ACT I. SCENE I.

A hall in the DUKE'S palace._

  _Enter DUKE, AEGEON, _Gaoler_, _Officers_, and other _Attendants_._

_Aege._ Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And by the doom of death end woes and all.

_Duke._ Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial to infringe our laws:
The enmity and discord which of late                                 5
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,
Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
Excludes all pity from our threatening looks.                       10
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusians and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:                           15
Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus be seen
At any Syracusian marts and fairs;
Again: if any Syracusian born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,                                20
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;                                 25
Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die.

_Aege._ Yet this my comfort: when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

_Duke._ Well, Syracusian, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departed'st from thy native home,                          30
And for what cause thou camest to Ephesus.

_Aege._ A heavier task could not have been imposed
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,                         35
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me, had not our hap been bad.
With her I lived in joy; our wealth increased                       40
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum; till my factor's death,
And the great care of goods at random left,
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,                        45
Before herself, almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon and safe arrived where I was.
There had she not been long but she became                          50
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A meaner woman was delivered                                        55
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:                             60
Unwilling I agreed; alas! too soon
We came aboard.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:                               65
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which though myself would gladly have embraced,                     70
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forced me to seek delays for them and me.                           75
And this it was, for other means was none:
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,                           80
Such as seafaring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other:
The children thus disposed, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,                         85
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispersed those vapours that offended us;                           90
And, by the benefit of his wished light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,--O, let me say no more!                          95
Gather the sequel by that went before.

_Duke._ Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

_Aege._ O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!                              100
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst;
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,                             105
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;                       110
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seized on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;                115
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,                         120
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

_Duke._ And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them and thee till now.

_Aege._ My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,                   125
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother: and importuned me
That his attendant--so his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name--
Might bear him company in the quest of him:                        130
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I loved.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;                           135
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.                         140

_Duke._ Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,                       145
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can.                              150
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if no, then thou art doom'd to die.                      155
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

_Gaol._ I will, my lord.

_Aege._ Hopeless and helpless doth Aegeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

    [_Exeunt._

  NOTES: I, 1.

  A hall ... palace.] Malone. The Duke's palace. Theobald.
    A publick Place. Capell.
  AEGEON,] Rowe. with the Merchant of Siracusa, Ff.
  Officers,] Capell. Officer, Staunton. om. Ff.
  1: _Solinus_] F1. _Salinus_ F2 F3 F4.
  10: _looks_] _books_ Anon. conj.
  14: _Syracusians_] F4. _Siracusians_ F1 F2 F3. _Syracusans_ Pope.
    See note (I).
  16, 17, 18: _Nay more If ... seen At any_] Malone.
    _Nay, more, if ... Ephesus Be seen at any_ Ff.
  18: _any_] om. Pope.
  23: _to ransom_] F1. _ ransom_ F2 F3 F4.
  27: _this_] _'tis_ Hanmer.
  33: _griefs_] F1. _griefe_ F2. _grief_ F3 F4.
  35: _nature_] _fortune_ Collier MS.
  39: _by me_] F1. _by me too_ F2 F3 F4.
  42: _Epidamnum_] Pope. _Epidamium_ Ff. _Epidamnium_ Rowe.
    See note (I).
  43: _the_] _then_ Edd. conj.
  _the ... care ... left_] Theobald. _he ... care ... left_ F1.
    _he ... store ... leaving_ F2 F3 F4.
    _heed ... caves ... left_ Jackson conj.
  _random_] F3 F4. _randone_ F1 F2.
  50: _had she_] Ff. _she had_ Rowe.
  55: _meaner_] Delius (S. Walker conj.). _meane_ F1. _poor meane_ F2.
    _poor mean_ F3 F4.
  56: _burden, male twins_] _burthen male, twins_ F1.
  61, 62: So Pope. One line in Ff.
  61: _soon_] _soon!_] Pope. _soon._ Capell.
  70: _gladly_] _gently_ Collier MS.
  71: _weepings_] F1. _weeping_ F2 F3 F4.
  76: _this_] _thus_ Collier MS.
  79: _latter-_] _elder-_ Rowe.
  86: _either end the mast_] _th' end of either mast_ Hanmer.
  87, 88: _And ... Was_] Ff. _And ... Were_ Rowe.
    _Which ... Was_ Capell.
  91: _wished_] F1. _wish'd_ F2 F3 F4.
  92: _seas wax'd_] _seas waxt_ F1. _seas waxe_ F2. _seas wax_ F3.
    _seas was_ F4. _sea was_ Rowe.
  94: _Epidaurus_] _Epidarus_ F1. _Epidamnus_ Theobald conj.
  103: _upon_] Pope. _up_ F1 _up upon_ F2 F3 F4.
  104: _helpful_] _helpless_ Rowe.
  113: _another_] _the other_ Hanmer.
  115: _healthful_] F1. _helpful_ F2 F3 F4.
  117: _bark_] _backe_ F1.
  120: _That_] _Thus_ Hanmer. _Yet_ Anon. conj.
  122: _sake_] F1. _sakes_ F2 F3 F4.
  124: _hath ... thee_] _have ... they_ F1.
  _of_] om. F4.
  128: _so_] F1. _for_ F2 F3 F4.
  130: _the_] om. Pope.
  131: _I labour'd of a_] _he labour'd of all_ Collier MS.
  144, 145: These lines inverted by Hanmer.
  145: _princes, would they, may_] Hanmer. _Princes would they may_ F1.
    _Princes would, they may_ F2 F3 F4.
  151: _Therefore, merchant, I'll_] Ff. _Therefore merchant, I_ Rowe.
    _I, therefore, merchant_ Pope. _I'll, therefore, merchant_ Capell.
  152: _help ... help_] Ff. _life ... help_ Pope.
    _help ... means_ Steevens conj. _hope ... help_ Collier.
    _fine ... help_ Singer.
  _by_] _thy_ Jackson conj.
  155: _no_] _not_ Rowe.
  156: _Gaoler,_] _Jailor, now_ Hanmer. _So, jailer,_ Capell.
  159: _lifeless_] Warburton. _liveless_ Ff.

Our comedy begins at the Ephesian marketplace, where Solinas, the Duke of Ephesus, is explaining why poor Egeon, a merchant of Syracuse, must die. Solinus says that merchants from Ephesus have been forbidden to enter Syracuse, and merchants from Syracuse have been forbidden to enter Ephesus. The punishment for disobeying? Death, of course. It's harsh, yes, but Solinas wants everyone to know that the Duke of Syracuse started it. Of course, there's a monetary loophole. Egeon can get out of the death sentence by paying a thousand marks. But Duke Solinus comments that Egeon doesn't appear to be worth even 100 marks. Way to kick him when he's down, Solinus. To the Duke's surprise, Egeon says he finds the idea of death comforting. This piques Duke Solinus's curiosity, so he asks how and why Egeon left Syracuse for Ephesus. Egeon declares his grief to be unspeakable, and then immediately begins to talk about it. Egeon wants to clear up that he does not want to die because of some heinous crime he's committed. Rather, his death wish is kind of a natural result of grief, which he's had a lot of in his life. He'll even tell you about it, in great length and detail. Egeon was born in Syracuse, and lived comfortably there with his wife. He made a lot of money traveling between Syracuse and Epidamium as a merchant. When his agent died, he had to stay in Epidamium and take care of business himself. Egeon's wife, who was pregnant at the time, decided to join him. Egeon's wife soon gave birth to identical twin boys, who looked so similar that their names were their only distinguishing feature. As literary devices would have it, a poor woman staying at the very same inn, during the very same hour, happened to also give birth to identical twin boys. Because she was too poor to raise the babies, she sold her children to Egeon, who wanted to raise the boys as companions and attendants for his twin boys. Egeon's wife then started to nag him, saying they should all go home. But, as soon as the family got on the ship to head back to Syracuse, a terrible storm rolls in, threatening to kill everyone. The wife and babes wept, the sailors abandoned ship and ran off in Egeon's lifeboat, and it seemed that nothing could save them. Egeon's wife, worried for the younger of the twins, tied him and one of the servant twins to a small spare mast. Egeon did the same with the other two older boys. Then, Egeon and his wife guarded either end of the mast, each with their respective pair of babies . When the storm started to calm, the family saw two ships approach--one from Corinth, the other from Epidaurus. To make the situation even more of a logic puzzle, Egeon's boat ran into a big rock. The boat was torn in two, separating the two parents . The wife and two babies were rescued by the Corinthian ship, while Egeon and his two boys were picked up by the other. Sadly, the ship that Egeon was in was slow, and headed for home instead of catching up with the ship from Corinth. Thus, Egeon never saw his wife, younger twin son, or his servant ever again. Egeon explains to the Duke that when his son and servant turned eighteen, they got itchy to find their long lost twin brothers, and left Egeon alone. Egeon's son and servant have been gone for five summers, in which time Egeon has roamed around the farthest reaches of Asia trying to find both lost sets of boys. His travels finally brought him to Ephesus. He knows that he risks death by entering Ephesus, but would rather risk death than not look for the boys here. Thus he's lost a wife and two sets of kids, but has acquired a loneliness that's priceless. The Duke basically says to him, "I can't bend the rules, so you're still sentenced to die." Still, he gives Egeon one day to try to raise the 1,000 marks for his bail by begging and borrowing from the folks of Ephesus. Duke Solinus then sends a fairly hopeless Egeon off with the jailer.

