_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.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

A public place.

  _Enter _Second Merchant_, ANGELO, and an _Officer_._

_Sec. Mer._ You know since Pentecost the sum is due,
And since I have not much importuned you;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage:
Therefore make present satisfaction,                                 5
Or I'll attach you by this officer.

_Ang._ Even just the sum that I do owe to you
Is growing to me by Antipholus;
And in the instant that I met with you
He had of me a chain: at five o'clock                               10
I shall receive the money for the same.
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_ and _DROMIO of Ephesus_ from
  the courtezan's._

_Off._ That labour may you save: see where he comes.

_Ant. E._ While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou              15
And buy a rope's end: that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of my doors by day.--
But, soft! I see the goldsmith. Get thee gone;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.                           20

_Dro. E._ I buy a thousand pound a year: I buy a rope.
    [_Exit._

_Ant. E._ A man is well holp up that trusts to you:
I promised your presence and the chain;
But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me.
Belike you thought our love would last too long,                    25
If it were chain'd together, and therefore came not.

_Ang._ Saving your merry humour, here's the note
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat,
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion,
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more                          30
Than I stand debted to this gentleman:
I pray you, see him presently discharged,
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.

_Ant. E._ I am not furnish'd with the present money;
Besides, I have some business in the town.                          35
Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof:
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.

_Ang._ Then you will bring the chain to her yourself?               40

_Ant. E._ No; bear it with you, lest I come not time enough.

_Ang._ Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you?

_Ant. E._ An if I have not, sir, I hope you have;
Or else you may return without your money.

_Ang._ Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain:               45
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman,
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.

_Ant. E._ Good Lord! you use this dalliance to excuse
Your breach of promise to the Porpentine.
I should have chid you for not bringing it,                         50
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.

_Sec. Mer._ The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch.

_Ang._ You hear how he importunes me;--the chain!

_Ant. E._ Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money.

_Ang._ Come, come, you know I gave it you even now.                 55
Either send the chain, or send me by some token.

_Ant. E._ Fie, now you run this humour out of breath.
Come, where's the chain? I pray you, let me see it.

_Sec. Mer._ My business cannot brook this dalliance.
Good sir, say whether you'll answer me or no:                       60
If not, I'll leave him to the officer.

_Ant. E._ I answer you! what should I answer you?

_Ang._ The money that you owe me for the chain.

_Ant. E._ I owe you none till I receive the chain.

_Ang._ You know I gave it you half an hour since.                   65

_Ant. E._ You gave me none: you wrong me much to say so.

_Ang._ You wrong me more, sir, in denying it:
Consider how it stands upon my credit.

_Sec. Mer._ Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.

_Off._ I do; and charge you in the duke's name to obey me.          70

_Ang._ This touches me in reputation.
Either consent to pay this sum for me,
Or I attach you by this officer.

_Ant. E._ Consent to pay thee that I never had!
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou darest.                          75

_Ang._ Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer.
I would not spare my brother in this case,
If he should scorn me so apparently.

_Off._ I do arrest you, sir: you hear the suit.

_Ant. E._ I do obey thee till I give thee bail.                     80
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.

_Ang._ Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame; I doubt it not.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_, from the bay._

_Dro. S._ Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum                      85
That stays but till her owner comes aboard,
And then, sir, she bears away. Our fraughtage, sir,
I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae.
The ship is in her trim; the merry wind                             90
Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all
But for their owner, master, and yourself.

_Ant. E._ How now! a madman! Why, thou peevish sheep,
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me?

_Dro. S._ A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.                   95

_Ant. E._ Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope,
And told thee to what purpose and what end.

_Dro. S._ You sent me for a rope's end as soon:
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.

_Ant. E._ I will debate this matter at more leisure,               100
And teach your ears to list me with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight:
Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry
There is a purse of ducats; let her send it:                       105
Tell her I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave, be gone!
On, officer, to prison till it come.

    [_Exeunt Sec. Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and Ant. E._

_Dro. S._ To Adriana! that is where we dined,
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband:                       110
She is too big, I hope, for me to compass.
Thither I must, although against my will,
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil.    [_Exit._

  NOTES: IV, 1.

  8: _growing_] _owing_ Pope.
  12: _Pleaseth you_] Ff. _Please you but_ Pope. _Please it you_
    Anon. conj.
  14: _may you_] F1 F2 F3. _you may_ F4.
  17: _her_] Rowe. _their_ Ff. _these_ Collier MS.
  26: _and_] om. Pope.
  28: _carat_] Pope. _charect_ F1. _Raccat_ F2 F3 F4. _caract_ Collier.
  29: _chargeful_] _charge for_ Anon. conj.
  41: _time enough_] _in time_ Hanmer.
  46: _stays_] _stay_ Pope.
  _this_] F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.
  47: _to blame_] F3. _too blame_ F1 F2 F4.
  53: _the chain!_] Dyce. _the chain,_ Ff. _the chain--_ Johnson.
  56: _Either_] _Or_ Pope.
  _me by_] _by me_ Heath conj.
  60: _whether_] _whe'r_ Ff. _where_ Rowe. _if_ Pope.
  62: _what_] F1. _why_ F2 F3 F4.
  67: _more_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4.
  70: Printed as verse by Capell.
  73: _this_] F1. _the_ F2 F3 F4.
  74: _thee_] F1. om. F2 F3 F4. _for_ Rowe.
  85: SCENE II. Pope.
  _there is_] Pope. _there's_ Ff.
  87: _And then, sir,_] F1. _Then, sir,_ F2 F3 F4. _And then_ Capell.
  _she_] om. Steevens.
  88: _bought_] F1. _brought_ F2 F3 F4.
  98: _You sent me_] _A rope! You sent me_ Capell.
    _You sent me, Sir,_ Steevens.

SCENE II.

The house of _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_.

  _Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA._

_Adr._ Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so?
    Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest? yea or no?
    Look'd he or red or pale, or sad or merrily?
What observation madest thou, in this case,                          5
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?

_Luc._ First he denied you had in him no right.

_Adr._ He meant he did me none; the more my spite.

_Luc._ Then swore he that he was a stranger here.

_Adr._ And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were.              10

_Luc._ Then pleaded I for you.

_Adr._                       And what said he?

_Luc._ That love I begg'd for you he begg'd of me.

_Adr._ With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?

_Luc._ With words that in an honest suit might move.
First he did praise my beauty, then my speech.                      15

_Adr._ Didst speak him fair?

_Luc._                      Have patience, I beseech.

_Adr._ I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere,
Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere;                      20
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind;
Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.

_Luc._ Who would be jealous, then, of such a one?
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.

_Adr._ Ah, but I think him better than I say,                       25
    And yet would herein others' eyes were worse.
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away:
    My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

_Dro. S._ Here! go; the desk, the purse! sweet, now, make haste.

_Luc._ How hast thou lost thy breath?

_Dro. S._                            By running fast.               30

_Adr._ Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well?

_Dro. S._ No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell.
A devil in an everlasting garment hath him;
One whose hard heart is button'd up with steel;
A fiend, a fury, pitiless and rough;                                35
A wolf, nay, worse; a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands;
A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well;
One that, before the Judgment, carries poor souls to hell.          40

_Adr._ Why, man, what is the matter?

_Dro. S._ I do not know the matter: he is 'rested on the case.

_Adr._ What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit.

_Dro. S._ I know not at whose suit he is arrested well;
But he's in a suit of buff which 'rested him, that can I tell.      45
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk?

_Adr._ Go fetch it, sister. [_Exit Luciana._] This I wonder at,
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt.
Tell me, was he arrested on a band?

_Dro. S._ Not on a band, but on a stronger thing;                   50
A chain, a chain! Do you not hear it ring?

_Adr._ What, the chain?

_Dro. S._ No, no, the bell: 'tis time that I were gone:
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one.

