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Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is
I'd not have show'd it. [mine,)
Leon. Do not draw the curtain.
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your
May think anon, it moves. ancy
ort. Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already—
What was he that did make it!—See, my lord,
Would wou not deem, it breath'd? and that those
Did verily bear blood? [veins
o Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't,
As we are Inock'd with art.
Paul. I'll draw the curtain;
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.
Leon. O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let’t alone.
Paul. 1 an sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you: but
I could afflict you further.
Leon. Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.—Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her. -
Paul. Good, my lord, sorbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul. Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think,
Which I protest against,) I am assisted
y wicked powers.
Leon. What you can make her do,
I am content to look on : what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.
Paul. It is requir'd,
You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.

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(Music.) 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you.-You perceive, she stirs:

(Hermione comes down from the pedestal.) We were dissever'd :

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Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double: Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age,
Is she become the suitor.
Leon. 9, she's warm' (Embracing her.)
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
Pol. She embraces him.
Cam. She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Pol. Ay, and make’t manisest where she has liv'd,
Or, how stol'n from the dead?
Paul. That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.—
Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing—Turn, goodlady;
Our Perdita is found.
(Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione.)
ere You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head!--Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd?
how found
Thy father's court for thou shalt hear, that I,_
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd
Myself to see the issue.
Paul. There's time enough for that;
Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation.—Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament, till I am lost.
Leon. O peace, Paulina:
Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found
mine;
But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her,
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
à."; upon her É.i I'll not seek far
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee
An honourable husband:—Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand : whose worth and ho-
Is richly noted; and here justified [nesty
By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.—
What?—Look upon my brother;-both your
pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.—This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, |. heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter.—Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
astily lead away. [Exeunt.

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ACT I. Scene I.-A Hall in the Duke's Palace.

Enter Duke, AEGeoN, Gaolers, Officers, and other

Attendants.

AEge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure m fall, And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.

Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; I am not partial to infringe our laws: The enmity and discord, which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke #. merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,_ Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods,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, To admit no traffic to our adverse towns: Nay, more, If any, born at Ephesus, be seen At any Syracusan marts and 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 to ransom him. Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

AEge. Yet this my comfort; when your words

are done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
uke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
Aoi. what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
AEge. Aheavier task could nothave been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
Ajoyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self same inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.

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We came aboard: 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 § grant, Did but convey unto our fearful minds A doubtful warrant of immediate death; Which, though myself would #.y have embrac'd, Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, Weeping before for what she saw must come, And jo. of the pretty babes, That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was, for other means was none.— The sailors sought for safety by our boat, And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us: My wife, more careful for the latter-born, Had fasten’d him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms; To him one of the other twins was bound, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d, 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 sun, gazing upon the earth, Dispers'd those vapours that offended us; . the benefit of his wish'd light, The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered Two ships from far making amain to us, Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: But ere they came;-O, let me say no more! Gather the sequel by that went before. so : Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off For we may pity, though not pardon thee. AEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us! For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, We were encounter'd by a #: rock; Which being violently borne upon, Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, So that, in this unjust divorce of us, Fortune had left to both of us alike What to delight in, what to sorrow for. Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, Was carried with more speed before the wind; And in our sight they three were taken up By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. At length, another ship had seiz'd on us; And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests; And would have rest the fishers of their prey, Had not their bark been very slow of sail, And therefore homeward did they bend their course.— Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss; That by misfortunes was my life o's d, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. [for, Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest Dome the favour to dilate at full What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now. AEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, At eighteen years became inquisitive After his brother; and impôrtun'd me, That his attendant, (for his case was like, Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name, Might bear him company in the quest of him: Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see, I hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d. Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus; Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought, Or that, or any place that harbours men. But here must end the story of my life;

| And ha were I in my timely death,
Could §§ travels *::::: . they live.
Duke. o AEgeon, whom the fates have
mark’d

To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall’d,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can:
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hastin Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die:–
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.

Gaol. I will, my i.

Æge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Ægeonwend, But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Public Place.

Enter Antipholus and DRom Io of Syracuse, and a Merchant.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. This very day, a Syracusan merchant Is o for arrival here; And not being able to buy out his life, According to the statute of the town, Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. There is your money that I had to keep. 4nt. S. Gobear it to the Centaur, where we host, And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time: Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town, Peruse the traders, upon the buildings, And then return, and sleep within mine inn; For with long travel I am stiff and weary. Get thee away. [word, Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your And go indeed, having so good a mean. | xit. Ant. S. 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 my inn, and dine with me? Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, Of whom I hope to make much benefit; I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o’elock, Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, And afterwards consort you till bed-time; My present business calls me from you now. Ant. S. Farewell till then: I will É. lose myself, And wander up and down, to view the city. Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. Erif. Ant. S. He, that commends me to -- 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, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother, and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.