The play opens in the city of Ephesus, with Solinus, the Duke of Ephesus, leading a merchant named Egeon to be executed. Egeon converses with the Duke, and we learn that he is a native of Syracuse, Ephesus' great commercial rival. Because of strife between the two cities, any Syracusan caught in Ephesus must pay an indemnity of a thousand marks, a price that Egeon is unable to meet, or face execution. He seems resigned to his death and declares that the execution will bring an end to his "woes. " Curious, the Duke asks him to relate how he came to travel to Ephesus, and Egeon complies. The merchant describes how he was born in Syracuse, and a wife, and prospered through trade with the neighboring city of Epidamnum. Eventually, however, his representative in Epidamnum died, leaving the business in disarray, and Egeon was forced to travel there to set his affairs in order. His pregnant wife went with him and gave birth to identical twin sons. At the same time, a poor woman staying in the same inn also gave birth to identical boys, and Egeon bought her newborns, intending to bring them up as slaves for his sons. Unfortunately, on their return journey to Ephesus, Egeon recounts, their ship was broken apart by a storm, and the sailors abandoned them on the wreckage. His wife tied herself, with one son and one slave, to one of the masts, and he tied himself, the other son, and the other slave to a mast at the other end of the wreck. They floated for a time, while the sea grew calm, and then they saw two ships coming toward them--one from Corinth and one from Epidaurus. Before the ships reached them, however, they ran into a rock that split the wreckage in two, carrying Egeon in one direction and his wife in the other. Eventually, the Corinthian ship rescued Egeon and the one twin whom he was with, but they were unable to catch up to the Epidaurian ship, which had picked up his wife and his other son and carried them away. When the son who remained with him had grown up, Egeon relates, the young man took his slave and set off into the world to find his brother and mother. Egeon himself followed suit, and his wanderings eventually led him to Ephesus, where he was willing to brave arrest and execution in the hopes of finding the missing half of his family. The Duke, hearing this story, is deeply moved, and although he cannot violate his city's laws, he offers Egeon a day of liberty to find someone to ransom his life. Egeon's despair does not lift, however, since the task seems hopeless. Nevertheless, he sets about canvassing the city, searching for assistance.

Commentary These opening speeches, first by the Duke and then by Egeon, serve to locate the play both in a specific time and place and in relation to past events. The time and place is ancient Greece, with its rival city-states of Ephesus, Syracuse, Corinth, and Epidamnum; but it is an Elizabethan version of the Greek world, in which Christian references abound and English debt-officers co-exist with ancient practices of slavery. In other words, it is one of Shakespeare's imagined places, like the pre-Christian England of King Lear and Cymbeline. More important than the setting, from the audience's perspective, is the background information: the conflict between Syracuse and Ephesus that threatens Egeon's life and Egeon's tragic and fantastic family history. The story of the two pairs of twins, who the audience will quickly identify as the Antipholi and Dromios, grants the viewers information that is unavailable to the characters, who grope ignorantly through the mists of mistaken identity that fill the play. We laugh, knowing that there are two masters and two slaves and, thus, understanding how the various mix-ups come to be. But for the unfortunate participants in the farce, there is only confusion at what seem to be supernatural events. This contrast between the audience, who know they are watching a comedy, and the characters, who have no such privileged information, hints at a deeper understanding of the nature of comedy. While The Comedy of Errors is clearly a slapstick affair, in which nearly every scene is played for laughs, the grim opening and later confusion reminds us of the threat of tragedy that often hangs over Shakespeare's comic plays. Certainly, as Egeon catalogues the fantastic woes that have befallen him, he does not see himself as a player in a farce. The threat of his impending execution provides the play with a dark undercurrent to the comic scenes that follow. But while a tragedy moves from order into disorder, from life into death, a comedy reverses the order. So, the play begins with Egeon's grim statement, "proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, / And by the doom of death end woes and all," but moves toward an ending in which the forces of disorder and destruction are overcome by the forces of reconciliation and renewal.


_SCENE II.

The Mart._

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse_, _DROMIO of Syracuse_, and
  _First Merchant_._

_First Mer._ Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day a Syracusian merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And, not being able to buy out his life,                             5
According to the statute of the town,
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money that I had to keep.

_Ant. S._ Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.                        10
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that. I'll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return, and sleep within mine inn;
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.                          15
Get thee away.

_Dro. S._ Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed, having so good a mean.    [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ A trusty villain, sir; that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,                            20
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?

_First Mer._ I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;                                25
I crave your pardon. Soon at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
And afterward consort you till bed-time:
My present business calls me from you now.

_Ant. S._ Farewell till then: I will go lose myself,                30
And wander up and down to view the city.

_First Mer._ Sir, I commend you to your own content.    [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ He that commends me to mine own content
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I to the world am like a drop of water,                             35
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.                             40

  _Enter _DROMIO of Ephesus_._

Here comes the almanac of my true date.
What now? how chance thou art return'd so soon?

_Dro. E._ Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell;                       45
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot, because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;                        50
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

_Ant. S._ Stop in your wind, sir: tell me this, I pray:
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

_Dro. E._ O,--sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last                55
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?
The saddler had it, sir; I kept it not.

_Ant. S._ I am not in a sportive humour now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how darest thou trust                      60
So great a charge from thine own custody?

_Dro. E._ I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed,
For she will score your fault upon my pate.                         65
Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.

_Ant. S._ Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this.
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?                         70

_Dro. E._ To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me.

_Ant. S._ Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness,
And tell me how thou hast disposed thy charge.

_Dro. E._ My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner:                    75
My mistress and her sister stays for you.

_Ant. S._ Now, as I am a Christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks when I am undisposed:                         80
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

_Dro. E._ I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders;
But not a thousand marks between you both.
If I should pay your worship those again,                           85
Perchance you will not bear them patiently.

_Ant. S._ Thy mistress' marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou?

_Dro. E._ Your worship's wife, my mistress at the Phoenix;
She that doth fast till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will hie you home to dinner.                     90

_Ant. S._ What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

_Dro. E._ What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands!
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.    [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ Upon my life, by some device or other                     95
The villain is o'er-raught of all my money.
They say this town is full of cozenage;
As, nimble jugglers that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind.
Soul-killing witches that deform the body,                         100
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks,
And many such-like liberties of sin:
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave:
I greatly fear my money is not safe.    [_Exit._                   105

  NOTES: I, 2.

