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 guilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their
bloods,

Excludes all pity from our threatening looks. 10
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns.
Nay, more:

If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again, if any Syracusian born

Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

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20

His goods confiscate to the Duke's dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valu'd 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.

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Duke. Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause Why thou departed'st from thy native home, 80 And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Ege. A heavier task could not have been impos'd Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable;

Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, s
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, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
By prosperous voyages I often made

To Epidamnum, till my factor's death

And the great care of goods at random left Drew me from kind embracements of my

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80

Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Fore'd 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 fast ned him unto a small spare mast,
Such as seafaring 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 dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 85
Fast'ned ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wished 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, O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

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96

Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

100

Ege. 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
leagues,

We were encount'red by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,

105

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 seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd

guests;

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115

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

Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; 135
Hopeless to find, yet loath 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

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146

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 I will favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy life by beneficial help.
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaol. I will, my lord.

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156

Ege. Hopeless and helpless doth Ægeon wend,

But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.

[SCENE II. The mart.]

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, DROMIO of Syracuse, and FIRST MERCHANT.

1. Mer. Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,

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

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,

And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 10
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.

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Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,

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And go, indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit.
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?
1. Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain mer-
chants,

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
And afterward consort you till bed-time.
My present business calls me from you now.

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[SCENE I. The house of Antipholus of Ephesus. Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

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?

ཁོ་ངག

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

Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst ot feel his meaning?

50

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

Adr. But say, I prithee, is he coming home? [55 seems he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is born-mad.

Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain !
Dro. E.

I mean not cuckold-mad; ut, sure, he is stark mad.

hen I desir'd him to come home to dinner, co e ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold. Tis dinner-time," quoth I; "My gold," quoth he.

Your meat doth burn," quoth I; "My gold!" quoth he.

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.] 85 Luc. Fie, how impatience loureth 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.

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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.
Luc. Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it

hence!

100

Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.

I know his eye doth homage otherwhere,
Or else what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know he promis'd 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 tho' gold bides still
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold; and no man that hath a name,

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By 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. 116

[SCENE II. A public place.]

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.

Ant. S. The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wand'red 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 receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to din-
ner?

10

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,

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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. [35 An you use 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 am I beaten?

Ant. S. Dost thou not know?

Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why?

40

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 you were so choleric.

Ant. S. By what rule, sir?

Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain a the plain bald pate of father Time himself. Ant. S. Let's hear it.

Dro. S. There's no time for a man to re cover his hair that grows bald by nature.

Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and re covery?

Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig a 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 scante men in hair he hath given them in wit.

Ant. S. Why, but there 's many a man hat more hair than wit.

Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath th wit to lose his hair.

Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy met plain dealers without wit.

Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner los 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.