_Adr._ The hours come back! that did I never hear.                  55

_Dro. S._ O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, 'a turns back
        for very fear.

_Adr._ As if Time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason!

_Dro. S._ Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he's
        worth to season.
Nay, he's a thief too: have you not heard men say,
That Time comes stealing on by night and day?                       60
If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way,
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?

  _Re-enter LUCIANA with a purse._

_Adr._ Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it straight;
  And bring thy master home immediately.
Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit,--                     65
  Conceit, my comfort and my injury.

    [_Exeunt._

  NOTES: IV, 2.

  SCENE II.] SCENE III. Pope.
  2: _austerely_] _assuredly_ Heath conj.
  4: _or sad or_] _sad_ Capell.
  _merrily_] _merry_ Collier MS.
  6: _Of_] F2 F3 F4. _Oh,_ F1.
  7: _you_] _you; you_ Capell.
  _no_] _a_ Rowe.
  18: _his_] _it's_ Rowe.
  22: _in mind_] F1. _the mind_ F2 F3 F4.
  26: _herein_] _he in_ Hanmer.
  29: SCENE IV. Pope.
  _sweet_] _swift_ Collier MS.
  33: _hath him_] _hath him fell_ Collier MS. _hath him by the heel_
    Spedding conj.
  34: _One_] F2 F3 F4. _On_ F1.
  After this line Collier MS. inserts: _Who knows no touch of mercy,
    cannot feel_.
  35: _fury_] Pope, ed. 2 (Theobald). _Fairie_ Ff.
  37: _countermands_] _commands_ Theobald.
  38: _of_] _and_ Collier MS.
  _alleys_] _allies_ Ff.
  _lands_] _lanes_ Grey conj. See note (V).
  37, 38: _countermands The ... lands_] _his court maintains I' the
    ... lanes_ Becket conj.
  42, 45: _'rested_] Theobald. _rested_ Ff.
  43: _Tell_] _Well, tell_ Edd. conj.
  44: _arrested well;_] F1. _arrested, well;_ F2 F3.
    _arrested: well:_ F4.
  45: _But he's_] F3 F4. _But is_ F1 F2. _But 'a's_ Edd. conj.
  _can I_] F1 F2. _I can_ F3 F4.
  46: _mistress, redemption_] Hanmer. _Mistris redemption_ F1 F2 F3.
    _Mistris Redemption_ F4. See note (VI).
  48: _That_] _Thus_ F1.
  49, 50: _band_] _bond_ Rowe.
  50: _but on_] _but_ Pope.
  54-62: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  55: _hear_] _here_ F1.
  56: _'a turns_] _it turns_ Pope. _he turns_ Capell.
  58: _bankrupt_] _bankrout_ Ff.
  _to season_] om. Pope.
  61: _Time_] Rowe. _I_ Ff. _he_ Malone. _'a_ Staunton.
  62: _an hour_] _any hour_ Collier MS.

Inside the house, Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse are alone together. Luciana rebukes the man she believes to be her brother-in-law for not treating Adriana well; if he must betray his wife, she pleads, he should at least do it secretly. Antipholus S., meanwhile, insists that he is not Adriana's husband and then professes his love for Luciana. Appalled, she flees to find her sister. Dromio of Syracuse joins his master and recounts how the kitchen maid, Nell, mistook him for her husband . Nell, as the Syracusan Dromio tells it, is a prodigiously fat, ugly, and fearsome woman, and he and his master have a good laugh at her expense. Then, Antipholus S. tells his slave that he intends to depart from Ephesus immediately and sends him to the harbor to book passage. Once Dromio is gone, his master ponders the beauty of Luciana but resolves not to be tempted to remain in the city, since "none but witches do inhabit here". As he stands in thought, Angelo the goldsmith comes in and, mistaking him for Antipholus of Ephesus, gives him the gold chain that the Ephesian Antipholus had ordered, promising to stop by later to collect payment. Angelo, we learn, is in debt to a Second Merchant, who threatens to arrest him unless the money is paid. The goldsmith promises to collect the sum from Antipholus of Ephesus, who he sees walking down the street with Dromio of Ephesus. Antipholus E. sends his slave off to buy rope, with which he plans to beat his wife and servants for locking him out of the house at the last meal. Next, he greets Angelo, who asks to be paid for his gold chain. Antipholus, of course, never received the chain, and refuses to pay, so Angelo has him arrested. At that moment, Dromio of Syracuse returns from the harbor, and mistaking Antipholus E. for his master, tells him which ships are ready to sail. Cursing, Antipholus orders him to be silent and sends him to Adriana to fetch a purse of money with which to pay his way out of jail. Meanwhile, Luciana has told Adriana about how her "husband" declared his love for her and pledges her innocence of any illicit behavior. Adriana curses Antipholus furiously but admits to still feeling some love for him. Dromio of Syracuse dashes in to report that Antipholus has been arrested and needs money; Adriana sends Luciana to fetch it and then orders Dromio to hurry and save her husband from prison.

ii - Commentary Her encounter with Antipholus of Syracuse provides an occasion for Luciana to expound again on her philosophy of marriage. She rebukes him for not being faithful and then says, "If you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; / Muffle your false love with some show of blindness ." In other words, cheat if you must but at least pretend that you still love her, and don't get caught philandering. This assumption that men will have affairs, and that it is better not to know about them, fits in well with Luciana's world of docile women and dominating men, but it has unsettling implications in this case, since Antipholus is professing his love for her. By suggesting that her brother-in-law can commit adultery as long as he is not caught, one might argue, she implicitly suggests her own openness to his entreaties. For his part, Antipholus' speech declaring his love for her has a touching desperation to it. The language, which promises his submission to her )," suggests a relationship that reverses Luciana's professed ideal of feminine obedience. In a sense, Antipholus seems to be using his infatuation to achieve what his search for his brother has not granted him--namely, a sense of self. "Transform me then," he entreats her, "and to your power I'll yield . " If the enchantments of Ephesus threaten to strip him of his identity, then his love for Luciana offers it back to him through the re-creative powers of love. From this revealing scene, we shift immediately to the uproariously funny exchange between Antipholus and his Dromio, in which Dromio uses geographical references to describe the ugliness of Nell , who has mistaken him for her husband. "In what part of her body stands Ireland?" his master asks. "Marry, sir, in her buttocks," the slave replies. "I found it out by the bogs." "Where Scotland?" Antipholus continues and gets the reply: "I found it by the barrenness; hard in the palm of her hand" . The dialogue continues through France, England, Spain, and the Indies, culminating in Antipholus' question: "Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands?" and his man's reply: "O, sir! I did not look so low ." This is Dromio S. in his finest form, telling raunchy jokes with obvious glee. What follows is pure plot, as the playwright contrives to entangle his characters in a bewildering web of errors culminating with the arrest of Antipholus of Ephesus. Adriana's response to the news is telling--having just been told that her husband tried to commit adultery with her own sister, she nevertheless reaffirms her love for him and sends money to free him immediately. The transience of her jealousy is appropriate to the play, since all negative emotions in a comedy must be transient in order to prepare for the happy ending.


SCENE III.

A public place.

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse_._

_Ant. S._ There's not a man I meet but doth salute me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me; some invite me;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses;                            5
Some offer me commodities to buy;--
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me,
And therewithal took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles,                                10
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

_Dro. S._ Master, here's the gold you sent me for.--
What, have you got the picture of old Adam new-apparelled?

_Ant. S._ What gold is this? what Adam dost thou mean?

_Dro. S._ Not that Adam that kept the Paradise, but that            15
Adam that keeps the prison: he that goes in the calf's skin
that was killed for the Prodigal; he that came behind you,
sir, like an evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.

_Ant. S._ I understand thee not.

