University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A HALL IN THE PALACE OF THE DUKE.
The Duke discovered seated on his Throne and surrounded by his Officers of State.—Ægeon in Chains.—Flourish.
Ægeon.
Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall;
And terminate, by this thy rig'rous doom,
Ægeon's life and miseries together.

Duke.
Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more:
The enmity and discord which, of late,
Sprung from the ranc'rous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,—
Who wanting guilders to redeem their lives,
Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their blood,—
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
T' admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more;—If any, born at Ephesus,
Be seen at Syracusan marts or fairs,—
Again;—If any Syracusan born
Come to the bay of Ephesus,—he dies:
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty and ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto an hundred marks;
Therefore by law thou art condemn'd to die.

Ægeon.
This comfort then, the wretch's last resource,
At least, I gain from the severe decree,
My woes must finish ere the setting sun.

Duke.
Yet, Syracusan, say to me, in brief,
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Ægeon.
A heavier task could not have been impos'd;
Yet will I utter what my grief permits.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me!
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd
By prosp'rous traffick, 'till my factor's death
Drew us unwillingly to Epidamnum:
There had we not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, strange to hear, the one so like the other,
They hardly by ourselves could be distinguish'd.
That very hour, and in the self-same house,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike.
These, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up, to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of her two boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed. We came aboard—
O, bitter recollection!

Duke.
Stop thy tears:—
I long, yet almost dread, to hear the rest.

Ægeon.
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant,
Did but convey into our fearful minds
A dreadful warrant of immediate death.
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
My wife, more careful for the elder-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast;
To him, one of the other twins was bound;
While I had been like heedful of the younger.
The children thus disposed, my wife and I
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast,
And, floating straight obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sea wax'd calm; and we discover'd
Two ships, from far, making amain to us:
But ere they came—

Duke.
Pursue thy tale, old man.

Ægeon.
Being encounter'd by a mighty rock,
Our helpless raft was splitted in the midst:
Her part,—poor soul!—burden'd with lesser weight,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And, in our sight, they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And would have 'reft those fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail.

Duke.
Relate at full
What hath befallen to them, and thee, 'till now.

Ægeon.
My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years, became inquisitive
After his brother; and importun'd me
That his attendant—for his case was like,
'Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,—
Might bear him company, in quest of him,
Whom while I labour'd of a love to see,
I yielded to the loss of him I lov'd;
Since which unhappy time no news arriving
What course their wayward stars had hurried them,
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming ev'n through the bounds of Asia;
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus:
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me, they live.

Duke.
Hapless Ægeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear th' extremity of dire mishap!
Now trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee:
But though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence cannot be recall'd,
Without our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can:
I therefore, merchant, limit thee this day,
To seek thy life by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then art thou doom'd to die.

[Exeunt the Duke & Officers of State.—Flourish.
Ægeon.
What friends, alas! can misery expect?
This pity but prolongs the date of pain:
And to a sure, though short-protracted end
Helpless and hopeless doth Ægeon wend.

[Exit with the Officers.

SCENE II.

THE HOUSE AND GARDEN OF ANTIPHOLIS.
Enter Luciana.
Luciana.
Why does Antipholis so long delay,
And give his wife new cause for jealousy?
In vain I still preach patience—for she says
That should I live to see these griefs my own,
My boasted reasoning would be thrown aside.
Well, I will marry one day but to try—
Yet all things must combine to tempt me to it.
First, the season—not when drear winter chills;
But when, as good old calendars assert,
Wedlock's apt season, merry spring time comes!
SONG.—(As you like it.)

SCENE III.

THE MART. VIEW OF THE HARBOUR IN THE BACK.
Enter Antipholis of Syracuse and Cleon.
Cle.
Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum:
Lest that your goods be forfeit to the state.
This very day a Syracusan merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here;
And, not being able to buy out his life,
Dies ere the weary sun sets in the west.—
There is your money which I had to keep.

Ant. of Syr.
Where is that loitering knave?—Dromio! Dromio!

[Calling him.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dr. of Syr.
Here Sir—here!

Ant. of Syr.
Go, bear this money to the Centaur, where we host;
And stay there, sirrah, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time;
'Till then, I'll view the manners of the town,
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return, and sleep within mine inn;
For with long travel I am sick and weary.
Get thee away!

Dr. of Syr.
Many a man would take you at your word,
And go away indeed, having so great
A treasure in his charge.—Of what strength do
You conceive my honesty, good master,
That you dare put it to such temptation?

Ant. of Syr.
Of proof against a greater charge than this:
Were it remiss, thy love would strengthen it;
I think, thou would'st not wrong me, if thou could'st.

Dr. of Syr.
I hope, I should not, sir; but there is such
A thing as trusting too far. Odd's heart, 'tis
A weighty matter; and, if balanc'd in
A stilliard against my honesty,
I doubt—

Ant. of Syr.
That very doubt is my security;
No further argument, but speed away.

