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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 dispos'd, 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,
Dispers'd 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,-O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by what went before.

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

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
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 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 seiz'd 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 sor-
rowest for,

[care,

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
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and impórtun'd 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 hím :
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming cleant through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
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 Ægeon, 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,
+ Clear, completely.

• Deprived.

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 :-
Jailer, take him to thy custody.

Jail. I will, my lord.

Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Ægeon wend,*

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But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A public Place.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse,
and a MERCHANT.

Mer. Therefore, give out, yon are of Epi-
damnum,

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.

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

[Exit DRO. S.

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,§
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 con-
[Exit MERCHANT.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own

tent.

content,

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! 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:
+ The sign of their hotel.
Exchange, market-place.

* Go.

I. c. Servant.

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 ;

[you? Where have you left the money that I gave Dro. E. 0,-sixpence, 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 dar'st 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.

Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,

the mart

And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from
[ner;
Home to your house, the Phoenix, Sir, to din.
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.
Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer

me

[ney; In what safe place you have bestow'd my moOr I will break that merry sconce of yours, That stands on tricks when I am indispos'd: Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon

my pate,

Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both.-If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou?

Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; [ner, She that doth fast, till you come home to din And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner.

Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,

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, E. 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,
Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind,
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body;
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such like liberties of sin :

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[Exil.

If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave;
I greatly fear, my money is not safe.
ACT II.

SCENE I.—A public Place.
Enter ADRIANA, and LUCIANA.
Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave re.
turn'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, [dinner, And from the mart he's somewhere gone to 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.

But hath its bound, in earth, in sea, in sky
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
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 watʼry 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 un-

wed.

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 practice to obey. Adr. How if your husband start some other where?

Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear.

she pause;

Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though They can be meek, that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; But were we burthen'd with like weight of pain, [plain : As much, or more, we should ourselves comSo thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, [me: With urging helpless patience would'st relieve 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 [it. Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand

ear:

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When I desir'd 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 I; My gold, quoth
The
Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, vil-
lain?

he:

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?

Dro. E. Quoth my master:

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,
[still,
Will lose his beauty; and though gold 'bides
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 jea-
lousy!
[Excunt.

SCENE II.--The same.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.

Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave [up
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 receiv'd no gold? mis-Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,

[tress; I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no So that my 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 do you 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 lowereth 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 fairt
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-arming jealousy!-fie, beat it
hence.

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?

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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.

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

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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 guats make sport, [beams. But creep in crannies, when he hides his If you will jest with me, know my aspect,t 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 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?

Dro. S. Ay, Sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore.

I. e. Intrude on them when you please.

+ Study my countenance.

A sconce was a fortification.

Ant. S. Why, first,--for flouting me; and | Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,

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-time?

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

Ant. S. In good time, Sir, what's that?
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 you were so choleric.

Ant. S. By what rule, Sir?

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I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst
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,
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd 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,
Should'st thou but hear I were licentious?
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate?
Would'st 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,

Dro. S. Marry, Sir, by a rule as plain as the And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, 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 be stows 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.

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 concluBut soft! who wafts us yonder? [sion:

Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.

[it.

And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do
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
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured. [bed;
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame? I know

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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, thon liest; for even her very
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. [words
Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life.
Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by our
Unless it be by inspiration?

[names,

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 con-
tempt.

Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine;
Whose weakness, married to my stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:

Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,

frown;

* Beckons

Usurping ivy, brier, or idle* moss;

* Unfertile.

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 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 offer'd 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, [blue. They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and an

swer'st not?

[sot! Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou 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 chang'd to aught, 'tis to an

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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-advis'd?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!
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.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-The same. Enter ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, DROMIO of Ephesus, ANGELO, and BALTHAZAR.

Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse us all ;

My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours: Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop, To see the making of her carkanet,+

And that to-morrow you will bring it home. But here's a villain, that would face me down He met me on the mart; and that I beat him. And charg'd him with a thousand marks in

gold;

And that I did deny my wife and house :Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?

That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:

If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, [think. Your own handwriting would tell you what I Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear

By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,

You would keep from my heels, and beware of

an ass.

Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : 'Pray God, our cheer

May answer my good will, and your good welcome here.

A

Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, Sir. and your welcome dear.

Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,

table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

Bal. Good meat, Sir, is common; that every churl affords.

Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

Bal. Small cheer, and great welcome, makes a merry feast.

Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing guest:

But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; [heart. Better cheer may you have, but not with better But, soft; my door is lock'd; Go bid them let

us in.

Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Jen'!

Dro. S. [Within.] Mome,+ malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch !‡ Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch:

Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store,

When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door.

Dro. E. What patch is made our porter? My

master stays in the street.

Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on's feet.

Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the door.

Dro. S. Right, Sir, I'll tell you when, and you'll tell me wherefore.

Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have not din'd to-day.

Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not; come again, when you may.

Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from the house I owe?

Dro. S. The porter for this time, Sir, and my name is Dromio.

Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; [blame. The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. Luce. [Within.] What a coil is there? Dromio, who are those at the gate? Dro. E. Let my master in, Luce. Luce. Faith no; he comes too late; And so tell your master.

Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh :-

Dro. E. Say what you will, Sir, but I know Have at you with a proverb.-Shall I set in

what I know:

my staff?

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