  SCENE II.] Pope. No division in Ff.
  The Mart.] Edd. A public place. Capell. The Street. Pope.
    See note (II).
  Enter ...] Enter Antipholis Erotes, a Marchant, and Dromio. Ff.
  4: _arrival_] _a rivall_ F1.
  10: _till_] _tell_ F2.
  11, 12: The order of these lines is inverted by F2 F3 F4.
  12: _that_] _then_ Collier MS.
  18: _mean_] F1. _means_ F2 F3 F4.
  23: _my_] F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.
  28: _consort_] _consort with_ Malone conj.
  30: _myself_] F1. _my life_ F2 F3 F4.
  33: SCENE III. Pope.
  _mine_] F1. _my_ F2 F3 F4.
  37: _falling_] _failing_ Barron Field conj.
  37, 38: _fellow forth, Unseen,_] _fellow, for Th' unseen_ Anon. conj.
  38: _Unseen,_] _In search_ Spedding conj.
  _Unseen, inquisitive,_] _Unseen inquisitive!_ Staunton.
  40: _them_] F1. _him_ F2 F3 F4.
  _unhappy_,] F2 F3 F4. (_unhappie a_) F1. _unhappier_, Edd. conj.
  65: _score_] Rowe. _scoure_ F1 F2 F3. _scour_ F4.
  66: _your clock_] Pope. _your cooke_ F1. _you cooke_ F2.
    _your cook_ F3 F4.
  76: _stays_] _stay_ Rowe.
  86: _will_] _would_ Collier MS.
  93: _God's_] Hanmer. _God_ Ff.
  96: _o'er-raught_] Hanmer. _ore-wrought_ Ff.
  99: _Dark-working_] _Drug-working_ Warburton.
  99, 100: _Dark-working ... Soul-killing_] _Soul-killing ...
    Dark-working_ Johnson conj.
  100: _Soul-killing_] _Soul-selling_ Hanmer.
  102: _liberties_] _libertines_ Hanmer.

As soon as Egeon and the Duke leave the Ephesian marketplace, Egeon's missing son, Antipholus, and his servant, Dromio, both of Syracuse, show up. The Syracusian men are advised by an Ephesian merchant, who recommends that they both pretend to be from Epidamium. The Merchant warns that if they're found out to be Syracusian, they'll get the death sentence, just like another poor Syracusian merchant the Duke has just condemned to die at sunset. S. Antipholus decides he wants to wander about the town and explore a little, and he sends S. Dromio off with some money to get them a room at an inn named the Centaur. Left alone, S. Antipholus unloads his heart to us in a beautiful speech: he can't be happy because he's like a drop of water that's fallen into the ocean, looking for its fellow drop of water. In the process of the search, he's lost his mother and brother , and seems to have lost himself, too. Warning: When Dromio of Ephesus--the other Dromio--enters, and S. Antipholus mistakes him for his Dromio , all of the confusion begins. Turns out the lost set of twins have been in Ephesus the whole time. Remember the boys also share names: Egeon's twin sons are both named Antipholus, and the twin servants are named Dromio. So, like we said, when Dromio of Ephesus shows up at the marketplace, all sorts of mix-ups ensue. E. Dromio has been sent by E. Antipholus' wife to bring the tardy E. Antipholus home. E. Dromio mistakes S. Antipholus for his master, and begs him to come to dinner. Meanwhile, E. Antipholus's wife is so peeved he's late that she's been beating poor E. Dromio. S. Antipholus gets testy, as he mistakes E. Dromio for his S. Dromio, and thinks this man is talking nonsense . S. Antipholus asks about the 1,000 marks he gave S. Dromio to use to get a room at the Centaur . S. Antipholus figures that his servant is just messing with him. Tensions get higher as E. Dromio keeps trying to get the wrong guy, S. Antipholus, to come home to E. Antipholus's wife at their house, the Phoenix. S. Antipholus, fed up, smacks poor E. Dromio, and E. Dromio runs off, confused and now beaten twice. S. Antipholus, once again alone, wonders at the strange and confusing exchange. He decides that S. Dromio was cheated of the money and didn't want to admit it. Furthermore, S. Antipholus concludes that Ephesus is a crazy country, full of quacks and sorcerers. Satisfied with this perfectly reasonable explanation, S. Antipholus heads off to the Centaur to find S. Dromio and his money.

Egeon's son, Antipholus of Syracuse, is also in Ephesus, although neither he nor his father is aware of the other's presence. A friendly Merchant warns Antipholus about the law concerning Syracusans and advises him to pretend to be from another city in order to avoid arrest. Antipholus thanks him and sends his servant, Dromio of Syracuse, to the Centaur Inn with their money  and luggage. Left alone, he muses on his unhappiness, caused by his fruitless quest for his brother and mother. Unknown to anyone, however, his missing brother is actually a prosperous citizen of Ephesus, served by his own Dromio of Ephesus. Antipholus of Ephesus is married to a woman named Adriana, and he is a great favorite of Duke Solinus. As Antipholus of Syracuse muses, Dromio of Ephesus appears and demands that his "master" come home to dinner. He has mistaken this Antipholus for Antipholus of Ephesus, and Antipholus S., in turn, mistakes this Dromio for his own servant. Their misunderstanding leads to an argument--Dromio E. insists that Antipholus S. return to their house because his wife is impatient with him, while Antipholus S. demands to know what has become of their money and belongings. Eventually, the master slaps the slave, and Dromio E. flees, leaving his master to remark that Ephesus is reportedly full of sorcerers and that one must have bewitched his man. Fearing for the safety of his possessions, he hurries off in the direction of the Centaur Inn. The scene now shifts to a conversation between Adriana, the wife of Antipholus of Ephesus, and her sister Luciana. Adriana is anxiously awaiting the return of her husband--and his slave, who she sent out after him. Luciana rebukes her for being impatient, saying that a dutiful wife should be a docile servant to her husband. Adriana retorts that Luciana speaks without experience--that once she is married, she will have a different point of view. As they debate, Dromio of Ephesus returns and reports the bizarre behavior of his master , saying that Antipholus is mad and will talk of nothing but his gold. Furious, Adriana threatens to beat him unless he brings her husband back, and Dromio reluctantly goes out again. Once he is gone, Adriana tells her sister that Antipholus must have taken a lover--that is the only explanation for his absence and peculiar behavior.

Commentary Antipholus of Syracuse is a stronger, more interesting character than his brother, if only because Shakespeare allows him emotions larger than the confusion and anger that Antipholus of Ephesus expresses. Here, we see Antipholus S. experiencing a kind of angst or spiritual incompleteness brought on by the absence of his twin and mother--"I to the world am like a drop of water," he says, "that in the ocean seeks another drop, / Who falling there to find his fellow forth, / Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. / So I, to find a mother and a brother, / In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself". His sense of alienation and loss of self will only increase as the play continues, and he begins to doubt his own identity amid the confusion. The violence between master and slave when Antipholus strikes his brother's Dromio, believing him to be his own slave, establishes a pattern for the play, as both Dromios  complain of the heavy hands of the master--and mistress, since Adriana also is not averse to slapping Dromio around. These beatings are usually played for laughs, however, and it is significant that in a play filled with ropes, drawn swords, and threats no one really gets hurt. Meanwhile, the description that Antipholus gives of Ephesus as "a town full of cozenage: / As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, / Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, / soul-killing witches that deform the body / ... And many such-like liberties of sin", would have resonated with an Elizabethan audience well-versed in the Bible; in the New Testament, the apostle Paul travels to Ephesus and finds the city full of witchcraft. This theme of enchantment, which, far from being benign, is directly associated with "sin," will be returned to throughout the play, since magic seems to be the only sensible explanation for the peculiar events. The argument between Adriana and Luciana establishes their chief character traits: Adriana is clearly a jealous, shrewish wife in the tradition of Shakespeare's own The Taming of the Shrew, but despite her faults, she is a more sympathetic character than the docile, preachy Luciana, whose advice to women is to practice patience and subservience. While Luciana offers the conventional wisdom of Shakespeare's day, the playwright undermines these notions; the problems between husband and wife in The Comedy of Errors stem not from Adriana's jealousy or lack of obedience but from the fact that for a time, at least, she seems to have two husbands. Indeed, her behavior seems appropriate to the mixed- up situation; obedience is all very well, but to which man must she be obedient?


ACT II. _SCENE I.

The house of _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_._

  _Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA._

_Adr._ Neither my husband nor the slave return'd,
That in such haste I sent to seek his master!
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

_Luc._ Perhaps some merchant hath invited him,
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.                     5
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret:
A man is master of his liberty:
Time is their master; and when they see time,
They'll go or come: if so, be patient, sister.

_Adr._ Why should their liberty than ours be more?                  10

_Luc._ Because their business still lies out o' door.

_Adr._ Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.

_Luc._ O, know he is the bridle of your will.

_Adr._ There's none but asses will be bridled so.