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Sh 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 'tis to fast and pray, Are penitent for your default to-day. Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray; Where have you left the money that I gave you ? Dro. E. O.-sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last, To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper?— The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. Ant. S. 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? .. Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed; For she will score your fault upon my pate: Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, And strike you home without a messenger. Ant. S. 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! Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to ne. [foolishness, Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. Ant. S. 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 is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate, Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, But not a thousand marks between you both.If I should pay your worship those again, Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, hast thou? [Phoenix; Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner, And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. Ant. *, What, wilt thou slout me thus unto my ace, Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for God's sake, hold your hands ; Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit. Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, The villain is o'er-raught of all my money. They say, this town is full of cozenage; As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, And many such #.'. of sin: If it prove so, I will begone the sooner. I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave; I greatly fear, my money is not safe.

ACT II.
Scene I-A public Place.
Enter ADRIANA and Luci ANA.

Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd, That in such haste I sent to seek his master' Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.

Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. Good sister, let us dine, and never fret :

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A man is master of his liberty:
Time is their master; and, when they see time,
They'll go, or come : if so, be patient, sister.
A dr. Why should their liberty than ours be more?
Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door.
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so.
Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye,
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky:
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males’ subject, and at their controls:
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls,
Are masters to their females, and their lords:
Then let your will attend on their accords.
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed.
Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear
some sway.
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other where?
Lue. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Adr. Patience, unmov’d, no marvel though she

pause; They can be meek, that have no other cause. A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry; But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, With urging helpless patience would'st relieveme: But, if thou live to see like right bereft, This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try:Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.

Enter DROMio of Ephesus.

Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand? Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him know'st thou his mind? Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning? Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that I could scarce understand them. Adr. But say, I pr’ythee, is he coming home? It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is hornmad! Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain? [stark mad : Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but, sure, he's When I desir'd him to come home to dinner, He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 'Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold, quoth he Will you come home? quoth I; My gold, quoth he: Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain 2 The pig, quoth I, is burn'd; My gold, quoth he: My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hang up thy mistress ; I #. not thy mistress; out on thy mistress / Luc. Quoth who Dro. E. Quoth my master: I know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress;– So that my errand, due unto my tongue, I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home? For God's sake, send some other messenger.

Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy head across. Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other beating: Between you I shall have a holy head. A dr. Hence, prating [...". fetch thy master Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me, That like a football you do spurn me thus? You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. [Exit. Luc. Fy, how impatience lowreth in your face! Adr. His company must do his minions grace, Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. Hath homely age the alluring beauty took From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it: Are my discourses dull 2 barren my wit? If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. Do their gay vestments his affections bait? That's not my fault, he's master of my state: What ruins are in me, that can be found By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground Of my defeatures: My decayed fair A sunny look of his would soon repair: But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. Luc. Self-harming jealousy"—fy, beat it hence. Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; Or else, what lets it but he would be here? Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain;– Would that alone alone he would detain, So he would keep fair quarter with his bed! I see, the jewel, best enamelled, Will lose !. beauty; and though gold 'hides still, That others touch, yet often touching will Wear gold : and so no man, that hath a name, But food and corruption doth it shame. Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. ; Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! [Exeunt.

[home.

Scene II.-The same. Enter ANtipholus of Syracuse.

Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up Safe at the Centaur; find the heedful slave Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. By computation, and mine hosts report, 1 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 2 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 ! Dro. S. What answer, sir? when spake I such a word 7 [since. Ant. A. Even now, even here, not half an hour Dro. S. I did not see yon since you sent me hence, Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt; And told'st o: of a mistress, and a dinner; For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. Dro.S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell ine. Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. (Beating him.) Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake: now your jest is earnest: Upon what bargain do you give it me !

Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometime 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 aspéct, And fashion your demeanour to my looks, Or I will beat this method in your sconce. Dro. S. 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 I am beaten ? Ant. S. Dost thou not know? Dro. S. Nothing, sir; but that I am beaten. Ant. S. Shall I tell you why? Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, every why hath a wherefore. Ant. S. Why, first—for slouting me; and then, wherefore, For urging it the second time to me. Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season? When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither rhyme nor reason 2 Well, sir, I thank you. Ant. S. Thank me, sir? for what? Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something, that you gave me for nothing. Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner time? [have. Dro. S. No, sir; I think, the meat wants that I Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that? Dro. S. Basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. Ant. S. Your reason 1 Dro. S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting. Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time; There's a time for all things. Dro, S. I durst have denied that, before you were so choleric. Ant. S. By what rule, sir? Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of father Time himself. Ant. S. Let's hear it. Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his hair, that grows bald by nature. Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for his peruke, and recover the lost hair of another man. Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement! Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts: and what he hath scanted men in hair, he hath given them in wit. Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more hair than wit. [to lose his hair. Dro. S. Not a man of those but he hath the wit Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost: Yet he loseth it in a kind of jollity. Ant. S. For what reason 2 Dro. S. For two; and sound ones too. Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. Dro. S. Sure ones, then. Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. Dro. S. Certain ones, then. Amt. S. Name them. . Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring: the other, that at dinner they should not drop in his porridge. nt. S. You would all this time have proved, there is no time for all things.

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