_Dro. S._ No? why, 'tis a plain case: he that went, like a          20
base-viol, in a case of leather; the man, sir, that, when
gentlemen are tired, gives them a sob, and 'rests them; he, sir,
that takes pity on decayed men, and gives them suits of
durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits with
his mace than a morris-pike.                                        25

_Ant. S._ What, thou meanest an officer?

_Dro. S._ Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that
brings any man to answer it that breaks his band; one that
thinks a man always going to bed, and says, 'God give you
good rest!'                                                         30

_Ant. S._ Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there
any ship puts forth to-night? may we be gone?

_Dro. S._ Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since,
that the bark Expedition put forth to-night; and then were
you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy Delay.           35
Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.

_Ant. S._ The fellow is distract, and so am I;
And here we wander in illusions:
Some blessed power deliver us from hence!

  _Enter a _Courtezan_._

_Cour._ Well met, well met, Master Antipholus.                      40
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now:
Is that the chain you promised me to-day?

_Ant. S._ Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.

_Dro. S._ Master, is this Mistress Satan?

_Ant. S._ It is the devil.                                          45

_Dro. S._ Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and
here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof
comes that the wenches say, 'God damn me;' that's as
much to say, 'God make me a light wench.' It is written,
they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of      50
fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come
not near her.

_Cour._ Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir.
Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?

_Dro. S._ Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or bespeak          55
a long spoon.

_Ant. S._ Why, Dromio?

_Dro. S._ Marry, he must have a long spoon that must
eat with the devil.

_Ant. S._ Avoid then, fiend! what tell'st thou me of supping?       60
Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress:
I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.

_Cour._ Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner,
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised,
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.                         65

_Dro. S._ Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
A nut, a cherry-stone;
But she, more covetous, would have a chain.
Master, be wise: an if you give it her,                             70
The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.

_Cour._ I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.

_Ant. S._ Avaunt, thou witch! --Come, Dromio, let us go.

_Dro. S._ 'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know.

    [_Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S._                                   75

_Cour._ Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself.
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he promised me a chain:
Both one and other he denies me now.                                80
The reason that I gather he is mad,--
Besides this present instance of his rage,--
Is a mad tale he told to-day at dinner,
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits,                          85
On purpose shut the doors against his way.
My way is now to his home to his house,
And tell his wife that, being lunatic,
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce
My ring away. This course I fittest choose;                         90
For forty ducats is too much to lose.    [_Exit._

  NOTES: IV, 3.

  SCENE III.] SCENE V. Pope.
  13: _What, have_] Pope. _What have_ Ff.
  _got_] _got rid of_ Theobald. _not_ Anon. conj.
  16: _calf's skin_] _calves-skin_ Ff.
  22: _sob_] _fob_ Rowe. _bob_ Hanmer. _sop_ Dyce conj.
    _stop_ Grant White.
  _'rests_] Warburton. _rests_ Ff.
  25: _morris_] _Moris_ Ff. _Maurice_ Hanmer (Warburton).
  28: _band_] _bond_ Rowe.
  29: _says_] Capell. _saies_ F1. _saieth_ F2. _saith_ F3 F4.
  32: _ship_] F2 F3 F4. _ships_ F1.
  34: _put_] _puts_ Pope.
  40: SCENE VI. Pope.
  44-62: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  47-49: _and ... wench.'_] Marked as spurious by Capell, MS.
  48, 49: _as much_] _as much as_ Pope.
  54: _me? ... here?_] _me, ... here?_ Ff. _me? ... here._ Steevens.
  55: _if you do, expect_] F2 F3 F4. _if do expect_ F1.
  _or_] om. Rowe. _so_ Capell. _either stay away, or_ Malone conj.
    _and_ Ritson conj. _Oh!_ Anon. conj.
  60: _then_] F1 F2 F3. _thou_ F4. _thee_ Dyce.
  61: _are all_] _all are_ Boswell.
  66-71: Printed as prose by Ff, as verse by Capell, ending the
    third line at _covetous_.
  75: Put in the margin as spurious by Pope.
  76: SCENE VII. Pope.
  84: _doors_] _door_ Johnson.

SCENE IV.

A street.

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus_ and the _Officer_._

_Ant. E._ Fear me not, man; I will not break away:
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money,
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day,
And will not lightly trust the messenger.                            5
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus,
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears.

  _Enter _DROMIO of Ephesus_ with a ropes-end._

Here comes my man; I think he brings the money.
How now, sir! have you that I sent you for?

_Dro. E._ Here's that, I warrant you, will pay them all.            10

_Ant. E._ But where's the money?

_Dro. E._ Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.

_Ant. E._ Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope?

_Dro. E._ I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.

_Ant. E._ To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?                 15

_Dro. E._ To a rope's-end, sir; and to that end am I
returned.

_Ant. E._ And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.
    [_Beating him._

_Off._ Good sir, be patient.

_Dro. E._ Nay, 'tis for me to be patient; I am in adversity.        20

_Off._ Good, now, hold thy tongue.

_Dro. E._ Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands.

_Ant. E._ Thou whoreson, senseless villain!

_Dro. E._ I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not
feel your blows.                                                    25

_Ant. E._ Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and
so is an ass.

_Dro. E._ I am an ass, indeed; you may prove it by my
long ears. I have served him from the hour of my nativity
to this instant, and have nothing at his hands for my service       30
but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with beating;
when I am warm, he cools me with beating: I am waked
with it when I sleep; raised with it when I sit; driven out
of doors with it when I go from home; welcomed home
with it when I return: nay, I bear it on my shoulders, as           35
a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, when he hath lamed
me, I shall beg with it from door to door.

_Ant. E._ Come, go along; my wife is coming yonder.

  _Enter ADRIANA, LUCIANA, the _Courtezan_, and PINCH._

_Dro. E._ Mistress, 'respice finem,' respect your end; or
rather, the prophecy like the parrot, 'beware the rope's-end.'      40

_Ant. E._ Wilt thou still talk?    [_Beating him._

_Cour._ How say you now? is not your husband mad?

_Adr._ His incivility confirms no less.
Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer;
Establish him in his true sense again,                              45
And I will please you what you will demand.

_Luc._ Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks!

_Cour._ Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!

_Pinch._ Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse.

_Ant. E._ There is my hand, and let it feel your ear.               50
    [_Striking him._

_Pinch._ I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness his thee straight:
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!

_Ant. E._ Peace, doting wizard, peace! I am not mad.                55

_Adr._ O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul!

_Ant. E._ You minion, you, are these your customers?
Did this companion with the saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house to-day,
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut,                          60
And I denied to enter in my house?

_Adr._ O husband, God doth know you dined at home;
Where would you had remain'd until this time,
Free from these slanders and this open shame!

_Ant. E._ Dined at home!--Thou villain, what sayest thou?           65

_Dro. E._ Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home.

_Ant. E._ Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut out?

_Dro. E._ Perdie, your doors were lock'd, and you shut out.

_Ant. E._ And did not she herself revile me there?

_Dro. E._ Sans fable, she herself reviled you there.                70

_Ant. E._ Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me?

_Dro. E._ Certes, she did; the kitchen-vestal scorn'd you.

_Ant. E._ And did not I in rage depart from thence?

_Dro. E._ In verity you did; my bones bear witness,
That since have felt the vigour of his rage.                        75

_Adr._ Is't good to soothe him in these contraries?

_Pinch._ It is no shame: the fellow finds his vein,
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.

_Ant. E._ Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to arrest me.

_Adr._ Alas, I sent you money to redeem you,                        80
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it.

_Dro. E._ Money by me! heart and good-will you might;
But surely, master, not a rag of money.

_Ant. E._ Went'st not thou to her for a purse of ducats?

_Adr._ He came to me, and I deliver'd it.                           85

_Luc._ And I am witness with her that she did.

_Dro. E._ God and the rope-maker bear me witness
That I was sent for nothing but a rope!

_Pinch._ Mistress, both man and master is possess'd;
I know it by their pale and deadly looks:                           90
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.