_Luc._ Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.                  15
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males' subjects and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,                         20
Lords of the wide world and wild watery seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.                         25

_Adr._ This servitude makes you to keep unwed.

_Luc._ Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.

_Adr._ But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway.

_Luc._ Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.

_Adr._ How if your husband start some other where?                  30

_Luc._ Till he come home again, I would forbear.

_Adr._ Patience unmoved! no marvel though she pause;
They can be meek that have no other cause.
A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;                                35
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain:
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee,
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me;
But, if thou live to see like right bereft,                         40
This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left.

_Luc._ Well, I will marry one day, but to try.
Here comes your man; now is your husband nigh.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Ephesus_._

_Adr._ Say, is your tardy master now at hand?

_Dro. E._ Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my               45
two ears can witness.

_Adr._ Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?

_Dro. E._ Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear:
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.

_Luc._ Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his            50
meaning?

_Dro. E._ Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well
feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce
understand them.

_Adr._ But say, I prithee, is he coming home?                       55
It seems he hath great care to please his wife.

_Dro. E._ Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad.

_Adr._ Horn-mad, thou villain!

_Dro. E._                      I mean not cuckold-mad;
But, sure, he is stark mad.
When I desired him to come home to dinner,                          60
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold:
''Tis dinner-time,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he:
'Your meat doth burn,' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he:
'Will you come home?' quoth I; 'My gold!' quoth he,
'Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?'                 65
'The pig,' quoth I, 'is burn'd;' 'My gold!' quoth he:
'My mistress, sir,' quoth I; 'Hang up thy mistress!
I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!'

_Luc._ Quoth who?

_Dro. E._ Quoth my master:                                          70
'I know,' quoth he, 'no house, no wife, no mistress.'
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.

_Adr._ Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home.               75

_Dro. E._ Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For God's sake, send some other messenger.

_Adr._ Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.

_Dro. E._ And he will bless that cross with other beating:
Between you I shall have a holy head.                               80

_Adr._ Hence, prating peasant! fetch thy master home.

_Dro. E._ Am I so round with you as you with me,
That like a football you do spurn me thus?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither:
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
    [_Exit._                                               85

_Luc._ Fie, how impatience lowereth in your face!

_Adr._ His company must do his minions grace,
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:                         90
Are my discourses dull? barren my wit?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard:
Do their gay vestments his affections bait?
That's not my fault; he's master of my state:                       95
What ruins are in me that can be found,
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures. My decayed fair
A sunny look of his would soon repair:
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,                          100
And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale.

_Luc._ Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence!

_Adr._ Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense.
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere;
Or else what lets it but he would be here?                         105
Sister, you know he promised me a chain;
Would that alone, alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed!
I see the jewel best enamelled
Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still,                    110
That others touch, and often touching will
Wear gold: and no man that hath a name,
By falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.                       115

_Luc._ How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

    [_Exeunt._

  NOTES: II, 1.

  The house ... Ephesus.] Pope. The same (i.e. A publick place).
    Capell, and passim.
  11: _o' door_] Capell. _adore_ F1 F2 F3. _adoor_ F4.
  12: _ill_] F2 F3 F4. _thus_ F1.
  15: _lash'd_] _leashed_ "a learned lady" conj. ap. Steevens.
    _lach'd_ or _lac'd_ Becket conj.
  17: _bound, ... sky:_] _bound: ... sky,_ Anon. conj.
  19: _subjects_] _subject_ Capell.
  20, 21: _Men ... masters ... Lords_] Hanmer. _Man ... master
    ... Lord_ Ff.
  21: _wild watery_] _wilde watry_ F1. _wide watry_ F2 F3 F4.
  22, 23: _souls ... fowls_] F1. _soul ... fowl_ F2 F3 F4.
  30: _husband start_] _husband's heart's_ Jackson conj.
  _other where_] _other hare_ Johnson conj. See note (III).
  31: _home_] om. Boswell (ed. 1821).
  39: _wouldst_] Rowe. _would_ Ff.
  40: _see_] _be_ Hanmer.
  41: _fool-begg'd_] _fool-egg'd_ Jackson conj. _fool-bagg'd_
    Staunton conj. _fool-badged_ Id. conj.
  44: SCENE II. Pope.
  _now_] _yet_ Capell.
  45: _Nay_] _At hand? Nay_ Capell.
  _and_] om. Capell.
  45, 46: _two ... two_] _too ... two_ F1.
  50-53: _doubtfully_] _doubly_ Collier MS.
  53: _withal_] _therewithal_ Capell.
  _that_] om. Capell, who prints lines 50-54 as four verses ending
    _feel ... I ... therewithal ... them._
  59: _he is_] _he's_ Pope. om. Hanmer.
  61: _a thousand_] F4. _a hundred_ F1 _a 1000_ F2 F3.
  64: _home_] Hanmer. om. Ff.
  68: _I know not thy mistress_] _Thy mistress I know not_ Hanmer.
    _I know not of thy mistress_ Capell. _I know thy mistress not_
    Seymour conj.
  _out on thy mistress_] F1 F4. _out on my mistress_ F2 F3.
    _'out on thy mistress,' Quoth he_ Capell. _I know no mistress;
    out upon thy mistress_ Steevens conj.
  70: _Quoth_] _Why, quoth_ Hanmer.
  71-74: Printed as prose in Ff. Corrected by Pope.
  73: _bare_] _bear_ Steevens.
  _my_] _thy_ F2.
  74: _there_] _thence_ Capell conj.
  85: _I last_] _I'm to last_ Anon. conj.
  [Exit.] F2.
  87: SCENE III. Pope.
  93: _blunts_] F1. _blots_ F2 F3 F4.
  107: _alone, alone_] F2 F3 F4. _alone, a love_ F1.
    _alone, alas!_ Hanmer. _alone, O love,_ Capell conj.
    _alone a lone_ Nicholson conj.
  110: _yet the_] Ff. _and the_ Theobald. _and tho'_ Hanmer.
    _yet though_ Collier.
  111: _That others touch_] _The tester's touch_ Anon. (Fras. Mag.)
    conj. _The triers' touch_ Singer.
  _and_] Ff. _yet_ Theobald. _an_ Collier. _though_ Heath conj.
  111, 112: _will Wear_] Theobald (Warburton). _will, Where_] F1.
  112, 113: F2 F3 F4 omit these two lines. See note (IV).
  112: _and no man_] F1. _and so no man_ Theobald.
    _and e'en so man_ Capell. _and so a man_ Heath conj.
  113: _By_] F1. _But_ Theobald.
  115: _what's left away_] _(what's left away)_ F1.
    _(what's left) away_ F2 F3 F4.

E. Antipholus's wife Adriana, and her sister, Luciana, are at E. Antipholus's house waiting for the man to come home for dinner. They have a little philosophical exchange, during which Luciana insists that men are freer than women because their work and responsibilities take them out of the home. She thinks her sister should just wait patiently for his return and understand that she can't control him. Adriana doesn't take this comment so kindly. She says it's this warped view of male-female relations that's keeping Luciana from getting married. Nope, Luciana says. It's because she's not interested in what happens in the marriage bed. . Besides, before she gets married, she has to learn to obey. Adriana again chastises her for preaching patience and servitude when she doesn't really know what it's like to be married. Whatever, says Luciana. Here comes Dromio. That must mean Antipholus will be here shortly. E. Dromio enters the scene, and explains what happened with S. Antipholus at the marketplace--still, of course, thinking S. Antipholus was actually his master, E. Antipholus. Then E. Dromio explains to Adriana that her husband has gone mad, and denies that he has a wife--her. Now Adriana is even more miffed. She sends E. Dromio back to the marketplace to get E. Antipholus again. E. Dromio hesitantly goes again, but only after Adriana threatens to beat him. Adriana now begins to worry that she must be old and ugly, so her husband prefers other company to hers. She blames E. Antipholus for wasting the beauty of her youth. Though Luciana tries to get her sister to pull it together, Adriana continues to complain. Now Adriana's convinced E. Antipholus is out having a snack in some other woman's kitchen. She mentions that her husband was supposed to be bringing her a necklace, but she fears it's not a jewelry store that's detaining him.

