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Whose beard they have fing'd off with brands of fire,
Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here, And that is false thou dost report to us.
Mel. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true;
[Cry within. Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress ; fly, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: guard with
halberds. Adr. Ay me, it is my husband; witness you, That he is borne about invisible ! Ev'n now we hous’d him in the abbey here, And now he's there, past thought of human reason.
Enter Antipholis and Dromio of Ephesus.
Ægeon. Unless the fear of death doth make me doat,
there ; She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife; That hath abused and dishonour'd me, Ev'n in the strength and height of injury. Beyond imagination is the wrong, That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
E. Ant. This day, great Duke, she shut the doors
upon me; Whilft she with harlots feasted in
house. Duke. A grievous fault; say, woman, didst thou fo?
Adr. No, my good Lord: myself, he and my sister, To-day did dine together : fo befal my soul, As this is false he burdens me withal !
Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, , But she tells to your Highness simple truth !
Ang. O perjur d woman ! they are both forsworn. In this the madman juftly chargerh them.
E. Ant. My Liege, I am advised what I say, Neither disturb’d with the effect of wine, Nor, heady-raih, provok'd with raging ire; Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock d me out this day from dinner; That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, Could witness it; for he was with me then ; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him; in the street I met him, And in his company that gentleman. There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, That I this day from him receiv'd the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey, and sent my peasant home For certain ducats; he with none return’d. Then fairly I bespoke the officer, To go in person with me to my
house. By th’ way we met my wife, her sister, and A rabble more of vile confederates : They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-face'd villain, • A mere anatomy, a mountebank, (A thread bare juggler, and a fortune-teller, • A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, ' A living dead man. This pernicious flave, Forsooth, took on hiin as a conjurer; And, gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me,
Cries out, I was possess'd. Then all together
Ang. My Lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him; That he din'd not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?
Ang. He had, my Lord; and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck.
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine
you first forswore it on the mart;
E. Ant. I never came within these abbey-walls,
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this?
pine. Gour. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. E. Ant. 'Tis true, my Liege, this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here? Cour. As sure, my Liege, as I do see your Grace. Duke. Why, this is strange; go call the Abbess hi
ther : I think you are all mated or stark mad.
[Exit one to the Abbess.
both of you
S CE N E VI. Ægeon. Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a
word : Haply I fee a friend will save my life, And pay
the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracufan, what thou wilt.
Ægeon. Is not your name, Sir, callid Antipholis? And is not that your bondman Dromio?
E. Dro. Within this hour I was his bondman, Sir, But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords ; Now am I Dromio, and his man unbound. Ægeon. I am sure you
remember me. E. Dro. Ourselves we do remember, Sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, Sir ? Ægeon. Why look you ftrange on me? you know me
well. E. Ant. I never saw you in my life till now. Ægeon. Oh! grief hath change'd me since you saw
E. Ant. Neither.
E. Dro. I, Sir; but I am sure I do not: and whatfoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.
Ægeon. Not know my voice! Oh, Time's extremity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue In seven short years, that here my only fon Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? • Tho' now this grained face of mine be hid • In fap-consuming winter's drizled snow, • And all the conduits of my blood froze up; " Yet hath my night of life some memory; . My wasting lamp fome fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these hold witnesses I cannot err, • Tell me thou art my son Antipholis.?
E. Ant. I never saw my father in my life. Ægeon. But seven years since, in Syracusa bay, Thou know'st, we parted; but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st tacknowledge me in misery.
E. Ant. The Duke, and all that know me in the city,
S CE N E VII. Enter the Abbess, with Antipholis Syracusan, and
Dromio Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty Duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
[ All gather to see him. Adr. I fee two husbands, or mine eyes deceive
Duke. One of these men is genius' to the other;
S. Dro. I, Sir, am Dromio, command him away.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning-story right: These two Antipholis's, these two fo like, And those two Dromio's, one in semblance; Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, These plainly are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together.
Ægeon. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia ; If thou art she, tell me where is that son