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Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we
cannot get in. Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar
ments were thin. Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in
the cold: It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought
and sold. Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break
your knave's pate. Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir;
and words are but wind; Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not
behind. Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking; Out upon
thee, hind! Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee! I pray
thee, let me in. Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and
fish have no fin. Ant. E. Well, I'll break in; Go borrow me a
crow. Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean
? For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a
feather: If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow to
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone,
fetch me an iron crow. Bal. Have patience, sir; 0, let it not be so; Herein you war against your reputation, And draw within the compass of suspect The unviolated honour of your wife. Once this, —Your long experience of her wisdom, Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse Why at this time the doors are made against you. Be rul'd by me; depart in patience, And let us to the Tiger all to dinner: And, about evening, come yourself alone, To know the reason of this strange restraint. If by strong hand you offer to break in, Now in the stirring passage of the day, A vulgar comment will be made on it; And that supposed by the common rout Against your yet ungalled estimation, That may
with foul intrusion enter in, And dwell upon your grave
when For slander lives upon succession; For ever housd, where it once gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet, And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry. I know a wench of excellent discourse, Pretty and witty; wild, and, yet too, gentle;There will we dine: this woman that I mean, My wife (but, I protest, without desert,) Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; To her will we to dinner.--Get you home, [to Ang. And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made:
you are dead:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
hence. Ant. E. Do so; This jest shall cost me some expence.
Enter Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse. Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus, hate, Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate? If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more
kindness : Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your
false love with some show of blind
Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger:
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint;
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.
us; Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; We in your motion turn, and
you may move us. Then, gentle brother, get you in again;
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife: 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else,
I know not, Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show
not, Than our earth's wonder; more than earth di
vine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded 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 power I'll yield. But if that I am I, then well I know,
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, Nor to her bed no homage do I owe;
Far more, far more, to you do I decline. O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote:
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie;
And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die:
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! Luc. What are you mad, that you do reason
so? Ant. S. Not mad, but mated; how, I do not
know. Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being
by. Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear
your sight. Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on
night. Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. Luc.
That's my sister. Ant. S.
No; It is thyself, mine own selfs better part; Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.