Antipholus of Syracuse goes to the inn and finds that his slave did, in fact, bring his money and luggage safely there. Confused, he wanders the city until he encounters Dromio of Syracuse--his Dromio--who, of course, has no memory of telling him to come home to dinner or anything else from Antipholus' earlier conversation with Dromio of Ephesus. Antipholus grows angry with him, but the slave manages to defuse his anger through a long, involved joke about baldness. While the master and slave converse and jest, Adriana and Luciana come upon them, mistaking them for Antipholus of Ephesus and his Dromio. Adriana immediately accuses the man she believes to be her husband of infidelity and rebukes him for violating his own promise of love and their marriage bed. Antipholus, confused, says that he has never met her, which only makes Adriana more furious. She insists on dragging her perplexed "husband" home to dinner, bringing Dromio with them, and the confused Antipholus decides to play along until he understands the situation better. They go into Antipholus of Ephesus' house, and Dromio is left below to guard the door during dinner. /PARAGRAPH While his double is upstairs eating, Antipholus of Ephesus returns from the marketplace, accompanied by Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo the goldsmith, and Balthasar the merchant. He asks his fellow businessmen to give Adriana an excuse for his tardiness and then mentions that his slave is behaving oddly. When he knocks at the gate, however, Dromio of Syracuse refuses to let the company in. Antipholus pounds and shouts furiously, bringing Luce, his maid to the door, and then Adriana-- but since both believe that Antipholus is already inside, they refuse to admit him. In a rage, Antipholus is about to break down the door when Balthasar dissuades him, telling him that doing so will reflect badly on his wife's honor and that Adriana must have a good reason for keeping him out. Still seething, Antipholus leads his friends away, resolving to dine with a Courtesan at her house, the Porpentine. He asks Angelo to go fetch a gold chain, recently made, that he had promised to his wife; Antipholus now plans to present it to the Courtesan instead.        Act II, scene ii; Act III,

Commentary The conversation between the Syracusan Antipholus and his Dromio is illustrative of their relationship--what begins with anger and threatened blows is quickly turned to laughter by Dromio's artful sense of humor. This will contrast sharply with the behavior of the other Antipholus, who comes across as a humorless, angry master, unlikely to joke around with his slave. , a new love , and a valuable gold chain, while the unlucky brother is locked out of his house, accused of being mad, and eventually imprisoned, none of which are conductive to a good humor.) The sympathy that the audience feels for Antipholus of Syracuse is further enhanced by his willingness to go along with what seems to him to be nonsense--namely, Adriana's demand that he return to "their home" for dinner. Despite his earlier, somewhat fearful reference to Ephesus' reputation for witchcraft, he willingly takes up the peculiar adventure offered by the women, declaring that "I'll entertain the offered fallacy", and later "I'll say as they say, and persevere so, / and in this mist at all adventures go ." This openness to adventure is characteristic of a comic hero, and it will be amply rewarded at the play's end. The exchange across the barred door between Antipholus of Ephesus and those inside his house is played for laughs, of course, but it can be argued that there is more going on than simple confusion. Antipholus of Syracuse may be only given dinner by his "wife," but there are hints of a sexual element in the confusion--that Adriana may offer her "husband" more than food. Balthasar urges Antipholus of Ephesus not to break down the door because that would lead to gossip and ruin the reputation of his wife, but the Ephesian Antipholus seems to assume that there is something sexual going on inside, and his quick decision to dine at the house of the Courtesan  suggests that he plans to revenge what he perceives as his wife's infidelity with infidelity of his own. Whether his jealousy is justified is a matter for interpretation--most critics see Adriana as innocent of adultery with her husband's twin, but others believe that Shakespeare is implying a strong sexual element in the dinner.


SCENE II.

A public place._

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse_._

_Ant. S._ The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up
Safe at the Centaur; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out
By computation and mine host's report.
I could not speak with Dromio since at first                         5
I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

How now, sir! is your merry humour alter'd?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?                       10
My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,
That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

_Dro. S._ What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?

_Ant. S._ Even now, even here, not half an hour since.

_Dro. S._ I did not see you since you sent me hence,                15
Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me.

_Ant. S._ Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt,
And told'st me of a mistress and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeased.

_Dro. S._ I am glad to see you in this merry vein:                  20
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

_Ant. S._ Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?
Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.
    [_Beating him._

_Dro. S._ Hold, sir, for God's sake! now your jest is earnest:
Upon what bargain do you give it me?                                25

_Ant. S._ Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you,
Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common of my serious hours.
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport,                   30
But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks,
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.

_Dro. S._ Sconce call you it? so you would leave battering,         35
I had rather have it a head: an you use these blows
long, I must get a sconce for my head, and insconce it
too; or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But,
I pray, sir, why am I beaten?

_Ant. S._ Dost thou not know?                                       40

_Dro. S._ Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.

_Ant. S._ Shall I tell you why?

_Dro. S._ Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say every
why hath a wherefore.

_Ant. S._ Why, first,--for flouting me; and then, wherefore,--      45
For urging it the second time to me.

_Dro. S._ Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season,
When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason?
Well, sir, I thank you.

_Ant. S._ Thank me, sir! for what?                                  50

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, for this something that you gave
me for nothing.

_Ant. S._ I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing
for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

_Dro. S._ No, sir: I think the meat wants that I have.              55

_Ant. S._ In good time, sir; what's that?

_Dro. S._ Basting.

_Ant. S._ Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

_Dro. S._ If it be, sir, I pray you, eat none of it.

_Ant. S._ Your reason?                                              60

_Dro. S._ Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me
another dry basting.

_Ant. S._ Well, sir, learn to jest in good time: there's a
time for all things.

_Dro. S._ I durst have denied that, before you were so              65
choleric.

_Ant. S._ By what rule, sir?

_Dro. S._ Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald
pate of father Time himself.

_Ant. S._ Let's hear it.                                            70

_Dro. S._ There's no time for a man to recover his hair
that grows bald by nature.

_Ant. S._ May he not do it by fine and recovery?

_Dro. S._ Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover
the lost hair of another man.                                       75

_Ant. S._ Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as
it is, so plentiful an excrement?

_Dro. S._ Because it is a blessing that he bestows on
beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath
given them in wit.                                                  80

_Ant. S._ Why, but there's many a man hath more hair
than wit.

_Dro. S._ Not a man of those but he hath the wit to
lose his hair.

_Ant. S._ Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain                  85
dealers without wit.

_Dro. S._ The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he
loseth it in a kind of jollity.

_Ant. S._ For what reason?

_Dro. S._ For two; and sound ones too.                              90

_Ant. S._ Nay, not sound, I pray you.

_Dro. S._ Sure ones, then.

_Ant. S._ Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

_Dro. S._ Certain ones, then.

_Ant. S._ Name them.                                                95

_Dro. S._ The one, to save the money that he spends in
trimming; the other, that at dinner they should not drop
in his porridge.

_Ant. S._ You would all this time have proved there is
no time for all things.                                            100

_Dro. S._ Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover
hair lost by nature.

_Ant. S._ But your reason was not substantial, why
there is no time to recover.

_Dro. S._ Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and                105
therefore to the world's end will have bald followers.

_Ant. S._ I knew 'twould be a bald conclusion:
But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

  _Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA._

_Adr._ Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown:
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects;                        110
I am not Adriana nor thy wife.
The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,                         115
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carved to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it,
That thou art then estranged from thyself?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me,                            120
That, undividable, incorporate,
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me!
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulf,                              125
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition or diminishing,
As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious,                          130
And that this body, consecrate to thee,
By ruffian lust should be contaminate!
Wouldst thou not spit at me and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face,
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot-brow,                      135
And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow?
I know thou canst; and therefore see thou do it.
I am possess'd with an adulterate blot;
My blood is mingled with the crime of lust:                        140
For if we two be one, and thou play false,
I do digest the poison of thy flesh,
Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Keep, then, fair league and truce with thy true bed;
I live distain'd, thou undishonoured.                              145

_Ant. S._ Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not:
In Ephesus I am but two hours old,
As strange unto your town as to your talk;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd,
Wants wit in all one word to understand.                           150

_Luc._ Fie, brother! how the world is changed with you!
When were you wont to use my sister thus?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

_Ant. S._ By Dromio?

_Dro. S._ By me?                                                   155

_Adr._ By thee; and this thou didst return from him,
That he did buffet thee, and, in his blows,
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.

