.

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain?

Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's stark mad:

When I desired him to come home to dinner,
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Your meat doth burn, quoth ; My gold, quoth he:
Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he:
Where is the thousand marks I gate thee, villain?
The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold, quoth he:
My mistress, Sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress;
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!
Luc. Quoth who?

1. e. Scarce stand under them.

Dro. E. Quoth my master:

I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ‚—
So that iny errand, due unto my tongue,

I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him

home.

Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home! For God's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating:

Between you I shall have a holy head.

Adr. Hence, prating peasant; fetch thy master home.

Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me,

That like a football you do spurn me thus ? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit.

Luc. Fie, how impatience lowreth in your face! Adr. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took From my poor cheek? Then he hath wasted it: Are my discourses dull? Barren my wit? If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. Do their gay vestments his affections bait That's not my fault, he's master of my state What ruins are in me that can be found By him not ruin'd? Then is he the ground Of my defeatures: my decayed fair A sunny look of his would soon repair: But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale t. Luc. Self-arming jealousy !-Fie, heat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis

pense.

I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
Or else, what lets it but he would be here!
Sister, you know he promised me a chain ;-
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see, the jewel, best enamelled,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides still,
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold and so no man, that hath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!)
[Exeunt.

SCENE IL-The same.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of SYRACUSB.
Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,

I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart: see, here he comes
Enter DROMIO of SYRACUSE.

How now, Sir? Is your merry humour alter'd!
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? You received no gold!
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Phonix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me!

Dro. S. What answer, Sir? When spake I such a word?

Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence,

Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's re

ceipt;

And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein :
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the

teeth f

that.

Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and [Beating him. Fair, for fairness. § Hinders.

• Alteration of features. Stalking-horse.

Dro. S. Hold, Sir, for God's sake: now your jest is earnest :

Upon what bargain do you give it me?

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, Your sauciness will jest 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. Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? So you would leave battering, I had rather have it a head: an you ase these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, Sir, why an I beaten?

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 rhyme nor reason?➡

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

ume?

Dro. S. No, Sir; I think, the meat wants that
I have.

Ant. S. In good time, Sir, what's that 1
Dro. S. Basting.

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.

Ant. S. Well, Sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things.

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

Ant. S. By what rule, Sir?

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, by a rule as plain as the 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 peruke, and recover the lost hair of another man.

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

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.

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet

he loseth it in a kind of jollity.

Ant. S. For what reason!

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

Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.

Dro. S. Sure ones then.

Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
Dro. S. Certain ones then.

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.

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.

• i. e. Intrude on them when you please.

+ Study my countenance.

A scone was a fortification.

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

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,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was once, when thou unurged wouldst 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,
Uniess I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carved to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,
That, undividable, incorporate,
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 gulph,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,

As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious;
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminatel
Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn 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,
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 dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.

Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know

Dro. 8. 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, To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate: If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, Usurping ivy, briar, or idlet moss; 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 1 now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ?