Ephesus.

Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, O, grant me justice! 190 Even for the service that long since I did thee, When I bestrid thee in the wars and took Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. Æge. Unless the fear of death doth make me I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. [dote, Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there!

She whom thou gavest to me to be my wife,
That hath abused and dishonor'd me
Even in the strength and height of injury! 200
Beyond imagination is the wrong

That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.

Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me, While she with harlots feasted in my house. Duke. A grievous fault! Say, woman, didst thou so? Adr. No, my good lord: myself, he and my

sister

To-day did dine together. So befall my soul

As this is false he burdens me withal!

Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night,

210

But she tells to your highness simple truth! Ang. O perjured woman! They are both forsworn:

In this the madman justly chargeth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say,
Neither disturbed with the effect of wine,
Nor heady-rash, provoked with raging ire,
Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner:
That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with
her,

Could witness it, for he was with me then; 220
Who parted with me to go fetch a chain,
Promising to bring it to the Porpentine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither.
I went to seek him: in the street I met him
And in his company that gentleman.
There did this perjured goldsmith swear me down
That I this day of him received the chain,
Which, God he knows, I saw not: for the which
He did arrest me with an officer.

230

I did obey, and sent my peasant home
For certain ducats: he with none return'd.

Then fairly I bespoke the officer

To go in person with me to my house.

By the way we met

My wife, her sister, and a rabble more

Of vile confederates. Along with them They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain,

A mere anatomy, a mountebank,

A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller,
A needy, hollow-eyed, sharp-looking wretch, 240
A living-dead man: this pernicious slave,
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer,
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse,
And with no face, as 'twere, outfacing me,

250

They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;
Till, gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
I gain'd my freedom and immediately
Ran hither to your grace; whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness
with him,

That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
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.
Sec. Mer. Besides, I will be sworn these
ears of mine

Heard you confess you had the chain of him 260
After you first forswore it on the mart:
And thereupon I drew my sword on you;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Ant. E. I never came within these abbey-
walls,

Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me:
I never saw the chain, so help me Heaven!
And this is false you burden me withal.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this?

I think you all have drunk of Circe's cup. 270 If here you housed 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 Porpentine.

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.

280

[Exit one to the Abbess. Ege. 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, Syracusian, what thou
wilt.

Ege. 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. 290 Ege. 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?

Ege. Why look you strange on me? know me well.

you

Ant. E. I never saw you in my life till now. Ege. O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,

And careful hours with time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures in my face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither.
301
No, trust me, sir, nor I.

Ege. Dromio, nor thou?
Dro. E.

Ege. 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 believe him.

Ege. Not know my voice! O time's extremity, 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 untuned cares? 310 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 lamps some fading glimmer left, My dull deaf ears a little use to hear: All these old witnesses-I cannot errTell me thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. Ege. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy,

320

Thou know'st we parted: but perhaps. my son,
Thou shamest to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke and all that know me in
the city

Can witness with me that it is not so:
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa:
I see thy age and dangers make thee dote.

Ege. If I dream not, thou art Æmilia: If thou art she, tell me where is that son That floated with thee on the fatal raft?

350

Abb. By men of Epidamnum he and I And the twin Dromio all were taken up; But by and by rude fishermen of Corinth By force took Dromio and my son from them, And me they left with those of Epidamnum. What then became of them I cannot tell; I to this fortune that you see me in.

Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right:

360

These two Antipholuses, these two so like,
And these two Dromios, 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 camest 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 by that most famous warrior,

Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. Adr. Which of you two did dine with me today?

371

Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. Adr. And are not you my husband? Ant. E. No; I say nay to that. Ant. S. And so do I; yet did she call me so: And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, Did call me brother. To Luc.] What I told

Ang. I think I did, sir; I deny it not. Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, By Dromio; but I think he brought it not. Dro. E. No, none by me.

Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from

you,

And Dromio my man did bring them me.
I see we still did meet each other's man,
And I was ta'en for him and he for me,
And thereupon these ERRORS are arose.
Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father
here.

Duke. It shall not need; thy father hath his life.

390 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from

you.

Ant. E. There, take it; and much thanks for my good cheer.

Abb. Renowned duke vouchsafe to take the pains

To go with us into the abbey here
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes:
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have suffer'd wrong, go keep us company,
And we shall make full satisfaction.

ACT I.

DOGBERRY, a constable. VERGES, a headborough. A Sexton.

A Boy.

HERO, daughter to Leonato.

BEATRICE, niece to Leonato.

MARGARET, gentlewomen attending on
URSULA,
Hero.

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.

SCENE I. Before LEONATO's house. Enter LEONATO, HERO, and BEATRICE, with a Messenger.

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.

Mess. He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him.

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. Leon. A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honor on a young Florentine called Claudio.

II

Mess. Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by Don Pedro: he hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better bettered expectation than you must expect of me to tell you how.

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.

Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much joy in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness.

Leon. Did he break out into tears?
Mess. In great measure.

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: there are no faces truer than those that are so washed. How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!

Beat. I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?

31

Mess. I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort.

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece? Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

Mess. O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's

fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady: but what is he to a lord?

Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honorable virtues.

Beat. It is so, indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man: but for the stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.

60

Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick and her: they never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them.

Beat. Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one: so that if he hath wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother. Mess. Is't possible?

Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

Beat. No: and he were, I would burn my study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with him to the devil?

Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like a