_Ant. S._ Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?
What is the course and drift of your compact?                      160

_Dro. S._ I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

_Ant. S._ Villain, thou liest; for even her very words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

_Dro. S._ I never spake with her in all my life.

_Ant. S._ How can she thus, then, call us by our names,            165
Unless it be by inspiration.

_Adr._ How ill agrees it with your gravity
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood!
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,                             170
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine:
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine,
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state,
Makes me with thy strength to communicate:                         175
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss;
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.

_Ant. S._ To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:            180
What, was I married to her in my dream?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.                                185

_Luc._ Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

_Dro. S._ O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land;--O spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites:
If we obey them not, this will ensue,                              190
They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

_Luc._ Why pratest thou to thyself, and answer'st not?
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

_Dro. S._ I am transformed, master, am I not?

_Ant. S._ I think thou art in mind, and so am I.                   195

_Dro. S._ Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.

_Ant. S._ Thou hast thine own form.

_Dro. S._                          No, I am an ape.

_Luc._ If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.

_Dro. S._ 'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.
'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be                       200
But I should know her as well as she knows me.

_Adr._ Come, come, no longer will I be a fool,
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn.
Come, sir, to dinner. Dromio, keep the gate.                       205
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day,
And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks.
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master,
Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter.
Come, sister. Dromio, play the porter well.                        210

_Ant. S._ Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?
Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised?
Known unto these, and to myself disguised!
I'll say as they say, and persever so,
And in this mist at all adventures go.                             215

_Dro. S._ Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

_Adr._ Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate.

_Luc._ Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

    [_Exeunt._

  NOTES: II, 2.

  SCENE II.] Capell. SCENE IV. Pope.
  A public place.] Capell. A street. Pope.
  3, 4, 5: _out By ... report. I_] F1 F2 F3. _out By ... report, I_ F4.
    _out. By ... report, I_ Rowe.
  12: _didst_] _did didst_ F1.
  23: Beating him] Beats Dro. Ff.
  28: _jest_] _jet_ Dyce.
  29: _common_] _comedy_ Hanmer.
  35-107: Pope marks as spurious.
  38: _else_] om. Capell.
  45: _Why, first_] _First, why_ Capell.
  53: _next, to_] _next time,_ Capell conj.
  _to_] _and_ Collier MS.
  59: _none_] F1. _not_ F2 F3 F4.
  76: _hair_] _hair to men_ Capell.
  79: _men_] Pope, ed. 2 (Theobald). _them_ Ff.
  91: _sound_] F1. _sound ones_ F2 F3 F4.
  93: _falsing_] _falling_ Heath conj.
  97: _trimming_] Rowe. _trying_ Ff. _tyring_ Pope. _'tiring_ Collier.
  101: _no time_] F2 F3 F4. _in no time_ F1. _e'en no time_ Collier
    (Malone conj.).
  110: _thy_] F1. _some_ F2 F3 F4.
  111: _not ... nor_] _but ... and_ Capell conj.
  112: _unurged_] _unurg'dst_ Pope.
  117: _or look'd, or_] _look'd,_ Steevens.
  _to thee_] om. Pope. _thee_ S. Walker conj.
  119: _then_] _thus_ Rowe.
  130: _but_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
  135: _off_] Hanmer. _of_ Ff.
  138: _canst_] _wouldst_ Hanmer.
  140: _crime_] _grime_ Warburton.
  142: _thy_] F1. _my_ F2 F3 F4.
  143: _contagion_] _catagion_ F4.
  145: _distain'd_] _unstain'd_ Hanmer (Theobald conj.).
    _dis-stain'd_ Theobald. _distained_ Heath conj.
  _undishonoured_] _dishonoured_ Heath conj.
  149, 150: Marked as spurious by Pope.
  _Who, ... Wants_] _Whose every ..., Want_ Becket conj.
  150: _Wants_] Ff. _Want_ Johnson.
  155: _By me?_] Pope. _By me._ Ff.
  156: _this_] F1, Capell. _thus_ F2 F3 F4.
  167: _your_] _you_ F2.
  174: _stronger_] F4. _stranger_ F1 F2 F3.
  180-185: Marked 'aside' by Capell.
  180: _moves_] _means_ Collier MS.
  183: _drives_] _draws_ Collier MS.
  184: _sure uncertainty_] _sure: uncertainly_ Becket conj.
  185: _offer'd_] Capell. _free'd_ Ff. _favour'd_ Pope.
    _proffered_ Collier MS.
  187-201: Marked as spurious by Pope.
  189: _talk_] _walk and talk_ Anon. conj.
  _goblins_] _ghosts and goblins_ Lettsom conj.
  _owls_] _ouphs_ Theobald.
  _sprites_] F1. _elves sprites_ F2 F3 F4. _elvish sprites_
    Rowe (ed. 2). _elves and sprites_ Collier MS.
  191: _or_] _and_ Theobald.
  192: _and answer'st not?_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
  193: _Dromio, thou drone, thou snail_] Theobald.
    _Dromio, thou Dromio, thou snaile_ F1.
    _Dromio, thou Dromio, snaile_ F2 F3 F4.
  194: _am I not?_] Ff. _am not I?_ Theobald.
  203: _the eye_] _thy eye_ F2 F3.
  204: _laughs_] Ff. _laugh_ Pope.
  211-215: Marked as 'aside' by Capell.

Back at the marketplace of Ephesus, S. Antipholus is confused. He found out that the gold he sent with S. Dromio did indeed make it to the Centaur. After getting a room at the inn, S. Dromio apparently left the place in search of S. Antipholus. S. Antipholus doesn't think it makes sense that S. Antipholus has already seen S. Dromio, given the timing of the whole thing. When S. Antipholus does see S. Dromio , he begins to question him about his earlier requests and the whole having-a-wife-and-being-late-for-dinner business. S. Dromio is rightfully confused, and says he definitely didn't ask S. Antipholus about a wife and dinner and all that jazz. S. Dromio assures his master that this is the first time he's seen S. Antipholus since heading off to the Centaur. Still, S. Dromio says it's nice to see his master in such a merry, joking mood. However, S. Antipholus is upset and beats S. Dromio. S. Antipholus says it's fine for them to be familiar friends when S. Antipholus is in a good mood, but otherwise S. Dromio should know his place. In other words, S. Antipholus doesn't want to be teased when he's in a serious mood. S. Dromio and S. Antipholus now joke about S. Dromio's beating and the passage of time. Just as they're about to be pals again, S. Antipholus notices people approaching. Adriana and Luciana rush in all hot and bothered. Adriana asserts her husband is being strange; he must be divided from himself, since he is divided from her, and she's a part of him. She says separating her from him would be like separating a drop of water from a gulf--so basically, they're stuck together. Adriana also points out that because of their connection, if he cheats, then she's cheating, too, which he would undoubtedly be unhappy about. Basically, while his gender may seem to absolve him of the crime of disloyalty, his adultery would leave her stained, which would in turn dishonor him. This has been a fine strain of logic, but poor S. Antipholus, as he's actually not her husband, is like, "What in the world?" He points out that unless he married Adriana in the last two hours since he arrived at Ephesus, he's not actually married to her at all. Adriana insists she sent E. Dromio to bring her husband home to dinner not a few hours ago. Of course, S. Dromio says he's never seen her in his life . S. Antipholus is just as confused about how this strange woman even knows their names . Adriana continues to insist on standing by her man , and demands that he stand by her. S. Antipholus, being unable to change the woman's mind, decides he must've married her in a dream--or he's currently in a dream--so the best thing to do is ride the high until he figures out what's actually going on. S. Dromio declares Ephesus is a fairyland full of bewitching things, and he too decides to roll with the confusion. Adriana, not to be beaten, demands that the confused S. Antipholus come with her to dinner. She charges S. Dromio to guard the gate and let nobody in. S. Antipholus follows along, given that these ladies seem to know him better than he does.


ACT III. _SCENE I.

Before the house of _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_._

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_, _DROMIO of Ephesus_, ANGELO,
  and BALTHAZAR._

_Ant. E._ Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all;
My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours:
Say that I linger'd with you at your shop
To see the making of her carcanet,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.                           5
But here's a villain that would face me down
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
And charged him with a thousand marks in gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house.
Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?                  10

_Dro. E._ Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know;
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to show:
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink,
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.