_Ant. E._ Say, wherefore didst them lock me forth to-day?
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold?

_Adr._ I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.

_Dro. E._ And, gentle master, I received no gold;                   95
But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out.

_Adr._ Dissembling villain, them speak'st false in both.

_Ant. E._ Dissembling harlot, them art false in all,
And art confederate with a damned pack
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me:                            100
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes,
That would behold in me this shameful sport.

  _Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives._

_Adr._ O, bind him, bind him! let him not come near me.

_Pinch._ More company! The fiend is strong within him.

_Luc._ Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks!                 105

_Ant. E._ What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, thou,
I am thy prisoner: wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue?

_Off._          Masters, let him go:
He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him.

_Pinch._ Go bind this man, for he is frantic too.                  110

    [_They offer to bind Dro. E._

_Adr._ What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself?

_Off._ He is my prisoner: if I let him go,
The debt he owes will be required of me.                           115

_Adr._ I will discharge thee ere I go from thee:
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor,
And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
Good master doctor, see him safe convey'd
Home to my house. O most unhappy day!                              120

_Ant. E._ O most unhappy strumpet!

_Dro. E._ Master, I am here entered in bond for you.

_Ant. E._ Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me?

_Dro. E._ Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, good
master: cry, The devil!                                            125

_Luc._ God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk!

_Adr._ Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me.
    [_Exeunt all but Adriana, Luciana, Officer and Courtezan._]
Say now; whose suit is he arrested at?

_Off._ One Angelo, a goldsmith: do you know him?

_Adr._ I know the man. What is the sum he owes?                    130

_Off._ Two hundred ducats.

_Adr._                   Say, how grows it due?

_Off._ Due for a chain your husband had of him.

_Adr._ He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not.

_Cour._ When as your husband, all in rage, to-day
Came to my house, and took away my ring,--                         135
The ring I saw upon his finger now,--
Straight after did I meet him with a chain.

_Adr._ It may be so, but I did never see it.
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is:
I long to know the truth hereof at large.                          140

  _Enter _ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse_ with his rapier drawn,
  and _DROMIO of Syracuse_._

_Luc._ God, for thy mercy! they are loose again.

_Adr._ And come with naked swords.
Let's call more help to have them bound again.

_Off._ Away! they'll kill us.

    [_Exeunt all but Ant. S. and Dro. S._

_Ant. S._ I see these witches are afraid of swords.                145

_Dro. S._ She that would be your wife now ran from you.

_Ant. S._ Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff from thence:
I long that we were safe and sound aboard.

_Dro. S._ Faith, stay here this night; they will surely do
us no harm: you saw they speak us fair, give us gold:              150
methinks they are such a gentle nation, that, but for the
mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, I could
find in my heart to stay here still, and turn witch.

_Ant. S._ I will not stay to-night for all the town;
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard.

    [_Exeunt._                                                     155

  NOTES: IV, 4.

  SCENE IV.] SCENE VIII. Pope.
  and the Officer.] Capell. with a Jailor. Ff.
  5, 6: _messenger. That ... Ephesus,_] Rowe.
    _messenger, That ... Ephesus,_ F1 F2 F3.
    _messenger; That ... Ephesus,_ F4.
    _messenger, That ... Ephesus:_ Capell.
  14: Dro. E.] Off. Edd. conj.
  15: _hie_] _high_ F2.
  17: _returned_] _come_ Anon. conj.
  18: [Beating him.] Capell. [Beats Dro. Pope. om. Ff.
  29: _ears_] See note (VII).
  38: SCENE IX. Pope. The stage direction 'Enter ... Pinch,'
    precedes line 38 in Ff, and all editions till Dyce's.
  Pinch.] a schoolmaster, call'd Pinch. Ff.
  40: _the prophecy_] _the prophesie_ F1 F2 F3 F4. _prophesie_ Rowe.
    _to prophesy_ Dyce.
  39-41: _or rather ... talk?_] _or rather, 'prospice funem,'
    beware the rope's end._ Ant. E. _Wilt thou still talk like
    the parrot?_ Edd. conj.
  41: [Beating him.] [Beats Dro. Ff.
  46: _what_] _in what_ Hanmer.
  65: _Dined_] _Din'd I_ Theobald. _I din'd_ Capell.
  72: _Certes_] Pope. _certis_ Ff.
  74: _bear_] _beares_ F1.
  75: _vigour_] _rigour_ Collier MS.
  _his_] _your_ Pope.
  83: _master_] _mistress_ Dyce conj.
  _rag_] _bag_ Becket conj.
  84: _not thou_] _thou not_ Capell.
  87: _bear_] _do bear_ Pope. _now bear_ Collier MS.
  89: _is_] _are_ Rowe.
  101: _these false_] Ff. _those false_ Rowe.
  102: [Flying at his wife. Capell.
  Enter ...] The stage direction is transferred by Dyce to follow 105.
  106: _me? Thou ... thou,_] Rowe. _me, thou ... thou?_ Ff.
  110: [They ... Dro. E.] Edd. om. Ff.
  117: [They bind ANT. and DRO. Rowe.
  124: _nothing?_] _nothing thus?_ Hanmer, reading as verse.
  126: _help, poor_] Theobald. _help poor_ Ff.
  _idly_] Pope. _idlely_ Ff.
  127: _go_] _stay_ Pope.
  [Exeunt all but ...] Exeunt. Manet ... Ff (after line 128).
  129: SCENE X. Pope.
  133: _for me_] om. Hanmer.
  141: SCENE XI. Pope.
  143: [Runne all out. Ff.
  144: [Exeunt ...] Exeunt omnes, as fast as may be, frighted. Ff.
  150: _saw ... speak us ... give_] F1.
    _saw ... spake us ... give_ F2 F3 F4.
    _saw ... spake to us ... give_ Rowe.
    _saw ... spake us ... gave_ Pope.
    _see ... speak us ... give_ Capell.

Antipholus of Syracuse, exploring the city, remarks that people he has never met are continually greeting him, thanking him for favors, showing him goods he has ordered, and so on. Dromio of Syracuse dashes up to him, carrying the gold that Adriana sent to free Antipholus of Ephesus from jail. This Antipholus, of course, has no idea why his servant is bringing him money and immediately asks Dromio whether there are ships in the harbor on which they can book passage out of Ephesus. As master and slave converse, the Courtesan, at whose home Antipholus of Ephesus ate dinner, comes upon them and asks Antipholus S. for a ring that he borrowed from her during the meal. He and Dromio decide that she is a witch and flee, leaving the Courtesan convinced that he is mad. She resolves to go to Adriana's home and tell her that her husband has stolen the ring and demand repayment. Meanwhile, Dromio of Ephesus encounters Antipholus of Ephesus in an officer's custody. His master demands to know where the money is to pay his way out of jail; Dromio, baffled, replies that he has brought the rope's end that Antipholus had earlier sent him to buy. Antipholus flies into a rage and tries to assault his slave, halting only at the sudden appearance of Adriana, Luciana, the Courtesan, and a would-be sorcerer named Doctor Pinch. The women plan to have the doctor use exorcism to cure Antipholus' supposed madness. Antipholus protests, and he argues with Adriana: she claims that he dined at home, while her husband  tells her that he was shut out of his own house. Pinch declares that both master and slave are mad, and they are bound and taken to Adriana's house; Adriana promises the officer to make good all her husband's debts. He tells her that Antipholus owes money to Angelo the goldsmith for a gold chain, and the Courtesan says that she saw Antipholus with the item; Adriana, of course, has never seen the chain. As they talk, Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse rush in with drawn swords, and everyone else flees, mistaking them for Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus, who, they assume, have escaped from Pinch. Remarking that even witches are afraid of swords, the Syracusan Antipholus orders his slave to take their belongings on board a ship.

iv - Commentary The portrait of Ephesus as a place of enchantments continues through these scenes. Antipholus of Ephesus' bafflement at being hailed on the street by complete strangers leads him to comment that "sure, these are but imaginary wiles, / and Lapland sorcerers inhabit here ." His decision to blame "Lapland sorcerers," however, seems to mask a deeper insecurity, since his reference to "imaginary wiles"  suggests that he may be beginning to doubt his own sanity. As his sense of self erodes, his hysteria mounts and his panic at the Courtesan's rather innocuous words and subsequent decision to run around with a drawn sword suggests a man teetering on the brink of panic. But, as the confusing events multiply and the conflicting stories offered by Antipholus of Ephesus and Adriana come into conflict , even the Ephesians themselves become convinced that magic is afoot--or, rather, madness that can be cured by magic. The magic is absurd rather than sinister, however: Antipholus of Syracuse's forebodings about sorcerers and witches are realized only in the ludicrous mountebank Doctor Pinch, whose incantation ) reminds the audience of the blurred lines that define the setting--he offers a Christian prayer in a supposedly pre-Christian city. The character of the Doctor--who is described, somewhat oddly, as a schoolmaster and a conjurer--defines the comic tone of the play. In Shakespeare's tragedies , magic is a destructive force; here, sorcery is a hobby of schoolteachers and, ultimately, a sham.


ACT I SCENE I

Enter Count Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo

Lodo.   Banish'd!

Ant.   It griev'd me much to hear the sentence.

Lodo.   Ha, ha, O Democritus, thy gods
  That govern the whole world! courtly reward
  And punishment.  Fortune 's a right whore:
  If she give aught, she deals it in small parcels,
  That she may take away all at one swoop.
  This 'tis to have great enemies!  God 'quite them.
  Your wolf no longer seems to be a wolf
  Than when she 's hungry.

Gas.   You term those enemies,
  Are men of princely rank.

Lodo.   Oh, I pray for them:
  The violent thunder is adored by those
  Are pasht in pieces by it.

Ant.   Come, my lord,
  You are justly doom'd; look but a little back
  Into your former life: you have in three years
  Ruin'd the noblest earldom.

Gas.   Your followers
  Have swallowed you, like mummia, and being sick
  With such unnatural and horrid physic,
  Vomit you up i' th' kennel.

Ant.   All the damnable degrees
  Of drinking have you stagger'd through.  One citizen,
  Is lord of two fair manors, call'd you master,
  Only for caviare.

Gas.   Those noblemen
  Which were invited to your prodigal feasts,
  (Wherein the phoenix scarce could 'scape your throats)
  Laugh at your misery, as fore-deeming you
  An idle meteor, which drawn forth, the earth
  Would be soon lost i' the air.

Ant.   Jest upon you,
  And say you were begotten in an earthquake,
  You have ruin'd such fair lordships.

Lodo.   Very good.
  This well goes with two buckets: I must tend
  The pouring out of either.

Gas.   Worse than these.
  You have acted certain murders here in Rome,
  Bloody and full of horror.

Lodo.   'Las, they were flea-bitings:
  Why took they not my head then?

Gas.   O, my lord!
  The law doth sometimes mediate, thinks it good
  Not ever to steep violent sins in blood:
  This gentle penance may both end your crimes,
  And in the example better these bad times.

Lodo.   So; but I wonder then some great men 'scape
  This banishment: there 's Paulo Giordano Ursini,
  The Duke of Brachiano, now lives in Rome,
  And by close panderism seeks to prostitute
  The honour of Vittoria Corombona:
  Vittoria, she that might have got my pardon
  For one kiss to the duke.

Ant.   Have a full man within you:
  We see that trees bear no such pleasant fruit
  There where they grew first, as where they are new set.
  Perfumes, the more they are chaf'd, the more they render
  Their pleasing scents, and so affliction
  Expresseth virtue fully, whether true,
  Or else adulterate.

Lodo.   Leave your painted comforts;
  I 'll make Italian cut-works in their guts
  If ever I return.

Gas.   Oh, sir.

Lodo.   I am patient.
  I have seen some ready to be executed,
  Give pleasant looks, and money, and grown familiar
  With the knave hangman; so do I; I thank them,
  And would account them nobly merciful,
  Would they dispatch me quickly.

Ant.   Fare you well;
  We shall find time, I doubt not, to repeal
  Your banishment.

Lodo.   I am ever bound to you.
  This is the world's alms; pray make use of it.
  Great men sell sheep, thus to be cut in pieces,
  When first they have shorn them bare, and sold their fleeces.
                                                                  [Exeunt

SCENE II

Enter Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Vittoria

Brach.   Your best of rest.

Vit.   Unto my lord the duke,
  The best of welcome.  More lights: attend the duke.
                                            [Exeunt Camillo and Vittoria.

Brach.   Flamineo.

Flam.   My lord.

Brach.   Quite lost, Flamineo.

Flam.   Pursue your noble wishes, I am prompt
  As lightning to your service.  O my lord!
  The fair Vittoria, my happy sister,
  Shall give you present audience--Gentlemen,                   [Whisper.
  Let the caroch go on--and 'tis his pleasure
  You put out all your torches and depart.

Brach.   Are we so happy?

Flam.   Can it be otherwise?
  Observ'd you not to-night, my honour'd lord,
  Which way soe'er you went, she threw her eyes?
  I have dealt already with her chambermaid,
  Zanche the Moor, and she is wondrous proud
  To be the agent for so high a spirit.

Brach.   We are happy above thought, because 'bove merit.

Flam.   'Bove merit! we may now talk freely: 'bove merit! what is 't you
  doubt? her coyness! that 's but the superficies of lust most women have;
  yet why should ladies blush to hear that named, which they do not fear
  to handle?  Oh, they are politic; they know our desire is increased by
  the difficulty of enjoying; whereas satiety is a blunt, weary, and
  drowsy passion.  If the buttery-hatch at court stood continually open,
  there would be nothing so passionate crowding, nor hot suit after the
  beverage.

Brach.   Oh, but her jealous husband----

Flam.   Hang him; a gilder that hath his brains perished with quicksilver
  is not more cold in the liver.  The great barriers moulted not more
  feathers, than he hath shed hairs, by the confession of his doctor.  An
  Irish gamester that will play himself naked, and then wage all
  downward, at hazard, is not more venturous.  So unable to please a
  woman, that, like a Dutch doublet, all his back is shrunk into his
  breaches.
  Shroud you within this closet, good my lord;
  Some trick now must be thought on to divide
  My brother-in-law from his fair bed-fellow.

Brach.   Oh, should she fail to come----

Flam.   I must not have your lordship thus unwisely amorous.  I myself
  have not loved a lady, and pursued her with a great deal of under-age
  protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would
  with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of.  'Tis just
  like a summer bird-cage in a garden: the birds that are without despair
  to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a
  consumption for fear they shall never get out.  Away, away, my lord.
                                       [Exit Brachiano as Camillo enters.

  See here he comes.  This fellow by his apparel
  Some men would judge a politician;
  But call his wit in question, you shall find it
  Merely an ass in 's foot-cloth.  How now, brother?
  What, travelling to bed with your kind wife?

Cam.   I assure you, brother, no.  My voyage lies
  More northerly, in a far colder clime.
  I do not well remember, I protest,
  When I last lay with her.

Flam.   Strange you should lose your count.

Cam.   We never lay together, but ere morning
  There grew a flaw between us.

Flam.   'T had been your part
  To have made up that flaw.

Cam.   True, but she loathes I should be seen in 't.

Flam.   Why, sir, what 's the matter?

Cam.   The duke your master visits me, I thank him;
  And I perceive how, like an earnest bowler,
  He very passionately leans that way
  he should have his bowl run.

Flam.   I hope you do not think----

Cam.   That nobleman bowl booty? faith, his cheek
  Hath a most excellent bias: it would fain
  Jump with my mistress.

Flam.   Will you be an ass,
  Despite your Aristotle? or a cuckold,
  Contrary to your Ephemerides,
  Which shows you under what a smiling planet
  You were first swaddled?

Cam.   Pew wew, sir; tell me not
  Of planets nor of Ephemerides.
  A man may be made cuckold in the day-time,
  When the stars' eyes are out.

Flam.   Sir, good-bye you;
  I do commit you to your pitiful pillow
  Stuffed with horn-shavings.

Cam.   Brother!

Flam.   God refuse me.
  Might I advise you now, your only course
  Were to lock up your wife.

Cam.   'Twere very good.

Flam.   Bar her the sight of revels.

Cam.   Excellent.

Flam.   Let her not go to church, but, like a hound
  In leon, at your heels.

Cam.   'Twere for her honour.

Flam.   And so you should be certain in one fortnight,
  Despite her chastity or innocence,
  To be cuckolded, which yet is in suspense:
  This is my counsel, and I ask no fee for 't.

Cam.   Come, you know not where my nightcap wrings me.

Flam.   Wear it a' th' old fashion; let your large ears come through,
  it will be more easy--nay, I will be bitter--bar your wife of her
  entertainment: women are more willingly and more gloriously chaste,
  when they are least restrained of their liberty.  It seems you would
  be a fine capricious, mathematically jealous coxcomb; take the height
  of your own horns with a Jacob's staff, afore they are up.  These
  politic enclosures for paltry mutton, makes more rebellion in the
  flesh, than all the provocative electuaries doctors have uttered since
  last jubilee.

Cam.   This doth not physic me----

Flam.   It seems you are jealous: I 'll show you the error of it by a
  familiar example: I have seen a pair of spectacles fashioned with such
  perspective art, that lay down but one twelve pence a' th' board,
  'twill appear as if there were twenty; now should you wear a pair of
  these spectacles, and see your wife tying her shoe, you would imagine
  twenty hands were taking up of your wife's clothes, and this would put
  you into a horrible causeless fury.

Cam.   The fault there, sir, is not in the eyesight.

Flam.   True, but they that have the yellow jaundice think all objects
  they look on to be yellow.  Jealousy is worse; her fits present to a
  man, like so many bubbles in a basin of water, twenty several crabbed
  faces, many times makes his own shadow his cuckold-maker.  [Enter
  Vittoria Corombona.]  See, she comes; what reason have you to be
  jealous of this creature? what an ignorant ass or flattering knave
  might be counted, that should write sonnets to her eyes, or call her
  brow the snow of Ida, or ivory of Corinth; or compare her hair to the
  blackbird's bill, when 'tis liker the blackbird's feather?  This is
  all.  Be wise; I will make you friends, and you shall go to bed
  together.  Marry, look you, it shall not be your seeking.  Do you stand
  upon that, by any means: walk you aloof; I would not have you seen
  in 't.--Sister [my lord attend you in the banqueting-house,] your
  husband is wondrous discontented.

Vit.   I did nothing to displease him; I carved to him at supper-time.

Flam.   [You need not have carved him, in faith; they say he is a capon
  already.  I must now seemingly fall out with you.]  Shall a gentleman
  so well descended as Camillo [a lousy slave, that within this twenty
  years rode with the black guard in the duke's carriage, 'mongst spits
  and dripping-pans!]--

Cam.   Now he begins to tickle her.

Flam.   An excellent scholar [one that hath a head fill'd with calves'
  brains without any sage in them,] come crouching in the hams to you for
  a night's lodging? [that hath an itch in 's hams, which like the fire
  at the glass-house hath not gone out this seven years]  Is he not a
  courtly gentleman? [when he wears white satin, one would take him by
  his black muzzle to be no other creature than a maggot]  You are a
  goodly foil, I confess, well set out [but cover'd with a false stone--
  yon counterfeit diamond].

Cam.   He will make her know what is in me.

Flam.   Come, my lord attends you; thou shalt go to bed to my lord.

Cam.   Now he comes to 't.

Flam.   [With a relish as curious as a vintner going to taste new wine.]
  [To Camillo.]  I am opening your case hard.

Cam.   A virtuous brother, o' my credit!

Flam.   He will give thee a ring with a philosopher's stone in it.

Cam.   Indeed, I am studying alchemy.

Flam.   Thou shalt lie in a bed stuffed with turtle's feathers; swoon in
  perfumed linen, like the fellow was smothered in roses.  So perfect
  shall be thy happiness, that as men at sea think land, and trees, and
  ships, go that way they go; so both heaven and earth shall seem to go
  your voyage.  Shalt meet him; 'tis fix'd, with nails of diamonds to
  inevitable necessity.

Vit.   How shalt rid him hence?

Flam.   [I will put brize in 's tail, set him gadding presently.]  I have
  almost wrought her to it; I find her coming: but, might I advise you
  now, for this night I would not lie with her, I would cross her humour
  to make her more humble.

Cam.   Shall I, shall I?

Flam.  It will show in you a supremacy of judgment.

Cam.   True, and a mind differing from the tumultuary opinion; for, quae
  negata, grata.

Flam.   Right: you are the adamant shall draw her to you, though you keep
  distance off.

Cam.   A philosophical reason.

Flam.   Walk by her a' th' nobleman's fashion, and tell her you will lie
  with her at the end of the progress.

Cam.   Vittoria, I cannot be induc'd, or as a man would say, incited----

Vit.   To do what, sir?

Cam.   To lie with you to-night.  Your silkworm used to fast every third
  day, and the next following spins the better.  To-morrow at night, I am
  for you.

Vit.   You 'll spin a fair thread, trust to 't.

Flam.   But do you hear, I shall have you steal to her chamber about
  midnight.

Cam.   Do you think so? why look you, brother, because you shall not say
  I 'll gull you, take the key, lock me into the chamber, and say you
  shall be sure of me.

Flam.   In troth I will; I 'll be your jailor once.

Cam.   A pox on 't, as I am a Christian! tell me to-morrow how scurvily
  she takes my unkind parting.

Flam.   I will.

Cam.   Didst thou not mark the jest of the silkworm?
  Good-night; in faith, I will use this trick often.

Flam.   Do, do, do.                                        [Exit Camillo.
  So, now you are safe.  Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own
  work like a silkworm.  [Enter Brachiano.]  Come, sister, darkness hides
  your blush.  Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all
  daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or
  most mischief.  My lord, my lord!

Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
  Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.

Brach.   Give credit: I could wish time would stand still,
  And never end this interview, this hour;
  But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
  Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
  Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
  Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me,
  I am lost eternally.

Vit.   Sir, in the way of pity,
  I wish you heart-whole.

Brach.   You are a sweet physician.

Vit.   Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies
  Is as to doctors many funerals:
  It takes away their credit.

Brach.   Excellent creature!
  We call the cruel fair; what name for you
  That are so merciful?

Zan.   See now they close.

Flam.   Most happy union.

Corn.   [Aside.]  My fears are fall'n upon me: oh, my heart!
  My son the pander! now I find our house
  Sinking to ruin.  Earthquakes leave behind,
  Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone;
  But woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none.

Brach.   What value is this jewel?

Vit.   'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune.

Brach.   In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change
  My jewel for your jewel.

Flam.   Excellent;
  His jewel for her jewel: well put in, duke.

Brach.   Nay, let me see you wear it.

Vit.   Here, sir?

Brach.   Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower.

Flam.   That 's better: she must wear his jewel lower.

Vit.   To pass away the time, I 'll tell your grace
  A dream I had last night.

Brach.   Most wishedly.

Vit.   A foolish idle dream:
  Methought I walked about the mid of night
  Into a churchyard, where a goodly yew-tree
  Spread her large root in ground: under that yew,
  As I sat sadly leaning on a grave,
  Chequer'd with cross-sticks, there came stealing in
  Your duchess and my husband; one of them
  A pickaxe bore, th' other a rusty spade,
  And in rough terms they 'gan to challenge me
  About this yew.

