University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A STREET, WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTIPHOLIS OF EPHESUS.
Enter Antipholis of Ephesus, Cerimon, Angelo, and Dromio of Ephesus.
Ant. of Eph.
Good Signor Angelo,
Say, that I linger'd with you, at your shop,
To see the making of her bracelet,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain, that would face me down,
He met me on the mart, and that I beat him,
And charged him with a thousand marks of gold,
And that I did deny my wife and house.
Thou drunkard thou, what didst thou mean by this?

Dr. of Eph.
Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know:
That you beat me at the mart, I have the marks to witness.

Ant. of Eph.
Silence, thou sot; or I shall sober thee.
You're sad, Signor Angelo; pray heaven, our cheer
May answer my good-will, and your good welcome.
But soft, my door is lock'd: Sirrah, ring the bell.

Dr. of Eph.
[Rings.]

O, he's a little soberer,
and he does know his own house now.

Ant. of Eph.

Will they not hear?

Dr. of Eph.

In good truth, I think they will not.
My mistress, sure, means to be quits with you,
master: you denied her awhile ago, and now, she's
determined to deny you.

Ant. of Eph.

Have done, thou varlet. Call to
them; bid them let us in.

Dr. of Eph.

Maud, Hermia, Marian, Cicely,
Gillian, Madge!

Dr. of Syr.
[Within.]

Mome, malt-horse, capon,
coxcomb, idiot, patch!—Dost thou conjure for
wenches, that thou call'st for such store, when one
is one too many?—Go get thee from the gate.

Dr. of Eph.

What patch is made our porter?—
My master stays in the street.

Dr. of Syr.
[Within.]

Let him walk from
whence he came; lest he catch cold in his feet.

Ant. of Eph.

Who talks within there?—Hoa,
open the door.

Dr. of Syr.
[Within.]

Right, sir:—I'll tell you
when, an you'll tell me wherefore.

Ant. of Eph.

What art thou, there, that keep'st
me from mine own house?

Dr. of Syr.

The porter, sir, and my name is
Dromio.

Dr. of Eph.

O, villain, thou hast stolen both
mine office and my name.

Hermia.
[Within.]

Why, what a coil is there?
—Dromio, who are those at the door?

Dr. of Eph.

Let my master in.

Her.
[Within.]

Peace, fool! my master's here
already.

Ant. of Eph.

Do you hear, you minion? You'll
let us in, I trow.

Her.
[Within.]

Can you tell for whose sake?

Dr. of Eph.

Master, knock at the door hard.

Dr. of Syr.
[Within.]

Let him knock till it ache.

Adriana.
[Within.]

Who is at the gate, that
keeps all this noise?

Ant. of Eph.

Are you there, wife? You might
have come before.

Adr.
[Within.]

Your wife, sir knave!—Go,
get you from the gate.

Ant of Eph.
Get from the gate! What means this saucy language?
There's something more in this.—Why Adriana!

Adr.
[Within.]
Hence, you familiar coxcomb! Cease your noise;
Or you shall dearly pay for all this outrage.—
Dromio, be sure, you keep fast the doors against 'em.

Ant. of Eph.
Why, wife, I say,—

Dr. of Syr.
[Within.]

She's gone back to dinner,
sir, to take a refreshing cup; and has no time
to answer idle questions now.

Ant. of Eph.
Now, on my soul, some strange mysterious guile
Lurks underneath this unaccustom'd usage:
Some shameful minion here is entertain'd.

Ang.
Have patience, sir: O, let it not be thus;
Herein you war against your reputation,
And draw within the compass of suspect
The inviolated honour of your wife.

Cer.
Aye, sir, your long experience of her wisdom,
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty
Plead, on her part, some cause to you unknown;
And, doubt it not, but she will well excuse
Why at this time, the doors are barred against you.

Ant. of Eph.
Shall I be thus shut forth from my own house,
While they are revelling to my dishonour?
Go, fetch an instrument: I'll break the door,
Shatter it all to pieces but I'll enter.
Go.

(To Dromio, stamping and menacing).
Dromio.
Gone!

[Exit.
Ang.
Be rul'd by me: depart in patience,
And let us to the Tiger go to dinner;
And, about evening, come yourself alone,
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in.
Now, in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it;
And that supposed by the common rout,
Against your yet ungalled estimation,
That may with foul intrusion enter in,
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead!
For slander lives ev'n to posterity,
For ever hous'd, when once it gets possession.

Cer.
It does—it does—let him prevail my lord.

Ant. of Eph.
You have prevail'd: I will depart in quiet;
And, in despite of wrath, try to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Lesbia by name; wild, and yet right gentle;
There will we dine:—this woman that I mean,
My wife,—but I protest, without desert,—
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal:
To Lesbia we'll to dinner. Get you home,
And fetch the jewel; by this, I guess, 'tis made:
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine;
For there's the house; and there will I bestow it,
Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,
Upon this Lesbia.—Use dispatch.

