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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 is 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 feather; master, mean you so ? 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 together.
Ant E. Go, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow.
Bal. Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so;
Ant. E. You have prevailed; I will depart in quiet,
And fetch the chain; by this, I know, 'tis made.
Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence.
SCENE II. The same.
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 blindness ; Let not my sister read it in your eye;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger;
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. 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. Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else,
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 divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthly, gross conceit, Smothered 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 ?
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. 0, 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, in that glorious supposition, think
Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink !
That's my sister. Ant. S.
No; 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.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee.
O, soft, sir, hold you still;
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?
Dro. S. A very reverend 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 she is 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; armed and reverted, making war against her heir.
Ant. S. Where England ?
Dro. S. 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.
Ant. S. Where Spain ?
Dro. S. 0, 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 armadas 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; 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; and, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn i' the wheel.
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life,
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, Possessed with such a gentle, sovereign grace, Of such enchanting presence and discourse, Hath almost made me traitor to myself;