Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,

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 answer'st not? Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot?

DRO. S. I am transformed, master, am not I?
ANT. S. I think thou art in mind, and so am I.

DRO. S. Nay, master, both in mind and in my 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.

ADR. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man and master laugh my woes to scorn.
Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate:
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter.
Come, sister; Dromio, play the porter well.

ANT. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking? mad or well advised?
Known unto these, and to myself disguised?

I'll say as they say, and perséver so,

And in this mist at all adventures go.

DRO. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate?
ADR. Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late!

[Exeunt.]

EVE'S MIRROR.

JOHN MILTON.

'HAT day I oft remember, when from sleep

THA

I first awaked, and found myself reposed

Under a shade of flow'rs. Not distant far a murm'ring sound

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread

Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved

Pure as the expanse of Heav'n. I thither went

On the green bank, to look into the clear,
Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky.
As I bent down to look, just opposite

A shape within the wat'ry gleam appeared,
Bending to look on me. I started back.

It started back; but pleased I soon returned.
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks
Of sympathy and love. There I had fixed
Mine eyes till now, had not a voice

*

* * *

Thus warned me: "What there thou seest,
Fair creature, is thyself; with thee it came
And goes. But follow me and I will bring
Thee where no shadow stays thy coming."
* What could I do
But follow straight invisibly thus led?
Till I espied thee, Adam, fair and tall,
Under a platane; yet methought less fair,
Less winning soft, less amiably mild,

Than that smooth, watery image. Back I turned:
Thou following criedst aloud, "Return, fair Eve;
Whom fly'st thou? Whom thou fly'st of him thou art;
Part of my soul, I seek thee and thee claim,
My other half." With that thy gentle hand
Seized mine. I yielded, and from that time see
How beauty is excelled by manly grace

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.

DORCAS AND GREGORY.

MOLIÈRE.

SCENE 1.

GREGORY. I tell you no! I won't comply, and it's my busi

ness to talk and command.

DORCAS. And I tell you, you shall conform to my will, and that I was not married to you to suffer your ill-humors!

GREG. Oh, the intolerable fatigue of matrimony! Aristotle never said a better thing in his life than when he told us that a wife is worse than a fiend.

DOR.

Hear the learned gentleman, with his Aristotle !

GREG. And a learned man I am, too; find me out a maker of fagots that's able, like myself, to reason upon things, or that can boast such an education as mine.

DOR. An education!

GREG. Ay, a regular education; first, at a school where I learned to read; then, with a gentleman at Oxford, where I learned very near as much as my teacher; from whence I attended a travelingphysician six years, under the facetious denomination of a Merry Andrew, where I learned physic.

DOR. O that thou hadst followed him still! Alas, alas! the hour wherein I answered the parson "I will!

GREG. And plagued be the parson that asked me the question! DOR. You have reason to complain of him, indeed, who ought to be on your knees every inoment returning thanks to Heaven for that great blessing it sent you when it sent you myself. I hope you have not the assurance to think you deserve such a wife! GREG. No, really, I don't think I do.

DOR. [sings; air, "Bessy Bell "].

When a lady like me condescends to agree

To let such a jackanapes woo her,

With what zeal and care should he worship the fair,

With his love i' good faith to endue her.
His actions should still attend on her will-
Hear, sirrah, and take it for warning,-
To her he should be each night on his knee,
And so he should be on each morning.

GREG. Come, come, madam; it was a lucky day for you when you found me out.

DOR. Lucky, indeed! a fellow who eats everything I have! GREG That happens to be a mistake, for I drink some part on't. DOR. That has not even left me a bed to lie on.

[Sobs.]

DOR. And who from morning till night is eternally in an alehouse. [Still sobs.]

GREG. It's genteel-the squire does the same.

DOR. Pray, sir, what are you willing I shall do with my family? GREG. Whatever you please.

[Angrily.]

DOR. My four little children that are continually crying for bread!

GREG. Give 'em a rod! Best cure in the world for crying children!

DOR. And do you imagine, brute, [angrily]

GREG. Hark ye, my dear; you know my temper is not over and above passive, and that my arm is extremely active.

DOR. [derisively]. I laugh at your threats [enraged], you poor, beggarly, insolent fellow!

GREG. [tantalizingly]. Soft object of my wishing eyes, I shall play with your pretty ears.

DOR. [angrily]. Touch me if you dare, you insolent, lazy, impudent,

GREG. Oh, ho, ho! You will have it then, I find! [Beats her.] DOR. Oh, murder! murder! murder!

SCENE 2.

[Enter SQUIRE ROBERT.]

SQUIRE ROBERT. What's the matter here? Fie upon you, fie upon you, neighbor, to beat your wife in this scandalous manner! DOR. Well, sir, and I have a mind to be beat, and what then? SQ. ROB. O dear, madam! I give my consent with all my heart and soul.

DOR. What's that to you, sauce-box? Is it any business of yours? SQ. ROB. No, certainly, madam, it is not! ButDOR. Here's an impertinent fellow for you! Won't suffer a husband to beat his own wife!

[Sings; air," Winchester Wedding."]

Go thrash your own rib, sir, at home,
Nor thus interfere with our strife,

May misery still be his doom

Who strives to part husband and wife.

Suppose I've a mind he should drub,

Whose bones are they, sir, he's to lick?

At whose expense is it, you scrub?

You are not to find him a stick!

SQ. ROB. [to GREG]. Neighbor, I ask your pardon heartily. Here, take and thrash your wife; beat her, as you ought to do. GREG. No, sir, I won't beat her.

SQ. ROB. O sir, that's another thing. Now you're manly, and—