Ang.
I will.—
I'll meet you at that place some hour, sir, hence,
That is, if Fate or evil spirits, say not nay.
For I know not why—
Though ne'er to superstition given,
I could believe we trod upon enchanted ground,
And elves and witches were abroad.

[Exit.
Ant. of Eph.
And I.—And now I recollect, last night
I dreamt St. Withold had the desart left,
And as the bell toll'd “one,” hover'd and shriek'd
Like the ill-omen'd bird, with fatal knell,
Around my dwelling.


DUET.—(King Lear).
St. Withold footed thrice the wold,
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;—
Bid her alight,
And her troth plight,
And aroint thee, witch! aroint thee, right!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A GARDEN.
Antipholis of Syracuse, Adriana, and Luciana discovered.
Adr.
Why, why was I to this keen mock'ry born?
How at your hands have I deserv'd this coldness?
In sooth, you do me wrong: there was a time
When I believed, so fond was my credulity,
The sun was scarce so true unto the day,
As you to me.

Ant. of Syr.
I would some friendly light
Might chase away the mist that clouds our fancies,
And give this dream a meaning!—True, I see
These beauteous bowers, in nature's fragrance rich;
Behold the painted children of her hand,
Flaunting in gay luxuriance all around;
I see imperial Phœbus' trembling beam
Dance on the curly brook; whose gentle current
Glides imperceptibly away, scarce staying
To kiss th' embracing bank.

Adr.
So glides away
Thy hasty love,—O, apt illusion!—
And mocks my constant and attentive care,
That seeks in vain to keep it.

Luc.
Dearest brother,
Why turn on me your eyes?—regard my sister,
Who with such earnest suit solicits you
To heal her wounded peace.

Adr.
It cannot be,
But that some frenzy hath possest his mind,
Else could he not with cold indifference hear
His Adriana pleading. Music's voice
O'er such entranc'd dispositions
Hath oft a magic power, and can recall
The wand'ring faculties. That song, which in
The happy morn of life, first won his love,—
That song, I'll try again.
SONG.—(Sonnets.)

Luc.
Speak, speak to her, Antipholis.

Adr.
In vain; there is some magic in thine eye
That hath infected his: Perchance, to thee
He may unfold the source of his distemp'rature:
For me, no longer will I sue for that
My right may claim: loose infidelity
And lawless passion have estrang'd his soul.
Yet, think, my husband, could'st thou bear the like?
Preserve then equal league with thy true bed;
Keep me unstain'd, thou undishour'd live.
[Exit Adriana.

Luc.
And may it be, that you have quite forgot
A husband's office? Shall, Antipholis,
Ev'n in the spring of love, thy passion fade?
If you did wed my sister for her wealth,
Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kindness:
Or, if you like elsewhere, do it in secret;
Let not my sister read it in your eye,
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator:
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty,
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger.

Ant. of Syr.
Now, by the air we breathe, I vow, sweet lady,
My senses are all smother'd up in wonder;
All but my sight; with that, methinks, I view
An angel pleading; and while, thus delighted,
I may peruse the graces of that brow,
I will not wish the mystery unfolded;
But to your chidings pay submissive awe,
As to a holy mandate: Speak, speak on.

Luc.
Be secret false: Why need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own bad deeds?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
And let her read it in your looks at board;
Then gentle brother, get you in again;
And call my sister, wife; comfort her, cheer her;
'Tis holy sport, to be a little false,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.

Ant. of Syr.
Sweet mistress,—let me call you by that name,—
Teach me, O teach me how to think, and answer;
Lay open to my shallow gross conceit
The folded meaning of your sugar'd words.
Against my soul's pure truth, why labour you
To make it wander in an unknown path?
Are you a goddess? Would you new-create me?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield:
But, if I am Antipholis, I swear,
Your weeping sister is no wife to me:
O, no! to you alone my soul inclines:
Then train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy voice,
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears.
Sing, syren, for thyself, and I will dote:
(Kneels.)
Spread o'er the silver waves thy glossy locks,
And, as a bed, I'll take thee; there I'll lie,
And in that glorious supposition, think,
He gains by death, that hath such means to die.

Luc.
What, are you mad, that you do reason thus?

Ant. of Syr.
Not mad,—enchanted; how, I do not know.

Luc.
It is a fault that springeth from your eye.

Ant of Syr.
From gazing on your dazzling beams, fair sun.

Luc.
Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight.

Ant of Syr.
As good to wink, sweet love, as look on darkness.

Luc.
Why call you me, love? call my sister so.

Ant of Syr.
Thy sister's sister.

Luc.
That's my sister.

Ant. of Syr.
No;
It is thyself, my own self's better half,
My eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart,
My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim.

Luc.
All this my sister is, or else should be,

Ant. of Syr.
Call thyself sister, sweet; for thee I mean:
Thee will I love, with thee would spend my days:
Give me thy hand.