_Ant. E._ I think thou art an ass.

_Dro. E._                      Marry, so it doth appear             15
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that pass,
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass.

_Ant. E._ You're sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer
May answer my good will and your good welcome here.                 20

_Bal._ I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear.

_Ant. E._ O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish.

_Bal._ Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

_Ant. E._ And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.    25

_Bal._ Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

_Ant. E._ Ay to a niggardly host and more sparing guest:
But though my cates be mean, take them in good part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart.
But, soft! my door is lock'd.--Go bid them let us in.               30

_Dro. E._ Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn!

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb,
        idiot, patch!
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch.
Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store,
When one is one too many? Go get thee from the door,                35

_Dro. E._ What patch is made our porter? My master stays
        in the street.

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] Let him walk from whence he came, lest he
        catch cold on's feet.

_Ant. E._ Who talks within there? ho, open the door!

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] Right, sir; I'll tell you when, an you'll
        tell me wherefore.

_Ant. E._ Wherefore? for my dinner: I have not dined to-day.        40

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] Nor to-day here you must not; come again
        when you may.

_Ant. E._ What art thou that keepest me out from the house I owe?

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] The porter for this time, sir, and
        my name is Dromio.

_Dro. E._ O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office
        and my name!
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.                45
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, or thy name
        for an ass.

_Luce._ [_Within_] What a coil is there, Dromio? who are
        those at the gate?

_Dro. E._ Let my master in, Luce.

_Luce._                [_Within_] Faith, no; he comes too late;
And so tell your master.

_Dro. E._          O Lord, I must laugh!                            50
Have at you with a proverb;--Shall I set in my staff?

_Luce._ [_Within_] Have at you with another; that's,
       --When? can you tell?

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] If thy name be call'd Luce, --Luce,
        thou hast answer'd him well.

_Ant. E._ Do you hear, you minion? you'll let us in, I hope?

_Luce._ [_Within_] I thought to have ask'd you.

_Dro. S._     [_Within_] And you said no.                           55

_Dro. E._ So, come, help:--well struck! there was blow for blow.

_Ant. E._ Thou baggage, let me in.

_Luce._            [_Within_] Can you tell for whose sake?

_Dro. E._ Master, knock the door hard.

_Luce._            [_Within_] Let him knock till it ache.

_Ant. E._ You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down.

_Luce._ [_Within_] What needs all that, and a pair of stocks
        in the town?                                                60

_Adr._ [_Within_] Who is that at the door that keeps
        all this noise?

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] By my troth, your town is troubled
        with unruly boys.

_Ant. E._ Are you, there, wife? you might have come before.

_Adr._ [_Within_] Your wife, sir knave! go get you from the door.

_Dro. E._ If you went in pain, master, this 'knave'
        would go sore.                                              65

_Aug._ Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome: we would
        fain have either.

_Bal._ In debating which was best, we shall part with neither.

_Dro. E._ They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome
        hither.

_Ant. E._ There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in.

_Dro. E._ You would say so, master, if your garments were thin.     70
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 the gate.

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] 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;                                               75
Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind.

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] It seems thou want'st breaking: out
        upon thee, hind!

_Dro. E._ Here's too much 'out upon thee!' I pray thee,
        let me in.

_Dro. S._ [_Within_] Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and
        fish have no fin.

_Ant. E._ Well, I'll break in:--go borrow me a crow.                80

_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!                     85
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
Th' unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this,--your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty,                               90
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 ruled by me: depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner;                              95
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 of it,                               100
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 you are dead;
For slander lives upon succession,                                 105
For ever housed where it gets possession.

_Ant. E._ You have prevail'd: I will depart in quiet,
And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle:                      110
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. [_To Ang._] Get you home,
And fetch the chain; by this I know 'tis made:                     115
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine;
For there's the house: that chain will I bestow--
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife--
Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste.
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,                       120
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.

_Ang._ I'll meet you at that place some hour hence.

_Ant. E._ Do so. This jest shall cost me some expense.

    [_Exeunt._

  NOTES: III, 1.

  SCENE I. ANGELO and BALTHAZAR.] Angelo the Goldsmith and Balthasar
    the Merchant. Ff.
  1: _all_] om. Pope.
  11-14: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  11: _Say_] _you must say_ Capell.
  13: _the skin_] _my skin_ Collier MS.
  14: _own_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
  _you_] _you for certain_ Collier MS.
  15: _doth_] _dont_ Theobald.
  19: _You're_] _Y'are_ Ff. _you are_ Capell.
  20: _here_] om. Pope.
  21-29: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  31: _Ginn_] om. Pope. _Jen'_ Malone. _Gin'_ Collier. _Jin_ Dyce.
  36-60: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  32, sqq.: [Within] Rowe.
  46: _been_] F1. _bid_ F2 F3 F4.
  47: _an ass_] _a face_ Collier MS.
  48: Luce. [Within] Rowe. Enter Luce. Ff.
  _there, Dromio? who_] _there! Dromio, who_ Capell.
  54: _hope_] _trow_ Theobald. Malone supposes a line omitted
    ending _rope_.
  61: Adr. [Within]. Rowe. Enter Adriana. Ff.
  65-83: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  67: _part_] _have part_ Warburton.
  71: _cake here_] _cake_ Capell. _cake there_ Anon. conj.
  72: _mad_] F1. _as mad_ F2 F3 F4.
  _as a buck_] om. Capell.
  75: _you,_] _your_ F1.
  85: _so_] _thus_ Pope.
  89: _Once this_] _Own this_ Malone conj. _This once_ Anon. conj.
  _her_] Rowe. _your_ Ff.
  91: _her_] Rowe. _your_ Ff.
  93: _made_] _barr'd_ Pope.
  105: _slander_] _lasting slander_ Johnson conj.
  _upon_] _upon its own_ Capell conj.
  106: _housed ... gets_] Collier. _hous'd ... gets_ F1.
    _hous'd ... once gets_ F2 F3 F4. _hous'd where 't gets_ Steevens.
  108: _mirth_] _wrath_ Theobald.
  116: _Porpentine_] Ff. _Porcupine_ Rowe (and passim).
  117: _will I_] F1. _I will_ F2 F3 F4.
  119: _mine_] F1. _my_ F2 F3 F4.
  122: _hour_] F1. _hour, sir_ F2 F3 F4.

Near E. Antipholus's house, E. Antipholus meets with Angelo, a goldsmith he has asked to make his wife a necklace . He notes that he's late for dinner, which means his wife will be "shrewish," so he asks Angelo to cover for him. Angelo has been instructed to say that E. Antipholus was with him to see about making the necklace, which Angelo should bring to the house the next day. E. Antipholus then complains about E. Dromio, who has been claiming that he gave him a beating in the marketplace, which he absolutely did not...though it's strange that E. Dromio is bruised. E. Dromio won't give in, so E. Antipholus calls him an ass. The conversation turns to the Merchant Balthazar, who's looking rather serious. Balthazar and E. Antipholus then have a witty exchange about a dinner invitation E. Antipholus has extended to the Merchant. Balthazar says he's more pleased about the invitation than he is about the food, as meat is cheap. E. Antipholus quips that meat may be cheap, but words are even cheaper. Still, Balthazar is welcome at his house, and dinner will be delicious and make him think happy thoughts. Anyway, the joke's on E. Antipholus, as dinner would be awesome, if he could get into his house...which he can't. Because the gate is locked. What ensues at the gates is a long, confused exchange. S. Dromio guards the gate of E. Antipholus's house from the inside . Adriana instructed him to let nobody in, so S. Dromio feels justified in having some fun with the guys outside. E. Dromio and E. Antipholus wonder who on earth is guarding the gate and why he wouldn't let the owner of the house in. When they ask who this mystery guard is, S. Dromio truthfully replies that his name is Dromio. This, of course, confuses E. Dromio, who decides his identity has been stolen. Matters are made worse when another servant, Luce, backs up S. Dromio from inside the gate. E. Antipholus assures all the minions they'll pay for this insubordination when he breaks down the gate, which he's about to do. The confusion only increases: Adriana herself has come to the gate. She can't see who the men outside the gate are, but one insists that he's her husband . Adriana thinks her husband is inside, so she won't let them in either. Finally, E. Antipholus has had enough, and gets ready to break down his own door. Balthazar pierces the madness as the voice of reason. He says that if E. Antipholus makes a scene by breaking down his own door, he'll only be hurting his own reputation by casting suspicion on the faithfulness of his wife. Balthazar's says E. Antipholus's wife is a good woman, so she's sure to have a good explanation for locking him out. Until they find out what Adriana's good excuse is, they should go to the Tiger and have some dinner. E. Antipholus decides that going out to eat is a good idea, and he knows where they can go. There's a nice woman at the Porpentine that his wife has accused him of being unfaithful with before. He hasn't been, of course, but hey--she is pretty cute. He then tells Angelo to go get the necklace. He's going to give it to this other woman to get back at his wife for not letting him in.


