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Are masters to their females, and their lords :
Then let your will attend on their accords.
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.
Adr. But, were, you wedded, you would bear some
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other where ?
Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Adr. Patience, unmov’d, no marvel though she
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 burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain :
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience, would'st relieve me:
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 ear : Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou could'st not feel his meaning?
Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them.
Adr. But say, I pr’ythee, is he coming nome ?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.
Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain ?
Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's
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 he:
Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he :
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?
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;
I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ;-
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare 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 beat
ing: 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 mé, 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. Luc. Fye, how impatience lowreth 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 marrd,
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 !-fye, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis-
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ;
Or else, what lets it but he would be here?
Sister, you know, he promised 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 though gold ’bides still,
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 jealousy!)
Enter AntiPHOLUS of Syracuse.
Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out.
By computation, and mine hosts 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 dinner ? My house was at the Phænix ? Wast thou mad, 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,
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt ; And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.
Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the
teeth ? Think’st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
[Beating him. Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is
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 gnats make sport,
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 : 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.