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To give me ample satisfaction
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 Heard you confess you had the chain of him, After
first forswore it on the mart,
Ant. E, I never came within these abbey walls,
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this ! I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. If here you hous'd him, here he would have been; If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly:You say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here Denies that saying :-Sirrah, what say you? Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por
cupine. Cour. He did; and from my finger snatch'd that
ring. Ant. E. '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
hither; I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
[Erit an Attendant. Æge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a
word; Haply I see a friend will save my life, And
pay the sum that may deliver me. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
Æge. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus? And is not that your bondman Dromio?
Dro. E. 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.
Æge. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
Dro. E. 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? Æge. Why look you strange on me? you know
me well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Æge. Oh! grief hath chang'd me, since you saw
Ant. E. Neither.
Dromio, nor thou?
I am sure, thou dost. Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure, I do not;
and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to beJieve him, Æge. Not know my voice! O, time's extre
mity! Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue, In seven short years, that here my only son Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares? Though now this grained face of mine be hid In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, And all the conduits of my blood froze up; Yet hath my night of life some memory, My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses (I cannot err,) Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
Æge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st, we parted: but, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the
Enter the Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS Syracusan,
and Dromio Syracusan. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong'd.
[All gather to see him. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me.
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other;
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away.
Æge. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia;
Alb. By men of Epidamnum, he, and I,
I, to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right; These two Antipholus's, these two so like, And these two Dromio's, one in semblance, Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, These are the parents to these children, Which accidentally are met together. Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.
Ant. S. No, sir, not I; I came from Syracuse. Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is which. Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious
lord. Dro. E. And I with him. Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most fa
Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to-day?
And are not you my husband?
Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so;
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.