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Adr. [Within.] Who is that at the door, that keeps
all this noise ? S. Dro. By my troth, your town is troubled with
unruly boys. E. Ant. Are you there, wife? you might have come
before. Adr, Your wife, Sir Knave! go, get you from the
E. Ant. Go
fetch me an iron crown
get you from the door. E. Dro. If you went in pain, matter, this knave would go fore, Ang. Here is neither cheer, Sir, nor welcome; we would fain have
either. Bal. In debating which was beft, we shall have part with neither. E. Dro. They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hiæ
E. Dro. You would say ro, maft-r, if your garments were thin,
E. Ant. Go fetch me something, I'll break upe the gate.
Ay, and break it in your face, fo he break it not behind.
E Dio. Here's iso much, out upon tbee! I pray thee let me in.
E Dro. A crow without feather, m. fter, mean you fo?
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
E. Ant. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
hence. E. Ant. Do fo , this jest shall cost me fome expence.
SCE N E II,
did wed my fisier for her wealth, Then for her wealth's fake use her with more kind. ness;
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth;
Muslle your false love with some thew of blindness; Let not my sister read it in your eye ;
Be not thy tongue thy own thame's orator;
Apparel vice, like virtue's harbinger ;
Teach fin the carriage of a holy faint;
What simple thief brags of his own attaint? '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 ;
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word : Alas, poor women ! make us but believe,
Being compact of credit, that you love us ; Tho others have the arm, shew us the fleeve :
We in your motion turn, and you inay move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
Comfort my filter, chear her, call her wife; 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. S. Ant. Sweet mistress (what your name is elfe, I
Nor by what wonder you do hit of inine), [know not; Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine. Teach me dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The foulded 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 pow'r I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know,
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine ; .
Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
To drown me in thy fister's flood of tears;
And And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie:
And in that glorious fuppofition * think,
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink.
your sight. S. Ant. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on
Luc. All this iny sister is, or else should be.
S. Ant. Call thyself fister, sweet; for I mean thee:
Luc. Oh, foft, Sir, hold you still;
[Exit. Luciana. SCENE III. Enter Dromio of Syracuse. S. Ant. Why, how now, Dromio, where run'st thou so fast ?
S. Dro. Do you know me, Sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?
S. Ant. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself.
S. Dro. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and befides myself.
S. Ant What woman's man? and how befides thyfelf? S. Dro. Marry, Sir, besides myself; I am due to a * Suppofition, for the thing lain open.
woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, une that will have me.
S. int. What claim lays she to thee?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, such a claim as you would lay to your horfe ; and she would have me as a beait: not that, I being a beast, she would have 'me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
S. Ant. What is the ?
S. Dro. A very reverend body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of, without he lay, Sir reverence: I have but lean luck in the match; and yet is the a wondrous fat marriage.
S. Ant. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage ?
S. Dro. 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 Lapland winter: if the lives till doomsday, The'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
S. Ant. What complexion is the of?
S. Dro. 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.
S. Ant. That's a fault that water will mend.
S. Dro. No, Sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.
S. Ant. What's her name?
S. Dro. Nell, Sir ;-but her name and three quarters (that is, an ell and three quarters) will not measure her from hip to hip.
S. Ant. Then she bears some breadth ?
S. Dro. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe: I could find out countries in her.
S. Ant. In what part of her body stands Ireland ?
S. Dro. Marry, Sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.
S. Ant. Where Scotland ?
S. Dro. I found it out by the barrenness, hard in the palm of her hand. S. Ant. Where France ?