Dr. of Syr.
Ay; but, master, you know the old saying,—

Ant. of Syr.
Then thou hast no occasion to tell it me.
Begone I say.—
[Exit Dromio of Syracuse.
A trusty villain, sir, that very oft
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.—
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to the inn, and dine with me?

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

Ant. of Syr.
Farewell, 'till then.—I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down, to view the city.

Cle.
Sir, I commend you to your own content.
[Exit Cleon.

Ant. of Syr.
He that commends me to my own content,
Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
I, to the world, am like a drop of water
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, failing there to find his fellow out,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In search of them, unhappy, lose myself.—
Enter Dromio of Ephesus.
How now? How chance thou art return'd so soon?

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

Ant. of Syr.
Stop in your wind, sir: Tell me this, I pray,
Where have you left the money that I gave you?

Dr. of Eph.
Money!—O, the money that I had on
Wednesday last, to pay for mending my
Mistress's saddle. The sadler had it, sir:
I kept it not.

Ant. of Syr.
I am not in a sportive humour now;
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?

Dr. of Eph.
I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner.
I from my mistress come to you in haste:
Methinks your stomach, like mine, should be your clock,
And send you home without a messenger.

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

Dr. of Eph.
To me, sir!—Why, you gave no gold to me.

Ant. of Syr.
Come, come, have done your foolishness;
And tell me how thou hast dispos'd my charge.

Dr. of Eph.
My charge was but to fetch you from the mart
Home to your house, the Phœnix, sir, to dinner;
My mistress and her sister stay for you.

Ant. of Syr.
Now, as I am a Christian,—Answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money;
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours,
That stands on tricks, when I am undispos'd.
Where are the thousand marks thou hadst of me?

Dr. of Eph.
I have some marks of yours upon my pate;
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders;
Between you both, they make, perhaps, a thousand:
If I should pay your worship these again,
Perchance, you will not take it patiently.

Ant. of Syr.
Thy mistress' marks!—What mistress, slave, hast thou?

Dr. of Eph.
Your worship's wife, my mistress, at the Phœnix;
She that doth fast, 'till you come home to dinner,
And prays that you will haste you.

Ant. of Syr.
What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face,
Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave.

Dr. of Eph.
What mean you sir?—for heaven's sake, hold your hands:
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.
[Exit Dromio of Ephesus.

Ant. of Syr.
Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain has been trick'd of all my money.
They say, this town is full of cozenage;
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
Misguided by my hopes, in doubt I stray,
To seek what I, perchance, may never find.
May not the cruel hand of destiny,
Ere this, have rendered all my searches vain?
If so, how wretched has my folly made me!
In luckless hour, alas! I left my home;
Left the fond comforts of a father's love,
The only bliss my fortune had in store,
For dubious pleasures on a foreign shore.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

AN ANTI-CHAMBER IN BALTHAZAR'S HOUSE.
Enter Balthazar and Antipholis of Ephesus.
Ant of Eph.
In sooth, Balthazar, you must now excuse me;
My wife is shrewish if I keep not hours,
And it grows late.

Bal.
Come—yet carouse with us—another glass?

Ant. of Eph.
Another time—good night.

Bal.
Go to, Antipholis—you are to blame,
To nurse and nourish thus her wayward spirit.
Were I the lady Adriana's husband!—

Ant. of Eph.
Like me, Balthazar,
Regretting that the canker jealousy
Infected such a fair and beauteous flower,
Thoud'st try by gentle watchfulness and care,
To cure and to preserve it.

Bal.
Not I, Antipholis.
Her beauty's triumph may enslave my friend;
With me, it should not last—

Ant. of Eph.
Nor can it last.
SONNET.—(Antipholis of Ephesus.)

Bal.
'Tis well—good night—and yet forsooth, 'tis strange
If such the power of Adriana's charms,
Another's glances should but now so wound!
[Antipholis looks confused.
Deny it not—deny not that within,
Sharing our revelry; even at first sight
Circean Lesbia's smiles—

Ant. of Eph.
(agitated.)
Lesbia's!

Balt.
Aye, Lesbia's! and not thyself, hast thou to thank
For this thy honourable safe retreat,
But a bold rival—ha! behold he comes!
And with him—Cerimon.

Enter Cerimon and Etesiphon.
Cer.
How now, forsooth!
Break up our social board! leave us Antipholis?

Bal.
As 'tis his custom—love is still victorious.
That senior-junior, giant dwarf, Dan Cupid;
Regent of love rhimes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans;
Dread prince of plackets, and great general
Of trotting paritors—he, this whimpering, whining,
Pur-blind boy, still leads him to a wife—
A woman, that is like a German clock—
Ever repairing—

Ant. of Eph.
Nay—nay—Balthazar—

Cer.
(taking his hand)
Come, be prevailed on—
For once, at least, Antipholis,—and hark!—
The hollow murmuring of the wind
Forebodes a stormy night.

Ant. of Eph.
Well!—since you'll have it so—
But think not that I heed the storm.
No—no—my friends.
GLEE.—(As you Like it.)

[Exeunt.