Luc.
O, soft, sir; hold you still:
I'll seek my sister, to get her consent,
If she approve, I shall accord, no doubt.
[Going, stops.
And yet, Antipholis, is it not fit
This mockery should end—come, raise, console her,
Let not so fair a flower fade, droop and perish.
SONG.—“Love's Loss.”

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

THE STREET WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTIPHOLIS OF EPHESUS.
Enter from the House of Antipholis of Syracuse.
Ant. of Syr.
O, subtle power! O, soil too capable!
Scarce had her sun of beauty warm'd my heart,
When the gay flower of love, disclosing fragrance,
Sprung up at once, and blossom'd to perfection,
Ere well the bud was seen.—
Enter Dromio of Syracuse, from the House; he passes Antipholis without seeing him, and is hastening off.
Why, how now, Dromio?
Where run'st thou so fast?

Dr. of Syr.

Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio?
Am I your man? Am I myself?

Ant. of Syr.

Thou art Dromio, thou art my man,
thou art thyself.

Dr. of Syr.

I am an ass, I am a woman's man,
and beside myself.

Ant. of Syr.

What woman's man? and how beside
thyself?

Dr. of Syr.

Marry, sir, beside myself, I am due
to a woman; one that claims me, one that haunts
me, one that will have me.

Ant. of Syr.

What claim lays she to thee?

Dr. of Syr.

Marry, sir, such claim as you would
lay to your horse.

Ant. of Syr.

What is she?

Dr. of Syr.

A very reverend body; and, though I
have but lean luck in the match, yet she is a wond'rous
fat marriage: Sir, she's the kitchen-wench, all
grease; and I know not what use to put her to, but
to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her
own light.

Ant. of Syr.

I'll warrant, the rags, and the tallow
in them, will burn a Poland winter.

Dr. of Syr.

They would, indeed, sir: to conclude;
this drudge laid claim to me, called me Dromio,
swore I was betrothed to her, told me what
secret marks I had about me; as the marks on my
shoulder, the mole in my neck, the great wart on
my left arm; that I, amazed, ran from her, as a
witch; and, I think, if my breast had not been made
of faith, and my heart of steel, she would have
transform'd me to a curtal dog, and made me turn
in the wheel.

Ant. of Syr.
Sure, none but witches can inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that we were hence.
Go, hie thee presently, post to the road;
And 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.

Dr. of Syr.
I fly with joy; for now I shall be blown safe,
From this same scullion—this mountain of mad flesh.

[As he is going off, the fat Kitchen Wench suddenly throws up the window in Antipholis's house, and shakes her fist at him.
Kitch. W.
Come back, or I'll so baste thee Dromio.

Dr. of Syr.
'Tis she;
As from a bear, a man would run for life,
So I from her, who swears she is my wife!
[Exit Dromio.

Ant. of Syr.
'Tis all illusion!—Who comes now?

Enter Angelo with a Bracelet.
Ang.
Master Antipholis,—

Ant. of Syr.
Ay, that's my name.

Ang.
I know it well, sir:—Lo, here is the bracelet:—
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine;
It being unfinish'd, made my stay thus long.

Ant. of Syr.
What is your will that I should do with this?

Ang.
Ev'n what you please, sir: I have made it for you.

Ant. of Syr.
Made it for me, sir: I never once bespoke it.

Ang.
Not once, nor twice, but twenty times, you have.
Go home with it, and please your wife withall:
About your supper-time I'll visit you,
And then receive my money for the bracelet.

Ant. of Syr.
I pray you, sir, since you will force it on me,
Receive the money now;
For fear you ne'er see that, or jewels, more.

Ang.
You are a merry man, sir:—Fare you well.
[Exit Angelo.

Ant. of Syr.
Wonder on wonder rises every moment!
What I should think of this, I cannot tell:
However strange, here on my arm I'll wear it,
Preserve it safe, as fortune's happy pledge:
Oft' as I look on it, I'll heave a sigh,
And say, the self-same hour that gave thee to me,
Gave me to gaze on Luciana's eyes:
So will I make a profit of a chance,
And treasure up a comfort in affliction.
Unwillingly I go: my wounded soul,
Howe'er from Ephesus my body part,
Lingers behind in Luciana's heart.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A River surrounded by Mountains, whose tops are covered with snow.—Across the River is a rustic Bridge.—Horns heard without—and Balthazar, Cerimon, and others, are seen crossing the Bridge dressed as Hunters.
Bal.
Here ends our chase: and though Antipholis
Declin'd our sport, has he in Ephesus
Known more?

Cer.
I warrant no, Balthazar.
Never did hounds send forth such gallant chiding!
The woods, the mountains, every region round
Re-echoed with their cry! Oh! who e'er heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.

Bal.
A sound more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, or cheer'd with horn.
Go, forester—lead the hounds home, and there
We'll crown the joys of this autumnal day,
With fireside pastime—Oh!—to court flies
Leave transient summer joys.

QUARTETTO AND CHORUS.
(Love's Labour's Lost.)