SCENE IIThe same.
Enter LUCIANA and ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse.
And may it be that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? shall, Antipholus.
Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot?
Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous?
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 blindness:
Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; (11)
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;
Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
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; (20)
Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women! make us but believe,
Being compact of credit, that you love 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.
Sweet mistress,--what your name is else, I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,-- (31)
Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not
Than our earth's wonder, more than earth divine.
Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthly-gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labor you
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new? (40)
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know v
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 them and there lie, (50)
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 !
What, are you mad, that you do reason so ?
Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by.
Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night.
Why call you me love? call my sister so.
Thy sister's sister.
That's my sister.
It is thyself, mine own self's 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.
All this my sister is, or else should be.
Call thyself sister, sweet, for I am thee.
Thee will I love and with thee lead my life:
Thou hast no husband yet nor I no wife.
Give me thy hand.
O, soft, sir! hold you still:
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Exit.
Enter DROMIO of Syracuse.
Why, how now, Dromio! where
runn'st thou so fast?
Do you know me, sir? am I
Dromio? am I your man? am I myself?
Thou art Dromio, thou art my
man, thou art thyself.
I am an ass, I am a woman's man
and besides myself.
What woman's man? and how besides (80)
Marry, sir, besides myself, I am
due to a woman; one that claims me, one
that haunts me, one that will have me.
What claim lays she to thee?
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. (90)
What is she?
A very reverent body; ay, such a
one as a man may not speak of without he say
'Sir-reverence.' I have but lean luck in the
match, and yet is she a wondrous fat marriage.
How dost thou mean a fat marriage
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.
What complexion is she of?
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
That's a fault that water will mend.
No, sir, 'tis in grain; Noah's flood
could not do it. (110)
What's her name?
Nell, sir; but her name and three
quarters, that's an ell and three quarters, will
not measure her from hip to hip.
Then she bears some breadth?
No longer from head to foot than
from hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe;
I could find out countries in her.
In what part of her body stands
Marry, sir, in her buttocks: I
found it out by the bogs.
I found it by the barrenness; hard
in the palm of the hand.
In her forehead; armed and reverted,
making war against her heir.
I looked 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.
Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it
hot in her breath.
Where America, the Indies?
Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o'er
embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires,
declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of
Spain; who sent whole armadoes of caracks (141)
to be ballast at her nose.
Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?
Oh, sir, I did not look so low. To
conclude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to
me; called me Dromio; swore I was assured
to her; told me what privy marks I had about
me, as, the mark of my shoulder, the mole in
my neck, the great wart on my left arm, that
I amazed ran from her as a witch: (150)
And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith and my heart of steel,
She had transform'd me to a curtal dog and made me turn i' the wheel.
Go hie thee presently, post to the road:
An if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbor in this town to-night:
If any bark put forth, come to the mart,
Where I will walk till thou return to me.
If every one knows us and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone.
As from a bear a man would run for life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit.
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. Enter ANGELO with the chain.
170Ay, that's my name.
I know it well, sir, lo, here is the chain.
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine:
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.
What is your will that I shall do with this?
What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.
Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.
Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.
Go home with it and please your wife withal;
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you (180)
And then receive my money for the chain.
I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.
You are a merry man, sir: fare you well. [Exit.
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.