Act II, Scene ii:
The same.

[Enter ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE.]

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

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

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?

My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad,

That thus so madly thou didst answer me?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Even now, even here, not half-an-hour since.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I did not see you since you sent me hence,

Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

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 displeas'd.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I am glad to see you in this merry vein:

What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth?

Think'st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that.

[Beating him.]

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is earnest:

Upon what bargain do you give it me?

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

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,

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.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather

have it a head: an you use these blows long, I must get a sconce

for my head, and ensconce it too; or else I shall seek my wit in

my shoulders.—But I pray, sir, why am I beaten?

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Dost thou not know?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Shall I tell you why?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a

wherefore.—

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Why, first,—for flouting me; and then wherefore,

For urging it the second time to me.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Thank me, sir! for what?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something.—

But say, sir, is it dinner-time?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

In good time, sir, what's that?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Basting.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Your reason?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Well, sir, learn to jest in good time:

There's a time for all things.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I durst have denied that before you were so choleric.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

By what rule, sir?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of Father

Time himself.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Let's hear it.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by

nature.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

May he not do it by fine and recovery?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and recover the lost hair of

another man.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful

an excrement?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he

hath scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

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

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: yet he loseth it in a kind

of jollity.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

For what reason?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

For two; and sound ones too.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Nay, not sound, I pray you.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Sure ones, then.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Certain ones, then.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Name them.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other,

that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

You would all this time have proved there is no time for all

things.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Marry, and did, sir; namely, no time to recover hair lost by

nature.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

But your reason was not substantial why there is no time to

recover.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and, therefore, to the

world's end will have bald followers.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

I knew 't'would be a bald conclusion:

But, soft! who wafts us yonder?

[Enter ADRIANA and LUCIANA.]

ADRIANA:

Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown;

Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects:

I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.

The time was, once, when thou unurg'd 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,

That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,

Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.

How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it,

That thou art then estranged from thyself?

Thyself I call it, being strange to me,

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,

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,

Should'st thou but hear I were licentious,

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,

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:

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 dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

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,

Want wit in all one word to understand.

LUCIANA:

Fie, brother! how the world is chang'd with you:

When were you wont to use my sister thus?

She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

By Dromio?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

By me?

ADRIANA:

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.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman?

What is the course and drift of your compact?

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I, sir? I never saw her till this time.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Villain, thou liest; for even her very words

Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I never spake with her in all my life.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

How can she thus, then, call us by our names,

Unless it be by inspiration?

ADRIANA:

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,

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:

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.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme:

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.

LUCIANA:

Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

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,

They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.

LUCIANA:

Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st not?

Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot!

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

I am transformed, master, am not I?

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

I think thou art in mind, and so am I.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Thou hast thine own form.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

No, I am an ape.

LUCIANA:

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

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass.

'Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be

But I should know her as well as she knows me.

ADRIANA:

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:—

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.

ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE:

Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell?

Sleeping or waking, mad, or well-advis'd?

Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd!

I'll say as they say, and persever so,

And in this mist at all adventures go.

DROMIO OF SYRACUSE:

Master, shall I be porter at the gate?

ADRIANA:

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

LUCIANA:

Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.

[Exeunt.]