Brach.   That tree?

Vit.   This harmless yew;
  They told me my intent was to root up
  That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it
  A wither'd blackthorn; and for that they vow'd
  To bury me alive.  My husband straight
  With pickaxe 'gan to dig, and your fell duchess
  With shovel, like a fury, voided out
  The earth and scatter'd bones: Lord, how methought
  I could not pray.

Flam.   No; the devil was in your dream.

Vit.   When to my rescue there arose, methought,
  A whirlwind, which let fall a massy arm
  From that strong plant;
  And both were struck dead by that sacred yew,
  In that base shallow grave that was their due.

Flam.   Excellent devil!
  She hath taught him in a dream
  To make away his duchess and her husband.

Brach.   Sweetly shall I interpret this your dream.
  You are lodg'd within his arms who shall protect you
  From all the fevers of a jealous husband,
  From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess.
  I 'll seat you above law, and above scandal;
  Give to your thoughts the invention of delight,
  And the fruition; nor shall government
  Divide me from you longer, than a care
  To keep you great: you shall to me at once
  Be dukedom, health, wife, children, friends, and all.

Corn.   [Advancing.]  Woe to light hearts, they still forerun our fall!

Flam.   What fury raised thee up? away, away.               [Exit Zanche.

Corn.   What make you here, my lord, this dead of night?
  Never dropp'd mildew on a flower here till now.

Flam.   I pray, will you go to bed then,
  Lest you be blasted?

Corn.   O that this fair garden
  Had with all poison'd herbs of Thessaly
  At first been planted; made a nursery
  For witchcraft, rather than a burial plot
  For both your honours!

Vit.   Dearest mother, hear me.

Corn.   O, thou dost make my brow bend to the earth.
  Sooner than nature!  See the curse of children!
  In life they keep us frequently in tears;
  And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.

Brach.   Come, come, I will not hear you.

Vit.   Dear my lord.

Corn.   Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke?
  Thou little dream'st this night she 's come to Rome.

Flam.   How! come to Rome!

Vit.   The duchess!

Brach.   She had been better----

Corn.   The lives of princes should like dials move,
  Whose regular example is so strong,
  They make the times by them go right, or wrong.

Flam.   So, have you done?

Corn.   Unfortunate Camillo!

Vit.   I do protest, if any chaste denial,
  If anything but blood could have allay'd
  His long suit to me----

Corn.   I will join with thee,
  To the most woeful end e'er mother kneel'd:
  If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed,
  Be thy life short as are the funeral tears
  In great men's----

Brach.   Fie, fie, the woman's mad.

Corn.   Be thy act Judas-like; betray in kissing:
  May'st thou be envied during his short breath,
  And pitied like a wretch after his death!

Vit.   O me accurs'd!                                              [Exit.

Flam.   Are you out of your wits? my lord,
  I 'll fetch her back again.

Brach.   No, I 'll to bed:
  Send Doctor Julio to me presently.
  Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue
  Hath rais'd a fearful and prodigious storm:
  Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm.                           [Exit.

Flam.   Now, you that stand so much upon your honour,
  Is this a fitting time a' night, think you,
  To send a duke home without e'er a man?
  I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth
  Which you have hoarded for my maintenance,
  That I may bear my bear out of the level
  Of my lord's stirrup.

Corn.   What! because we are poor
  Shall we be vicious?

Flam.   Pray, what means have you
  To keep me from the galleys, or the gallows?
  My father prov'd himself a gentleman,
  Sold all 's land, and, like a fortunate fellow,
  Died ere the money was spent.  You brought me up
  At Padua, I confess, where I protest,
  For want of means--the University judge me--
  I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings,
  At least seven years; conspiring with a beard,
  Made me a graduate; then to this duke's service,
  I visited the court, whence I return'd
  More courteous, more lecherous by far,
  But not a suit the richer.  And shall I,
  Having a path so open, and so free
  To my preferment, still retain your milk
  In my pale forehead?  No, this face of mine
  I 'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine,
  'Gainst shame and blushing.

Corn.   O that I ne'er had borne thee!

Flam.   So would I;
  I would the common'st courtesan in Rome
  Had been my mother, rather than thyself.
  Nature is very pitiful to whores,
  To give them but few children, yet those children
  Plurality of fathers; they are sure
  They shall not want.  Go, go,
  Complain unto my great lord cardinal;
  It may be he will justify the act.
  Lycurgus wonder'd much, men would provide
  Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer
  Their fair wives to be barren.

Corn.   Misery of miseries!                                        [Exit.

Flam.   The duchess come to court!  I like not that.
  We are engag'd to mischief, and must on;
  As rivers to find out the ocean
  Flow with crook bendings beneath forced banks,
  Or as we see, to aspire some mountain's top,
  The way ascends not straight, but imitates
  The subtle foldings of a winter's snake,
  So who knows policy and her true aspect,
  Shall find her ways winding and indirect.