_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,
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,                             5
    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;                       10
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?                       15
    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.                        20
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;                             25
    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 of mine,--                        30
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 earthy-gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,                         35
    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.               40
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,                      45
    To drown me in thy sister 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;
    And, in that glorious supposition, think                        50
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.                  55

_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;                    60
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.                    65

_Ant. S._ 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.

_Luc._          O, soft, sir! hold you still:
I'll fetch my sister, to get her good will.    [_Exit._             70

  _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

_Ant. S._ Why, how now, Dromio! where runn'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                75
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                 80
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,             85
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 reverent body; ay, such a one as a man
may not speak of, without he say Sir-reverence. I have              90
but lean luck in the match, and yet is she 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          95
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?                               100

_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           105
do it.

_Ant. S._ What's her name?

_Dro. S._ Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters,
that's an ell and three quarters, will not measure her from
hip to hip.                                                        110

_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?                 115

_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.                                                       120

_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         125
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._ Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her
breath.                                                            130

_Ant. S._ Where America, the Indies?

_Dro. S._ 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 to be ballast at her nose.                              135

_Ant. S._ Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?

_Dro. S._ 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             140
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 transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn
        i' the wheel.

_Ant. S._ Go hie thee presently, post to the road:--               145
An if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbour 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,                           150
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.

_Dro. S._ As from a bear a man would run for life,
So fly I from her that would be my wife.    [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ There's none but witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.                    155
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:                             160
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song.

  _Enter ANGELO with the chain._

_Ang._ Master Antipholus,--

_Ant. S._                  Ay, that's my name.

_Ang._ I know it well, sir:--lo, here is the chain.
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porpentine:                     165
The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long.

_Ant. S._ What is your will that I shall do with this?

_Ang._ What please yourself, sir: I have made it for you.

_Ant. S._ Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not.

_Ang._ Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have.             170
Go home with it, and please your wife withal;
And soon at supper-time I'll visit you,
And then receive my money for the chain.

_Ant. S._ I pray you, sir, receive the money now,
For fear you ne'er see chain nor money more.                       175

_Ang._ You are a merry man, sir: fare you well.    [_Exit._

_Ant. S._ 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,                         180
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._

  NOTES: III, 2.

  SCENE II. Enter LUCIANA] F2. Enter JULIANA F1.
  1: Luc.] Rowe. Julia Ff.
  2: _Antipholus_] _Antipholis, hate_ Theobald. _Antipholis, thus_
    Id. conj. _a nipping hate_ Heath conj. _unkind debate_ Collier MS.
  4: _building_] Theobald. _buildings_ Ff.
  _ruinous_] Capell (Theobald conj.). _ruinate_ Ff.
  16: _attaint_] Rowe. _attaine_ F1 F2 F3. _attain_ F4.
  20: _are_] F2 F3 F4. _is_ F1.
  21: _but_] Theobald. _not_ Ff.
  26: _wife_] _wise_ F1.
  35: _shallow_] F1. _shaddow_ F2 F3. _shadow_ F4.
  43: _no_] F1. _a_ F2 F3 F4.
  44: _decline_] _incline_ Collier MS.
  46: _sister_] F1. _sister's_ F2 F3 F4.
  49: _bed_] F2 F3 F4. _bud_ F1. _bride_ Dyce.
  _them_] Capell (Edwards conj.). _thee_ Ff.
  52: _she_] _he_ Capell.
  57: _where_] Pope. _when_ Ff.
  66: _am_] _mean_ Pope. _aim_ Capell.
  71: SCENE III. Pope.
  93: _How_] _What_ Capell.
  97: _Poland_] _Lapland_ Warburton.
  108: _and_] Theobald (Thirlby conj). _is_ Ff.
  120: _the_] Ff. _her_ Rowe.
  122: _forehead_] _sore head_ Jackson conj.
  _reverted_] _revolted_ Grant White.
  123: _heir_] _heire_ F1. _haire_ F2 F3. _hair_ F4.
  125: _chalky_] _chalkle_ F1.
  135: _caracks_] Hanmer. _carrects_ F1. _carracts_ F2 F3 F4.
  _ballast_] _ballasted_ Capell.
  138: _drudge, or_] _drudge of the Devil, this_ Warburton.
  _or diviner_] _this divine one_ Capell conj.
  140: _mark_] _marke_ F1. _marks_ F2 F3 F4.
  143: _faith_] _flint_ Hanmer.
  143, 144: Printed as prose in Ff. As verse first by Knight.
  144: _curtal_] F4. _curtull_ F1. _curtall_ F2 F3. _cur-tail_ Hanmer.
  146: _An_] Capell. _And_ Ff.
  150: _knows us_] _know us_ Johnson.
  154: SCENE IV. Pope.
  161: _to_] _of_ Pope.
  164: _here is_] Pope. _here's_ Ff.
  177: Ant. S.] Ant. F1 F4. Dro. F2 F3.
  181: _streets_] _street_ Capell conj.

Still at E. Antipholus's house, the confusion we've just seen outside is almost as bad as the confusion going on inside. Remember S. Antipholus has just had dinner with Adriana and Luciana . Dinner must've been pretty good , because S. Antipholus has presently declared his love for Luciana. Of course, this is complicated by the fact that Luciana thinks her brother-in-law is coming onto her. Luciana wonders just how E. Antipholus can turn from loving his wife to being so unfaithful. She says Antipholus may have married her sister for money, but she wishes he'd be better to her for the money's sake, then. Luciana doesn't tell him to be faithful, exactly. Instead, she recommends that if he does love another, that he do it stealthily, as it's one offense to cheat on your wife, and an entirely different offense to let the poor woman know about it. According to Luciana, a man should hide his infidelity for his wife's sake. Luciana finally deflects S. Antipholus by saying women are gullible, and will believe what men want them to believe, especially if the men can flatter them by claiming true love. S. Antipholus is undeterred. Again, he wonders how Luciana even knows his name. He admits he doesn't really know her name, and decides that she must be some divine creature. He pleads with her to be his mentor, and teach him the ways of the world and himself. Finally, S. Antipholus rightly asserts that he has no wife, and either way, he prefers Luciana to Adriana. Besides, Adriana is inside the house crying as they speak. S. Antipholus wishes Luciana would do more with her power than just try to get him to love her sister. He basically declares Luciana to be the apple of his eye. Luciana is weirded out and runs off to try to comfort her sister. Just then, S. Dromio runs in, out of breath. S. Dromio says this woman, the unattractive kitchen wench, claims that he's her man. Though the girl's not appealing, she did know Dromio by name. Even creepier, she knew about all the marks and moles on his body. This is no woman to bring home to mom , so Dromio ran from her as though she were a witch. S. Antipholus has clearly had enough, and his plan is to get the hell out. He sends S. Dromio to go find out if any ships are leaving immediately. He'd really rather not spend the night in this creepy place that's clearly enchanted by witches and full of awful women who claim he and Dromio for their husbands. Still, S. Antipholus will be a little sad to leave Luciana, who has enchanted him. Now, Angelo the goldsmith shows up with E. Antipholus's gold chain for his wife. He mistakes S. Antipholus for E. Antipholus, and happily gives him the chain, so glad to meet him before he went to the Porpentine. Of course, S. Antipholus has no idea what's going on, but he doesn't refuse the necklace because it's pretty. He tries to pay Angelo on the spot, but Angelo refuses . S. Antipholus, thinking golden gifts are raining from the sky, decides to accept his gift. He'll meet Dromio at the marketplace and leave Ephesus as soon as possible.