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Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be,
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee: Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife: Give me thy hand. Luc.
O, soft, sir, hold you still; I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.
Enter, from the house of Antipholus of Ephesus,
Dromio of Syracuse. Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st thou so fast?
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir? am I Dromio? am I your man? am I myself? Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou
art thyself. Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and besides myself. Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides
thyself? Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one that will have me.
Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: not that, I being a beast, she would have me; but that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim to me.
Ant. S. What is she?
a man may not speak of, without he say, sirreverence: I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage?
Dro. S. 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 Poland winter: if she lives till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the whole world.
Ant. S. What complexion is she of?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend.
Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood could not do it.
Ant. S. What's her name?
Dro. S. Nell, sir;—but her name and three quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip.
Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth?
Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could find out countries in her.
Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs.
Ant. S. Where Scotland?
Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in the palm of the hand.
Ant. S. Where France?
Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, making war against her hair.
Ant. S. Where England?
Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them: but I guess, it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France and it.
Ant. S. Where Spain?
Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in her breath.
Ant. S. Where America, the Indies?
Dro. S. O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish'd with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent whole armada's of carracks to be ballast at her nose.
Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ?
Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assur’d to her; told me what privy marks I had about me, as the mark on my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transform’d me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel.
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; And if the wind blow any way from shore, I will not harbour in this town to-night. If
put forth, come to the mart, Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
If every one know us, and we know none, 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life, So fly I from her that would be my wife. [E.rit.
Ant.S. There's none but witches do inhabit here; And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. She, that doth call me husband, even my soul Doth for a wife abhor: but her fair sister, Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself: But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.
Ang. I know it well, sir: Lo, here is the chain;
this? Ang. What please yourself, sir; I have made it
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.
Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir; fare
[Erit. Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot
tell: But this I think, there's no man is so vain, That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit.