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To scorch your face, and to disfigure you.

[Cry within. Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress : fly, be gone. Duke. Come, stand by me; fear nothing. Guard with

halberds!
Adr. Ah me, it is my husband! Witness you,
That he is borne about invisible :
Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here,
And now he's there, past thought of human reason.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Ephesus.
Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke! O! grant me

justice,
Even for the service that long since I did thee,
When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.

Æge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio!
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman

there!
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife,
That hath abused and dishonour'd me,
Even in the strength and height of injury.
Beyond imagination is the wrong,
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.

Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon

me, While she with harlots' feasted in my house. .

Duke. A grievous fault. Say, woman, did'st thou so?

Adr. No, my good lord: myself, he, and my sister, To-day did dine together. So befal my soul,

- with AARLOTS —) Harlot was a term of reproach applied to cheats among men, as well as to wantons among women. Horne Tooke says it means a hireling, and derives it from hire, of which there is little question : it is used only to signify a servant in Chaucer's “Sompnoure's Tale," as Steevens remarks.

As this is false he burdens me withal.

Luc. Ne’er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, But she tells to your highness simple truth.

Ang. O perjur'd woman! They are both forsworn : In this the madman justly chargeth them.

Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say; Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, Nor heady-rash provok'd with raging ire, Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : That goldsmith there, were he not pack’d with her, Could witness it, for he was with me then; Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, Where Balthazar and I did dine together. Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, I went to seek him : in the street I met him, And in his company, that gentleman. There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, That I this day of him receiv’d the chain, Which, God he knows, I saw not; for the which, He did arrest me with an officer. I did obey, and sent my peasant home For certain ducats: he with none return'd. Then fairly I bespoke the officer, To

go in person with me to my house. By the way we met My wife, her sister, and a rabble more Of vile confederates: along with them They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-fac'd villain, A mere anatomy, a mountebank, A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller, A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, A living dead man. This pernicious slave, Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me,

Cries out, I was possess’d. Then, altogether
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence,
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together;
Till, gnawing with my

teeth

my

bonds in sunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your grace, whom I beseech
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames, and great indignities.

Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.

Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no?

Ang. He had, my lord; and when he ran in here, These people saw the chain about his neck.

Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the chain of him,
After you first forswore it on the mart,
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you ;
And then you fled into this abbey here,
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.

Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls,
Nor ever did'st thou draw thy sword on me.
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven !
And this is false you burden me withal'.

Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this !
I think, you all have drunk of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly :-
You say, he dined at home; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying.–Sirrah, what say you?
Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her, there, at the Porcu-

pine. Cour. He did, and from my finger snatch'd that ring. Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege; this ring I had of her. Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here?

1 And this is false you burden me withal.] A repetition of an expression previously used by Adriana : see the preceding page.

Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. Duke. Why, this is strange.—Go call the abbess

hither.I think you are all mated, or stark mad.

[Exit an Attendant. Æge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a word. Haply, I see a friend will save my life, And pay the sum that may deliver me.

. Duke. Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt.

Æge. Is not your name, sir, calld Antipholus, And is not that your bondman Dromio?

Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir; But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.

Æge. I am sure you both of you remember me.

Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you; For lately we were bound, as you are now. You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? Æge. Why look you strange on me? you know me

well. Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. Æge. O! grief hath chang’d me, since you saw me

last;

And careful hours, with time's deformed hand,
Have written strange defeatures in my face:
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?

Ant. E. Neither.
Æge. Dromio, nor thou?
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
Æge. I am sure thou dost.

Dro. E. Ay, sir; but I am sure I do not; and whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to believe him.

Æge. Not know my voice? O, time's extremity!
Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares?

Though now this grained face of mine be bid
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up,
Yet hath my night of life some memory,
My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left,
My dull, deaf ears a little use to hear:
All these old witnesses (I cannot err)
Tell me thou art my son Antipholus.

Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.

Æge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, Thou know'st we parted. But, perhaps, my son, Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.

Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the city, Can witness with me that it is not so. I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.

Duke. I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years Have I been patron to Antipholus, During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa. I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. Enter Abbess, with ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse and DROMIO

of Syracuse. Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong’d.

[All gather to see them. Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me!

Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other ;
And so of these : which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?

Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio: command him away.
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio : pray let me stay.
Ant. S. Ægeon, art thou not? or else his ghost?
Dro. S. O, my old master! who hath bound him

here?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds,

? All gather to see them.] This is the stage-direction of the old folios, applicable to Antipholus and Dromio ; but the modern editors, without the slightest reason, substitute him for them.

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