The play opens in Rome. Three men enter: Count Lodovico, and his two friends Antonelli and Gasparo. Antonelli and Gasparo tell Lodovico that he has been banished from Italy for his crimes, and explain that his noblemen friends now laugh at his misery, considering him like a worthless meteor pulled from the earth - an evil omen. Gasparo reveals that Lodovico has been banished because he has murdered several people in Rome. When Lodovico asks why the court will not simply execute him, Gasparo explains that the court wants to prevent further bloodshed and give Lodovico a chance at penance. Lodovico complains that other wicked men are spared banishment. He offers as example the Duke of Brachiano, who is secretly trying to seduce Vittoria Corombona. Antonelli tries to soothe Lodovico, but Lodovico instead threatens to cut his enemies into shreds. Lodovico finally accepts his fate and decides to leave. Before he goes, he gives Gasparo and Antonelli money with which to try and repeal his banishment. Scene 2 Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Vittoria, and several unidentified gentlemen, holding torches, enter. Vittoria welcomes Brachiano to Rome, and then leaves with Camillo, her husband. Flamineo, her brother, whispers to Brachiano that she will meet with him in private, and then tells the men with torches to leave. Now that they are alone, Flamineo can speak to Brachiano freely. He explains that Vittoria is enamored of Brachiano, and that her servant, Zanche the Moor, will help facilitate an affair. He also criticizes feminine coyness, accusing women of manipulating men's desire for their own gain. When Brachiano inquires about the obstacle of Camillo, Flamineo quickly dismisses him, claiming Camillo has grown dispassionate and impotent because of syphilis. Hearing Camillo returning, Flamineo tells Brachiano to hide in the closet so that Flamineo can trick Camillo. Under his breath, Flamineo mocks Camillo's rich clothing and poor wit as the latter enters. Flamineo asks Camillo if he is going to Vittoria's bed, and Camillo admits that he cannot remember the last time he slept with Vittoria. Flamineo laments that Camillo has lost his "count," punning on the similarity of the word to "cunt." Camillo then admits his suspicion over Brachiano's motives. He compares Brachiano's visit to a game of bowls, subtly accusing Brachiano of "bowl booty," or of conspiring with another player against a third in order to get a desired object . Flamineo dismisses Camillo's fears, insisting Camillo is both wise and born under lucky stars, but Camillo counters, claiming that the stars have nothing to do with being cuckolded. Flamineo sarcastically advises him to lock Vittoria up for a fortnight, to ensure he will not be cuckolded. When Camillo pleads for serious advice, Flamineo suggests that women are most chaste when they have the most liberty. He claims Camillo's jealousy is coloring his vision, making him see threats where there are none. Vittoria enters, and Flamineo tells Camillo to watch from a distance as he convinces his sister to sleep with Camillo. Flamineo pulls Vittoria aside, where he privately tells her that Camillo is upset. She insists she was respectful to him at dinner - she "carved" to him, in her language. He puns in response, saying she didn't need to "carve" him, since he already has the reputation of being a eunuch. He then loudly compliments Camillo, so that the latter can hear, and Camillo remarks to himself that Flamineo will now arouse Vittoria. However, Flamineo privately undermines his compliments in conversation with Vittoria, even as he continues to speak them aloud. Aloud so that Camillo can hear, Flamineo tells Vittoria that she will go to bed with "his lord," who will give her a ring adorned with a philosopher's stone as they lie in a bed stuffed with turtle dove feathers. Camillo believes "lord" refers to him, wheras Flamineo is subtly suggesting Brachiano to his sister. She quietly asks Flamineo how they will get rid of Camillo, and Flamineo then speaks to Camillo, suggesting she is almost ready, but that he should deny her this night so as to increase her desire for the next night. Camillo thanks Flamineo for his wise advice, and tells Vittoria that he will not sleep with her that night. Flamineo asks how he can ensure Camillo will not renege on his commitment to wait, and Camillo offers to be locked in his room for assurance. He then leaves, happy with the way things have gone. As Camillo leaves, Brachiano enters from the shadows where he was hiding, and begins wooing Vittoria with courtly vows. At the same time, Zanche brings out a carpet and two pillows to set up a bed for their affair. Cornelia, Vittoria and Flamineo's mother, enters and hears the planning. She laments to herself how her family is sinking into ruin, predicting that this affair will ruin them all. Brachiano gives Vittoria a jewel for her "jewel," punning on the female sexual organ, and tells her to wear it at the base of her dress bodice. Vittoria then tells him of her most recent dream. She was sitting under a yew tree when Brachiano's wife and Camillo confronted her, accusing her of trying to uproot the yew. They decided to bury her alive and began to dig a grave for her, when the yew tree killed them with one of its branches. Flamineo whispers to himself that the smart and devilish Vittoria has subtly insisted that Brachiano kill his wife and Camillo. Brachiano promises to protect Vittoria from their spouses, and to devote himself to her entirely. Cornelia enters from the shadows as Flamineo chases Zanche away. She lectures Vittoria and Brachiano on the sinfulness of their illicit relationship, and Vittoria pleads with her mother to understand. Cornelia reveals that Brachiano's sick wife is returning to Rome, and Vittoria protests that she could only have resisted Brachiano's love at the cost of bloodshed. Together, Cornelia and Vittoria kneel for forgiveness, and Vittoria flees from shame. Flamineo insists to Brachiano that he can bring her back, but Brachiano is upset, and tells Cornelia that she has stirred up a storm. He then leaves. Flamineo accuses Cornelia of betrayal, insisting this was the only way he knew to increase his and the family's financial and social position. Cornelia regrets having given birth to him, and he counters that he would rather have been born to a prostitute in Rome. Cornelia leaves upset, and Flamineo resolves to continue with his mischief, using deception and indirect methods if necessary.

As a revenge tragedy, John Webster's The White Devil promises its audience imminent violence, bloodshed, and betrayal. It delivers on all counts. Few characters in the work are marked by goodness or purity, and the perspective on humanity is rather bleak and pessimistic. However, to Webster's credit, he also mostly avoids a simplistic understanding of evil, by giving his villains motives that are as much symptoms of society as of original sin. Significantly, Webster chooses to open his play with the scene of Lodovico's banishment. Lodovico is a side character compared to Brachiano, Vittoria, or Flamineo, yet he both opens and closes the play. Arguably, this is because his story so perfectly encapsulates the play's conflict between powerful social forces and the anarchic individual. Lodovico is a dangerous man without any regard for law and order, and he is banished precisely because he openly refuses to bow before the laws of the land. The Roman rulers have decided  that Lodovico is too unstable and violent to live within their society, and so wish him gone. Similarly, the same social forces will reject Vittoria for her unruly sexuality, and Brachiano for his unbridled lust. These social forces, however, are not to be trusted as inexorably just. In fact, Flamineo wishes not to flaunt these forces but rather to be embraced by them, and through Flamineo's social-climbing, Webster makes an implicit attack on the forces of money and power than define society. Like Lodovico, Flamineo is a desperate and dangerous man who will balk at nothing to get what he wants, including prostituting his sister and killing his own brother, but he does so surreptitiously. He wishes respect and acceptance, whereas Lodovico is willing to forgo those. One distinction is that Flamineo is born poor, and hence has to rely on his wit to balance the score with his social 'betters.' His use of wit, puns, and double-entendres touches on the discrepancy between what appears and what truly is, a crucial motif in the play. One instance of Flamineo's wit comes when Camillo remarks that he cannot remember that last time that he and Vittoria slept together, and Flamineo responds, "Strange you should lose your count." Flamineo is superficially referring to Camillo's count of the days since his last union with Vittoria, but he also is referring to female genitals, punning on the pronunciation of the word "count." This distinction between what appears and what is, extends from Flamineo's verbal acrobatics to the moral natures of many of the play's characters. Flamineo is a low-born man but will use subterfuge to gain prestige even as he does not admit his goal to anyone but his mother. However, class inequality is not the only factor that creates a hierarchy forcing people to use subterfuge for their gain. Women, too, are rather powerless unless they use manipulation. Flamineo indicates as much in his first conversation with Brachiano, but the latter is nevertheless easily fooled when Vittoria plants the idea of murder by relating her dream.  In the dream , she subtly compares Brachiano to the yew tree, which has several psychological implications. The first is a compliment to his ego - the tree is large, a foundation, a powerful institution that dwarfs the people under it. However, the language is also effective, as "yew" is a homophone of "you," which leads Brachiano to associate himself with the tree. Its final rhetorical effect relies on the symbolic connection between a yew tree and death, a common motif in revenge tragedy. While Vittoria never explicitly admits that she uses the dream as tactic, the play's general perspective on humanity, and her later admission that a woman's only weapon is her words, suggest that she is compensating for her lack of power through a trickery similar to that of her brother. What she presents is not what she truly is, which conforms to one of the play's most pervasive themes. A woman's position in the world is also explored through the fear of cuckoldry that Camillo expresses in his discussion with Flamineo. A cuckold is a husband whose wife has been unfaithful to him. The word stems from the cuckoo bird, who is known to change mates frequently and lay its eggs in other nests. The many references to a cuckold's horns refer to the mating practice of stags, where defeated male stags lose their horns. As the husband of the unfaithful Vittoria, Camillo is a classic cuckold. Traditionally, there were fewer worse insults that a man could suffer, whereas male infidelity was nowhere near as grievous. The extremity of the fear serves as reminder that a wife was considered as much possession as partner, and hence was limited in her agency. Flamineo manipulates this excessive fear. While Vittoria keeps Camillo sexually impotent by refusing to copulate with him, Flamineo emasculates him verbally by subtly insulting him over and over again. Cornelia's entrance at the end of Scene Two evokes a symbolic morality play. Morality plays, popular in the medieval period, usually detailed one individual's path as he fell from innocence into sin, repented, and was ultimately saved. The plays personified concepts like virtues and sins in order to make them more understandable. In the case of The White Devil, Brachiano and Vittoria's love-bed would likely be placed at the center of the stage, with Flamineo and Zanche representing Vice on one side, and Cornelia representing Virtue on the other. The contrast between the two groups vividly and visually depicts the two possibilities for the lovers. Invoking these morality plays makes the play's narrative arc easier to understand, and it prepares the audience for the imminent drama. Of course, Webster's morality is far more ambiguous, and he ends his Act with Flamineo to remind us that evil comes not from simple choice, but rather from complicated social desires. Flamineo is not interested in a moral choice, but in a physical gain, in achieving a social position to which he feels entitled. It is unlikely that many characters will choose the side of Virtue that Cornelia represents, and the audience can feel this even at the end of Act I.